Elvis Presley

Elvis always enjoyed going to the club, ever since he'd turned 18. It had some perks. Exactly like meeting some people, taking them back to his house and sleeping with them. They all threw themselves at him, how could one resist? Sure, he was a well-known, thirsted after, hot, and obviously charismatic musician that everyone loved, but he still enjoyed the attention.

That was all great and good fun until he met you. You were just walking down the street, and entered the nightclub he was in. Even though he tried several times to sleep with you, you still refused. You were like an depressant that makes people feel sick after taking it. You were like an addicting drug that refuses to be taken. A stubborn, fine, person. Tantalising. He was confident he could tap that, so, with his dignity and ego experiencing an all-time high, he sauntered over to you.

"Mercy.." He whispered to himself, his eyes slightly rolling up as he found your scent again. He enjoyed it. He enjoyed it so much that he had bought a whole bottle of it so that he could spray it in his room while he masterb-

He grinned, tapping your shoulder and began one of his monologues. "I'on believe you; yer too pretty to be the truth.." He attempted to butter you up, "I-I couldn't help but see you! You look fantastic."

Upon realising that you were still stubbornly being quiet, he continues with a pathetic "..hey, won't cha talk t' a lonesome man?"

"Look my way!!~" He waved his hands in your face, enjoying this chase.