Confessions of a Wanton

4 Zues

🎶 Bad to the bone 🎶
🎶George Thorogood and the Destroyers 🎶

I raid my condo grabbing my gym bag, throwing the clothes that would catch attention, but not too much attention, into it. Grasping my running shoes and my lifting shoes, cursing as I bring my clothes back out of my bag. Don't want shoe prints on my clothes. That's not very sexy.

Putting on my faded black ball cap, I place my headphones on top of the pile, glancing at the clock. He should be getting there within 20 minutes or so. If I cut through traffic I can make it a little after he gets started. I haven't had sex in two days. I'm getting antsy. It's been a little over a week since I'd last killed.

For some that seems like no big deal... for me, it's tough. I'm a bit of an addict. No hot-blooded woman ever wants to go cold turkey unless they meet a man worth waiting for or find religion. The way I am works for me. Well, it did.

I need a hard set in the gym to make up for my lack of action. Today's my favorite. Leg day.

I go hard and lift heavy, dressed to impress I have no doubt he'll be at least talking to me before the end of my set. Or maybe he's one of the considerate gym rats who will wait until you're finished before approaching. I rather hope he's the latter. Pisses me the eff off when I'm in my zone, and some meathead tries to mouth off or come on to me. Hence, home gym.

I reach into my fridge for a protein shake, setting it in my bag for later covered in the small container that will keep it cold. Warm protein is just gross if it's not mixed with something stronger.

I can't eat solid food in the mornings. It makes me nauseous and brings back bad memories. I usually work out as soon as I stumble awake, trying to lift the fog that my mind is always in after a night of nightmares. Best sleep I ever got was when I was at war.

Now, I sleep like a husband after I kill. I say 'like a husband' because let's be honest. Babies don't sleep. I've never met a married man who'd get out of bed to take care of a crying child either. Unless they needed a beating. No child deserves that though.

I groaned. This job is already messing with me. Changing my home, my sleeping spot, my gym time.... soon I'll be eating breakfast like all the other good folks in the area.

Not.

I'll have to come back later for the food. There's only so much I can take on my motorcycle. I'll come back later for my car. Perhaps I'll just buy a new one. A truck maybe.

Cover charge. Cha-Ching.

I zip the top of the bag, slinging it over my shoulder. Locking my doors behind me as I begin my journey.

Fifteen minutes later, I'm parked, keys in hand, about to walk into the double doors of his gym, and a hand shoots out to hold the door for me. I instantly loosen my stance ready for an attack. Instinct setting in. I turn ready for a fight when I'm met face to face with the current object of my killing obsession.

Damien Rylan Knight.

He's much more handsome up close. I can see the resemblance between Killian and him. They're almost twin-like in appearance.

My face burns slightly as my inner thighs begin to soak, thinking of his brother, then of this mans potential. I think... I'm really going to like this job.

Damien's eyes are an amber hue of dark honey, the kind that goes in erotic places and gets licked clean. They hint of laughter, safety and warmth. Killian's; silver, cold, perhaps even merciless.

They have the same skin tone, Damien slightly darker as I'm sure he sees the sun a lot more than his loaded, night crawling younger brother. Similar lips, Damien's slightly more full, pouty, fucking kissable. Damien also has a dimple on his left cheek that Killian lacks.