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What He Wants

By´╝ÜHannah Ford


I wanted to fuck her as soon as I saw her. That curvy little body was all tarted up in a tight little black dress, and those nice round tits were practically spilling out the top. Her dark hair fell in loose curls around her shoulders, and she sipped on a drink, her full pink lips pretty and pouty and just made for sucking my dick.

I sat at the bar and watched her for a while, biding my time. She was at some kind of party – bachelorette from what I could tell, and it was almost enough to put me off the whole idea. Women at bachelorette parties were a particular kind of crazy, one I wasn’t sure I wanted to deal with.

A couple of blonde women at the other end of the bar were staring at me, and I tried not to encourage them by making eye contact. Not that it was difficult. I couldn’t stop staring at that shapely little vixen on the other side of the room. Her dress hit just below the knee, and when she turned around, giving me a view of that gorgeous round ass, my cock got hard.

I was so transfixed that I didn’t realize one of the blondes had made her way over to me.

“Don’t I know you from somewhere?” she tried. I almost sighed out of boredom, but that was too rude, even for me.

“I doubt it,” I said, although it was entirely possible that she did know me from somewhere. Thankfully, I knew I probably hadn’t slept with her. She wasn’t my type – too blonde, too skinny, too much like a Barbie.

“No, I know I recognize you.” She motioned to her friend, another bottled blonde, to come over. “Alexa, isn’t this Noah Cutler?”

Apparently she didn’t think it would make more sense to just ask me if I was Noah Cutler. I took a sip of my drink and resisted the urge to roll my eyes.

From across the room, I watched as the curvy bombshell made her way to a table all by herself, peeling herself off from the rest of the party.

“Yes!” the blonde’s friend said. “You gave that speech at my graduation last year. I absolutely loved it.”

“I’m glad,” I lied. I didn’t give a shit if she loved my speech or not. College was bullshit, the kind of thing people thought they needed, when really, I hadn’t learned anything in college that I couldn’t have learned on my own.

I drained the rest of my drink and concentrated on the brunette. She turned toward me, pushing her hair back from her face, and I was struck again by her beauty. She happened to look up just at that moment, and our eyes met.

She turned away quickly, embarrassed.

I had to have her.

And then, just like that, I saw my opening.

Some dickhead guy was making his way over to her. Jealousy and possessiveness flooded me. She was mine. And I was going to make sure I had her tonight.

“Excuse me,” I said to the blondes.

And then I went to go claim my prize.


I saw the sexy stranger before he saw me.

He was standing in the corner of the bar, two beautiful blonde women draped on his arm. One of the women was bent over, whispering something in his ear, and when she threw her head back and laughed, he glanced up and met my eye.

I quickly looked away, embarrassed that he’d caught me staring. Men like him – tall, dark hair, full lips, sexy stubble on his ruggedly handsome face –weren’t interested in women like me. Besides, I wasn’t here to meet a man. I was here for a bachelorette party.

Not that the party was anything to get too excited about. I hated parties as a rule, and bachelorette parties were a particularly heinous form of torture. Especially one where I didn’t know anyone but the bride, who was a fellow law student at Middleton University.

I thought coming to this party might help me meet some of my classmates – Cora seemed to know everyone in our class -- but all it was doing so far was reminding me how much I hated to socialize. Oh, and making me realize that Cora, even though she was engaged, apparently subscribed to the theory that whatever happened at bachelorette parties stayed at bachelorette parties, because she’d been throwing herself at different men all night. Right now she was out on the dance floor, grinding on a man wearing plaid dress pants.

I took a sip of my drink – ginger ale with cranberry, my usual, because it made me seem like I was drinking alcohol even when I wasn’t– and tried to look busy. The last thing I wanted was one of the party-goers to come over and try to drag me into their dance frenzy.

And then, suddenly, he was by my side.

No, not the sexy stranger I’d been trying to avoid staring at, but another man.

This one was paunchy, slightly balding, and had hairy knuckles.

“Let me buy you a drink, sweetheart,” he slurred. I sighed. Men like him always tried to hit on me. They thought that since I was considered a “bigger girl” they’d have more of a chance with me. What they didn’t understand was that just because I was carrying a few extra pounds didn’t mean I was desperate.