Okay so I'm a little new to writing here, so hopefully this will be a good start. Anyways reviews fuel me so if you want me to continue I expect some feedback.

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"What ze 'ell do you theenk you're doing?" A well-muscled arm slammed down hard on the wall blocking my way.

When a mercenary glares at you with narrowed eyes and slams his hand first into the wall, it usually means run away as fast as your feet can carry you but then it came to this particular mercenary, I had a particular death wish. After all, why else would I have gotten involved with him in the first place? As his other hand reached for me, I swung away from him. "Fuck, what does it look like?"

"You're really pissing me off tonight beetch," he gritted out.

"Not that it's any of my damned business but what's pissing you off this time?"

Pissed off was an understatement, like a crazed guard dog straining at the leash, he was practically frothing at the mouth and it certainly wasn't a good sign. It wasn't often that I saw him like this, actually never. Christophe DeLorn might have a nasty bitch of a temper if the rumors were to be believed but he always kept it under tight rein. The mercenary had managed to control that particular brand of red-hot temper that had ruled his unruly, bad ass teenage years.

That tight ass control certainly didn't extend to his mouth. Christophe still had a sexy sneer and he showed it now, flashing a row of straight white teen under his twisted lips. "My beetch boyfriend's becoming a scene queen slut and I don't like eet."

"Your boyfriend?" Something about Christophe usually triggered an alarming suicidal tendency in me. Faced with a rampaging Godzilla mercenary, everyone else in possession of a sane mind would run and hide but I enjoyed seeing the man snarl and bristle. Truth be told, it got me hot as hell and my nipple hardened under his glare. "Oh, who is that? Some new trick of yours?"

My smart ass reply got me a fiery dark eyed glare that would have deep fried me on the spot if I wasn't particularly flame resistant by now. His only answer was a single word filled with sizzling heat that would have singed me six months ago and left me with second degree burns. "You."

When I set off from home to dance the night away in the clubs, I wasn't expecting vengeful men stalking me and chasing me into dark corridors. Trying to keep as calm as I possibly could even though I could feel my own usually cool temper bubbling, I replied. "That's where you're wrong. That's 'ex-boyfriend'."

The emphasis on ex only caused his nostrils to flare in a particularly arousing move. Seeing that he blocked my way, I tried to evade him only for him to deal me a rough shove that crushed me to the wall. No doubt some other man would have fought back with teeth, muscles and claw but I'd had my share of rolling around with Christophe enough to know that he would end up on top soon enough.

Christophe was a leaner, meaner Rambo with better fashion sense. Since I'd also seen him dispatch a group of muscle-bound Russians armed to the teeth with only his bare hands and without breaking a sweat. I knew I was no match for him. Muscles, height and technique were all on his side and I was only a 140 pound politic wannabe with no knowledge of martial arts apart from a reluctant appreciation for sexy, well built mercenaries.

Anyways, it was difficult to fight back when I was pinned like the proverbial butterfly to the wall. When I attempted to release myself from his choke hold, he backed me hard against the wall to shake my resistance. "Where ze 'ell do you theenk you're going?" he shot at me.

"Back to my dates." I hissed out, as much as I could without his forearm pressed threateningly against my throat. He wasn't applying much pressure, he might be mad as hell but I knew he wouldn't consciously hurt me. I might end up with a scratch in my throat but I wouldn't be getting my will read our loud anytime soon. Or so I hoped. "Tom, Dick and Harry as I recall." You'd know them, you've fucked them all."

Reference to his old days usually made him laugh but I could see that his sense of humor had deserted him. His dark eyes flared in aggression. "Now you're really trying to piss me off."

His voice had lowered to a soft whisper and I started getting worried. His bark was usually safer than his soft voice growl especially since the growl came just seconds before his painful bite. An odd analogy but it was true all the same. An alarm started ringing in my head, a quick slash of realization in my insane mind, and I slowly shifted my stance to escape when I met his gaze. Green fire, I'd called his eyes once and I recalled the last time I'd been just this close. The memory of his betrayal slashed through my brain, the sight of two magnificent men entangled in our silken sheets, the quick flash of his dark olive toned flesh over the others smooth ivory white skin, the soft groans and creaks that came from our bed, and through the humiliation made me want to sink down to my knees I stood firm this time and shot our heedlessly. "Well, if I'm a slut, I leaned from the best."

