CHAPTER 2: I DON'T FU*K MARRIED MEN

KEVAH'S POV

Shit! Here we go.

I hold my breath, praying that my sisters will keep their chill. I love myself, so I don't care what anybody has to say about me.

The two women quickly avert their eyes when they notice we overheard them.

“Girls, take it easy. They're not worth it,” I try my best to calm my sisters.

“Eva, what happened to you? Once upon a time, you wouldn't let a bitch get away with saying such shit about you,” Lana questions with teary eyes.

“You're too beautiful to let people treat you like this,” Ella says, with tears streaming down her face. She has always been the crier in the family.

“Life is way too short to focus my time and energy on what people say and think about me. It's obvious that those girls have nothing else to do than sit and criticize people; their lives only have a purpose when they're bullying others. What's important to me is how I view myself and not how others see me. My opinions of myself are what matters. I've been living by this decree for two years now,” I give my sisters a reassuring smile.

They relax. I snag my bag and excuse myself to the lavatory.

All eyes are on me as I stroll towards the bathroom.

“What is she wearing?” One woman snickers.

Clothes.

“Did she look in the mirror before she left her house?”

Yes, I did, and I look good.

“Fat girls shouldn't wear shorts!”

Says who?

“Oh My God, her ass is so big!”

Yeah, it is!

I wiggle my ass, swaying my wide hips, not ignoring the hungry looks most of these skinny ladies' men are throwing at me.

I wink at one of them, and he drops his cutlery on his plate with a loud clank, licking his lips. My eyes move away from him as I see him adjusting his trousers.

I blow a kiss to the 50-something-year-old to my right and I see him adjusting his bow tie, pulling on his collar, and releasing a long breath.

My legs glide my body towards the bathroom and I enjoy every eye I feel burning my backside.

I enter through the red door and do my business and with my makeup still flawless, I exit the restroom.

To my surprise, a man is standing with his legs crossed at the ankles. The man is chewing on a toothpick.

He smirks when he notices me drinking in his sexiness.

He is sporting a white button-down shirt, black dress pants, and black shoes.

“Hello beautiful," he asserts, his eyes scurrying my face, then they drop to my lips. “Did you enjoy your meal?”

“Yes, but why are you creeping at the entrance to the ladies' room—are you some kind of rapist?” I grab my pepper spray from my bag and hold it up to his eye level. “I've got mace.” My quick action causes my tits to jiggle, and his views plummet to my chest. I observe as his pupils expand.

“That's smart of you, especially since you're built like that,” his eyes snap back to meet my gaze.

Oh! Gosh! My pussy is misbehaving.

The way he is studying me has my vagina drowning in my juices.

I haven't had sex since I caught mistake number four having sex with my ex-roommate/ex-best friend six months ago, unless I count Mr. Toe Curler; my dildo.

“What am I built like?” Shit! I curse myself at how sultry my voice sounds. I bite my bottom lip and his eyes dip to my mouth.

He pushes himself off the wall and walks and parks his body in front of me. His hazel eyes slowly undress me, and my brown eyes did the same to him. He circles his fingers around my wrist, which is holding the can of pepper spray. I detect the aroma of paprika and nutmeg when he leans in.

He uses his other hand and cups the back of my neck, tilting my head backward. His stubble jaw grazes the side of my cheek while he runs his lips slightly along my cheekbone until he finds my ear. “Like a sex goddess,” he whispers, and I stumble backwards; my rear hits the wall of the bathroom door.

Here goes mistake number five. I ponder to myself.

I've never had sex with a stranger before; never had a one-night-stand, but there's a first time for everything.

He takes my earlobe, and he sucks on it until I get dizzy. “Oh, Jesus,” I gasp.

I feel his chuckle rumbling off his chest. “It's Victor,” he declares as he moves his tongue along my nape.

I drop the pepper spray and my purse on the floor. My hands go to the front of his shirt; palms flat against his rib cage. “I hate this shirt,” I hiss, vex about it hiding his ripped chest.

“Sir.” Our heads jerk to the waiter that served my table earlier.

“Yes, Peter?” Victor grunts.

“Sorry, Sir, but Angela is here, and she is asking for you and -” the poor fellow keeps diversifying his eyes from the floor to the ceiling, refusing to look our way. It is obvious he's blushing.

“Just tell her something. Don't you see I'm busy,” Victor yells, and Peter hurries off. “Now where were we - umm?”

“It's Kevah.”

“Kevah, I like it. Shall we take this upstairs?”

“Upstairs?”

“Yes, this is my restaurant. I have a small flat and an office upstairs, you know—For emergencies,” he cocks a mischievous grin at me. So, he is the one who sent the wine and, by the events taking place right now, he likes to fuck.

I don't fuck married men, so I look at his finger.

No ring, good.

“OK, lead the way, Victor.”

Victor grins as he wiggles his sexy tongue at me, and I smirk. He takes my hand and practically drags me up the steps.

He better knows how to use that tongue, my inner slut giggles as I follow Victor into his office.