During my many nights here, I’ve noticed the male staff really take care of the females. They’re protective, and honestly, I fucking like it, because despite not knowing her real name or how she looks without a mask on, the knowledge that Birdie is safe here settles something wild inside of me… Something that snarls and rages at the thought of harm coming to her.
“What can I say, man?” I shrug. “There’s something about her that keeps me coming back.”
He narrows his eyes. “Far be it from me to tell you to chill, but remember, don’t start no shit and there won’t—”
“Be no shit. I got it, man.”
“All right. Room three. Have a good night.”
My lips lift in a grin as I let myself into the room. “I plan to.”
The lights are low, and there’s soft music playing as I settle myself down onto the center cushion of the plush velvet couch.
I sip my drink while I wait, my body thrumming with anticipation.
Luckily, Birdie doesn’t keep me waiting long.
“Back again?” she asks as she slips into the room.
I drag my eyes over every inch of her body. Her black and red hair is pin straight and hangs down to the swell of her ass, which is barely concealed in a mesh skirt so short it looks more like a scarf.
“How can I stay away?” I ask, dragging my teeth over my lower lip. “You’re fucking gorgeous.”
Her cheeks turn as red as the streaks in her hair, and I fucking love it. It ignites something inside of me, and makes me want to know just how far down I can make that blush travel.
“I bet you say that to all of the girls,” she murmurs, swaying her hips as she moves to the center of the room.
“I already told you…” I swirl the amber liquid in my glass, my eyes locked on hers. “There’s only you.”
She laughs lightly, like I’m joking. And honestly, I wish I was, because ever since the day I laid eyes on her all those months ago, I’ve become a man obsessed. I compare every woman to my Bluebird, and every single one of them is found lacking.
Their lips aren’t as pouty as hers. Their eyes don’t sparkle with mischief. Their bodies aren’t built like hers. Their voices aren’t the perfect combination of soft and raspy.
They. Aren’t. Her.
Instead of replying, Birdie drags her hands up her body as she winds and twists her hips.
I watch, enthralled, and blindly place my glass on the small table; the way she moves is twenty times more intoxicating than any drink.
The song changes and she moves closer, stepping between my spread legs.
Fuck, yes.
Even though we haven’t gotten quite as hot and heavy as we did my first night here, her mere presence still sets every single nerve ending in my body on fire.
“I could watch you dance for hours, Bluebird.”
She leans down and braces her hands on my shoulders, pushing her perky pastie-covered breasts into my face.
I imagine moving closer, drawing one pebbled nipple into my mouth, biting and sucking it before moving to the other. But I sit stock-still instead, because like always, she’s the one in the driver’s seat and I’m just the lucky schmuck along for the ride.
“Do you think about me?” she asks, swaying so close to me that her pebbled nipples actually brush against my chin. “When you’re not here, I mean.”
“All the fucking time,” I growl, my dick officially rock hard.
“Do you ever touch yourself?” She plants her right knee beside my hip before swinging her other leg over my lap so that she’s straddling me. “You know, while thinking of me?”
My willpower is a fraying thread, but I answer her anyway. “Yes.”
A small moan slips past her red-slicked lips as she settles fully onto my lap. I can feel the heat of her pussy through my jeans, and the thought of ripping her little skirt off and ramming my cock inside of her is almost enough to snap the thread.
“Bluebird,” I groan, clenching my hands into fists to keep from touching her.
She grinds down on me, swiveling her hips as she presses her core against my cock. “Sometimes I think of you, too.”
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Think of something unsexy, I command myself, but it’s no use. Birdie is eclipsing every rational thought I could possibly hope to have. “Fuck!”
“Are you mad?” she asks, pausing her movements.
“God no,” I reassure her. “I’m about to bust a nut in my pants like a fucking teenager.”
She smiles indulgently. “Because of me?”
“Hell yeah, because of you. You’re fucking perfection, and the thought of you touching your pretty little pussy to thoughts of me is…goddamn.”
“It’s the only way I can get off,” she confesses.
“Tell me.” My voice is rough, like sandpaper and gravel. “Tell me everything you do.”
She nibbles on her lower lip, and then palms her tits. “First, I play with my nipples.” Her small fingers pluck at the hardened buds. “I pretend it’s your hands, but sometimes I suck on my fingers first so that I can imagine your mouth.”