He shoved at me, daring me to say more. "What ze 'ell do you mean by zat?"

"Take it how you will."

"I'm not a fucking slut." Enunciating each world slowly, he glared at me coldly. "Ze man who goes home with a different man every night es one."

The fact was I usually left them standing frustrated at the stoop while I latched my door but I saw no reason to let him know that. Better that he believed I sucked and fucked half the male population of the city rather than the truth. The sad truth was I went home every evening miserably alone and spent my time catching up on the television serials. It was better than facing the beautiful, desirable men in the clubs, bright flashy smiles, marvelously golden tanned and wonderfully gym toned and realizing that none of them could ever compare to the French man I'd left behind.

Radically changing my image after he left wasn't the easy solution I'd imagined. Picking up new clothes, didn't change who I essentially was inside. Sure it certainly got me noticed at the clubs and it got me plenty of numbers but I found that I wasn't looking for a mindless, sweaty one night fuck in the backrooms. It just wasn't me. Dancing up a storm on the dance floor with the thumpa-thumpa music playing, the flashing strobe lights and sweaty, shirtless men had never been my style and it was even less enticing without Christophe at my side. When I came home late, I still picked up my glasses, dug up my musty old books and listened to classical music while trying my best to forget about him.

It wasn't easy forgetting, everything I saw and touched in my apartment reminded me of him. The sink he'd repaired, the ornate shelve he'd griped and complained when I'd bought and yet he'd put it up framed black-and-white pictures we'd taken on a whim.

"That's the new me, you didn't like the old clingy one as I recall. Boring, dependable and reliable, I think you called me." It still hurt that a man I'd known for so long felt that way. Certainly I imagined myself the same way but I always hoped that he saw something else in me that was intriguing enough to make him stay.

"What ze fuck do you mean?" Christophe hissed out and he reached out to grip my arms tight. His hands were strong and I remembered the way his long, clever fingers had gone down my naked body. He narrowed his gaze as he looked at me closely. "Why do you take what I said seriously?" I'm a 'upid, self-involved sheet who doesn't know any better. I love ze old, clingy you. I loved ze man who dressed up in orange dress shirts, wakes up at seven, works nine to five. Reads thick novels by the fire. Secretly mimics Broadway musicals in ze shower when he doesn't theenk anyone es listening. Ze man who's already planned what he would be doing a year from now in his planner. Ze man who wipes ze tabletop when there es a ring."

After having my fill of the clubs these past few weeks, I realized that I preferred my old self to but I wasn't about to admit that to him. "A regular boring stick in ze mud."

I got a quick wince from him as he recalled what he'd said. Letting out a sigh, Christophe finally eased away from me a bit. "Look, I was a brainless faggot!"

"Well that me is gone."

"Bullsheet!" The thick, lush fan of his lashes swept down as he narrowed his beautiful green eyes.

"What kind of mixed signals are you sending me?"

"I don't know!" He raked his fingers down his messy brown hair, crying out in frustration as he did so. He pulled his hand away and slammed his fist hard against the wall, causing chips to fly.

It would almost have been funny if it wasn't happening to me. And the worst part was I would normally have called my best friend to tell him all about the asshole who cheated on me and he would make it all better. Unfortunately this time around, my best friend was also my cheating boyfriend. "Send me a memo when you've finally got it analyzed."

"Where are you going?" As I tired to move down the hallway, he hauled me back. "Get back 'ere."

"What do you want from me, Christophe?" I asked him quietly. "You say you don't want a stay-home boyfriend, you don't want commitment, and you don't want a relationship. You want some damned god-damned fucking space. I've given you all that. Now you don't want us to be apart. You get all jealous, you punch out my dates. What the hell do you want?"

My point managed to find its way across and he stared at me. "All I know es zat I just want you, dammit."

It was difficult enough to deny what I felt without hearing him say it. If he only knew how hard it was to keep from falling headlong onto his arms. Falling in love had never been easy, at least for me but with Christophe it had been so natural and so easy that I'd never even realized it happening. "Well, if that's all you want, I'm fine with it. You were always great in bed. Let's go down to the backroom. I've got ten minutes to spare." Great in bed was another underestimate since we practically spontaneously combusted each time we got together. Christophe wasn't called sex god for nothing. Not only did he look good enough to eat, he had the most incredible hands and mouth and it didn't surprise me at all that despite his shitty behavior, his discarded lovers frequently came back for more.

