Chapter 1: The Heat of the Deal
The summer sun blazed over the cracked asphalt of Eastside, where Marc ruled the streets with a devilish grin and a stash of smack that could make angels sin. At 6’2”, with a chiseled jaw and ink snaking up his muscular arms, he was the kind of trouble women craved. His customers weren’t just junkies—they were queens of their own domains, fierce and unapologetic, each with a hunger that matched the heat of the day. Today, it was Harriot’s turn to play.
Harriot strutted up to Marc’s corner, her tight denim shorts hugging every curve of her hips, a cigarette dangling from her full lips. She was a firecracker—tall, with raven hair and eyes that could cut glass. She didn’t just buy from Marc; she challenged him, every damn time.
‘Well, if it ain’t the king of the concrete jungle,’ she purred, flicking ash onto the pavement. ‘Got my fix, or you just gonna stand there lookin’ pretty?’
Marc leaned against the brick wall, his smirk sharp enough to slice through her bravado. ‘Oh, I got what you need, darlin’. Question is, can you handle the price today? I’m feelin’... creative.’
Harriot stepped closer, her breath hot with tobacco and defiance. ‘I don’t play games, Marc. You know I’ve got the cash. What’s the catch?’
He chuckled, low and dangerous, his dark eyes raking over her. ‘Catch is, I’m bored. Gimme somethin’ worth my time. A little... entertainment.’ He let the word hang, heavy with suggestion.
She arched a brow, unfazed, her lips curling into a wicked smile. ‘You think I’m some shy little thing? Baby, I’ll entertain you ‘til you’re begging for mercy. But you better deliver.’
Marc pushed off the wall, closing the distance between them. The air crackled with tension, the summer heat making their skin slick with sweat already. ‘Oh, I always deliver. Let’s take this off the street. My place. Now.’
Minutes later, they were in Marc’s dingy apartment, the fan doing jack shit against the stifling heat. Harriot didn’t wait for an invitation—she shoved him against the wall, her hands gripping his shirt. ‘Don’t waste my time, dealer boy. Show me what you’ve got.’
Marc’s laugh was a growl as he spun her around, pinning her hands above her head. ‘You’re a mouthy one, aren’t you? Let’s see if you can keep up.’ His lips crashed into hers, hungry and rough, tasting the nicotine and fire on her tongue. She bit back, just as fierce, her nails digging into his shoulders.
Clothes hit the floor in a frenzy, the room filling with the sound of their sharp breaths. Harriot’s eyes glinted with challenge as she pushed him onto the couch, straddling him with a confidence that made his cock twitch. ‘Think you’re hard enough for me, Marc?’ she taunted, grinding against him, already feeling him stiffen beneath her.
‘Keep talkin’, babe,’ he shot back, his hands gripping her ass, pulling her closer. ‘I’m gonna make that pretty pussy of yours drip before you can say my name.’
She smirked, leaning down to whisper against his ear, ‘Then stop talkin’ and start fuckin’.’ Her words were the match to his gasoline, and the heat between them was about to ignite into something explosive.
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