Despicable by Rory Miles

 

BELLATRIX

Before we begin, there’s something you need to know.

I’m not a good girl, not even close. I’m not always polite. I’m not a flower. I’m definitely not a virgin. I’m bad. I’m brash. I’m jagged glass, with specks of blood. And I like sex.

A lot.

Not like a nymphomaniac, but there’s something about the way two strangers can lock gazes from opposite sides of a dark club and be drawn to each other. Like moths to a flame, and said flame is filthy, dirty, hot sex.

I stare into the stranger’s eyes, seeing an instant flare of desire flash across his face when the stage lights turn white and brush over his olive colored skin. He’s with his friends who are all laughing and staring out at the dancing women, but he doesn’t spare any of them a glance. I tip my head to the side ever so slightly and arch an eyebrow.

Like I said, the pull of sexual tension between two random strangers can be magnetic, and I’ve never been one to deny the feeling. The rush which comes with chance encounters isn’t half bad either.

Anyway, the reason you need to know all of this is so you understand the expression on my face when my sister says, “I wonder if I’ll find him. Moons, can you imagine? True love!” Belladonna squeals.

Cue the look.

One eyebrow raised, the other drawn down, lips quirked to the side in a weird grimace, and head pulled back.

“Oh, don’t give me that look, Bellatrix.”

Uh-oh. She’s using my full name. Yeah, I know, my parents got a bit out of hand with the nearly matching names, but I’ve lived with it my whole life.

“A whole new pack means a whole new group of men who might just be our fated mates,” my sister says like there is hope for me yet.

“Bella, I’m twenty-seven. Twenty. Seven. You know the chances of finding a fated mate goes down astronomically the older you get. Hell, I’ll be lucky if I find a regular mate given my age.”

Not that I want to find either. I quite enjoy my nights of debauchery and reveling in the tension that comes with lust and then leaving them before things get too serious.

Before I can get hurt.

Trust me, it’s much safer this way. A lot more fun too.

“Trix,” she groans. “Not this again.”

I roll my eyes and sip on my dirty martini, eyeing the wall of muscle which takes the spot a few seats away from us to order a drink. I knew he’d come over the minute we made eye contact from across the dance floor. His dark gray eyes slide over me like a cool caress, eliciting a slight shiver. I can practically see his dick growing hard by the way he’s staring at me, and the thought of me making him erect has heat pooling low in my belly.

Biting my cheek, I focus on my sister, ignoring his lustful gaze.

The trick is to snare them, then play hard to get for a little while. Things like this always go the same way. We both want one thing, but he needs a little bit of a chase to truly get into it, and I take pride in being memorable. Especially with the tall, muscled ones. There’s nothing quite as satisfying as making the sexy ones beg for more. If I weren’t a wolf, I’d be a succubus for sure.

Clearing my throat, I set the martini down. “Yes, this. Are you going to sit there and tell me I’m wrong?”

Pinning her with my best squinting glare, I wait for her to try and deny it. She doesn’t. Probably because she knows I’m right. Fated mates are every young wolf’s dream. When I was little, I used to imagine my fated mate as some prince who would swoop in and save me from my normal but boring childhood. Some majestic being who would make me swoon and keep me safe inside a mystical castle as we built a beautiful family.

Spoiler alert: He never came.

Years passed and I turned eighteen. For a while there, during every full moon, I hoped I’d run into him. I would run for miles in my wolf form, passing dozens of wolves in our pack lands only to find he wasn’t there. I watched one by one as all of my friends found a fated mate.

The moon-blessed bond between two wolves that’s so powerful it can bring an alpha wolf to his knees for his female counterpart. If they didn’t find a fated by around twenty-four, most settled with a regular mate. There’s still a bond with a regular mate, but it’s not moon-blessed, not destined to be.

Bella wrinkles her nose. “Don’t be so pessimistic, Trix. He’s out there.” Her eyes fill with shining hope for what might be.

Of course she thinks so. I look at my drink so I don’t roll my eyes again at her dramatics.

“You’re probably right,” I say softly, not wanting to hurt her.

She’s six years younger than me, and I remember being as in love with the idea of fated love as she is.

As it turns out, I’m destined to be single. The universe is cruel. It’s fine. I’ve come to terms with it, and I rather like the trouble I find on my own. Especially when the biceps are so defined and the hair is so perfectly styled. My eyes slip back to the curious stranger, and I bite my bottom lip and bat my eyelashes before looking away again.

He’s already hooked, but what’s a little more suspense on his part? He’ll come way harder if he thinks he was the one who snared me.

Bella notices my straying attention and huffs. “Seriously?”

