Chapter Text
The music thumped too loudly in your ear and you could feel the bass vibrating in your chest, buzzing to the point of being too uncomfortable to even dance. Bodies pushed past you from every direction, each one grazing their sweat-soaked arm against your own and further adding to your pitiful night. Every seat at the bar was taken, as were the tables and lounge chairs towards the back of the club, and you briefly considered slumming it on the dirty, sweaty, sticky floor just to avoid standing in your heels for any longer. You'd lost both your friends in the fray of people about fifteen minutes ago and neither of them were answering your phone calls, but your phone was dying anyway, so you put it back in your purse and hoped for the best. When you decided to go clubbing your main concern was sweating out your hair, not losing your drunken friends and fearing that you may actually break an ankle from standing.
You needed a good night, just one. It was pathetic how alone you've been since your last relationship and you just wanted to go out with your best friends, dance, get drunk, and maybe meet a handsome stranger to make out with. But you couldn't find your friends, you couldn't dance with bruised feet, your buzz was rapidly dwindling down, and everyone in this club has either bumped past you or stepped on your toe.
In a moment of weakness, you lent against the wall by the bathrooms, strictly reminding yourself not to slide down to the floor because it's undoubtedly festered with bodily fluids. The darkness was one of the worst parts of it all because you couldn't make out any faces, especially with your buzz making things pretty blurry and unfocused. Who were you kidding? Going out to binge drink your loneliness away doesn't make you any less lonely. You blinked up at the colorful lights of the club, then squinted through the crowd hoping to be able to make someone out. Your perception was terrible and everyone still remained giant blurs of clothes and hair...with the exception of one person.
You blinked to make sure you weren't hallucinating, then zeroed in on the only clear spot in your vision. He wore so much gold it reflected in the flashing lights and glittered around him, on his neck and his wrists and in his teeth when he laughed. Of course, your eyes attracted to him, he was like a beacon of light - like royalty. He had a smile that made you want to smile with him, despite how much the corners of his mouth upturned like he was up to something devious. Your eyes followed him and his friends as they walked from the dancefloor to the staircase of the second floor. All you could think about was his walk. Who walks with that much confidence and assurance? Like he has a mission to accomplish and he knows he's the only one who can do it. You realized only a second too late that you were essentially being a creep because his eyes cut to you and you froze in your place, heart skipping a beat and throat closing up. The man winked, then smirked himself up the rest of the stairs. Once out of your view, you let out a long breath and instinctively held your hand against your fast-beating heart.
Considering that those four seconds of eye contact were the most exhilarating moments of the night, you decided that you had to find your friends and leave. You don't know where your sudden burst of anxiety came from, but suddenly you felt the need to rush to your friends and get home as soon as possible. You could feel it all around your body, tingling from your fingertips to your abdomen, the anxiousness is what gave you the strength to push yourself from the wall and start looking for your friends.
You search the entire first floor of the club, even having to dance around a lot of drunk, groping men to try and spot them, but that was a dead end. You glanced up to the second floor, suddenly feeling a sense of dread and excitement in a strange mix. Gulping, you start your trek to the second floor and in the process, you realize how unpractical your short, tight dress is for climbing stairs, especially since you were positive the person behind you could see your ass. You pull the dress down as far as it will allow without having your tits pop out with it. You knew you should've worn your damn jacket, but you let your clown ass best friends make the decision for you.
The second floor is less rowdy than those perpetual ass grabbers downstairs, so you glided through the room a bit easier. The VIP booths were located against the walls, separated off with a red velvet rope. As you start fixating on the idea of VIP, you hear a loud cackle from your right that is just unmistakable.
"Do you bitches ever answer your phones?" You greeted your friends with the passive aggressive question, but they both celebrated your sudden appearance with cheering and hugging, which you pushed out of because you were sick of them. They began explaining how they were actually looking for you and some other dumb shit about getting caught up with watching someone get a champagne shower, you spaced out for a moment as they drunk-rambled to you. In that time, your eyes wandered back to the VIP section, then lingered curiously. There were a few cool looking people with furs around their shoulders and expensive designer shoes, but no one looked that amazing to be in VIP - though, that could just be you hating.
And then you saw him again. He sat stretched out in the booth, annoyingly casual with a bottle of Hennessy in front of him. He only appeared vaguely interested in whatever his group was discussing, only talking if everyone turned to give him attention, then visibly zoning out otherwise. His concern lied in the hands of the skinny light-skin man beside him, a freshly rolled blunt that he seemed to be hogging. Through the foggy haze covering his area, still, he was the only person that was clear to you, everyone else disappeared in the mist and blurred.
