Slasher: Devil's Rose #10

Chapter 5: Iris Callahan

"Relax, sweet boy. No need to worry," I say to him calmly.

"I'm sorry. I just get worked up."

I glance down at his lap, remembering the way his cock felt in my mouth.

"Oh, I know that."

He chuckles and leans in closer to me which allows me to get a whiff of his cologne.

"What cologne do you use?"

"Ralph Lauren Polo Black. Why do you ask?"

"You smell good."

"Thank you. You smell good too."

"That would be my twenty-dollar Amazon perfume."

"I like it."

"I do too."

He practically stares into my soul, his body radiating warmth as he sits unbelievably close to me. His hand rests on my thigh, but it doesn't make me uncomfortable. Usually, I don't want other men touching me. It makes me feel more like an object than a human being. 

But it doesn't feel like that with Slasher. It's possessive and protective, but it doesn't feel objectifying. I'm not quite sure why this feels different than it does with other men. I don't even know Slasher. 

I have no reason to trust him, and I certainly have no reason to allow him to take me home tonight. I also am not one to just suck off some random dude in my place of work. I just have a gut feeling about him, and I feel like my body knows something that I don't yet.

Maybe I need to fuck him and get him out of my system. That will solve the problem.

"What was your childhood like?" he blurts out, a grin resting on his face.

"Oh, fuck off," I snark back, rolling my eyes.

"I'm a paying customer. What if this is what turns me on?"

I raise my eyebrows as I look at him, shaking my head.

"Don't use that against me. Don't be a dick."

"Alright, alright," he acquiesces, raising his hands in a surrender position, "I'm sorry for asking such a dipshit question."

"It wasn't super traumatic if you must know."

"Super?" he presses on, and I can tell he's genuinely curious now.

"Everyone has their shit, but nothing terrible happened to me. My family had their difficult moments, but I can't complain. What about you?"

"It was good enough. My parents were members of an MC-"

"Devil's Rose?"

"Yeah, how'd you know?" Slasher questions.

"Your jacket," I answer, pointing to his jacket lying on the back of the couch.

I wonder if that's disrespectful or not.

"Oh, right, well yeah. They dedicated a lot of their time to that, and I'm grateful because I haven't seen work ethic like that, but I felt on the back burner sometimes."

"But they worked hard because they loved you?"

"Yeah. They spent whatever time they could with me, so I understand the choices they made."

We don't stop looking at each other while we talk.

I run my fingers over the patches on his leather jacket, staring down at the skull and bones.