It was supposed to be one drink.
An indulgence really, after a shitty week working an equally shitty job for an even shittier person. I was up to my neck in cases, and the pile just kept getting higher every day.
This week had been more gruelling than most. I had been chasing a lead on a known drug dealer who was supplying his stock to impoverished neighbourhoods, as was always the case. While we had a name for him, and plenty of evidence to bury him for several lifetimes, nobody had a clue who the fucker was. None of my informants would talk, and anyone who turned on him quickly ended up dead. My boss was threatening to shut it all down if I didn't come up with something soon. He didn't know it yet, but I was working a new lead. So far, it was panning out quite well, but I wasn't ready to show my cards just yet.
I walked into the overpriced bar near the office with my bag in one hand, my coat in the other. I left the latter with one of the staff, and breezed into the dimly-lit, somewhat pleasant room like I frequented the place often. I zeroed in on a bar stool on the far side, where nobody would bother me. As soon as I sat, I had my box of hand-rolled cigarettes out and lit one, inhaling deeply. I let the pungent smoke linger for a second longer, then slowly blew it out, eyes drifting shut contentedly.
"What can I get you, ma'am?"
I swept my eyes open, caught the bartender watching me with an expectant grin. "Double of Patrone. Two blocks of ice and lemon wedge on the side."
He nodded and went to whip up my drink. In less than a minute, he slides it over on a coaster and nods at my thanks.
"Would you like to open a tab or-"
"Uhm, no. I'll pay for before I go. I just needed the one."
I wasn't much of a drinker. I was perfectly content with a glass of wine at dinner, if I was in a good mood. At social gatherings, I opted for a glass of champagne or a scotch. But I never had more than two glasses, lest I lose control and do something stupid. My reputation was immaculate, and I planned to keep it that way. The world was already hard enough on us prosecutors.
The bartender wandered off to tend to other customers, leaving me to enjoy the cigarette. I took another hit, then blew the smoke out first through my nostrils, and then my parted lips.
"You got a light?"
I looked to my right at the man who'd spoken and I blinked in surprise at the sight of him. I had been expecting another corporate type, tie loosened after a long work day. I imagined he would prattle on and on about his job, as if I didn't have problems of my own. Then he would brag and boast about his income, tell me how much his bonus would be after all the hard work he put in. I hated those types of guys. I already had to deal with that shit in the office, but I wasn't going to put up with it in my free time.
This guy, though, was nothing like that.
For one, his hair wasn't cut short to his scalp like the men who frequented this place. His golden locks were exactly that, and about shoulder-length with perfect ends. He had a full beard that was trimmed neatly to compliment his features rather than hide them. His eyes were the colour of a summer sky, a bit contradictory to the scowl etched on his face.
Attraction sparked somewhere in my sex-deprived body, and I found myself sitting up straighter. I lifted the pink lighter, watched as he took it with fingers nearly three times bigger than mine. I let my gaze trail over his hands - big hands, with clean and well-maintained fingernails - to his arms. A light dusting of equally blonde hair on his forearms, no tattoos except for an intricate band of tribal signs around his enormous biceps.
I liked the way his t-shirt fit his upper body, and I loved that it was an actual t-shirt and not a button up. It stretched taut from the breadth of his shoulders, the hard planes of his chest, and then loosened around an obviously narrow waist. Dark jeans hid what I spied were thick, taut thighs, and well-formed calves. On his feet were a pair of workman's boots, well-worn and comfortable, but as clean as the day they were bought.
My gaze swept back up to his face, the scowl on his face now replaced with a detached sort of contemplation. As if he were curious about me, but couldn't be bothered either way.
"Do you always look at men like that?" he asked, and I detected a hint of a Southern drawl. My toes curled, a sign of my arousal. I prayed the light was dim enough that he couldn't see my flushed cheeks.
"Like what?"
He placed the lighter on the counter near my purse, which brought him closer. Under the cloud of nicotine smoke he blew in my direction, I could smell a woodsy, sort of musky scent. Not a cologne, I knew. More natural, and distinct. It was refreshing, and I liked it so much that I actually smiled at him.
