Pros & Cons

It was supposed to be one drink.

An indulgence really, after a shitty week working an equally shitty job for an even shittier person. I was up to my neck in cases, and the pile just kept getting higher every day.

This week had been more gruelling than most. I had been chasing a lead on a known drug dealer who was supplying his stock to impoverished neighbourhoods, as was always the case. While we had a name for him, and plenty of evidence to bury him for several lifetimes, nobody had a clue who the fucker was. None of my informants would talk, and anyone who turned on him quickly ended up dead. My boss was threatening to shut it all down if I didn't come up with something soon. He didn't know it yet, but I was working a new lead. So far, it was panning out quite well, but I wasn't ready to show my cards just yet.

I walked into the overpriced bar near the office with my bag in one hand, my coat in the other. I left the latter with one of the staff, and breezed into the dimly-lit, somewhat pleasant room like I frequented the place often. I zeroed in on a bar stool on the far side, where nobody would bother me. As soon as I sat, I had my box of hand-rolled cigarettes out and lit one, inhaling deeply. I let the pungent smoke linger for a second longer, then slowly blew it out, eyes drifting shut contentedly.

"What can I get you, ma'am?"

I swept my eyes open, caught the bartender watching me with an expectant grin. "Double of Patrone. Two blocks of ice and lemon wedge on the side."

He nodded and went to whip up my drink. In less than a minute, he slides it over on a coaster and nods at my thanks.

"Would you like to open a tab or-"

"Uhm, no. I'll pay for before I go. I just needed the one."

I wasn't much of a drinker. I was perfectly content with a glass of wine at dinner, if I was in a good mood. At social gatherings, I opted for a glass of champagne or a scotch. But I never had more than two glasses, lest I lose control and do something stupid. My reputation was immaculate, and I planned to keep it that way. The world was already hard enough on us prosecutors.

The bartender wandered off to tend to other customers, leaving me to enjoy the cigarette. I took another hit, then blew the smoke out first through my nostrils, and then my parted lips.

"You got a light?"

I looked to my right at the man who'd spoken and I blinked in surprise at the sight of him. I had been expecting another corporate type, tie loosened after a long work day. I imagined he would prattle on and on about his job, as if I didn't have problems of my own. Then he would brag and boast about his income, tell me how much his bonus would be after all the hard work he put in. I hated those types of guys. I already had to deal with that shit in the office, but I wasn't going to put up with it in my free time.

This guy, though, was nothing like that.

For one, his hair wasn't cut short to his scalp like the men who frequented this place. His golden locks were exactly that, and about shoulder-length with perfect ends. He had a full beard that was trimmed neatly to compliment his features rather than hide them. His eyes were the colour of a summer sky, a bit contradictory to the scowl etched on his face.

Attraction sparked somewhere in my sex-deprived body, and I found myself sitting up straighter. I lifted the pink lighter, watched as he took it with fingers nearly three times bigger than mine. I let my gaze trail over his hands - big hands, with clean and well-maintained fingernails - to his arms. A light dusting of equally blonde hair on his forearms, no tattoos except for an intricate band of tribal signs around his enormous biceps.

I liked the way his t-shirt fit his upper body, and I loved that it was an actual t-shirt and not a button up. It stretched taut from the breadth of his shoulders, the hard planes of his chest, and then loosened around an obviously narrow waist. Dark jeans hid what I spied were thick, taut thighs, and well-formed calves. On his feet were a pair of workman's boots, well-worn and comfortable, but as clean as the day they were bought.

My gaze swept back up to his face, the scowl on his face now replaced with a detached sort of contemplation. As if he were curious about me, but couldn't be bothered either way.

"Do you always look at men like that?" he asked, and I detected a hint of a Southern drawl. My toes curled, a sign of my arousal. I prayed the light was dim enough that he couldn't see my flushed cheeks.

"Like what?"

He placed the lighter on the counter near my purse, which brought him closer. Under the cloud of nicotine smoke he blew in my direction, I could smell a woodsy, sort of musky scent. Not a cologne, I knew. More natural, and distinct. It was refreshing, and I liked it so much that I actually smiled at him.

"Like you're undressing them with your eyes," he replied, taking the empty chair beside me.

"Only the ones brave enough to ask me for a light."

He put his elbows on the bar, and with a wave of his hand, beckoned the bartender over.

