Jesus, he was pretty."
"Damien. Six feet of concentrated Slavic sex. He smiled with a thousand teeth, silky, black eyes brightening as he looked at Bryan, “Hey what’s the deal? You said you needed me to come over?”
“Yeah.” Bryan started towards the bedroom, “The heater in my room’s all wonky. It’s cold as a motherfucker in there at night.”
Damien looked up at the mistletoe, “Oh, merry Christmas.”
"I found him in the club and wanted him. He was sipping something creamy pink out of a martini glass, bobbing his head to the electronica pumping across the dance floor. He barely hid his goods with those leather shorts. Now, I’m not much for guys that skinny—or guys that blonde. I like to be manhandled a bit, and little guys like him can’t really pin me down. As for blondes—well, they’re just overrated.
It was the ink. He had beautiful, stylized tattoos covering his body, colors so bright I couldn’t miss them. I got to the bar, “Scotch and water.” I took the stool right beside my prey, “Hey.”