Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 73665 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73665 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
“How long until the last call?” she asks so quietly that I barely hear her over the music.
“A few hours yet.”
Her eyes remained fixed on me, unblinking. “There’s no one else here. Can you lock the door?”
My heart just about bangs right through my ribs and splatters on the floor. I’d have to get the mop and bucket out early, especially since the janitor’s room is far, far down the hall. I don’t think it would be sanitary to pick my heart back up and shove it back inside—dirt, microbes, stray hairs, and all.
“We have hours posted outside.” I have zero chill right now, so it’s incredible that my voice comes out smooth and calm.
“Does anyone else have the keys?”
“To the door?” No, to your butthole, dumbass.
“To the door,” she echoes. She changes the pace, her hands slowing on the keys. The music drops low, even more haunting and sad too.
“No one else has keys that are working right now.”
Her chin dips in a nod, her fingers stroking the keys lovingly. Her hair falls over her shoulder, spilling down in a curtain that I’d like to have between my fingers. I want to know what her hands would feel like on my body. Would she pull the same music from me? Goosebumps stand out on my arms, and a shiver traces up my spine and ends up landing right at the base of my neck.
“Why would I lock the door?” I ask.
“Because the way you are watching me is like a wolf who hasn’t eaten for days. Not just now but at the bar too. You want to seduce me, taste me, and make gloriously bad decisions with me.”
I’m so ready to protest. The words are there, but my tongue falters. My body is a thousand degrees, as though there’s been an unfortunate mishap with a blowtorch and my ball sack, but in a strange twist of events, I find that I enjoy having my nuts roasted. My heart bangs out in an impatient rhythm, and the room seems to close in and expand at the same time.
She searches my face, seeing all the way down to my heart, stripping my brain bare, and undressing me slowly and casually with the same carnal hunger that hit me so fucking hard the minute she stepped into this room.
This isn’t me. What the hell was in that shot I did with her? It’s something that has clearly affected both our brains and logical thinking. Someone must have swapped the alcohol for a magic potion. Perhaps as a joke or an experiment. Maybe it was werewolf juice, and I’m going to sprout hair and go off to howl at the moon any second.
Right. Highly likely.
“I feel like this just so happens to be a night for bad decisions.” Suddenly, jarringly, she stops playing, the last notes echoing through the room like the cries of ghosts.
Werewolf juice? Drama juice, more like.
“I want to make one,” she states with determination. “Right now. I want you to lock that door and do things to me on this piano. Sinful, dark things we won’t ever talk about again. We’ll pretend like it never happened the second I leave this room. We can be two people who need each other in this moment. No past. No future. Just now. We won’t call, we won’t see each other, and there will be no obligations. No complications, no relationships, no fights, no breakups, no broken hearts, no betrayals, no asshattery, and no pain.”
Fuck. She had me at asshattery.
I don’t know what I’m doing when I reach into my pocket and pull out my set of keys. They’re ancient because the doors are older than time. The skeleton keys fit the mood. Dark. Gothic. Raunchy.
Okay, maybe not raunchy.
“Keep playing,” I tell her, though I’m not sure if it’s to soothe me, give me courage, or mask my footsteps as I cross to the heavy wood door.
I glide it shut, the thud echoing through the room like a cannon.
I have no idea who this woman is past her name, but at least I’m on a first-name basis. Not that she knows mine. Not that I can give her my real name because that will blow my bartender cover forever. She walked in here looking lost, unsure, miserable, and afraid. But sometime between that drink and when she sat down at the piano, she transformed into a goddess. A sex goddess who wants to have steamy and hot piano coitus with a stranger right here in this room.
As I slide the key into the lock and twist, my mind is in danger of exploding, and it’s not the only thing. My cock throbs against my black pants, embarrassingly tenting them behind my bartender’s apron.
She’s obviously younger than me. I look thirty-five, but I’m nearly ten years older, which probably makes me at least twenty years older than her. I should tell her. I should dissuade her. I should stop this before it happens.