I decided to do two chapters tonight, since Killian isn't the first chapter I HAD to write C2 today! Kinda semi smut ahead, full smut next chapter promise! Read, fav, review, follow and ENJOY! :)
I can feel my heart beating solidly under my brown leather jacket. I had to put the jacket on. No question, it was for comfort purposes. And at this very moment in time I need comfort to protect me from the very comfort zone I am fleeing.
The recurring thought running through my head is 'why'. Why am I doing this? Am I trying to prove something? To me? To Graham? To prove I'm better than Graham? The bottle of wine I've consumed is making matters worse, jumbling thoughts in my head and blurring reality and fantasy.
Downtown Boston is cold and dark, the street lamps are dimly lit and the heady smell of alcohol and cocaine is filling my head. It's most definitely matching to my own idea of a strip club, but I guess people come here if they don't want to be followed. The street is narrow and covered with damp and torn posters. I look down as one attaches itself to my heel. The Jolly Rodger is scrawled across in faded red; I guess I am getting closer, I breathe in, feeling my heartbeat rise just a tiny bit more.
The air is cloying however the sky is completely clear, I look up and to my surprise see stars shining back down at me. I feel the cold breeze against my face, the feeling of my cheeks turning a blushing pink. I continue walking in silence, the only noise coming from my heels clicking against the pavement.
After 2 more minutes of cautiousness I reach a small row of houses and shops, a tattoo parlour. A run down looking laundrette and of course here it is in all it's glory. The Jolly Rodger. Considering its location it's not too run down. The outside is pealing with black paint and the sign is flickering with red light. The thumping of music travels out the door, the atmosphere fills me with relief if that's possible. I'm not in an abandoned house, I'm not being set up for murder, or- something that isn't what I'm about to do. Oh fucking god what am I doing?
I readjust my hair and I push open the heavy wooden door. I am taken back by the warmth I am greeted with, the temperature is hot, the lights are humming against my skin, and the music is buzzing against my ears. I am suddenly not scared at all.
Bailbonds requires me to act confident in any situation, if I keep control and turn this into a game; I it can be fun. I can be a dirty, filthy woman; get rid of Graham from my head, for a few hours turn into someone else. Forget about insecure Emma Swan, that just ate a whole tub of cinnamon ice cream and shit cheap red wine. Be someone's mistress, or someone that craves warm, delicious sex.
I take off my jacket and swing it across my back; I stride up to the bar which is in the nearest corner to me opposite the stage, the stage being the essential part of the strip club, again lit with faded red light, giving a simmering glow across the floor, surrounding the small tables with men and women nursing drinks.
The bar itself is shabby but has charm, it's scattered with light candles and tall glasses, the place looking somewhere where you order a straight vodka instead of asking for the wine list. A tall skinny man wearing a black shirt, open two buttons down, makes eye contact with me; he winks and grabs a glass.
'A vodka for the pretty lady.' He smiles and slides the glass of liquid across the counter. 'Your first time here?'
I grab the drink and look up at him. He has thick brown hair fashioned into a quiff and ash coloured eyes, actually sort of pretty. He moves towards the drinks and more of his chest is revealed, brightly coloured tattoos pop off his pale white skin.
'Yes, I've actually got an appointment.' I smile, holding the vodka in my hand, appreciating his attention.
'Oh, I see!' He laughs 'Well you came to the right place.' He winks again. 'Who with?'
'Hook?' I drain the vodka in one go, wincing at the heat pummelling down my throat, it's a nice burning to numb the anxiety that suddenly arose from uttering his name.
'Ah Hook, you're in for a treat.' He looks over to the opposite end of the bar. 'One second lovely.' He walks over and starts a group of bulky men wearing sleeves of tattoos; unlike the boy they're faded and old. I smile to myself: this is what I expected from a place like this.
He walks back over and draws up a stool. 'I'm Jefferson.' He looks at me.
'I'm Emma.' I smile and pass him back the glass. 'It's not quite what I expected, here I mean, this place.' I slide out a stool and sit down.