"Gimme a beer," he growled, handing over a folded note. "And I'll pay for whatever she's drinking."

I rolled my eyes at that last part, and was ready to tell the bartender to disregard the order when the sexy stranger turned to me.

"Am I allowed to return the favour? Since you think you're allowed to eye me like a piece of meat."

"Oh, you haven't already? Silly me. I thought you did that before you walked over here. Why else would you skip three tables of smokers if all you wanted was a light?"

He might have grinned, I'm not sure. He returned his attention to the bartender, accepted his beer and took a generous swig. I watched him swallow, his Adam's apple bobbing once, twice...

"None of them were as pretty as you."

I put my cigarette in my mouth, pursed my lips tight as I inhaled, enjoying the way his eyes glinted with interest. "So cheesy. I hope you don't think any of that corny stuff will work on me."

"Just being honest, darling. Not a single man in this bar didn't watch you walk in here on those legs, wishing he was lucky enough to have them wrapped around his waist tonight."

I opened my mouth to shut him down, but he cut me off by adding, "Or placed on his shoulders, if you preferred."

I clamped my lips shut, my rebuke dying in my throat at the image his words presented. I averted my gaze and took a dainty sip from my glass. Nobody had ever spoken to me like that before, and I wasn't entirely sure how I felt about it. My mind might be rebelling, but my desire had taken root and was blooming fast.

"Did I offend you?"

"No," I snapped, noting the mock sincerity in his voice.

"Good. Tell me your name."

I turned back to face him, frowning. "What's yours?"

"Axel."

I narrowed my eyes, annoyed at his flippant response. "Did your mother give you that name?"

"I wouldn't know. Never met her."

My frustration dulled at the edges, and I tucked the loose tendrils of my hair behind my ear. "Sorry."

He shrugged, never lifting his gaze from my face. "Don't be. You didn't know."

"So you named yourself Axel?" I asked, veering away from that obviously sensitive subject. I wasn't about to question this bear of a man about his tragic childhood when my pussy was doing a figurative come hither motion at his cock.

"Who better?" he shot back, taking another pull of the cigarette. "What's your name?"

"Sienna."

"Like the car?"

I nodded, lifting my glass. "My mother gave me the name before the car came out, though. She actually named me after the city in Italy. She thought it sounded pretty. My friends call me Cici."

A stubborn shake of the head, as if he disapproved of the nickname. "Sienna suits you better. It sounds a hell of a lot better on my tongue too."

I took another sip of my drink, anything to distract from the thought of his tongue. His wet, warm tongue licking at my-

"Long day at work?" he asked.

I frowned, confused by his question.

He nodded towards my glass, lifting a questioning brow. I waved my hand dismissively, the smoke of my cigarette following the gesture. I inhaled a bit of it, leaned away to sneeze.

"Actually, it's been a long week. Work is a bit crazy right now."

"May I ask what you do that's got you so stressed?" he asked, tapping the ash into the tray. He averted his gaze long enough to grab hold of his beer, then refocused on me. His blue eyes settled on my face, as if he was genuinely interested in hearing my answer.

"I'm a lawyer. A prosecutor to be exact," I explained.

"No wonder you're so uptight."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I frowned, clutching at my imaginary pearls. Of course I knew what he meant. I survived on three hours of sleep a night, a dozen cups of coffee a day and I never had much time to get laid. I was wound up tighter than a dead virgin.

"You should get out more, do something fun."

I chuckled. "Yeah, like what?"

He blew his smoke away from me this time, then frowned as though in thought. His nails tapped against the polished wood of the bar, and he raised both brows as if he'd finally found the answer.

"Exercise."

I ashed my cigarette, a smirk stretching across my face. "I have a feeling you're not talking about the vertical kind."

"We could fuck standing upright. You seem flexible enough for it."

I laughed, my amusement catching me off guard. He grinned at the melodic sound of my mirth, put his cigarette to his mouth and slowly inhaled.

"If I had a nickel for every time I heard that line..."

"And how many times have you actually had to show off whatever skills you've learned in that weekly yoga class I presume you take?"

I lifted my chin, my pride evident as I replied, "Actually, I do Krav Maga."

"Yeah? And has that ever come in handy during one of your horizontal and/or vertical exercises?" he drawled, running a hand through his hair. I followed the motion, admiring the way his biceps bulged as his arm moved.

