Edward
She's a Domme.
She's the friend Lady Viper was talking about.
Mistress Havoc.
Fuck. Why?!
We got off on the wrong foot. Mostly because of me. I can tell Havoc is angry— fuming, really. Her eyes are narrowed, spitting fire, but she's trying hard to keep her exterior cool and hard. Collected. In control. I bet she's a great Domme, and she's got a ton of charisma hiding underneath velvet and lace.
"Let me buy you a drink, please." I shoot her my best grin, one hand in the pocket of my black jeans, and wish I'd worn something a little more … Sir Masen, but I didn't have the time to dive into my walk-in. "To apologize for my lack of respect." Jasper squeezes my shoulder before he lets go. The small, dark-haired sub walks by and his attention shifts. I hear Jasper call out a faint, 'here Kitty, Kitty,' before he's off to catch her.
"No." There's a little pout on her face that my thumb aches to caress before I shove my fingers in her mouth, making her gag on them as her beautiful, brown eyes water. Just like when she'd choke on my cock. Too bad she's a Dominant. Nothing can ever happen between us because I'd rather kill myself than become a switch.
Havoc crosses her arms in front of her chest, tits almost spilling from their velvet cups, before she whips her long-ass hair over her shoulder.
I huff. "No?" I wonder, a brow arching.
"I have no desire to talk to you. I'd rather have fun while I'm here, not babysit a newbie since I do have friends here. Excuse me, Masen," she says, bumping into me, my drink sloshing out of its glass. She looks over her shoulder with a smirk, and god, what I wouldn't do to slap it off her pretty little doll face.
When I turn to look at her, I realize she's right. I'm here by myself—new city, new club … while she's over there, hips grinding and hair dancing as she lets loose to the music, to the beats as she's surrounded by a fuckhot redhead and a russet-skinned guy decked out in minuscule leather shorts, suspenders, and a cop hat. His long dreads dance along with him, his rhythm impeccable.
Get a grip, Masen.
I stop gaping and make my way over to the bar. She's there, blonde and beautiful—perched onto the bar stool wearing fishnets and a black latex skirt that's so tight I swear I can see the outline of her pussy lips. She's not wearing anything up top except for the leather harness that presses her little tits up and high, glitter nipple covers peeking out underneath. Her shoulders slump a little, though, and her neck is free of any type of collar. She's a blonde and no Havoc, but still, a sight for sore eyes. Maybe she would like to play?