Shrugging, I take a healthy drink. “We’re moving. This is our last night out. Don’t you want to have a little fun? Besides, Mallory is over there screeching your name, and I know you’re dying to go be with your bestie. You don’t have to hang out with me because you feel sorry for me.”

The guy shoots me another look, and I quirk the corner of my lip before glancing at my nearly empty drink. He’s a goner. He’s so human it hurts, but it’s a good thing he is because he can’t hear our conversation. Not with the music blaring this loud.

Nothing kills the mood faster than fated mate talk.

“Are you sure you’re all right? I don’t want to bail on you.” Bella finally gives in and glances at Mallory, who is dancing with a few other girls. They all wave my sister over.

“Oh, don’t you worry about me. I think I’ll have company soon enough.” I slide my glass to the edge of the bar and nod at the bartender who dips his chin in acknowledgement.

The one bad thing about moving? Having to find a new bartender I love. The ones at this club treat me so well. It’s a shame liquor isn’t a good enough reason to keep me here.

“Well, have fun.” Bella hops off her barstool and smacks a kiss on my cheeks. “He’s super hot, by the way, even for a human.”

I chuckle and bite my lip, peeking over at the man in question. He straightens when my sister skips away, standing over six-feet with broad shoulders. His navy shirt is tight enough to highlight how his middle tapers, and his dark washed jeans curl around thick thighs which are without a doubt all muscle.

This guy is as solid as a rock.

Yes, please.

I twinkle my fingers in his direction, and he smirks, the cocky smile making my stomach tighten with need.

“Is this spot taken?” His voice is a little nasally but that doesn’t matter.

Soon enough, we won’t be talking.

Maybe the universe doesn’t hate me after all.

“Nope.” I turn in his direction, crossing my legs and causing my black pencil skirt to ride up.

Shameless? Maybe.

Do I give a damn?

No.

The bartender, who I’ve decided is a literal godsend because he understands me without me having to say a word, slides me another martini. Seeing he added an extra olive, I grin at him in thanks. He winks, slides his gaze to my stranger, and shakes his head before walking off.

He knows the score, never gives me shit, and keeps the alcohol flowing. He’s objectively my favorite being on this planet.

“What’s your name?” He leans a little closer, his thigh brushing against my calf. Dropping his hand to his side, his fingers scarcely touch the skin above my knee.

The simple touch sends a zing of awareness through me.

Something about a man asking for what he wants with touches instead of words really appeals to me. I want to fuck you is all well and good, but an intentional brush of skin like this sends tingles down my spine. Unabashed desire, dilating pupils, and searing me with simple touches? Yeah. That is hot as hell.

“Bellatrix.” I lift the pick and drag an olive off with my teeth, almost bursting into laughter when the guy sucks in a breath.

Way out of his depth, I see.

“Jason.”

“Hm.” I grab the next olive and lick my lips when I’m done chewing, feeling a sadistic amount of satisfaction when his gaze stays stuck on where my tongue moistened my mouth.

Sucker.

“Do you want to—”

“Moons, I thought you’d never ask.” I toss the martini back like it’s a shot, fight off a cough because, fuck, that’s a lot of alcohol, and snatch his hand. “Follow me.”

Jason doesn’t respond or ask where we’re going. His fingers clamp down around mine like he’s afraid he’ll lose me if he doesn’t hold on, which isn’t entirely wrong. He is going to lose me, but not before we have mind-blowing sex. Perhaps I’m being a bit reckless but thanks to my birth control implant and supernatural healing, I don’t have to worry about pregnancy or STDs. All the more fun for me.

Jason and I walk to the back of the club, trying to find somewhere private. Scanning over my options, I debate on the usual spot in the supply closet or a riskier option that I’ve always wanted to try. I eye the stairs then glance over at the bar. The bartender is slammed—a line of women in a bridal party wait for their drinks. No barback in sight, probably off getting ice.

Perfect.

He’ll be busy enough.

I let my gaze travel the room, quickly noting the discrete bouncers positioned throughout. As usual, they’re too busy leering at the scantily clad females to pay attention to much else. It takes a full-on brawl to get their attention, so we’re good to go.

Jason presses into my back, and his hand snakes around my waist, pulling me against his body as he gyrates his hips. I fight off a smile and shake my head at him.

“This way!” I shout over the music.

Taking the black stairs that run up the back wall of the club, I half jog up them in my heels, giggling when Jason starts whispering that this is a horrible idea or that we’re going to get caught. We reach the top, and I spin and drop to my knees.

Jason’s pupils blow wide, and I reach up into my hair, slipping out two bobby pins and winking at him. His face wrinkles for a second until I turn toward the door and slide the straight ends into the lock and begin working my magic.

“Oh my god,” he murmurs. “You’re horrible.”

“I know,” I sing-song.