"Maybe. Though I can't say I've ever found an opponent worthy enough to unleash my full set of skills on," I teased, taking a teeny sip. I kept my gaze locked on his over the rim of the glass. He stroked his beard slowly, deciding on his next words.

"How strange. I seem to have the exact same predicament."

"Really?"

He nodded, just once. It was enough to convey the message. "You think you could take me?"

I had doubts that I could. He was built big, and I was at least a quarter of his size. If he was proportionate - I could bet all my life's savings that he was, you couldn't have that much confidence if you weren't carrying at least nine inches in your jeans - then he would likely split me open before we got to the good stuff. And I wanted to enjoy everything this man had to give.

He was exactly the kind of guy I usually went for. Blunt, confident. The kind of man who went for what he wanted and got it without having to lie and bullshit. I dealt with deceit every day, and I wasn't a fan of it.

At least with Axel, I knew what I was getting.

Well...

I snuck a look at the crotch of his jeans, but I couldn't see just how large his equipment was. The way he sat meant I couldn't see past his enormous thigh.

"You're blushing. What are you thinking?"

"Honestly?"

"Of course."

I took a deep breath. "I'm wondering what you're doing in this place," I replied, gesturing towards the room full of pretentious and phoney people. "I mean, you don't seem like the type to frequent Tempest. If anything, I presume you would be more comfortable in a..."

His scowl was back, and now it was directed straight at me. He obviously wasn't happy with what I'd just said, and a part of me wilted at the anger on his face.

"So I'm not good enough to drink here because I'm not in a suit?" he growled, his tone somewhat biting. I shrugged uneasily, looking away from that terrifying glare. "Because that's a little fucking elitist, don't you think, sweetheart?"

"I only meant to say that I'm surprised you would choose this place at all. I don't see your type... Which isn't to say that you're... I just don't know why you would come here when... Fuck. Sorry."

I could still feel his glare burning into the side of my face, and when he grunted, "Snob", I whipped my head in his direction so fast, my head spun.

"Well, fuck you too, asshole. I'm not a fucking snob."

He leaned back in his seat, folded his arms over his expansive chest and stretched his leg towards me. "Snippy. Must be all that pent up sexual frustration. I'm not surprised you can't get laid. You obviously have a rather snotty attitude and a dirty mouth to boot," he critiqued.

"Take that the fuck back," I hissed, leaning forward. "You don't know shit about me."

"Well, excuse me, darling. That didn't stop you from making bullshit assumptions about me, did it?"

I huffed out an annoyed breath. "I was curious, that's all. I've never seen you here before. If I had, I most certainly would have remembered."

Another blush, this one more obvious than the first. And fuck me, he's grinning now.

"Why is that?" he queried, sitting upright once more.

Fuck it, I thought. Why not just tell him the truth?

"You're an attractive man. It's not just about the way you look, but the kind of person you are too. I can appreciate a man who's comfortable enough in his own skin that he doesn't have to deceive to get what he wants."

His expression darkened with an emotion I didn't recognise, but it was gone so quickly I thought I must have imagined it. If I'd thought his gaze was intense before, it was nothing compared to the look he was giving me now. At least he wasn't pissed anymore.

"Is that enough to blow this shit joint and continue our conversation elsewhere?"

"Just because I'm attracted to you, doesn't mean we have to fuck," I retorted, crossing my leg primly over the other.

"Of course we can. Unless you're married?"

"I'm not."

"Engaged?"

"No."

"Dating someone?"

"Do I look like I have time for that?"

"I bet you have time for a quick fuck with a stranger you're attracted to, though," came the quick reply. He turned my chair, forcing me to face him, so I no longer had to turn my head to look at him. "Don't you?"

"Theoretically, I do, yes. But that doesn't mean I'll give in to my body's every whim and let you whisk me off to some hotel down the street."

He smirked.

"Well, okay," I said sarcastically. "We'll take your car down the street to the Marriott, where I presume you'll order an expensive bottle of champagne and a bowl of imported strawberries covered in chocolate sauce and cream?"

He grins wickedly, his eyes glinting mischievously. Something in the way he looked at me told me that he knew what I would want, how I needed to be fucked. He would give it to me, unapologetically.

