Before I Die

by Nikki Ash

  Needless to say, Gerald and I never found our spark, and one day he got tired of waiting for me to put out and walked out the door. My heart hurt, but worse, it made me lose a little bit of hope in the male species, that there might not be a man out there willing to wait for me, willing to take the time to find our spark outside of the bedroom. I know I live in a time where sex is rarely viewed as sacred, but I’m hoping one day I’ll meet a man who will love me enough to honor my beliefs. I’m not saying I’m a prude. I read plenty of romance books that include sex in full detail, and Gerald and I have had a couple groping sessions—which made me question if the romance books are lying. It’s just that when I give myself to a man, I want it to be with the person I plan to spend the rest of my life with.

  “Wow, look at you.” Gerald appraises me as the woman he’s with glares my way.

  “Gerald, it’s good to see you.” I give them both a small smile in an attempt at being polite.

  “Likewise. Nevaeh, this is Chantal, my fiancée.” When he places emphasis on the last word, I find my heart suddenly beating a little faster, jealousy seeping through the cracks of the tough wall I’ve erected to protect myself. Not jealousy over the fact Gerald is engaged, but that he found the person he wants to spend his life with. For him to propose to her so quickly, she must be giving him what I couldn’t—what I chose not to. What if it’s me? What if I’m broken? What if the lack of spark was because of me and not Gerald? The thought hurts my heart. I don’t want to die alone.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Chantal.” I stick my hand out to greet her, but when she looks at me like I’m a disease, I quickly retreat to save myself from humiliation.

  “It’s your birthday today, right?” Gerald asks. I’m surprised he’s remembered since he always forgot during the years we were together.

  “Yeah, I’m here with Blaire,” I say, wanting out of this awkward situation and still needing to pee.

  Gerald nods. “Of course you are. And I’m assuming you still live together?”

  On more than one occasion, Gerald voiced his disdain for Blaire, agreeing with my mother that I would be better off living elsewhere. Trust me when I say, Gerald’s feelings toward Blaire are more than mutual.

  “We are. She’s somewhere around here.” I look around in hope that by willing her to appear, she will suddenly materialize like magic.

  “I’m surprised to see you in a club.”

  I’m not sure how his words are meant to be taken, but they rub me the wrong way.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He gives me a quizzical look. “Nothing. You’re just usually teaching, reading, or volunteering at your church. I never imagined running into you in a club. Does your mom know you’re here?” He smirks condescendingly, and I know now his words were meant as a dig at me.

  Yes, it’s true, I spend my days teaching, I do enjoy snuggling up with a good book, and I do spend a lot of my free time running the church’s youth program, but there is more to me than that. Well, actually, there really isn’t, which only helps support the fact that I need to stop planning to make changes in my life and actually make them. I enjoy teaching and reading and running the youth program, but I want to experience more. I have an entire list of things I want to do that’s sitting in my nightstand drawer, but rarely gets to make an appearance.

  “I’m pretty sure my mom doesn’t have a say in what I do,” I hiss, annoyed that Gerald is completely spot-on. She might not have a say in what I do, but she definitely has an opinion and, up until tonight, I allowed her opinion to steer my choices—but not anymore.

  He chuckles. “Hmm…I guess a lot has changed in the last six months.”

  I shrug, too fired up to respond. It hasn’t changed… but it will. Life is too short, and I’ve spent too much time waiting for it to change, when the fact is, the only way anything will ever change is if I do something about it. It’s my life and I’m in charge of how I live it.

  “So, are you seeing anyone?” he asks.

  His question momentarily shocks me. I know I should be honest and say no, but when Chantal gives me a knowing look, my insecurities come out.

  “Nevaeh? Are you seeing anyone?” Gerald repeats.

  The lie slides out easier than it should. “Yes.”

  He looks around incredulously, while his fiancée hits me with a bitchy smirk.

  “Is he here?” he asks, when he doesn’t locate him.

  I’m not thinking clearly—I’ll blame it on my martini. “He’s at the bar.”

