Friends with Benefits

By: Amy Brent

Chapter 1

Steven





From my spot at the bar, I had the perfect view of the dance floor below. I sat with my back to the bar, my elbows lazily draped on its surface behind me. Beside me, my buddy Chance was ordering us another round of beers. While he paid the bartender—a tall blonde with arms jingling in gold jewelry—I scanned the dance floor and took note of all the scantily clad bodies that were just begging for me to approach them.


A young woman with short black hair and red lipstick caught my eye. Her skin glowed blue and pink beneath the flashing lights of the club, and she gave me a sultry smile and a small wave. I returned the gesture with a slight nod of my head and looked up and down the length of her body. Her long legs led to an ass that was hard not to stare at. She wore a short leather skirt and a black lace top, and her cleavage was whispering sweet nothings to me. She turned sideways, her eyes still locked on mine, and began twisting her hips in a tantalizing rhythm to the music.


Chance nudged my elbow and passed me a beer.


“Thanks, man,” I said, turning to my friend and tapping the neck of my beer bottle against his.


Chance spun around on his barstool and assumed the same position as me. “Spot any hotties worthy of your prowess?” Chance asked, shooting me a smug look before nodding his chin toward the dance floor.


“Perhaps,” I said, searching for the short-haired girl who had captured my attention. I couldn’t find her.


The club, Dante’s, was busier than usual. There were so many bodies packed into the place that the black velvet curtains covering the brick walls were nearly impossible to see. For a long time, the building had been used as a bakery, and the new owner had flipped it into a club. He hadn’t wanted to remove the old masonry on the walls, as the bricks were almost seventy-five years old, so he opted to cover them with plush fabrics instead. It gave the place a very gothic, intimate vibe when it wasn’t lit up with flashing neon colors and strobe lights.


There was suddenly a hand on my knee.


I turned to meet a pair of sharp green eyes beneath dramatic black eyebrows. It was the short-haired girl from the dance floor. Her red lips were curled up in a soft smile, and she was standing with one hip cocked to the side, giving her body a sensual curve that sent a shock of excitement straight to my groin.


“Hi,” she purred, one of her fingers tracing a circle on my thigh. “Would you like to accompany me to the bathroom? A man like you doesn’t come around often, and I want to take advantage of,” she scanned me up and down, and her green eyes burned, “all of you.”


I wasn’t the sort of man who ever needed to be asked twice. In fact, I usually didn’t have to be asked at all. This was a nice change of pace. I stood and took her hand in mine, winked deviously at Chance, and strode determinedly toward the restrooms. I led her through throngs of people dancing in clusters along the way. Most of them parted to make way for me; this was something I was used to. I was taller than almost anyone in the club, and I had been told on numerous occasions that I possessed a certain presence. Upon asking for clarification, I had been informed that I had the air of a man who shouldn’t be fucked with. I used this to my advantage, always.


The restrooms at Dante’s were elegant places—especially the women’s. I had been in it more than a handful of times. So, I knew where the girl was taking me when she took the lead and marched past the floor to ceiling mirrors on the east wall, past the high-backed, plush chairs in a row at vanity tables for women to fix their makeup, and past the sinks. Finally, she stopped at the door at the end, lifted her fist, and knocked.


Fifteen seconds later a blonde girl with a definite wobble in her step stumbled out, gave us a sheepish drunk smile, and continued past us. Other women were shooting us looks that were divided fifty-fifty between disapproval and envy.


The short-haired girl stepped into the handicapped cubicle, grabbed a fistful of my shirt, and pulled me in behind her. Before I closed the door behind us, I flashed the women in front of the mirrors my best devil may care grin. One rolled her eyes. The other four giggled.


When I turned back to the girl in the stall with me, she had already pulled her shirt off over her head and stood proudly before me. She was wearing a sheer lace black bra. Her nipples were hard beneath the thin fabric. I stepped closer to her, and she tilted her chin up to look at me. She wasn’t tall by any means; the top of her head came only to my shoulders, and she was wearing some damn high shoes.


I approved of her choice of location. We had plenty of space in this stall. It hosted its own sink and counter beneath a large mirror. I turned her back to the mirror strategically. I had done this before, and I wanted the view from all angles.

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