Last Call (8 page)

I can’t afford to lose my job, especially not this one. The benefits are good and the pay is decent. Dammit! This is going to be the longest afternoon of my life.

J
ason

I walk from the upstairs conference room located beside my office at Toxic. I’m exhausted from the marathon of meetings with my staff. The New York City club is finally up and running, but it seems to be a huge pain in the ass. The hired contractors who installed the sound system did a shitty job, which causes more headaches for me. I’ve been on the phone with their office, giving the owner a huge piece of my mind. Plus, the business next door to my LA nightclub had a fire, and now there’s fucking water damage to it. It’s been a shitty day. Actually, the last good day I’ve had was when I fucked Mariah, the goddess of my dreams, and that was six days ago.

We didn’t get last names or exchange numbers. She simply got dressed, kissed my cheek, and then walked out. I haven’t heard or seen her since. The vision of her leaving is now the star of my dreams. Not that I’m missing her; she was just the best fucking lay I’ve ever had. That’s exactly what I am missing in my life—a good fuck. 

I hand over the paperwork to Kurt, senior property manager, and close my office door. I have a corporate office where most of my meetings take place and where all the staff works, but mostly, I stick to the office located at Toxic. I can think clearly here. I’m left to my own and it’s so much easier to concentrate. I’m not bothered for the most part. Meetings like today, between the various property managers, my PA, and myself, are held in the Toxic office.

I tend to get a little worked up and sometimes have a hard time controlling my anger. Today was no different with two of my huge money making clubs needing some sort of repair, which costs me business and money. That combination is enough to send me into a rage.

I dismiss the others and move to my mini bar, pulling the bottle of Jameson from the back shelf. There’s barely anything left, so I pull the bottle to my lips and chug the small sip down. My body is tense. The stress of the week and the lack of sleep have taken their toll on me, and I need to relax. I could grab a fresh bottle from the back storage room, but I need to get out of here. I’m feeling suffocated. It’s time for me to get some fresh air.

Grabbing my keys from the desk, I walk the four blocks to my favorite bar, Smitty’s. Well, my other favorite bar. Toxic will always be number one. Smitty’s is a small, hole-in-the-wall type of bar, filled with men who are on the brink of retiring. Men who’ve survived a rough life, like me, and men who’ve seen the worst this world can offer. Men who’ve seen war.

There are hardly any women who come in here. Mostly, the guys watch ESPN or Fox News and mind their own business, which is exactly why I like this place. There’s a small booth in the back corner I can fall into and disappear. No one knows me or wants something from me or wants to accompany me. I can sit in the wood booth and simply be.

The dark bar has several customers scattered at the random tables and amongst the bar top. This is weird for a Friday afternoon.

Paul, the old timer behind the bar, recognizes me immediately and pours me a glass of whiskey. When he’s working here, I definitely get my money’s worth. No glass is ever half full. Whiskey is always filled to the brim.

“Here ya are, Jason.”

“A little busy in here today, huh? What’s the occasion?” I take a sip from my glass.

“Oh, Howard hired a new bartender. They’re waiting for her to arrive. It’s brought everyone out of the woodwork.” Paul just rolls his eyes, and I snuff a laugh. Typical men.

The smell of fried bar food and the sight of crushed peanut shells on the floor blends nicely with the feel of this place. Old wood tables with chairs, late seventies colors, fixtures, and décor. I don’t think Howard has changed a thing since he opened it in 1976. The only thing that is new is the plasma TV hanging on the wall.

When the vibration of my cell phone tingles my side, I pull it out of my pocket and read a text message from Kurt.

Flight to LA is booked. I’m leaving in the morning. I will assess the damage and meet with the insurance company. From what Marco said, the damage is probably significant. The club will be closed for at least a month, maybe longer.

Great! Vixen’s Room is the hottest gentlemen’s club right now in Los Angeles. If it’s closed, the patrons will go somewhere else, and quite possibly, they could find a place they like better, and that will be the end of Vixen’s Room. I suppress my anger and take a long sip of my whiskey. This is all I fucking need.

I text back:
Keep me posted. And we really can’t afford to be closed for that long. I will pay to have it up and running in two weeks. Fuck the insurance money. Get it taken care of.

I slam my phone on the table and choke back the rest of the whiskey. I need to be drunk and I need to get laid, in that order. I can handle the first; it’s the latter that has me filled with wishful thinking of my blue-eyed enigma, Mariah.

Two hours and four large glasses of whiskey down, I have fulfilled one of my two goals for the afternoon. Paul makes a good, tall whiskey and now has me feeling pretty intoxicated. The crowd has thinned out somewhat, and I find it funny that a bunch of old fuckers will sit around, waiting for a woman to wait on them. Please, how hot could she be, especially to work here with a bunch of old fucks staring at her tits? She’s probably in her fifties, trying to reminisce her time spent as a groupie in the seventies, sucking dick and dancing at discos.