  They swing their gazes over to where I mentioned, and then Gerald says, “Him? That’s who you’re seeing?”

  I follow their line of vision, shocked when I spot the man Gerald thinks I’m seeing…because my goodness, he is beyond gorgeous. My eyes land on a pair of calculating eyes that hold me frozen in place. With his messy brown hair, expensive looking suit that fits him oh so perfectly, and a face that belongs on a cover of GQ, the man is sexy…and completely out of my league. My eyes are locked with his as he holds my stare for a second longer, before turning his attention back to his drink.

  As he raises his glass to his lips, I have this crazy thought of wanting to be that glass—to have his lips press up against mine as he slowly drinks me, tastes me—

  “Why don’t you introduce us?” Chantal suggests, cutting off my fantasy.

  “Yeah, I would love to meet the next candidate,” Gerald quips.

  Yep, definitely blaming this on the martini—and I’m definitely crossing off get drunk from my list, because there’s no way I would make such stupid choices if I were sober. I mean, really? What was I thinking? I should’ve said he wasn’t here. Did I really think they wouldn’t want to meet him with him only standing fifteen feet away?

  Well, too late now… There’s no way I’m going to admit I’m full of crap.

  “Sure,” I tell them with faux certainty in my voice.

  With my heart thumping along to the music, I walk up to the mysterious man, who oozes sex and lust and danger—everything my mother has spent my entire life instilling in me to avoid. He doesn’t see me coming until I reach him, but when he finally does, he acknowledges me with what looks like approving eyes. I can’t let Gerald win. And that’s what I keep repeating to myself when I grab the stranger’s neck and pull him down until our mouths crash against one another.

  His shocked, beautiful, brown eyes are the last thing I see before I close my own. His lips are frozen against mine for a moment, and I prepare myself to pull back and deal with the embarrassment of rejection in front of Gerald and Miss Exotic. But before I can back up, his strong arms snake around my waist, tugging me closer to him—his pull commanding and powerful.

  And then he kisses me back.

  He takes control and kisses me like I’ve never been kissed in my life.

  And oh my word, do I feel those infamous sparks! It’s like bright fireworks shooting off behind my eyelids—amazing shades of blue and purple and pink lighting up my body and igniting something deep within me.

  And from this kiss, my hope is restored.

  Ethan

  One hour earlier

  “Tell that motherfucking cop if he doesn’t get me my goddamn money, I’m going to beat him to the point his fucking ass will be shitting out the hundreds he owes me. No, you know what? Fuck that! I’ll tell him my damn self.”

  I hit end on the call and throw my phone across the desk, watching it slide across the surface and almost fall over the edge. It reminds me of my life. Teetering on the brink. Lately, I’ve been feeling off, aggravated and restless, as if I’m on the edge of my sanity and one push will send me over.

  The last time I can remember feeling like this was twelve years ago when my dad’s and my world fell apart. When I learned that God is cruel and karma is a bitch. When my dad had to pick me up off the ground and force me to get my shit together. When he took my dream of wanting to own my own club and made it a reality.

  For the last ten years, this c
lub has become my entire world. I’ve put everything into making The Warehouse one of the most sought after clubs on the Eastern Coast. What started off as a way to lighten the darkness in my life, ended up being what I’ve lived for every day. And up until recently, it’s felt like enough, but lately I’m finding myself turning back toward the darkness and I have no clue what to do about it.

  On Friday and Saturday nights, the club holds underground cage fights. Men come from all over to get in the cage and prove themselves to be the better fighter. On a good night, the winner can walk away with close to a hundred grand in his pocket. They don’t make that in those bullshit mainstream organizations, that’s for damn sure.

  The problem with running underground gambling is that you come across some shady as fuck people, and when I’m forced to deal with those people, shit gets real. And that’s where Logan comes in. Where I’m the brains behind the business, Logan is my enforcer. He handles everything related to gambling, including placing the bets, collecting the money, and paying out.

