“You getting out?” the cabbie asked.
Kat didn’t answer, afraid she’d order him to turn around and retrace their path. But back at home she’d be faced with the same problem, an article due and no material to write it. Drawing a deep breath, she fished inside her tiny purse, then shoved a twenty toward the driver. Getting into character, she slid from the car and steadied herself upon four–inch spiky heels on the sidewalk.
Above her, the pink neon sign read The Night Kitty, though in reality all men knew that kitty meant pussy and pussy meant sex. Come here, the sign called, and you’ll be assured pleasure. Kat squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, and sashayed to the door mustering false confidence. She slipped into the dark smoky interior.
The scent of cigarettes, alcohol, sweat, and endorphins all tuned and primed for fucking crashed around her like a sensual wave. Bass throbbed a heavy beat that blared from the surrounding speakers. A nervous slither crept down Kat’s spine as she kept herself from finding the nearest exit. She hadn’t been to a place like this since her early years of college, but even then she’d had girlfriends to accompany her.
She was alone now, playing a role. Creating a façade. She stepped forward, determined to see her plan unfold.
Fine–ass men littered the room. A most beautiful specimen of male flesh stood alone across the dance floor from her. Yummy enough to be a cover model. LL Cool J–fine. Sex appeal of Wesley Snipes. She’d be happy with a piece of him.
Turning away, the crush of bodies hindered her slow advance to the bar.
“Give me a shot,” Kat said to a young man standing behind the counter who looked too young to drink, let alone serve the stuff.
“A shot of what?” he asked.
“It doesn’t matter. Just get me tipsy and fast.”
“Not a prob,” he replied, reaching beneath the smooth surface of the bar and withdrawing a shot glass, which he then filled with a blue liquid, fuller than the standard two fingers. “Enjoy.” He slid the glass in her direction.
“What is it?” Please be strong!
“Does it matter?” he asked, a lopsided grin spreading over his lips.
“Nope.” She grabbed the glass and downed the contents in one smooth motion, not even gasping as the fiery liquid slid down her throat.
“Can I get you anything else?”
“Yeah, another,” she replied, lifting her empty glass.
It was quickly refilled.
“Thanks.” She downed the second serving, left the empty glass on the bar along with another twenty, and walked toward the flashing lights and couples crowded on the dance floor. Stud though he may be, the bartender was on duty and with the blue fluid already making her feel more at ease, she needed material now.
Kat inched her way around the room, watching the couples bumping and grinding on the floor, a planned seduction—foreplay—in view of everyone. Good stuff she filed away in her memory for future articles.
With groping hands, men held women to their groins, hiding the swell that undoubtedly pulsated there. With bodies rubbing, palms were tightly held to feminine hips. In the center of the dance floor the couples took it one step further, backs arched, the women allowed the men access to their necks and breasts, the steady rhythm of their dancing a mimic to fucking.
“What was in that drink?” she mumbled, suddenly aware of how her black thong rubbed against her clit as she walked. She shifted her hips, completing the tantalizing contact. Her pussy became damp, moisture pooled at her crotch and she could feel the telltale evidence of her arousal slick on her inner thighs.
Glancing back at the bar, Kat had to wonder if something had been slipped into her drink. Booze alone had never made her this horny. But she’d watched the entire time as the drink was poured into the glass right before she’d emptied it. Nothing had been added.
The blue liquid she’d swallowed quickly shed the last of her inhibitions. It was unlike anything she’d ever tasted, a heady combination mixed with her resolve to get laid that made her almost desperate for the right man to come along.
Her made–up persona offered her a newly found freedom. She shrugged off the euphoria of her sexual charge and she focused on her mission. It was made easier by the slight alcohol induced lulling of her fear.
She studied the dimly lit room, searching for a man not already coupled. For the hunk she’d seen at the beginning of the Too Short song.
“You here alone?” a husky voice asked her from behind.
Warmth spread across Kat’s skin as the height and breadth of his body closed in behind her, more solid than the wall had been.
She need not bother to turn around, for she’d watched the advance of the man as he’d made his way from across the room, working the border as if he could remain unnoticed. Like hell—every available female in the joint had to be primed for a piece of ass from this guy.
How’d I get so lucky? She’d wanted him from the moment she’d seen him.
Through the pump of music their words were barely audible. “Not anymore,” she answered, hoping he didn’t hear the tiny hitch on her voice as she struggled to keep the real Kat hidden.
He stood a good six inches taller than her, his masculine presence as heady as the drink she’d consumed. Taking a deep breath, she leaned her back toward him and was surprised to feel an impressive length of aroused cock nudge against the small of her back. She shifted her hips against the erection eliciting a grumble from the man behind her, though most definitely not a complaint.
“What’s your name?”
Biting her bottom lip, Kat thought about her reply. This wasn’t her. She was a wallflower. A self–made recluse who made a habit of avoiding the public. This was a woman she’d created, and as ballsy as she was feeling, delving into real names meant revealing a part of her she didn’t want to face tomorrow. “I don’t want you to call me in the morning.”
For a moment only the incredible hum of drums could be heard above the steady breathing of the man. His warm breath on the back of her neck sent her nipples aching. He knew what she wanted. They both wanted the same thing. Was he going to walk away? Did the fact she’d turned the table on men’s usual tactics make him think twice before taking their experimental material forward?
In answer to her silent questions, one of his large palms snaked across her lower stomach. With a slight tug, he brought her back flush against his chest, his seeking fingers caressing the hem of her suede ultra–miniskirt.
“Do you want to dance?” he whispered in her ear.
“No.” Breathing was now difficult. The dance floor, though a good place for foreplay, was not nearly private enough for what Kat had in mind.
“What do you want then?”
“I want your cock inside of me, now.”
Jamal felt like laughing. He didn’t go to bars to pick up on women, but here he was now, with this little hottie tucked against his chest telling him she wanted a good bang. He’d seen her the moment she’d entered the bar, a Fly–Girl with a J–Lo booty.
He smoothed his fingers along the hem of her skirt, barely touching the silken brown skin covering thick, juicy thighs. Her legs jetted a mile to the floor. Her calves and feet were encased in tall, black leather boots, tipped with heels high enough to make any man with testosterone beg for mercy.
Dressed