It was a hot, miserable night when we first met. I ventured into the city on business, but my heart wasn’t in it for a change. Every potential mark I targeted held my interest for all of five minutes. Some nights are like that in my line of work.
Sweat rolled between my boobs. I dabbed at my damp brow and stepped into the Starbucks on Canal Street. Venturing into the coffee house served two purposes—air conditioning and a chance to people watch. When I’m unable to secure a conquest, I like to duck into the place and check out the scenery. I’ve never been a fan of coffee, but I’m a huge fan of humans. The quaint establishments offer a front row seat to watching all of your quirks.
I hold my hair up off my neck and let the chill of the manufactured air work its magic.
It doesn’t take long for the floor show to begin. A scantily dressed female wearing far too much eye makeup and lipstick saunters up to the counter. At first glance, she appears confident. Look closely. Her discomfort hangs around the perimeter. She’s hoping nobody notices, especially men. The woman orders a macchiato, her attempt to be sophisticated.
The door swings open and a woman pushes a stroller through the door. Why on Earth is she here this time of night? If it wouldn’t wake the child, I’d clap for the ability of it to sleep in this atmosphere. The haggard mom wears yoga pants that should have been retired a few classes ago. I guarantee there’s a man in her life who wishes she’d remember she’s a woman first. Her whole image—dark hair in a messy bun, tired appearance in desperate need of make-up, stained t-shirt—needs a life make-over. She wears her frustration like a too-tight bra.
I take my eyes off the human train wreck and that’s when my eyes land on him. He’s a perfect specimen. The dark tank top he wore barely covered his sculpted chest and bulging biceps. A pair of cargo shorts hung off his slender hips. He had the body of a god. My fingers itched wanting to run through his thick, dark wavy hair. I shifted in my seat and worked my magic.
In a matter of seconds, a brilliant smile crossed his face and he was cutting a path to my table. My eyes dropped to his crotch—yes, he was definitely packing. I licked my lips and uncrossed my legs.
“Mind if I sit?” His voice was so deep it vibrated through me.
“Actually I do,” I hissed.
“Forgive the intrusion.” He turned to leave.
I cleared my throat. “But I didn’t say you could leave.”
“Oh?” He pulled out the chair, turned it around, and straddled it.
I imagined straddling his sun-kissed body. Be patient.
He extended his hand. I admired his long fingers. “Name’s Anton. Yours?”
“Not yet.” I smiled and grasped his hand, firm and calloused. “Call me Bella.”
Anton flashed another magnificent smile. “Bell-a, what brings you out tonight?”
“I’m very serious,” I said, my voice soft and dangerous.
He laughed. “So, you came out tonight looking for me? I don’t even know you.”
“We can remedy that.” My eyes locked with his and I winked. “Let’s get out of here.”
Anton’s golden eyes looked me over. I knew he liked what he saw—firm tits, perfect hair, shapely mouth. After all of my years amongst humans, I learned what men liked…no needed in women. “My place or yours?”
He placed his hand on the small of my back. Anton leaned in and whispered in my ear, “Bell-a, you could be a bad habit.”
A sly smile crossed my face. “And one you won’t want to break.”
Just another night in New Orleans for a succubus.