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Chloe Blooms 01

by CL Huth about a year ago in fiction · updated about a year ago
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Ch 1: The Bar

Chloe Peters wore her strapless leather dress like a business card for some exotic porn haven with the six-inch stiletto heels, slung on the bottom rung of her barstool, completing her not-so-subtle attempt to refrain from her typical dominatrix haute couture. How many Friday nights had she spent in those heels, tormenting simpering clients in the depths of her dungeon?

Not tonight. On a self-imposed Domme hiatus, she nursed a beer at the bar, while the heavy techno beat from the DJ’s spin tables reverberated through the wooden legs of her stool. She danced a little, enjoying the atmosphere wafting around on the slow currents of cigarette smoke. These were her friends, her people. They understood her lifestyle and didn’t judge.

“Hey.”

She turned around. A tall, good-looking bald man smiled at her. “Hey.”

He said something else, but the bass kicked up, masking his words.

She shook her head, cupped her hands around her mouth, and yelled, “I can’t hear you!”

The stranger frowned, paused for a second, then leaned into her, his lips against her ear. “I’ve seen you here before.”

Chloe rolled her eyes. Great, just what she needed, some dumbass hitting on her with an awful line. She spun on her barstool, but he touched her shoulder. Something in that light contact, his fingertips on her bare skin, drew a delicious shiver down her back.

“I don’t do this,” he shouted over the music.

Curious, she grinned. “You don’t do what?”

He smiled under the black light, his eyes sliding away. She touched his arm, and he looked at her hand, as if unsure about her intentions. “I don’t…” he wiped his mouth with his other hand, “I don’t pick up women at bars.”

“Really?” Cute, persistent, with a little something—actual innocence? — that piqued her interest. He shook his head. He hadn’t heard her, so Chloe reeled him in closer and motioned for him to bend down. “I bet you say that to all the girls,” she whispered in his ear, her words low, breathy.

He brushed his cheek against hers as he moved his mouth to respond. “Nah,” he growled, “just you.” He slid onto the barstool next to her. “Can I buy you a drink?”

She leaned in and inhaled him, warm and musky, the scent drawing invisible fingers deep inside her. Chloe licked her lips. “I don’t do this.”

He pressed his forehead against hers. “You don’t do what?”

She picked up her beer bottle and swirled the last bit in the bottom. “I don’t accept drinks from strangers.”

Her ‘stranger’ chuckled. “I can fix that.” He took the beer bottle from her hand and slid it across the bar. “I’m Denny.” He walked his hand along the wood and flipped it over, palm-up, in front of her.

“Why, hello there, Denny.” With two fingers, she followed his lead and walked across the bar and into his palm. “I’m Chloe.”

He closed his hand around hers, stroking the underside of her palm, and Chloe stilled. She stifled the breath of sound rising to meet this most intimate touch, but he saw it—did he feel her like she could feel him?

As he shook her hand, he rumbled, “So… may I have the pleasure of buying you another beer?”

“You want to go home with me?” Chloe offered, her eyes all for Denny. He’d set up a permanent place next to her over the past couple of weeks, and she found him refreshing. He was so…normal?

Not ‘normal’, because he definitely had his own quirks, but Chloe found herself actually enjoying his company without weighing his possible position within her lifestyle. No analysis of his breaking points. No contemplation of his fetishes.

She liked Denny for who he was, and while cautious, moved forward with a sense of confidence. She deserved a good relationship, and Denny looked like a prime candidate.

“I thought you’d never ask.” He laid a chaste kiss against her lips, restrained heat evident in those baby blues.

Chloe had a flash of herself naked, astride Denny like some dark cowgirl, and she had to look away to hide the blush. She took a long drag off her cigarette and cleared her throat. “Well,” she faked nonchalance, “if you wanna go, then…”

“Then?”

She dangled her keys in front of his face. “We should go.”

Denny snagged the keys and scooped her off the barstool. “Oh, hell, yeah.”

Too Spicy for Vocal, you can read the rest on my Patreon

fiction

About the author

CL Huth

Author of the award-winning "Zoe Delante Thriller Series", a three-book set available on all your favorite online booksellers. If you like dark paranormal stories, I'm your writer.

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