Stolen Love (Beauty in the Stolen 3)

When I throw back my head to finish what’s left of the beer, the door opens. I tense, but it’s only a woman—a hooker, by the looks of her. Tight top, short skirt, and fuck-me heels. Small tits and round ass. Normally, I wouldn’t have spared her a second glance, but it’s the way my cock takes notice that stills me. Small tits and a round ass are my preferences, but the black hair and short cut are all wrong. So are the whiff of cheap perfume and the green eyes she fixes on me as she slides onto the bar stool next to mine.

In a second flat, I’m hard. Tonight of all nights, my cocks decides the sabbatical is over. It makes me curious about her. I’m not planning on giving her business, but my interest is piqued.

She parts luscious, shiny lips and asks in an accent I can’t place, “Aren’t you gonna buy me a drink?” as she plonks a glitzy bag on the counter.

My gaze is drawn to the ugly, shiny evening bag before dropping to her pale thighs. When I look back at her face, I catch her knowing smirk. She knows she makes men hard.

“What would you like?” I ask.

“Whatever you’re having.”

I signal the bar lady. “A beer for my neighbor.”

Her smile is seductive. “I’m glad you didn’t say for the lady.”

My balls draw so tight they’re just about knotted. For a hooker I don’t know from Adam. For black and green, not blond and blue. “Aren’t you? A lady?”

“No,” she drawls, giving me a heated look.

This is where Leon would tell me to go for it. If he were in my shoes, he’d be on her in the blink of an eye. He’d tell me to break the dry spell and get it over with, but for as long as love is inked on my skin, I can’t. That word may just as well be carved on my heart, and my heart belongs to someone else. For better or worse. In life and death.

Probably sensing that my interest is dwindling in spite of my thickening cock, she quickly adds, “But I can be anything you want me to be.”

“Hard up for money?”

I take another drink from my beer. She hasn’t touched hers yet.

“Maybe I’m hard up for something else,” she says.

I don’t want to insult her by throwing bills in her face, but, “I can give you some. Money, that is. You don’t need to sell anything for it.”

Annoyance flashes across her face. “I don’t need your money.”

Right. That’s not what her clothes say. “Don’t take it personally.”

“Take what personally?” she asks with more sparks of anger.

My cock twitches. Fuck. Her sassy attitude is only making me harder, making letting her down more difficult. “The rejection.”

She smiles, although I get the impression she’d rather utter a snort. She looks pointedly at the bulge in my jeans. “I know you want me.”

“Yeah, well.” I press the neck of the bottle against my lips. “Wanting and taking are two different things.”

Her cheeks flush a little. I can’t say if it’s from anger or arousal, but I do know it’s not from embarrassment. This girl doesn’t feel bad about herself. That’s not the vibe I get. She’s confident. She’ll be confident about sex. Fuck. I need to stop thinking about sex. I definitely shouldn’t imagine what her pussy will taste and look like.

Rolling my shoulders, I shrug off the untimely turn-on of her presence. There are a lot of hookers around, but most of them are on the more glamorous Zambian side of the border. They have a blooming market in tourists. There was a time when Leon, Ruben, and I cashed in on that availability, but that was before I stole myself a girlfriend.

As always, my chest tightens at the notion. I push it away almost brusquely, unwilling to drown in that pain just yet. That’s for later when I’m stinking drunk. For now, I focus on the surprising scrap of a human being next to me who would be much safer and better off servicing the clientele at the higher-end-of-the-scale bars at the casino. What the fuck is she doing in this dump?

Unable to stop myself, I ask, “Do you need a ride somewhere?”

Streetwise or not, it’s not safe to let her hang around here on her own. Already, the guys at the bar are ogling her. Even some of the older men are sporting wood.

She rests her chin in her hand. “Where did you have in mind?”

“Where are you staying?”

“Motel.” She flicks her head in that direction. “I have a room. It’s just across the road.”

I turn in my seat, facing her squarely. “I’ll walk you home, see that you get in safely, but nothing is going to happen. Understand?”

She bats her fake eyelashes. “Okay. If you say so.”