I retreat farther and raise my palms. “Listen, man. You look real cool in your Viking warrior gear and everything, but I’m not into the role-playing stuff, all right? I hope you have a great night.”

I slip into the crowd, pushing my way to the center. I’m not much of a dancer, but the space is so packed I don’t think anyone will notice. I breathe with relief when the cosplay wannabe doesn’t follow.

I’m not there long before a looker with straight black hair down to her waist wraps her arms around my neck. Her eyes glitter like sapphires, even in the dim light.

“I’m Alyona,” she purrs into my ear.

“Michael,” I answer with a grin, trying to aim for charming rather than lusty. It’s tough. In her leather short shorts and next-to-nothing camisole top, she’s curvy in all the right places, smoking hot, and just my type. She smells of lilies and sweat and all the things a man longs for, and her touch tingles against my skin. Unusual.

“I have a soft spot for men with green eyes, Michael. Especially such a pretty shade of jade.” My name slides from her lips with a foreign inflection, Eastern European or Russian maybe. I’m surprised she can make out the color of my eyes in the dark of the dance floor.

“That’s good because I have a soft spot for beautiful women.” Okay, a bit corny, but I’m thinking on the fly here.

She gives me a sexy grin, the kind that could melt a man’s trousers off. “You want to dance with me, Michael?”

“If you’re asking.”

“Oh, I am asking.”

For the next hour, I’m pressed against soft curves, heat, and sensual promise. The bar and its crowds become a distant blur. We don’t speak, but our bodies are conversing like long-lost friends, and when she asks me if I want to follow her outside, I’m not in need of persuasion.

She takes my hand and guides me through the press of squirming dancers, through a doorway, and out to the back of the building.

The alleyway isn’t the most romantic of places. It’s gray and dank and smells of bins and cigarette butts, but I barely notice. I’ve got an iron bar straining at my jeans, and my mind’s swirling as though I’ve drunk a lot more than three vodkas.

With surprising ease, she pushes me against the wall and, wearing a salacious grin, drops to her knees, making easy work of my belt and fly. She wraps me with firm fingers, the black stone in her ring glinting in the dull lamp light, and guides my aching cock deep into her mouth. When her moist velvet heat envelop me, the groan that leaves my throat is long and heartfelt. This woman knows her way around a man’s need. Her grip on my shaft is firm and confident. Her lapping tongue a sinful tease. Her mouth a haven of intense pressure driving me mercilessly toward release with ruthless skill. And every suck of her lips sends a tingling heat all the way down my willing cock. My head lolls back against the wall, muscles softening, hips thrusting gently as my fingers curl into her thick, silky hair.