I can hear the sound of chairs screeching against the floor and then notice everyone crane their necks. Ah… the new bar wench must be here. I lean out of my booth and peer around the side when I see
her
. It’s the woman from Saturday night, Mariah. And coincidentally, she is the new bartender. What a turn of fate this is. Looks like I will be able to fulfill my needs after all. I can’t help the gleam coming from my face, knowing I will get to be inside her again, and this time, I have no intentions of letting her get away.

Three fucking hours later, the crowd is virtually gone and Paul announces to Mariah to take a twenty-minute break. I’ve been waiting everyone out. I haven’t gotten a drink, either, in the last three hours and now my buzz is wearing off.

I watch as Mariah walks down the hallway for the bathroom. I quickly turn my shoulders and tuck my head down so she can’t see me. When I know she’s passed, I slide out of the booth and follow her.

Waiting for her to open the door, I stand just outside it, leaning against the wall opposite the ladies restroom door, waiting patiently for my little enigma. The building ache is pressing against the zipper in my pants, ready for her. I hope she can handle it because it’s not going to be tender, not in the slightest.

She doesn’t take long. Mariah opens the door and freezes in the doorframe, blinking several times. Her hair is tied in a loose bun on top of her head, and she’s wearing little to no makeup, her pale skin smooth and breathtaking.

Mariah’s mouth is formed into an O shape as she holds her breath, startled by my presence. I’ve got many things I’d like to do to her mouth. First, I’ll kiss it. Then, I’ll fuck it.

I trail my eyes down her body and remember how good it felt to have her naked skin wrapped around me. But when I drag my eyes up to connect with hers, it’s her round, navy pools that hold my attention. They’re entirely captivating. I only smile. She will be mine again.

M
ariah

What the fuck? How the hell is Jason standing right here? And how the hell did he know I was here? And why the hell didn’t I notice his hot ass in a bar filled with old perverts?

He looks amazing, wearing black dress slacks and a white linen shirt opened slightly at the top. He looks exactly the same as he did last Saturday night, all brooding and sexual.

While my body coils with heightening desire, I attempt so very hard to get control of myself. His eyes break from mine and scan the length of my body, giving me the chance to get ahold of some sense. However, when our eyes connect again, I am smoldering over with need.

“Mariah,” Jason says in his rich, deep voice. Oh, Jesus, I think I just came.

“Jason,” I say then put the bar towel in my back pocket. I have to remain indifferent. I can’t let him know I want to drag him into this bathroom and ride him until I’m weakened with ecstasy.

“I can’t help but notice you’re on a break. Mind if I accompany you?” He stalks across the tiny hall and lifts my hand to his lips.

Hold tight, Mariah! Okay, breathe, Mariah! Damn… I’m a goner… again. Just like Saturday, he ignites my soul with a single, solitary kiss.

“What did you have in mind?” I’m not sure why I’ve asked because I’m not doing anything with him.

Before I can assess that resolution, though, Jason’s lips are fastened to mine. He pushes his body into me, and we stumble through the door of the restroom. I can’t help what he does to me. I am overcome with so many feelings my brain does not think right. I’m usually the levelheaded one, but when I’m in his presence, someone else takes over.

I push back against him and slam his shoulders into the door, then quickly push the lock button on the knob. My hands scramble to the buttons on his shirt, but instead of yanking it open, I quickly run my fingers over each button, opening them. Then he tugs on the hem of my shirt and yanks it over my head. Need and want, lust and desire; we are consumed by only those thoughts.

My hands find the waistband of his pants and quickly open them up. I reach into his boxers and pull out his steel rod encased in velvet. His cock is so incredibly hard, long, and thick. My body twinges, wanting to fasten itself to him.

Jason pulls at the roots of my hair, tipping my neck up to look at him. “Are you going to get on your knees?” he asks in a commanding voice. I look down once more to the huge member attached to his body. Holy fuck! That was hot, but how the hell am I going to suck that thing? It’s way too big and will surely unhinge my jaw if I try.

I must have been examining his dick too long because Jason waits no longer. He yanks down my black, slim shorts, pulling my panties with them. Then he plants his lips to mine and kisses me so hard it hurts. I don’t back down, though. I kiss him back with the same amount of force as I suck his breath from his body. My arms are wrapped around him, my fingernails raking down his back, while Jason groans into my mouth before breaking our kiss. As he grabs my shoulders, I worry I may have pissed him off until he abruptly turns me around. I plant my palms on the counter next to the sink then hear the tearing of a condom wrapper.

When I look into the mirror, Jason only smirks before he rams his dick inside of me. It’s not slow or soft like Saturday. It’s rough and possessing. My ass is slamming into his hips, the slapping sound of our bodies marrying with the panting sounds of our pleasure. With every rock from his pelvis, I’m climbing higher and higher.

Jason tugs my bra, freeing my right breast from the cup and pulls on my nipple, his fingers pinching my hardened bud and causing an explosion, leaving me in a sweet, glorious, satisfied state. The wave of pleasure sends me reeling into another dimension, crashing and coursing its way through my veins.

Jason rams into me a few more times and then growls from his own release. I look into the mirror once again to see his teeth gritted and eyes hooded. His body trembles as he, too, is overcome with pleasure.