City Of Need

🔥5 ❤️‍🔥 Pandora's Box

London

I carry her towards the exit, then think the better of it and turn towards the bar. This girl is incredibly hot and she just stated everything she wanted. I do not want to rush this. I know I'm going to be thinking about her all the time. And I want her to be thinking of me too. That means not rushing but instead building the anticipation by making her wait.

I set her back down on her original bar stool, pick up her discarded shoes and set them on the bar in front of her.

She frowns and I can see her trying to connect the dots. Trying to figure me out.

'Vodka and tonic wasn't it Baby Doll?'

'I thought we were leaving,' she pouts.

'All in good time,' I smile and she huffs.

I order the drinks, slide her bar stool a little closer. She giggles as I do. It's one of those charming little giggles, almost a purr. The bar man places our drinks in front of us and wanders away without asking for payment.

Roxy raises her eyebrows at that.

'My friend, Hennessy, he owns this bar. He invited me.'

'So where is he?'

'He got called away - bit of an emergency with his girlfriend.'

'Is she sick?'

'Ha!' I laugh, 'Only love sick. They can't get enough of each other those too.'

Our elbows graze against each other's as we lift our drinks and our chemistry sparks off each other.

I drink her in. Openly admiring her crazy wild auburn hair. Her glinting hazel eyes.
I'm trying to make her blush. It doesn't work. She winds a finger in her hair and licks her lips. Honestly her hair is massive. It looks like she could hide grenades in there.

She sips at her vodka.

'You're not enjoying that are you?' I say.

'Not really.'

'What would you like to drink instead.'

She half smiles, then turns oh so slowly to face me, looks into my eyes, down to my mouth, and back to my eyes. 'You,' she says, as she slides herself off the stool and picks up her shoes. 'I'd like to drink you, please.'

Holy Fuck! This girl... she's a brat ... and a good girl with a need to please rolled into one glorious package. I can't believe my luck.

Rather than throwing her over my shoulder and running out the door with her, I place my hand on the small of her back and guide her out of the club. Once outside I remember her feet are bare. I slide one hand under her knees, the other around her back and pick her up like a baby. She curves into me as I carry her to the car. Then gives me directions to Jemima's flat as I set her down in the passenger seat.

The flat is in Camden, the club, King's Cross. Fifteen minutes later she opens the front door to Jemima's, turns to me and says, 'Welcome to my temporary world.'

I follow her in. This is not a flat, it's a ground floor pent house. Set on a gorgeous cobbled mews. I whistle as I take in the size of the living room.

'Jemima must be minted,' I say, looking around at the perfectly tasteful decor. The huge living room, the walls covered in art, the floor coated in a plush cream carpet. 'What does she do?' I ask.

'She's a Domme, like I said at the club.'

'But what else does she do, to afford a place like this.'