You openly admired his hair and how his dreads were braided back to show his face. And the thick stubble around his mouth, you could imagine how pleasurable that'd feel grazing up your thighs. His large hands, you could see gripping your waist, dragging you closer to him as you writhed. He'd probably take your voice away, slap your thigh while he's eating you out if you whimper too loudly, deny his touch if you didn't relinquish some degree of control. You bite your bottom lip thinking about how rough you'd let him be with you and that's the moment his eyes snap to yours.
Startled, you turn back to your friends and hope to God that he didn't notice you blatantly fantasizing about him. You try to jump back into the conversation, but you can feel that his eyes haven't left you, you feel his stare burning into your neck. You glance back to him. He's smirking like your skittish nature amuses him. He nods his head to the left, inviting you to his table without any words.
"Our ride's gonna be here in, like, two minutes. Let's go."
"You guys go ahead," you make an impulsive, perhaps stupid, split decision and send your friends off. It's not anything you could explain, the way you felt like a magnet to this mystery guy, the way that deep down you knew you'd be making this decision. You were like a child dying of thirst in the tundra and he was the unlikely river you found seconds before your dying breath. Too good to be true, but you'd be damned if you didn't try to dive in any way. "I have some unfinished business with someone," you gesture discreetly to the beautiful man you've been eye flirting with. Your friends briefly glance, then nod in appreciation and acceptance before reminding you to text them your codeword that you're safe. You wave them off downstairs before turning back to your guy.
You notice he's made his posse leave the booth, so it's just him there, drinking his Henny, waiting for you to join. Your eyes never leave each other's as you saunter to him, letting the hard hip-hop beats of the club carry you with more confidence than you possessed. You easily passed through the velvet rope and walked to where he was sitting. He looked like he wanted to eat you.
Being in such close quarters with him was so different than you imagined. Here you could clearly see the golden fangs in his bottom row of teeth, the dimples in his cheeks, the spark of interest lighting his brown eyes. Everything.
"You didn't have to send your friends away." You flippantly point to the six or seven people who took to dancing nearby. He shrugged.
"Neither did you."
That's fair.
You stick your hand out to him politely and tell him your name. Your heart-rate speeds slightly once his hand is in yours, squeezing and shaking. His hands are hulking over yours, fingers thick and possibly calloused from work, and you can think of nothing other than those hands lightly wrapped around your throat as you reach an intense climax. You blush as your hands part.
"Erik Stevens." He replies.
"So," you clear your throat to fill the silence between you, "for someone with a VIP table, you look pretty bored."
Erik smirks, then quickly downs his own shot.
"Not from lack of entertainment," his eyes wander down your body, then travel back to your eyes. "This shit just gets repetitive after awhile. I try to keep it interesting."
You get a strong feeling that he parties often, probably picks up girls left and right and from the nonchalant look on his face, your appearance wasn't a surprise either.
"How you keeping it interesting tonight?" You ask. He poured some Hennessy in a shot glass and slid it towards you. You accept it, but don't drink right away, instead, you start sizing him up again.
"You've been pretty interesting." He says. It's such a line, but you still blush.
"How?"
"Shit, I don't know. I see you in this club looking irritated as hell, searching all over for your sloppy friends, damn near limping in those heels. And yet...you get this look on your face that's like...you don't mind it?"
"It sure as hell beats staying home and sulking the night away."
"Aw shit. What he do?" He asks jokingly. You laugh and playfully hit his shoulder.
"Nah, it's nothing like that. I just haven't been with anybody in a while. It gets lonely sometimes." You confess, but that's about ninety percent the alcohol speaking for you. Erik's brows raise.
"I find that hard to believe. You too goddamn fine to not have dudes swarming you left and right." He jokes, getting a small smile out of you.
"It's not hard finding them, it's hard keeping them. They usually don't know how to handle me." You smirk.
"How you like to be handled, ma?" He asked, sliding closer towards you.
"Oh, you think you can do what the others couldn't?" You asked mockingly. He could be talking all this big game and still have the weakest stoke of all time, you learned that the hard way. Erik shrugged, nodding as if it were obvious.
"I guarantee I'm better than the bitch niggas you been letting hit."
Your eyebrows raise. Okay then.
You couldn't ignore the dangerous glint in his eyes, the way his tongue dashed out to lick his full lips.
"That's a little cocky." You state, beginning to feel just a tad intimidated.
"That's what you like, though." His voice was deep, firm, sultry. His eyes looked into yours, direct and unflinching, almost daring you to try and disagree with his statement. He was right, you liked your men exactly like him - confident, dominant, radiating sexual energy.
"How do you know what I like?"