  I look at the time and see it’s almost midnight. I need to send a text to Logan to let him know I’ll be at the bar so we can discuss the situation in person. Normally, I would handle a situation like this with brute force, but when you’re dealing with a dirty as fuck cop with a gambling problem, you handle that shit like you would a live grenade—with gentle fucking care.

  There’s a knock on my door and in walks Carmen—with her legs for days and huge fake tits, she could send most men to their knees begging. However, I’m not most men, and I sure as fuck don’t beg, but I’ll tell you what I have done: fucked her, many times, until she said the three words no man wants to hear.

  I want more.

  And I’m not talking about in the bedroom. I have that shit on lock.

  Believe me when I tell you that train came to a screeching halt so fast, you could smell the brakes burning from a mile away. I did that more bullshit once upon a time. Never. Fucking. Again.

  Carmen is the bar manager. She covers all levels of the club: upstairs in the VIP lounge, the first floor, and the lower level where the fights happen on the weekends, and she’s damn good at her job. I know… I know… Don’t fuck where you eat. I don’t make it a habit, but Jesus, those tits.

  I’m not a dumb man, so when we ended things, I made sure it was done amicably so I wouldn’t lose her as my bar manager. I’ve seen her new boyfriend come in to hang out occasionally and he seems like a nice, standup guy. I’m happy for her. I hope she gets that more she’s in search of. But you know what else I hope? That she isn’t anything like the majority of the female population who say they need more, but what they really mean is nothing is ever enough.

  I hope for that guy’s sake, Carmen knows what more is, but the past has shown me, women don’t really know. More is their way of saying, “I have no idea what I want, but I want you to read my fucking mind and give it to me, and once you do, I’ll bitch and say it’s not enough. Then I’ll leave your ass because you couldn’t figure it out.”

  Fuck. That. Shit.

  Carmen closes the door and, with a not so subtle sway of her hips, plants her ass on the edge of my desk. The desk shakes slightly and my phone falls to the ground, making a shattering sound. Fuck! Please don’t let that be some sort of fucked up omen.

  “What do you need?” I give her a look that tells her it better be good, before I stand and walk to where my now broken phone is lying, dead. Picking it up, I chuck it back onto the desk, annoyed as fuck.

  “Brian and I broke up.” Carmen gives me her best fuck-me please look, but it does nothing for me.

  “Let me guess…He couldn’t give you more,” I say dryly. Of course, the clueless fucking woman she is misses the sarcasm and answers the rhetorical question.

  “No, he couldn’t. He didn’t get me. It made me realize how good you and I were together.” Her lips curve into a pout.

  “We were good at fucking, Carmen. That’s it.” Yeah, that’s an asshole thing to say, but nobody said I wasn’t an asshole. In the business I’m in, I don’t have time to sugarcoat shit. Annoyed about my phone now out of order, I don’t even pay attention to what she’s saying. I still need to text Logan.

  “But maybe…”

  I hold my hand up to stop her. “Can you text Logan and tell him to meet me at the bar?”

  She frowns but nods.

  I open the door so she’ll get the hint. She does, but before she walks through the threshold, she says, “Can we discuss this later?”

  I nod, because I don’t want to deal with her right now, and then close and lock my door, following behind her out to the club.

  When I get to the bar, I have the bartender get me my usual. He places the glass of Macallan in front of me and I take a sip, the smoothness of the whisky going down my throat and momentarily relaxing me. I turn slightly in my seat to keep a look out for Logan. It’s Thursday night and the club is packed. Some techno bullshit is pulsing through the speakers, and men and women are crammed together on the dance floor practically fucking one another.

  Getting an eerie feeling of being watched, my eyes scan the club before locking eyes on a gorgeous woman. In a sexy white dress that goes almost to her knees, she screams innocence, like a damn angel, and fuck if that doesn’t make her that much sexier. More often than not, women think less is more when it comes to a dress, and usually I would agree; however, this woman’s dress leaves everything to the imagination, and yet my dick is begging to come out and play.

