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Behind my eyes, a theater plays out. My lips trace down a lean, tan line of abs, feeling him gasp to my touch. His long fingers scratch through my hair, begging me to take every inch of him. My hands drift along, down his thighs, but for a second, they’re more muscular. They belong to my protector, my roommate…
Until I imagine looking back up, into bright green eyes. Tell’s eyes.
He drags me up, wrapping long, well-muscled arms around me, nipping my earlobe with his teeth.
Whispering that he wants me to tell him my secrets.
My deepest, darkest desires.
Shuddering waves of pleasure rush up through me from my core. It’s a buzzing sort of orgasm, lighter and less deep, but so satisfying. The kind that usually leaves you wanting more, wanting to be filled.
And somewhere far off, as I drift into even more sensual dreams, I realize my hand slid down the front of my pants, grazing the tip of my clit in the aftershocks of bliss.
9
EVAN
Behold the classless rabble.
Take this man, Jonathan Hendrick. Completely useless.
A thief, a swindler, a drunk, an abuser, both of substances as well as his lovers, business associates, and his own children. A complete waste of life and space.
These are the kinds of cases that I hate.
I can't say no to any case out of hand. There is always money, and even more so, favors to be traded to an end that benefits everyone. Because favors make the world keep turning.
And I deal in favors.
Dreams.
Fulfillment of whims and desires.
My name is Evan DeSante, heaven to some, a mystery to most. I make dreams come true. I make wishes come to life, no matter how fleeting.
Sometimes the price is cash, sometimes the price is another favor to be named at a later date.
No matter the job, the one thing I cannot stand is a waste of life and a person who destroys dreams, like Jonathan Hendrick.
People like him make my job tiresome. Difficult. A chore.
I take my job very seriously. And I always get the job done. Now, I’d much rather enjoy my job, and for the most part, I do. Even when it involves eliminating someone. These, we take extremely seriously. They are few and far between.
I detest them.
Not that I have to do those dark deeds myself. There are always others to do that sort of dirty work who don’t seem to mind soiling their hands. Then I owe them, and then they owe me, and then it comes back around full circle.
Typing up the summary for those jobs is almost as unsavory as the details of the persons involved. I feel a sigh coming on as I look at the stack of other cases on my desk. If it were up to me, there would be a much classier, or at least less tedious way of dealing with this work. Try as I might, I’m still just a glorified accountant at the end of the day.
Which is why we make them think we are all-knowing, mystical.
We can’t have clients dragging us down to their level.
My mother would say I’m projecting, and that I need to exert more control over my surroundings. Control. As if she ever had any.
So she tried to control me.
Which is where I learned the unfortunate truth that come cases are terminal. Fatally so.
