Sinnerman

Chapter 2 Doctors & Devils

One Week Earlier

Ben had to have Armitage Hux from the first second he saw the man.

There wasn't a man or woman standing whom he couldn't charm his way into bed with.

He was a smooth talker, a lover, not a fighter. A flighty conquest right now would be just the thing to soothe the restlessness, this ache, in his blood.

He believed he'd gotten to a point where each shallow one night stand of late, left him feeling more and more unsatisfied after each go.

He could feel the once exciting rush of sex start dissipate quickly after each blonde or brunette bimbo or himbo he brought into his bed, or took back to theirs.

Or the married ones he fucked to relieve their ill-fated sexless monotony of the person they'd been wed too.

Even sordid quickies did nothing for him anymore; and they were always fun. Some rough, wordless fuck, up against a back alley wall of a club, or somewhere semi-public to get his blood pumping.

They had always used to be fun; making bedroom eyes and crooking a smirk at some easy girl, or guy, and that was usually all it took; not minutes later he had her dress hitched to her waist and was getting his pussy fix; or has some guy kneeling in front of him loving the line his big dick makes in their throat as he fists a hand in their hair and pumps in and out their mouth.

But now, like most addicts, his routine was quickly fading from being satisfactory. He needed something else. Something more.

In plain parlance, he believes he was experiencing what most normal people called, boredom.

Ennui. Tedium.

Whatever the technical term for it applied, insert here. And it was making him fucking agitated.

Unlike his more violent, twin, counterpart, there was some basic form of rehabilitation and treatment for his antisocial personality disorder.

Kylo had no hope but to continually be the not very charming, cold way he was. But with the right behavioural or talk therapy, and the right meds to keep some of his conditions in check, Ben had a chance at being semi-normal.

Whatever fucking pitiful way to live that was.

He'd coped with some substance addiction issues in his early twenties. Aswell as some anger management episodes.

He flattered himself he'd conquered that little problem with the odd joint in his office if his colleagues got way too fucking much to handle. He liked his lifestyle just fine.

He was a thirty year old senior financial adviser at one of the best stock broking firms in the city. With a corner office. He had two Porsche's, a ruthlessly expensive Italian wardrobe, a multi-million dollar penthouse, and an expense account.

He was richer than god, and hung like one too. That didn't sound like a bad way to exist in the world.

So this was how he found himself in his current predicament. Sat, bored rigid, in the warmly modern, clean lined, scandi-decorated waiting room.

The softly white washed walls teamed well with the dove grey settees and seats that formed the waiting area. Softened by black and white patterned rugs, with bright medallion yellow accents for a flare of colour.

The coffee table is crammed full of niche interior magazines, and there are candles gently burning some subtle delicious hygge lemon scent to infuse into the calm air about the muted space.

Ben flicked his eyes over to the front desk, even the curvy black chick - the receptionist - was dressed to match the room; in a yellow blouse and a long grey pencil skirt.