  Her eyes meet mine, and it’s too dark to tell the color, but they scream sadness. Her whiskey-colored curly hair is long, flowing down her back, and I wonder what it would look like wrapped around my fist while I fuck her from behind. I wouldn’t even need to remove the dress. I could just pull it up to her hips and slide her panties to the side. I bet they’re white like her dress—see-through satin.

  I break the connection before my dick bursts through my pants and take another much-needed sip of my drink. I need to focus on the dirty cop situation, not planning how I can sink my cock into this woman’s cunt.

  As I set my drink down, warm, delicate hands grab ahold of my neck. A blur of white hits my vision, and I’m shocked as hell to find that the woman I was just fantasizing about is pulling me in for a kiss—her lips are as warm, soft, and plump as I imagined. At first, I freeze up. Is she a fucking angel? Have I died and somehow made it to heaven? Then I laugh to myself because there’s no way my ass is going to heaven, and if I’m honest, I don’t think I’d want to.

  Her hands glide up and around my neck and it hits me, I’m just sitting here. My lips curve around hers and my tongue pushes through her luscious lips. Our tongues dance around one another, and fuck if she doesn’t taste as sweet and innocent as she looks.

  Wrapping my arms around her waist, I pull her into me, getting lost in this moment—in this woman. Gripping her hips, I lift and place her onto the bar top, not giving a fuck that the place is filled with hundreds of patrons. Our kiss doesn’t slow down, but instead deepens, as I part her legs slightly and stand between them. I run my hands down her hips and end on her ass, squeezing lightly as she snakes her sexy legs around my waist and I pull her hot cunt into my stomach.

  And then she moans—fucking moans into my mouth, which has me both getting hard and snapping me out of my trance at the same time.

  I break our kiss and back up slightly. Her brown eyes slowly open. They go wide in shock, as if she can’t believe what just happened, which makes me smirk because she’s the one who kissed me.

  “That was one helluva kiss,” I murmur, my gaze flitting between her eyes and her bee-stung lips.

  Her eyes dart past me, and I turn slightly to see a guy glaring at us and the woman on his arm scrunching her face up in disgust.

  “Are you going to introduce us, Nevaeh? Or just fuck him in the club?” the guy sneers.

  Hmm… interesting. I turn my eyes back to the woman who’s named Nevaeh, according to the dick who’s clearly jeal
ous of us kissing. Her eyes are pleading and I’m lost as hell, and if I’m honest, my head is a bit scrambled from that damn kiss.

  She whispers, “Please,” but I can’t hear the rest of what she says over the music. Then she nervously chews on her bottom lip, and it doesn’t even matter what she’s asking or saying because with that look in her eyes, I would probably hand over my wallet if it’s what she needed. What the fuck is wrong with me?

  With Nevaeh still sitting on the bar with me standing between her thighs, I turn around and introduce myself since apparently the dick wants to be introduced.

  “I’m Ethan.” I put my hand out and the dick glares at it before shaking it. “And you are?”

  Nevaeh speaks up before he can, peeking out over my shoulder. “This is my ex-boyfriend, Gerald. Gerald, this is Ethan, my boyfriend.”

  Okay, so I guess I’m the boyfriend…

  Turning my back on Gerald—who the fuck names their kid Gerald?—I give Nevaeh a chaste kiss before I lift her off the bar and set her down next to me. My arm goes around her shoulders and I tuck her into my side. Then I lean over and give her temple a quick kiss. She smells intoxicating, sweet mixed with a bit of sweat, probably from dancing. I imagine her sweating underneath me while I fuck her. I haven’t been someone’s boyfriend in over a decade, but pretending to be hers doesn’t seem like a hardship, at least not for a few minutes, so I go along with it.

  “Ahh, you’re Gerald. The ex.”

  “You’ve heard of me?” His chin lifts and his nose points up in the air like he’s fucking royalty. Someone needs to knock his ass off his imaginary pedestal.