"C'mon, girl. You don't want these clowns." He gestured around the club, specifically towards the frat looking guys. "All unsteady, groping you, doing anything to show you they weak stoke game."
You giggle into your hands, relieved that someone finally said exactly what you were thinking.
"You walking 'round here looking that fucking good, you want a nigga that can handle all that, you said so yourself," he leaned closer to you, too close for comfort.
You swallowed. "...And apparently, that's you?" You sat up straight, crossing your legs with the hope of relieving some of your frustration.
"Damn right."
Though, something in his eyes told you that you'd regret it. That he'd break you apart and ruin you. You won't lie, there was confidence that you liked, but Erik's confidence wasn't too likable, it was uncomfortable and smothering and littered with red flags. His dominance didn't come from a wholesome place, you could see that even through a buzzed perspective, it came from him probably getting everything he wants. You were falling into his hands like putty and somehow he didn't do much to get you to drop everything and come to him instead. You don't know this man, but you know what a bad idea looks like and it's a smarmy grin on a devilish face that keeps refilling your cup. You didn't come to this club to get laid, you came to dance, flirt, and get drunk with your friends.
His hand dropped to your inner thigh, squeezing, slowly moving his way up. You gasp, trying to move away, but his grip is tight and he pulls you closer to him. His hands are parting your legs and you should be disgusted, but everything inside of you is screaming for his touch.
"That how you like to be handled, baby?" He asks, lips pressed to the shell of your ear. You felt scandalized, being able to see the crowd of dancing people and feel his hands inching closer to your underwear. You know your panties are uncomfortably wet and having him so near was making you so nervous, but so excited.
His hand cups your jaw, turning you to face him now.
"Answer me."
"Yeah," you whisper, eyes fixated on his thick lips. He smirks.
"Nah, none of that coy shit. Look me in the eyes." He says. "You want me to finger you right here? In front of all these people?"
You moan once he finally touches you, rubbing soft circles as you panted. You hold on to him to stop from writhing and making your actions more noticeable. He seemed to enjoy your squirming and stifled cries. His fingers push your lace panties to the side then push into you. You gasp, then drop your head to his shoulder as you try to control your moaning. His fingers are so thick and long, slowly fucking you in the back of the club. He laughs at you.
"Damn, you wet as shit." He thrusts his finger harder and you whimper. "You a lil freak, huh? Bet you been thinking bout me fucking you since you first saw me." You hide your moans into his black t-shirt, lost in a pleasure you haven't felt in a long while. "Nah, baby, I told you to look at me, c'mon, look up."
You don't think you can ever look this nigga in his eyes again, it's all too embarrassing. You keep your face buried in his shirt, gripping him, reaching for the orgasm you feel coming. His fingers truly are magic, you think as you push yourself into his thrusts. You could feel your orgasm building in you and you make that clear to him through a rushed whisper.
His fingers stop moving. You whine, looking up at him with a glare.
"I was almost," you pant, "so goddamn close! What are you doing? Keep going." You try to move on his fingers again, but he pulls them back.
The smirk he has on his face is downright devious and accomplished. He had you and he knew it.
"Hell nah. How bout next time I tell you to do something, yo lil disobedient ass do it." He explains, sucking his fingers in his mouth as he did so. Your thighs clench together.
"Who you think you talking to like that?" You ask, gaining some vibrato back in your voice. He's getting a little too bold on you, you're just trying to get off. He chuckles like the question was so funny. You roll your eyes and move away from him. "You ain't the only nigga in this club." You threaten.
"But I'm the only one who gon wreck yo shit."
You roll your eyes at the audacity of his fine ass. "Okay, even if that were true, that doesn't mean I have to put up with your nonsense and all this telling me what to do shit."
"Oh, so that shit's only good in theory? You talk about all them dudes that didn't handle you the way you wanted, then you find someone who can and you don't want it?"
"Maybe I just don't want you."
You move to stand up, but his hand gripped your arm, pulling you back into him and stopping you from further movement. You glance down warily to his strong hold on you, then to his eyes, crackling with an intensity you haven't yet seen. He noticed your worried expression, then loosened his grip with a laugh.
"You scared or sum?" He asked.
"Of you? Fuck no." You reply.
He glared at you for a good few seconds, then his lips smashed into yours. The sad part is, you didn't even fight it despite all your big talk, you pushed forward into this kiss and wrapped your arms around his neck. You pulled him closer, opened your mouth with his and sighed into him like a lovestruck teen. His tongue meeting yours made you squeal and you could feel his cocksure smile of accomplishment as you continued kissing him.
He pulled away first, eyes alight with pleasure.
"Lie to me all you want. C'mon, let's go."