Page 18 of Vengeance of Childhood Proportions (Till Death Do Us Part #7)

Chapter Eight

Mal

She smelled of crisp soap, something woodsy with a hint of citrus.

It surprised me, because I was used to the strong floral perfumes most women go for.

But I didn’t hate it. In fact, it was refreshing.

The way her skin visibly shivered at my nearness turned me on more than that entire experience in the bathroom had.

I was so fucking hard for this woman, which shouldn’t be possible.

I’d just emptied my balls into the mouth of stranger.

At my age, I should have needed a blue pill to get it up again so fast.

Yet here I was, ready to pound nails at the sight of that fucking owl mask.

In the lighting of the bar, I got a better look at her profile.

The black feathered mask was simple, but elegant.

Individual feathers stood upright above her eyes with diagonal ones accentuating her cheek bones under them.

The bridge of her nose was covered by four vertical feathers.

A black maxilla beak was bending over her nose tip and covering part of her philtrum.

From my angle, I still couldn’t see the color of her eyes. I desperately wanted to change that.

To her credit, she didn’t cower. I was a big guy.

At six-four, there was a lot of me. It wasn’t like we’d spoken much at our last encounter where I could confidently say she would remember my voice.

I knew I was being forward, caging her in as I was.

I was not the sort to sit back or beat around the bush.

I saw something I wanted and I took it—within reason, of course.

And this little owl? Fuck, I wanted her.

I could see how my nearness affected her.

From where I stood, I saw through the green mesh covering her top half and down her front to the cleavage outlined by her bra.

The rapid rise and fall of her breasts and the way her nipples tightened up was visible.

That minuscule piece of lace might cover her, but it provided no padding to keep her nipples from showing.

She turned her head slightly to the right. I backed off enough where she could move and I could finally see her eyes. They were a cool blue. While the shading paired with the color her hair was today, I had a feeling both were as fake as her name.

Head tipped, eyes on mine, she lowered her head down, put the straw into the corner of her mouth, and took a sip of her Dirty Shirley drink.