Married to the Mobster

those black skinny jeans, the way he winds his body as he dances alone, eyes half-closed but with all eyes on him, the way he blocks out the world: it all suggests he’s confident, cocky, too sure of himself.
God, I love that type.
He turns just as I arrive in his space. “Nice threads,” I start to say, the candy high rushing through me and making me bitchy, but the words stick in my throat, because rising out of that stupid rolled turtleneck is the most beautiful face I’ve ever seen.
He locks eyes with me.
This guy’s face is the kind that hangs on the wall in the Uffizi: cream-colored skin pricked with the black smatterings of his five-o’clock shadow. His eyebrows are thick, straight, black as his hair, and his eyes are two burning blue stars staring out from between a fringe of thick lashes. They’re the same blue as the flame of a Bunsen burner, like fucking lasers or something.
“I know you,” I say, and I’m starting to see things swirling a little around the edges of my vision.
He smirks.
“You’re Lucifer fuckin’ Morningstar, cast out of heaven and landed here in the greatest city on earth.”
He grabs me then and pulls me close, pressed up against his body. I can feel the heat coming off him from under his clothes, and I’m hard, instantly. “What the fuck did you just call me?” he asks, half-laughing. I repeat it, my tongue tripping over my words. The drugs are hitting hard tonight, or maybe it’s the sound of his voice that’s doing my head in.
He sounds like rusty razorblades dripping with treacle.
He laughs again. “Lucifer? Close enough.”
“Hey,” says a voice next to us. Neither of us look away. “Hey,” the voice insists. But now I don’t want to look away. I know who the voice belongs to. It’s the Boring Bear, following me down here and trying to make himself look like a big man.
My devil in black looks at him. Gives him a hard, eyebrow-gathered glare. The bear turns tail and runs while Lucifer turns back to me with a charming smile. His eyes are still dangerous, but I like dangerous. “Dance with me.”
It’s not a request. I turn around, sling an arm around his neck, and give him my best booty-rub into his crotch. We fall back into the beat fast, and then I feel his hands on my body, up and down, exploring every inch of my tight silver pants and mesh shirt. He settles his fingers at my belly, tucking into the waistband of my pants, going no further.
I put my hand on his, encouraging him to go lower, lower, faster, hurry up—I’m already aching for him to touch me, but he pulls his hand away sharply and turns me around to face him. I just about get freezer burn from his damn eyes. He leans in towards me, his lips brushing my ear as he murmurs, “Behave.”
“I want your dick in my mouth,” I shout back over the music. His lips twitch, but he just pulls me close to dance again. “Why you playing so hard to get?” I ask in his ear, wrapping my arms around his neck.
“Why are you giving it away so easy?”
I might take offense at something like that, if I were the kind of guy to take offense. But I don’t mind being negged by someone as hot as this asshole. If he gets off on it, whatever. Guy likes to be teased?
I can tease.
I move with him, grinding against his thigh, leaning back so he has to grab me before I pull us both over—grab my ass, specifically, where I make sure it fits right into his palm. It’s working. I can feel it’s working where his crotch nestles into mine, feel him hard up against me. I’m about to turn around again and give him an upright-lap dance when he does this old-fashioned move, wraps one arm around my waist, and dips me.
“Alright,” he says, his lips an inch away from mine, and his eyes just about burning mine out of their sockets. “I guess you can suck my dick.” He pulls me up again and I let out my laugh, the one everyone hates because it’s too loud, too much.
But he just laughs with me, and the aura of light around him gets even brighter. Only then he looks over my shoulder, towards the entrance, and he freezes.
“Damn. Rain check,” he says.
“Fuck you,” I say back, and he finally looks into my eyes instead of past me.
“Sorry,” he says, and has the grace to look it. “But I gotta go to work.”
I put my hands on my hips and stop moving in the middle of the dance floor, ignoring the jostles of the crowd. “Listen,” I shout over the music, “if you don’t want your dick sucked, just fucking say that.”
Before I know what’s happening, he pulls me in for a long, sweet kiss, and then presses his forehead into mine. “You’re amazing. But I gotta take care of business first. I’ll come find you later.”
I want to say Fuck you again, and with any other guy, I would. “I might be sucking someone else’s dick by then,” I say as a compromise.
“Then it’ll be my loss,” he says into my ear, and presses his lips to mine again in a farewell.
And then he’s gone, the motherfucker, melting into the crowd while I can still taste him on my tongue.

Chapter Two


FINCH
I head up to the bar and slam a shot, wondering what the hell to do now. Especially since that guy is not someone I’m gonna forget in a hurry. Maybe he will come back.
Maybe he won’t.
All I know is, I need company tonight. I take another turn of the room, even accept a drink from one guy well below my usual standards, but I can’t bring myself to hook up with any of them, not after I had that glimpse of perfection. I can’t get his