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Insatiable (Insatiable #1)

By:J.D. Hawkins

Insatiable (Insatiable #1)
Author: J.D. Hawkins

Chapter 1


I walked into the bar.

That might not sound like anything impressive, but that's where you're wrong.

Let me tell you something. I can tell how a woman fucks by the way she moves; you can tell how a man handles business between the sheets by the way he walks.

And my walk says one thing very loud, and very clear. I'm the best fuck there is.

When I lean onto the bar, I don't need to get the barman's attention. The club's attention is already on me.

"Hey Jax," he says, sliding a beer towards me. "Brando coming?"

"Yeah, he is," I reply, taking off my shades and turning around to get a feel for the scene.

When you've been hitting the clubs as long as I have, you learn to read the signs as easily as traffic lights.

The girl with too many wrinkles in her tight dress? Her hair not perfectly straight? She's been dancing all night. She's not a regular – I'd know her if she was. She likes it all night, likes to be on top, so she can move at her own pace.

That woman who isn't laughing as loudly as her friends? Both hands tight around her glass 'cause she doesn't know what to do with them? She's been dragged out for the night. She's shuffling awkwardly, like she's cold. Like she's not feeling the heat of the club. She wants to take it slow. My breath on her neck, our flesh barely touching, every move a surprise. Probably shivers when she's ready for it.

The tall blonde bombshell – in the tiny black dress half her length - dancing to her own rhythm, slap bang in the middle of the bar? She's looking for the highest high there is. Right now that's the idea of having the whole club look at her. When she stops dancing, she'll size the club up herself, and pick out the guy who'll be prom king to her queen. That'll be me – if I'm still here.

I turn back to my beer, take down half the bottle, and feel a tap on my shoulder.

"Hey," the tall sensuous woman with amazing curves says. "Do I know you?"

I let her watch me rake my eyes over her, from the stiletto heels all the way up to the cockteasing shine in her eyes. I smirk. "Do you want to?"

She laughs with the kind of full-bodied voice that most women reserve for the bedroom. I check her out again. She's got the kind of ass that I would let sit on my face for hours, cleavage big enough to lose your mind in and then spend the rest of the night trying to find it again.

"You look like Ryan Gosling," she flirts.

"Maybe I am."

She moves closer. "Are you?"

"No. I don't wear make-up, and my lines are my own."

I'm debating whether or not to buy her a drink when I see Brando enter over her shoulder. He takes a few steps into the bar, spends a couple of seconds dancing up against a drunk girl, then makes his way over to me. He's shouting his order to the barman from across the room.

That's Brando's style. Loud, full of life, and always attracting attention.

"Hey, Jax," he says, locking hands, "you feelin' good tonight?" He shoots an appreciative glance at the woman beside me and she returns it.

Brando's from Brooklyn. He's got dark hair, dark eyes, tan skin, and he plays up his Italian roots every chance he gets. He likes to say he speaks French and Italian, but I think his knowledge begins and ends with the lyrics to old disco songs.

"Depends which girl I'm feeling," I say.

Me; I'm more about finesse. I like well-made suits that fit right, places that look as good as I do, and women with an appetite. When my clothes are on, I'm the sharpest guy in the room, and once they're off, I'm the kind of man who will make you feel like you've only fucked boys before. The kind of man who makes the pale imitations that follow feel like a compromise. The kind of man your mind will wander to when you're naked in the bath …

"Who's this pretty young thing?" Brando says, turning to face the curvy girl.

"I didn't get her name yet," I say, giving Brando the in. "But I was just about to."

"It's Sophie," she purrs.

I rub my left eyebrow – it's the sign me and Brando have for 'she's all yours' - and turn towards the club.

Dancing bodies writhe around me as I slice my way through the club. I let my eyes wander from toned legs to swerving hips. I run my hand across a girl's waist as I pass and she licks her lips at me. Another throws her arms around my neck and leads me to a corner, where she rolls her body up against mine like she's auditioning for a strip joint. She puts her lips on my neck, then pulls back and smiles. I smile back, wink, and pull away – too easy.

I'm toying with the idea of a threesome, between the blonde bombshell who's towering over her friends in the middle of the dancefloor, and the slim chick with an ankle tattoo.

And then it happens.

The entire club disappears. The girls, the bar, the music. All that's left is a woman with a body that's perfect. She's wearing clothes, but her ass is so tight in that skirt, the arch of her back so sexual, that looking at her feels pornographic. It's like a hit of LSD to the eyes, and I'm seeing a vision of the future. Wavy brown hair flying back in ecstasy, teardrop breasts bouncing in rhythm, my hands tight around that slim waist, guiding it like a loaded missile.

Remember when I said my clothes fit well? Well I could do with a few extra inches in my boxers right about now.

I get close enough to her to see her lips, and I'm already thinking of all the ways she could worship me with them.

She sees me, and I lock on to a pair of brown eyes that could kill a lesser man from ten yards away. She has a couple of friends nearby, but I don't give a shit about them, and soon, neither will she.

She's drinking a gin and tonic with lemon, and I'm jealous of the glass between her lips. I lightly grip her elbow, and she tilts her head up towards me.

"I saw you an hour ago, and since then, I've been una