A slight click and a twist and we’re home free. Well, office free, but it’s semantics at this point. Jason practically hauls me through the door and slams it closed. I chuckle and grab his neck, claiming his lips with mine. He growls when I nip his bottom lip and his hands find the back of my thighs. Being lifted off the ground by any man—human or supernatural—is hot as hell.

The office has a dim, overhead light, and it smells like stale cigarettes, but none of that is enough to kill the mood. My heart is racing, wondering how long we have until someone comes to throw us out of the club. Will they threaten to call the cops?

I can escape if they do, but the mere prospect of being handcuffed for this makes my pussy clench in need. Jason sets my ass on a desk and brushes aside some random crap so we have room. He’s tall, but at this height, I can press against his erection to get some friction.

He yanks my silk top out of the skirt and over my head, taking in my full B cup. They’re not huge, but I haven’t had any complaints. I reach to undo my bra, helping speed up the process. Taking a moment, he steps away and undresses as fast as his human limbs will let him. When his hand fists around a rather impressive cock, I bite my cheek to keep from moaning.

Moons, I love the universe for this. I take back everything I ever said about her being a bitch.

My skirt is stretchy enough to hike up over my hips, so instead of taking it off like a normal, office-intruder person might, I shove it up and spread my legs. Jason makes a choked sound when he sees I’m not wearing any underwear.

Yeah, I came prepared for this.

I quirk my finger at him and lean back on my hands, taking all of him in as he struts over with all the swagger of a king. And to be honest, he kind of deserves to be cocky. This man obviously lives at the gym and drinks plenty of milk, because there isn’t an inch of him that’s squishy. His eyes rove over my body, catching on my pussy.

“Fuck.”

I grin. “You like what you see?”

“Who are you?” he asks more to himself than me, stepping between my thighs and running his palms over them.

“Your friendly neighborhood vixen.”

He laughs. I grab his dick, almost cackling when his laughter turns into a throaty moan. His velvety length fits perfectly against my center. I hold his head against my slick slit, sliding it up and down to wet it.

“Damn, girl.”

His praise is very welcome, and I look up at him through my eyelashes, slowly curling my lips.

“What’s my name?”

Furrowing his brow, he says, “Bellatrix.”

“You’re goddamn right.” I line him up and grab both of his ass cheeks, yanking him against my body and forcing him inside of me, enjoying the way he slides in with ease. I’m so wet from the thrill of breaking in and fucking him in a stranger’s office that there’s zero resistance on my part.

I’m pretty sure his brain short-circuits because he tries to say something, but the words he forms are an incoherent string of curses and moans.

Exactly how I like them.

Catching up to the game, he grabs my sides and begins driving into me. His mouth crashes into mine in a sloppy, hungry kiss. His growls make my wolf perk up, but when she realizes he’s only a human, she settles down.

She still hasn’t gotten the single for life memo.

A faint buzzing sounds, so soft I almost miss it with Jason’s noises and the music outside the room. Then it stops. I swipe my tongue against Jason’s, reveling in the way he falls apart from being inside of me. Enjoying the way his cock throbs in direct response to my walls clamping around him.

Then the buzz comes again.

I break away from the kiss, and Jason’s mouth seizes my neck, kissing and biting while he hammers into me. Turning my head to the side to give him better access, my eyes widen when they see a man who has to be in his late sixties standing near a filing cabinet tucked into the far corner of the room. He’s balding, has a bit of a beer gut, and is wearing a skeezy bowling shirt with dark pants.

Jason doesn’t notice, and I’ll be damned if I stop him now because his thumb finds my clit. With a mischievous smile, I push my tits out, and the manager—because that has to be who this guy is—predictably drops his gaze.

Leaving him to his own devices, I focus on Jason. His lips capture mine again, and his thrusts grow more violent and needy, but his thumb stays sure and focused on my sensitive bundle of nerves. My thighs quiver around his hips, and I gasp, relaxing my body to fully accept the orgasm that’s about to crash over me.

It isn’t long until we’re both gasping and shouting our release, Jason’s cum spilling into me and my hips bucking against his finger’s ministrations. A sheen of sweat covers his body, and he blows out a hard breath, half-laughing half-groaning, and dropping his head against my shoulder.

“Can I keep you?”

“You can keep the memory,” I say and pat his back. This is the part where he loses me. “But we should probably go because I think we’re about to be in trouble.”

“What?” he asks, lifting his head and searching my face.

I tip my head in the direction of our audience, who is now scarlet with his own need and a bit of irritation. Jason follows my gesture and curses, pulling away from me so fast I hiss at the sudden loss.

“Shit, man. Sorry.”

Tossing my head back, I release a throaty chuckle.

What a way to leave this city.