"You should kiss me." Adina laughed. Ant Bianchi was the epitome of an insecure teen age boy begging for attention from the pretty girl he adored, "It's my birthday...you crashed my party...it's the least you can do." She positively craved his mouth. She wondered if it held hints of the liquor in his glass, would his tongue curl effortless around hers and evoke soft mewls from her lips, or did she just need to give up this misplaced crush she had on her boyfriend's indirect boss. Maybe, after she kissed him. Ant's top lip was barely visible but his bottom was a full half pucker that invited her to explore. He moved closer, "One kiss for the birthday boy." The tender skin of his lips brushed her ear and she shuddered, "Pretty please."

She wanted to concede defeat. She nearly caved but quickly recovered, "I was invited by one of your esteemed guests who just so happens to be my boyfriend...the answer is... no," Her lashes fluttered, "I will not kiss you."

He was irritated and possibly angered by her answer, "Jacobi," He swirled the cognac and took a sip. Ant Bianchi was a spoiled man, with twenty six years under his belt, without any familiarity with the word no, but there was something else shadowing his mood when he spoke about Jacobi Charles' place in her life, "There's one hell of a catch."

Adina recuperated from her momentary lapse, "He is a catch," She circled the man beside her, careful to maintain eye contact and an appropriate distance between him, "His body is sick...his tongue is wicked...his hands are sinful." She didn't like the sneer curving her companion's pucker but she continued, "I'm a lucky girl Mr. Bianchi, a very lucky girl."

The tip of Ant Bianchi's finger connected with the bruise Adina thought she had successfully concealed with her makeup, "Beauties like you should be cherished not dominated."

His touch was scorching, burning through the layers of bullshit she attempted to shovel, along with the constant lies she told. She was beginning to believe her own hype. It was true Jacobi was everything she expressed; he enjoyed bestowing pleasure on her body. He was never selfish with his time, money, or gifts. However on rare occasions when jobs didn't end the way he anticipated or stress remained in his muscles, sex sometimes turned violent, and those hands so very capable of bringing her to the cusp of pure ecstasy, often damaged her fragile skin beyond repair. She was partly to blame. The fault for their relational disconnect rested solely on her shoulders. He was in what he identified as love and she had settled until her dream one day came to be reality. Adina moved her hand to cover Ant's, "Mr. Bianchi," She allowed him a few liberties; an extended period of close contact, a brush of his across the exposed skin of her back, and a brief, momentary taste of her lips, "I don't need a knight in shining armor, I'm a big girl."

He grasped her wrist and tugged her closer, "Do you like it?" He held her tighter, "The seconds, minutes, and hours he loses control?" His icy gaze bore through her skin, "Do you equate his behavior to love?"

She shook her head, "That's funny coming from you Mr. Bianchi, how many wives have you made widows with one phone call?"

He didn't release her immediately, "That's business you don't understand."

"Believe me Mr. Bianchi; I understand a lot more than you think." She gave him her back and returned her attention to the bar. She didn't flinch when his hands found her skin again. She only uttered a simple warning, "Just don't Mr. Bianchi," She tried to establish a decorum of professionalism between them, "Entertain me for tonight...then we'll move on."

Ant disregarded her warning and stepped closer. His digits traced the hummingbird etched into the skin of her left arm, "Do you know what the hummingbird symbolizes?" He didn't wait for an answer, "Some say intimacy," With the slightest touch her skin quickly covered in goose bumps, "Others claim they represent sexual potency," His found her ear, "My favorite...the Native Americans believed they symbolized timeless joy and life...they embody the concept of surpassing obstacles and achieving what some may see as unattainable goals."

Adina reeled a moment from his continued displays of uncharacteristic affection. From the information she had gleaned about Ant Bianchi over the last months she knew him to be cold and vicious. There were no discussions of love unless they were centered on his seven year old son.  But there was something different in the way he delighted in the feel of her skin and the smile coaxed from her lips. She resisted the urge to swoon and fought to maintain her composure, "Please be sure to cite your sources."

The anger returned when his fist collided with the top of the bar, "You're so busy playing hard that you can't see ..."

She sucked in her breath and interrupted his rant, "I can see when an opportunist is spinning lines to get between my thighs."

It was his turn to disagree and dismember her argument, "You don't even get it," He eased on to the stool and motioned for another refill, "I could fuck you if that's all I wanted," He watched as the bartender filed his glass, "I could whore you out and make you think that was who and what you were meant to be," He took a sip of his drink, "I want you," He pointed at the open spot beside him and waited for her to sit, "The Adina Rush hidden behind hardened lines and cold black eyes." He continued, "I want the woman who loves art, music, and life..." He leaned forward, "The beauty that's afraid to live."

Ant's words struck a nerve and Adina attacked, "You're a hypocritical asshole." Her hands rested on her hips, "You take little shots at Jacobi but who puts the money in his pocket?" Her voice elevated with the surge of her emotions, "Whore me out, fuck you, your finger is probably bigger than your pitiful excuse of a dick."

The peel of the zipper cut the tension between them, "Judge for your self," Ant grabbed her hand and placed it between his legs. Her hand was unrepentant as it circled the impressive flaccid bulge, "Any complaints?"

Adina grabbed Ant's drink and tossed it in his face before she stormed off.  She needed a drink, a cigarette, and a cold shower to get over the firestorm Mr. Bianchi had ignited.