Evan

 

 

 

 

The blonde at the other end of the bar is giving me the eye. She's pretty enough. Big brown eyes, maybe a little too much makeup for my taste. Her skirts a little bit too short, her top a little bit too tight and revealing, her heels are two inches too high for her frame.

Regardless, I imagine the body beneath all the cheap clothing is rocking. Even if she is at least forty. Right now, I couldn't care less if she was sixty, I'll be inside her within ten minutes.

She keeps eye contact with me, a slutty smile on her face. She licks her upper lip and winks in my direction. The lights in the bar illuminate her high cheekbones, giving her a younger look. She bites that full lower lip of hers and the stirring in my pants lets me know I need inside of her right now.

I already know she's not shy, she won't care where or how I fuck her, just as long as I fuck her. She's the kind of woman who's a little wild in bed.

My favorite.

Knocking back my scotch, I straighten my blue tie and smooth down my dark gray suit jacket. I give her the look, the look that tells her, follow me, I'm gonna fuck you stupid. I make my way to the women's restroom. Not ideal in a nightclub, but right now, I don't give a shit where I take her, bathroom, kitchen, alleyway out back. It's all the same to me.

She slides through the door, I slam it shut behind her and flick the lock. This bathroom is nothing special, smells alright, but then I suspect most women's restrooms do. I wouldn't know I'm slumming it tonight.

Tonight, I'm not the son of a billionaire and his billionairess wife. Tonight, I'm whoever this cheap slut wants me to be.

She opens her mouth to speak, my mouth crushes hers. I don't need her to speak, all she is to me is a body I'm going to enter and then empty myself into. She could be anyone right now, old, young, any race, any religion. Women are women, and they're all the same to me.

Except one.

I spin cheap slut around to face the washbasins and mirrors. I don't need to say anything, she grips the counter and bites her lip as she looks at me in the mirror in front of her. I slide her tiny skirt over her ass, she's wearing a thong. Not a bad ass at all. Shame I don't have her in a hotel room, I'd fuck this pretty little ass until she screamed.

Her groan reminds me where I am and the fact I'm stroking her ass cheek like it's some kind of damn jewel.

Cock out, condom on, thong pulled to the side, I slide deep inside on the first stroke. She calls out in pleasure as I wrap my hand tightly around her long hair. I slide myself in deeper, harder, faster, one hand in her hair the other on her throat. If I squeeze too hard she'll pass out. If I don't squeeze hard enough she'll enter my head. I need to stay in control. It's all about control.

“Oh my god. Oh my god,”

That's right, slut, call out to the almighty, they all do.

A little harder, a little faster I fuck her. She contracts around me, screaming her pleasure as she comes. Good, I couldn't have held mine in much longer.

I grab her throat tighter, pulling her back against me as I succumb to my own orgasm. It wasn't spectacular, I didn't see fireworks behind my eyes. It was okay.

From the euphoric look on her face, I'd say it was pretty spectacular to her.

Aim to please, Evan.

I pull out of her abruptly. Toss the condom in the trash can beside the counter, zip up my pants and fix my tie.

“I can't believe we just did that.” She whispers more to herself, yet I heard it.

I don't give a damn what she believes. That stupid smile on her face, that pathetic giggle that's too young for her, don't mean anything to me. I didn't fuck her to give her pleasure, I fucked her to take it. If she felt pleasure, then great. But I don't go out of my way to pleasure random hookups.

Yeah, I'm that bastard.

“What's your name?” She asks sweetly while fixing her skirt.

I smirk and walk away.

Not one word have I spoken to her, and as for giving her my name? Not likely.

“Wait!” She calls.

I don't wait, I leave. I won't be seeing her again. She'll not even be a distant memory to me tomorrow when I'm balls deep in the next willing woman.

Such is the life of Evan Harrington.

I sound like a whiny fucking child. I have nothing to complain about, not really. I have a privileged life thanks to my very rich parents. I had an amazing childhood, I have a wonderfully close-knit family.

I work for my mother's side of the families huge, worldwide company, B.T.B. My father runs one of the largest editing companies in the world, Harrington Editing Inc. My baby sister is a rising star when it comes to her photography business. She's taken some of the most amazing photographs the world has ever seen. She has an amazing eye for detail. Some of her work will be in an exhibition next week. Not a bad achievement for a girl of just nineteen years of age.

Then there's my brother... My older brother Edison, or Ed as he goes by. Ed was a child genius, just like our father was. So smart that by the age of sixteen he was named one of the brightest young minds of our generation, due to his ability to invent a system to help drug addicts get through detox safely without them feeling like they're dying every second of the day. They would feel no pain but they would feel the discomfort of wanting the drug. After all, there is no machine that can be invented to turn the brain off of addiction.

Although the machine could tamper down the cravings and temptation, thus helping in the recovery of addicts everywhere.

Truth was commissioned all over the world and quickly made my brother a billionaire in his own right. Because his invention was ingenious, even if I do hate admitting it.

My father was thrilled, of course. His eldest child was just like him, smart as fuck and even looked just like him. By the time my brother was twenty-three, he was a double-figure billionaire in his own right. Fanfuckingtastic.

Perfect Ed never does anything wrong. Mister goody-two-shoes. Why can't you be more like Ed, Evan? Why can't you stop fooling around and sort yourself out?

I've lost count of how many times I've heard those words from my father. Not my mother so much, we always did have a closer relationship. But I'm a no good son-of-a-bitch. Or so my father told me last week. He'd never been so harsh before, but I won't deny that I expected it.

Three months ago, I had everything.

Three months ago, I had Krystal.

But like everything in my life, I fucked that up good and proper. I wasn't worthy of her and I knew it.

Why did I hold onto her for months?

Because I thought I could change. I thought I could be the man with the wife, the life everyone around me has. The life my brother now has. Husband, father. I'm never going to be that man.

I freaked and walked away from her when she needed me the most. And in all honesty, I just can't forgive myself for it, and I know she never will.

But what's done is done, I can't change any of it. She deserved better than me, and I hope deep in my heart that she finds better soon.

Krystal is a beautiful girl, a girl I fell for while playing a game of “pretending to date the woman my brother loves to make him see what he's missing.” It was meant to be a kick up the ass for him, but Casey, Ed's new wife, didn't want to play for more than a couple of days. In the back of my mind, I was glad because I couldn't take my eyes and mind off her best friend Krystal Bell.

I thought Krystal and I could have everything my parents have, love. My parents have been together for pushing thirty years. Each couple in my family including my parents have shown the kids in our family how to love, how to give love, how to accept love.

My brother found it a little hard at first, but Casey changed him, stole his heart. Krystal did the same to me.

So why in all of hell did I do what I did?

Because I'm a pathetic, useless, waste of space who doesn't deserve a woman as beautiful as Krystal.

And she is beautiful. Long wavy red-blonde hair, big blue eyes, skin like porcelain, lips of natural red, making her look like a modern day snow white – minus the dark hair, of course. And for her faults – not that she had any in my opinion – she actually loved me.

Yeah, well, she's gone now so stop dwelling on what you had and move on to the next one.