His reaction to my proposition was immediate and he stumbled back away from me as if I were carrying a contagious life threatening disease. His eye spit fire as he hissed out his reply. "Fuck you, zat not what I meant and you know eet."

"That's all you're going to get, a one night stand that I can deal with. You're not messing with my head again." Just to antagonize him, there were some pills I'd been handed earlier by the twigged out twink I'd bumped into and I dragged them out from my pocket. God knows what that cocktail contained but then I didn't have any intention to use it.

Christophe stared down at the pills and then back at me as if I'd sprouted two heads. "What ze fuck… es zat crystal? You're doing drugs?"

"It's fun, it hip, it's as far away from boring as I can get." Sure, I usually tossed them in a bin but he didn't have to know that. Better he thought I was some drugged out circuit queen. "Bye-bye old and stodgy. Hello youthful ecstasy."

Grabbing the small packets before I could hold on to it, he snatched them and tossed them behind him. "Fuck zat, and if you theenk I don't know you well enough to know zat you'd never use them, you've got another thing coming."

"Now, that was constructive." I followed the direction as the packet landed on the floor and a club patron crushed it underfoot. "Well, if you don't care to use them, we can just get on with it then." With him standing that close, I reached over, caught in the waistband of his jeans and tugged him close. His familiar scene drifted close, the fresh smell of earth and tangy musk of his sweat and the spice of his cologne. It never failed to raise my temperature and I could already imagine the heat and sweat of his hard physique sliding against mine. A tingle sizzled up my fingers as I neared the seductive bulge of his crotch, feeling the hard pulsing dick growing steadily in his pants.

For the first time, Mr. Ever Ready for a Fuck slapped my hands away angrily from his crotch. As he stepped back, he gave me another one of his searing looks. A muscle stated twitching reflexively on his tensed jaw. "Stop zat, I don't want a quick fuck."

Talk about something from the history books. It was the fist time he'd rejected someone's advances and I wondered whether I should be insulted. Christophe usually took on all comers, excluding women, and left them all blissfully satisfied and well fucked. "That wasn't what you were thinking when you fucked him!" My God, I was sounding just like a jealous queen.

Stung by my comment, a wave of guilt ran through his dark, handsome face. "I didn't plan on any of zat happening. I was drunk. I was high."

It had been the excuse he'd tossed at me before and I didn't buy it anymore that I did then. "Yeah, did drunken little you just innocently fall over and accidentally land into his ass? All I've got to say is you've got a real good aim, DeLorn."

"Damn you beetch, got some 'ell of a mouth on you." Before I could react, he snatched me close and kissed me. The classic snatch and grab method always worked on me, and it worked ever better parried with a pair of tight guns and a hard, chest and I soon found myself melting irresistibly as his warm, sensuous lips dragged slowly across mine. I loved Christophe and I knew that he was more than just a sum of his parts but it was hard to think of his intelligence and his sense of humor when he had his beautiful, hard body pressed against mind, the solid contours of his muscles flexing powerfully against me, the impressive length of his erection burning against my thigh.

Used to the wild shenanigans in the club, no one paid any attention to us as Christophe really got into this kiss. Men desperately groping each other in the corridors didn't merit a glance from the clients, apart from an admiring glace at Christophe's impressive body. As I found myself delighting in his taste and his scent, I found my hands stealing down the hard muscled ridges of his back, following the sinuous curve of his spine down to the perfect curves of his ass.

"Get the hell away from me." For the first time in my life, I resorted to physical violence as I slugged him in the face. In the battle against the solidity of his jaw, my right hand lost and it started feeling numb.

Hardly moved by my punch, he wiped the blood from his lip with an arrogant sneer. "Picked up some moves. That's on ze house, Gregory cause I admit I 'ave been a asshole but don't theenk you're gonna land another punch on me again." As he scanned me and let his glances rest lightly on at my crotch he laughed wickedly. "You're still my beetch, Gregory. Oh you still want me so damned bad."

With the insistent boner in my pants, there was no denying the truth. There was a dangerous gleam in his green eyed gaze and I knew that I'd crossed the line somewhere. One free punch was all I was going to get, the next one would have me landing flat on my butt with him on top. And even with an audience, I doubt it would stop him from doing whatever he wanted and I doubt I'd be in a position to stop him.

It was all I could do to spit at him and get the hell out. God, I needed some ice on my knuckles.

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