Twenty-Three
Magnolia
I’m gonna kill him. I’m going to stab him right through the damn throat with a steak knife in the middle of the French Quarter. It’ll be the second man I’ve killed in two days, but I think I might be fine with that.
But not because he’s wrong.
Because he’s right.
Motherfucker.
No one dares to talk to me like Moses. Not in a long goddamned time. And I hate that his words can have this effect on me.
“Go fuck yourself, Moses. That’s the only action you’re seeing tonight.”
That stupid, beautiful smirk of his stretches wide across his face until the even stupider dimple pops out. He’s gorgeous and he knows it.
He also knows I know it. He probably even knows I want to claw his eyes out, right after I claw up his back as he makes me scream his name. The visual bursts into my mind with the subtlety of a runaway freight train.
My panties are soaked. My nipples are hard. And I want to fuck.
Code red. Time to get the hell out of here.
I drop my knife, which is a damn shame considering how delicious the dinner is. Forcing some pride into myself because I don’t know what the hell else to do right now, I set aside my napkin and rise from the candlelit table.
“I’ve lost my appetite.” For food, but my need for sex is rampant.
He shakes his head, that piece-of-shit motherfucker. “Nah, mama. You’re just getting it back.”
“I hate you. All over again.” Those words have never been so true as his grin widens.
“I know you do. But I don’t mind. I’ll give you a hate-fuckin’ for dessert.Lagniappe.”
I can barely form words, I’m so angry. Frustration sounds like a growl in my throat, and I grab my clutch. “If I hate-fuck anyone, it’ll be at the club tonight. And it sure as hell won’t be you.”
With that, I march out of the restaurant with steam surely rolling from my ears.
Cheers and screams from the revelers on Bourbon Street greet me as I push through the doors, but there’s not a goddamned taxi at the taxi stand. I turn on my heel, dead set on walking home, yet I don’t make it two steps before I find myself spun around and my back pressed up against the building.
Moses isn’t grinning anymore, and through the raging inferno of my chaotic emotions, I decide to take that as a victory. If anything, I’ve defeated that smug smile.
“Just try it,” he says quietly, challenging me. “See what happens to any man you touch. I promise you won’t like it, and neither will they.”
A shiver rips through me, ending directly at my clit, because clearly, I’m a wanton idiot.
I lift my chin, defiance flowing through me like it’s my lifeblood. “What are you going to do? Kill him?”
The wickedly handsome grin of his is back, and this time, it’s deadly. “Over you? Absolutely. Then I’ll march him straight to the gates of hell myself.”
This shouldn’t turn me on. No. Fucking. Way.But he does. That’s how fucked up I am.
I lick my lips. “You want me that bad, Moby?”
He inhales sharply when I call him that old nickname, and then bites his bottom lip as if holding back from sinking his teeth into mine.
Good. He isn’t immune to me either. The scales have leveled out.
“Guess you shouldn’t have left and never come back. My bed hasn’t been empty in fifteen fucking years. You gonna kill them all?” It’s not entirely true, but if I get into heaven, it’ll be on the wings of white lies anyway.