Page 10 of Last Minion Standing
The doors of the arena opened, and an eye-popping amount of half-clad men and demons came rushing out. My jaw dropped. Surely not all of these males wanted the position of minion. Talk about flattering. And hot.
Indecent amounts of bare flesh ran around hacking and slashing in a free-for-all, cheered on by a bloodthirsty crowd.
Some of the contenders sported weapons like swords and knives, a few flailed whips, some resorted to their bare fists, and others just used themselves, which, in the case of demons and shapeshifters, could be deadlier than any weapon forged.
Riveted, I watched as sweaty, muscled bodies slugged and kicked. Talk about an early birthday present way better than any strip club. Before long, I found my eyes caught by one particular figure—a familiar one. Surely it couldn’t be.
I leaned forward and didn’t know whether I should curse or cheer, for flattening a goodly amount of applicants was Drake. Once again shoeless and shirtless, his body gleamed with perspiration, and his muscles rippled as he competed. Despite my irritation with his treatment of me, I found myself silently cheering him.
I couldn’t have said how long the all-out brawl lasted, but when it came down to five males still standing, a bell rang, and the fighting stopped.
A flurry of minor demons flew into the ring and cleared the groaning, bleeding, and, in some cases, unconscious bodies out of the way. The five remaining contestants formed a line in front of me, and I got a chance to see who had prevailed in this first vicious round.
The tallest by at least a half foot was a demon with grey/green skin. His short horns and clear skin indicated his youth. Beside him stood a wolfman who, as I watched, shifted back into his human form, a very naked male body with an impressive package that made the females in the crowd titter. Then there was some kind of lizard dude, whose yellow slitted eyes and forked tongue totally freaked me out. The fourth player was a guy with a thick, squat body and a ton of facial hair, which made me think he was of dwarfish origin. Interesting, for their kind rarely ventured forth. Finally, looking tastier than a caramel-covered cheesecake, Drake.
The emcee’s voice boomed. “And out of the hundred, we are left with five tough enough to continue on in the battle for the title of Last Sidekick Standing. Tomorrow, we shall test their cunning. My lady with no name, would you like to give us some parting words?”
Taken by surprise, I blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “I think I need a drink.”
Apparently, I’d said the right thing because my words were met with a roar of approval, and to my relief, the curtain came crashing down. I stalked off the stage looking for Jezzie, but she’d disappeared, the sneaky bitch.
Tired, hungry, and needing a stiff drink—not to mention aroused—I opened a portal back to my apartment. I vaguely wondered what the test of cunning on the morrow would entail, but couldn’t think further than my hunger. One food wouldn’t satisfy. Turned out my appetite craved something more carnal, say a Drake sausage smothered in my bun.
Drake. Drake. Drake. My thoughts kept turning back to him. And with good reason. It wasn’t just the kisses that occupied my mind.
I can’t believe he’s competing. Is this his way of getting closer to me? Surprise didn’t come close to explaining my emotions when I’d seen him competing to be mine.
Mine. Snicker. I needed to remind myself this wasn’t The Bachelorette. Yet, at the same time, given Drake’s earlier chuckle over the contest, I found it flattering he’d decided to participate. Could his actions be considered courting? And was it wrong for me to mentally root for him? After all, I hadn’t actually met the other contestants.
Fuck all the thinking. What I needed was to blow off some steam, and since I refused to call Drake for some horizontal tango action, the next best thing to burn some of this excess energy was dancing.
First, though, I needed a shower where I could get intimate with my detachable sprayer. In my opinion, every girl should have one for her cleansing pleasure.
Chapter Eight
Dressed to kill, literally, with knives strapped to my thighs under my miniskirt and needles in my upswept hair, I went dancing. I would have taken Jezzie along, because I never could stay mad at my best friend for long, but she claimed she needed to work on the next day’s competition. I briefly thought of helping her, but honestly, if I didn’t blow off some steam, I’d probably snap, and not in a good way. The last time I’d let stress get to me, it had taken gallons of cold water and bleach to clean the stains.
But I did feel better afterwards. Seeing as how humans tended to frown upon killing—spoilsports—I knew working off my tension was the less complicated solution.
For some reason, I ended up returning to the club of the previous night, where I’d met Drake for the first time. I’d never gotten to check the inside out, what with all the distractions going on, so I found myself curious.
The lineup outside didn’t daunt me. My super-wet lip-gloss and the twenty I slipped the bouncer ensured my prompt entry into the thumping building. The DJ apparently enjoyed a deep beat, for I could feel the bass, like a heartbeat, vibrating throughout my body.
Hips leading the way, I gyrated my way onto the dance floor, where I closed my eyes and let myself go to the wild rhythm. As usual, when I became one with the music, I attracted attention. Bodies, both male and female, brushed against me. I didn’t bother looking. It was the same everywhere I went. Even with my power turned off, as soon as my hips got going, humans just couldn’t resist me.
I don’t know how long I swayed and gyrated, but I suddenly noticed the mortals brushing against me moving away, and I could have sworn I heard a thump and a grunt as the guy dirty dancing against my ass abruptly disappeared. A new body took his place and moved in time with me, a firm body that sent a familiar tingle through me.
Instant heat flooded me, and I didn’t need to turn around to know who rubbed against my backside.
Drake.
A spurt of pleasure warmed me, especially since I’d subconsciously hoped to run into him. His hands came to rest on my waist, big hands that practically burned my bared skin with awareness. His groin, flush with my ass, thrust and rubbed against me in a decadent dance. I leaned back into him, lifting my arms to drape around his neck. This gave him access to my neck, and he took advantage, his lips blazing a trail and sending an electric jolt right to my sex.
As we kept moving and grinding in time to the rhythm, I found myself not wanting the song to end. Could I stay in this electric moment forever, my desire flaming higher and higher as we moved in time? Every part of me quivered in anticipation.
His lips slid from my neck to the shell of my ear. “Baby, do you know how good you smell? I want to taste you. Lap your juicy little pussy until you come in my mouth.”
Oh fuck. I almost melted into a puddle on the floor. I turned around and plastered myself to his front. Ignoring the tempo of the music and the crowd around us, he slowed our dance, even as my pulse raced faster.