Page 15 of Serenity
“So stop entertaining it,” he proffered of my obscure dilemma. “May I?”
The illusion of choice was floated above the music and from his full-pink lips. motioning toward the empty seating area of my section, he made the command known.
“Go ahead.”
Loneliness gravitated to loneliness. I’d found my entertainment for the evening.
“Duke Stepford, the third.” With a half grin that could inspire sin, he held his hand out for me to grasp.
Clean nails, firm grip, perfect level of palm coarseness…
Maybe he didn’t chop wood, but Duke fixed things.
He could chop me with his wood. He could fix me.
Absent shame and brazen, I unraveled his presence. Up and down, my eyes brushed his frame, consuming every inch with high regard. Duke was absolutely stunning, from the dizzying obsidian waves of the medium fade atop his head to the salt and pepper goatee that clung to a chin beset by a chiseled face. His beauty was imposing and exposing. Imploring cinnamon brown rounds bore into me with amusement and curiosity.
That smile.
Those teeth.
That fucking goatee…
He was a marvel and far from gray and ornery. Had it not been for grays peppering his goatee, he could easily pass for a younger man. Maybe he was my masked man.
“How old are you?” Voracious, my appetite was to learn more of the soul who’d joined me. I didn’t give a fuck about his age, to be honest. I wanted to ask him about Genevieve, but he was a stranger. That line of questioning might have been… inappropriate.
“Why does that matter?”
“The inquiring mind is famished,” I admitted. My eyes diminished to slits, granting me a better lens to study the fine-ass specimen. He was dressed in a brown short-sleeved button-down. Ivory slacks hung loose but left an impression of glory between his legs. Matching loafers covered his feet. A Keith and James fedora crowned his head before he removed it. A gold Patek hugged his wrist along with a gold chain around his neck. You would think we’d entered Cuba the way he dressed and clung to the cigar, lacing his fingers.
Paradise.
He looked like paradise.
He looked like the thrill of a ride I’d been searching for all this time.
“See something you like?”
Those brown eyes roved over me, shamelessly penetrating my limbs as the inquiry was presented. His grin prompted my upper teeth to plow into my bottom lip. Panties stained and addlebrained, shame fled. Lust remained.
“Too much,” I confessed.
And I can’t think of anywhere else your face ought to be than between my legs.
With an arched brow, he issued a smirk that made my center defrost. “We should fix that.”
Settled into the space beside me, Duke held his smile like a banner, inviting me to be vacuumed into his world. That eye contact. So magnetic. So intimate. So fascinating that I couldn’t look away. It was powerful. As powerful as the man behind it commanding my thoughts, leading my senses, and ruling my words.
I was a thug to the rest of the world, but for the right man, I’d melt. For the right man, I’d yield. For the right man, I’d transform into a full-blown lover girl.
His warmth faltered, shifting his focus to the rolled tobacco in his hand. With the cigar in one hand and a propane lighter in the other, he paused and fixed me with yet another glare.
“What?” I chuckled. Slid a wisp of hair behind my ear. The man was making my black ass blush. Making my fucking cheeks flush. This was beyond lust. This was a nineties schoolgirl crush.
Left and right, his tilted head shook, adding to the many layers of his sex appeal. “Fucking unreal,” he praised.
Spine erected, I slid back into my mules, crossed my legs, leaned forward, and smacked my lips. “I Believe” by Ray Charles took over where the Isley Brothers left off. As my body instinctively drew closer to the immaculate specimen, I seized the scent of bergamot and vanilla dancing with something ridiculously manly. Something heated and assertive, yet tender.