"I wouldn't fuck you in a hotel, darling."

I arched a brow, waited for him to tell me some romantic ass shit most men thought I wanted to hear. And if he had, I wouldn't have refrained from expressing my disappointment. But instead of going all sweet on me, he takes my hand and places it on the bulge in his jeans. My first instinct is to jerk it back, but he holds firm. My eyes widen at how thick... and fuck, how long his dick is. I lowered my gaze, thinking it was just a trick of the jeans, but no. That's all him.

"There's a service entrance out back that leads to this nice little alley, quiet and dark, with no cameras in sight. Nobody would see us, but I guarantee someone will come to investigate because of all the noise you'll be making."

I gasped, but not with indignation. My eyes flicked back to his, and saw the intent in them.

"Do you want to know how I would fuck you, Sienna? Or are you content to let your imagination do all the work for now?"

I swallowed, my throat suddenly too dry to utter a single word. I licked my lips, noting the way his gaze dropped to the red-coated plumpness before meeting mine again.

"I would slam your back against the wall, and while I wrapped my hand around your throat, I'd push that tight ass skirt up around your hips. After I tear off your skimpy little panties and shove them in my pocket, I would push two fingers in your pussy and fuck you fast and hard. Right about then would be the part you gush all over my hand and moan for me. Unbutton your blouse, I would say. Take off the bra as well, I'd demand. And you'll do it, because you'd do anything for an orgasm."

By now, the crotch of my panties are undoubtedly wet. I could already feel my nipples hardening in my bra, begging for his attention. I was leaning forward, greedy for more.

"I would lick your nipples, suck on them, bite them. While my fingers pump your pussy for an orgasm, I would be whispering all kinds of vile things in your ear. Because that's what you want, isn't it, darling? You would want me to tell you how badly I want to push my bare cock into your wet cunt and feel you come all over it?"

My hand cupped his erection, squeezing my assent to his question. He grinned again, and he might have growled a little, but I wasn't sure. I was too busy watching his lips wrap around each word that came out of his mouth.

"After you come, flooding my hand with your cum, I will force you onto your knees and make you unbuckle my belt. Lower my zip. Unbutton my pants, then lower them just enough to free my cock. And while you lick my balls with that sharp little tongue, I'll be slapping the thick length of my dick on your face. Just a few times, to remind you why you came out there in the first place, then push my shaft into your mouth."

Oh, fuck.

He reached over, and I prayed he would push his hand between my legs. But he just grabbed the seat of the chair, drew me closer to him. We might have had an audience at that point, because he wasn't even trying to whisper, but I didn't care. I was hypnotised.

"You'll gag and you'll choke, but you won't ever pull away. You want to satisfy me, keep my cock hard. And I'm confident you'll do just that, taking it all down your throat and slobbering hungrily on it. It'll be close, but I promise I won't come in your mouth. I want to save every drop of that for your pussy. When my cock is slick with saliva, pre-cum and tears, decorated by your mascara and that red, red lipstick, I'll slowly pull it out of your mouth. I'll grab a handful of your copper locks, put you back on your feet, and turn you around. With your pretty face pushed against the wall, I'll tease at your clit for a while until you're begging me to fuck you. Do you want me to tell you what you'll say, Sienna?"

"Tell me," I begged, my voice husky as shit.

""Please, fuck me, Axel. Please shove your cock in my wet cunt." But I won't, not yet. I'll wait until you're trembling with anticipation, pushing your cute ass against my dick. And maybe, maybe if you're good for me and you beg me just enough, I'll give you what you want."

I didn't realise I was stroking his length until he removed my hand from his crotch. I started, my other hand reaching to pry his fingers off my wrist. But he closed his paw around that too, keeping me away from his cock.

"You can't possibly know what I want."

"Your wet little cunt is dying for a cock. If it weren't for those panties, the seat would be wet with your eagerness to take every inch of me inside you."

I almost came right there. As best I could, I straightened my spine and withdrew both my hands from his grip. My heart was beating so hard in my chest, I thought for sure he could hear it.

"You don't know shit about me."

He polished off his beer, crushed the butt of his cigarette into the ashtray near my purse. When he stood to his full height, towering over me, my gut twisted at the idea of him leaving. But it pissed me off too, because why the fuck would he get me so hot and bothered when he had no intention of fucking me?