Blazing Passion ( Jenlisa Adaptation)

Chapter 1

What Lalisa Manobal sought was simple. What she needed, complicated. Woman. She had at least one a night, sometimes two. And she gave them what no one else could or would. The ability to scream, to beg, to cry. To come.

Making women come was her drug of choice and she was so addicted it was like air to her now. She breathed it in and out as she walked the dimly lit club to seek out another. The dark walls pulsed around her, throbbing with the powerful industrial beat. The music was there to encourage their heartbeats, to push their adrenaline onward and forward, and to mask their cries of pleasure. She felt like a hunting animal moving through it, with no need for words. Heated glances, intense stares, and eager touches sufficed.

She grew excited as she considered the night ahead. Would it be another regular tonight, or would it be a virgin? She liked to call them "pretenders of innocence," and she could recall quite easily what it had felt like when she'd been one not all that long ago.

She'd been shy and lanky, a young woman from a different country, freshly slaughtered from her first and last relationship. She needed a place to unwind, a place safe from things like commitment, love, expectations, and emotion. And she was curious about things that were unspeakable to most. She'd lurked there in the corner of the club one stormy night, her hair dripping cold drops of rain onto her bare shoulders. She was hoping no one would notice her but secretly dying inside for someone to. She remembered the fear. The excitement. The quick onset of hot lust as she'd openly watched two women nearly tear themselves apart in a frenzy of fucking. What tiny morsel of innocence she'd had at that moment had fled. It ran down her body like heavy water and snaked right out the door. What replaced it was need. The need to watch. The need to touch. The need to take.

Because no one was ever really innocent. Not there.

And the virgins came by the dozen. Men, women. Lots of women. Curious, excited, anxious, aroused. Soccer moms, housewives, business executives, and Bible school teachers. Lisa got them all, and they weren't afraid to tell her all about their lives, especially during the first few minutes when their nerves were frayed and exposed and they weren't sure what to do with themselves. They'd talk and talk until she had them alone and pressed up against the wall for a hot, long kiss. Then the subject would shift to her. They'd want to know her name, where she was from, was she married, how many women she'd had.

But names were dangerous and, for the most part, meaningless. They were for places like the market or work or saying hello to the next door neighbor. They weren't for her. And they weren't for this place either.

She'd center their attention by kissing them long and hard and staring deep into their eyes. She'd calmly tell them what she wanted them to do. Then she'd help them by kissing their trembling hands, tracing their inner wrists with her tongue, and nibbling the delicate skin on their perfumed necks. They were hers in seconds, burning fiercely aroused gazes into her eyes, experiencing feelings many of them had never felt before.

Those feelings were what kept them all returning to the dimly lit club night after night, week after week. There was no better place in which such desires could be carried out. Not homes, not cars, not alleyways downtown. No. No other place would do as well as this unassuming black building with its private rooms and private doings. It contained them all, encouraged them all. Providing them a protective shroud for the deeds they dared do.

Dirty little fantasies. Dirty little deeds.

But the place was quiet now. Darkness had yet to completely settle outside. The evening sun still slanted lightly upon those that were lingering nearby, spotlighting their every move. As soon as the sun set, though, the lingerers would gravitate toward the building, free to move in the fading light, throwing cautious glances over their shoulders as they pushed through the door.

Lisa pictured them as she stepped into her private room and closed the door. Even though she'd arrived a little early tonight, she didn't have much time. Quickly, she slipped off her slacks, blouse, and undergarments and folded them neatly. She put them in her duffel bag and then pushed it under the large bed. Her leather pants and vest were already laid out on the comforter, awaiting her. They felt cool as she slid into them, the soft leather lightly kissing her bare skin. She wanted to moan. The sensation was arousing.

After holding her eyes closed briefly to refocus, she opened them and took in the room. It was cozy but just spacious enough not to feel stifling. Every detail of it was her doing, from the mirrors on the ceiling to the different sources of light, to the well-stocked dresser against the wall. As efficient as it was, she made sure it felt warm and inviting as well. Women were all about ambience, and they wanted to feel comfortable and safe. Her first time had been in this room, but it had been cold and sterile, and when it became hers she'd made a note then and there to change it.

Her masculine cologne stung her neck in a long, cool spray while she studied her reflection and then finger-styled her hair. She flexed her jaw and noted the determined glint to her eyes. Nothing else mattered now. Nothing but this place and this room and those that she led into it.

Completely ready, she left the room to head toward the bar for her nightly drink. Two men she was familiar with were already seated there wearing leather attire, noses in their glasses. She walked tall and strong, and when she looked into their eyes they looked away. No one spoke. No one dared. The men especially. She had nothing to do with them, and that fact was clear, so clear they didn't dare speak to her or even look her in the eye. The bartender, a man she knew only as Cord, was the only one who did look her in the eye, and even that was only on occasion. He slid her a double shot of vodka and she wondered again what the night would bring in. A few other regulars? Pretenders of innocence?

She downed her drink and breathed deeply.

Two other familiar forms entered from the back hallway as she slid her empty glass along the bar. She knew one of them intimately and they both moved toward her now, hoping for her interest. But tonight and every night lately, she wanted to wait it out, anxious for those that might come through the front door. It opened as if on cue and another regular entered.

The day was dying. Twilight was here. The lingerers would be coming soon.