"Like you're undressing them with your eyes," he replied, taking the empty chair beside me.
"Only the ones brave enough to ask me for a light."
He put his elbows on the bar, and with a wave of his hand, beckoned the bartender over.
"Gimme a beer," he growled, handing over a folded note. "And I'll pay for whatever she's drinking."
I rolled my eyes at that last part, and was ready to tell the bartender to disregard the order when the sexy stranger turned to me.
"Am I allowed to return the favour? Since you think you're allowed to eye me like a piece of meat."
"Oh, you haven't already? Silly me. I thought you did that before you walked over here. Why else would you skip three tables of smokers if all you wanted was a light?"
He might have grinned, I'm not sure. He returned his attention to the bartender, accepted his beer and took a generous swig. I watched him swallow, his Adam's apple bobbing once, twice...
"None of them were as pretty as you."
I put my cigarette in my mouth, pursed my lips tight as I inhaled, enjoying the way his eyes glinted with interest. "So cheesy. I hope you don't think any of that corny stuff will work on me."
"Just being honest, darling. Not a single man in this bar didn't watch you walk in here on those legs, wishing he was lucky enough to have them wrapped around his waist tonight."
I opened my mouth to shut him down, but he cut me off by adding, "Or placed on his shoulders, if you preferred."
I clamped my lips shut, my rebuke dying in my throat at the image his words presented. I averted my gaze and took a dainty sip from my glass. Nobody had ever spoken to me like that before, and I wasn't entirely sure how I felt about it. My mind might be rebelling, but my desire had taken root and was blooming fast.
"Did I offend you?"
"No," I snapped, noting the mock sincerity in his voice.
"Good. Tell me your name."
I turned back to face him, frowning. "What's yours?"
"Axel."
I narrowed my eyes, annoyed at his flippant response. "Did your mother give you that name?"
"I wouldn't know. Never met her."
My frustration dulled at the edges, and I tucked the loose tendrils of my hair behind my ear. "Sorry."
He shrugged, never lifting his gaze from my face. "Don't be. You didn't know."
"So you named yourself Axel?" I asked, veering away from that obviously sensitive subject. I wasn't about to question this bear of a man about his tragic childhood when my pussy was doing a figurative come hither motion at his cock.
"Who better?" he shot back, taking another pull of the cigarette. "What's your name?"
"Sienna."
"Like the car?"
I nodded, lifting my glass. "My mother gave me the name before the car came out, though. She actually named me after the city in Italy. She thought it sounded pretty. My friends call me Cici."
A stubborn shake of the head, as if he disapproved of the nickname. "Sienna suits you better. It sounds a hell of a lot better on my tongue too."
I took another sip of my drink, anything to distract from the thought of his tongue. His wet, warm tongue licking at my-
"Long day at work?" he asked.
I frowned, confused by his question.
He nodded towards my glass, lifting a questioning brow. I waved my hand dismissively, the smoke of my cigarette following the gesture. I inhaled a bit of it, leaned away to sneeze.
"Actually, it's been a long week. Work is a bit crazy right now."
"May I ask what you do that's got you so stressed?" he asked, tapping the ash into the tray. He averted his gaze long enough to grab hold of his beer, then refocused on me. His blue eyes settled on my face, as if he was genuinely interested in hearing my answer.
"I'm a lawyer. A prosecutor to be exact," I explained.
"No wonder you're so uptight."
"What's that supposed to mean?" I frowned, clutching at my imaginary pearls. Of course I knew what he meant. I survived on three hours of sleep a night, a dozen cups of coffee a day and I never had much time to get laid. I was wound up tighter than a dead virgin.
"You should get out more, do something fun."
I chuckled. "Yeah, like what?"
He blew his smoke away from me this time, then frowned as though in thought. His nails tapped against the polished wood of the bar, and he raised both brows as if he'd finally found the answer.
"Exercise."
I ashed my cigarette, a smirk stretching across my face. "I have a feeling you're not talking about the vertical kind."
"We could fuck standing upright. You seem flexible enough for it."
I laughed, my amusement catching me off guard. He grinned at the melodic sound of my mirth, put his cigarette to his mouth and slowly inhaled.
