Wicked Lust

Chapter 2

The air felt cold all of a sudden and I could feel the anxiety of the situation escalating and nibbling on my breath. Everything would look like a drunk blur through my sober eyes, beginning to slump down to the concrete. The grip suddenly let go and I gasped, falling to the ground and recollecting each and every sense of oxygen I could inhale to calm down. Screams of a man in unbareable pain uproared. I turned my eyes hesitantly and saw the knife I had thrown out the window, being slashed into his chest over and over with his numb body laying motionless just a few inches away from me. I couldn't help but shake and questioned myself whether to look up at the man that had stabbed him. Without a single stare, I knew he was trouble. Alcohol odor, tattoos running down his arm and a scar across his collarbone on the right side of his body is all I recalled seeing before finally getting a good look at his face. He seemed to have shaven his stubble that morning judging by the little fuzz. His eyes were a shiny, dark hazel colour, resembling the inner caramel filling inside a Twix. Blood dropped from his finger tips as he knees down to meet me at eye level. I scampered back, terrified. He was trouble. That's all he was.

"You're that girl that was dancing for me, huh?" His amusing smirk agitated every bone in my body.

"Yeah.." I stood just as he did, "Who are you?"

"The guy who saved your life." He chuckled, pulling a cigarette out of his black jeans.

I gave him a quick nod before responding vaguely, "Thanks."

I turned to walk off back home, but the touch of his fingers wrapping tightly around my entire wrist pulled me to an immediate stop. His arms bought me closer and I stared up at him with the terror sinking down into my taste buds. Trouble. Here comes more fucking trouble.

"I expect an award." He pointed out, almost making me laugh.

"What the hell do you want from me?'

He licked his lips and had his eyes scan the heels on my feet all the way up the the roots of my dark hair. The way the smirk light up on his face was a simple voiceless answer to the rhetorical question I had asked him just a few breaths ago.

"I don't just have sex with guys." I growled.

"Unless they pay you you do." He took money out of his pocket and placed it into my hand.

"I-"

"Can't say no."

I looked away as he blurted that out, feeling useless once again as some man's play toy for the next few hours.

"What's your name atleast?" I questioned, looking up at his taller figure that towered over me.

"I'll give you the first letter. It's Z." He smirked and pulled my arm somewhat roughly, taking me to one of the private VIP rooms out back by the dressing rooms. His lips quickly met my neck as the door was kicked shit with his foot.

Z, as in the famous Zayn. I heard rumours about him and they weren't the most positive highlights. Numbly standing there, I felt his warm lips suck my neck as if it were an attempt to dig deep to draw blood. I winced a tad bit. sensing his teeth sink in sharpy without warning. From what I've heard, he's slept with possibly every stripper nameable in this club. All of them had agreed on him being amazing as a sex partner, but terrible at being a tender lover. His arms wrapped around my waist from behind, letting his finger tips slither down to reach inside the leggings and moving past my thong go reach even lower. I stared straight forward, still left in confusion. I heard he didn't care if he made you feel good or bad. My anxious feelings about the situation had me uneasy. Zayn wasn't going to be just any other client. He'd be the reason for my dreams and nightmares sooner or later.