'I know what you mean.' He glances over to the stage. A girl is on the pole, sliding up and down, wearing next to nothing, a red bralet and matching panties. The music is soft but heavy, the atmosphere is thick and heavy with lust. The tattooed men slide dollars into her cleavage. I look back to Jefferson. 'It's nice here, it's sort of hard to describe.' He slides me another vodka.
'Why do you keep giving me drinks?' I bite my lip 'Am I that irresistible?' I play on my character, trying to squash the small remaining worry in the pit of my stomach.
'You're a woman.' He plays with his hair. 'I like to please, what can I say.' He looks at a door over the far side of the room, lit above with a yellow lantern. 'It looks like Hook is ready for you- Miss Emma.' He finishes.
I follow his gaze and down the rest of the vodka. 'Thanks for the drinks.' I get up and look back at the bar.
'Enjoy.' The boy says as he gives a smile, turning back to serve more gathering customers.
I stride over to the illuminated door; I take a deep breath and open it. The sudden smell of aftershave and salt overcome me. The room is dark apart from a few lit candles huddled in the corner. And that's when I hear the voice, warm and familiar even though I only heard it for the first time an hour ago.
'So you're the famous Emma.' The British accent is deeper than it was on the phone, I turn around to try and find the owners face. 'I'm over here love.'
I stop and stare. Although the lighting is dim, I can make out all that needs to be made out. A man of about 6' is stood leaning against the door frame. His limbs are long and I'm not sure if it's possible but his voice matches his appearance. His eyes are vivid blue, surrounded with just a touch of black kohl, his eyebrows so telling. His hair is thick rick brown; his stubble is rough and surrounds his peach lips worn in a smirk. He wears a black waistcoat made out of something thick, possibly leather. I believe he is the sort of person that is rough, not classically perfect, but lustful and warm, he just screams 'fuck me'.
'Yes, and you must be Hook.' I smirk. 'Is that actually a real name?' I stand taking in the tension in the air, the candles burning brightly, emitting comfortable warmth.
He gets off the wooden frame and walks towards me slowly; I catch a smell of salt spray. 'I let my clients believe that, but Miss Swan you're a bit different.' He walks behind me and his hand grazes my shoulder. I feel a burst of unexpected electricity run through my arm.
'I'm special.' I turn round and begin to walk towards him. I flick my hair over behind my shoulders. Making sure I show off my collar bones, my skin. I grab both of his shoulders and pull towards him.
'Aye, indeed you are.' He breathes in heavily. Our faces merely centimetres apart. The tension unbearable. He pauses and stares into my eyes. I stay connected to the bold blue and don't need to look away, all I want in this moment is blue, and all I want in this moment is him. 'Ready.' He whispers, titling his head to align with my neck.
'Yes' I breathe in. My legs feeling weak with lust.
He starts on my neck and my knees almost give way with delight, he kisses roughly emitting moans as his works his way down. I grab his hair and my hands work their way down to his ass. I give a squeeze and he lets out a larger moan. Within seconds my dress is pulled down to my knees and his black jeans are discarded on the floor.
He breaks away, his hands now places on my back, the clasp undoes itself and he is there cupping my breasts, his fingers circling my nipples as his gestures me onto the bed in the middle of the room. I grab his bulge now very prominent from his boxers; I give it a squeeze whilst I work on his neck as he sucks my nipples. We both give faint moans in unison.
'Swan.' He whispers in my ear. He grabs my shoulders and I look up staring back into the blue. He leans in, this time the tension is different. It's not lustful anymore, this is desire. He runs his finger over my lips and I lean in. Our lips meet, unlike the previous few minutes it's slow but just as comfortable as before. I feel a spread of warmth through my upper body and suddenly my stomach is filled with a fluttering sensation.
He pulls away and stares at me again. He takes a strand of my hair and tucks it behind my eye. Not losing eye contact once, my lips still warm from his own mouth, the taste of the sea on my tongue. 'Killian' he murmurs 'My real name is Killian.'
