“I have an opening for tonight between five and seven.”
She beamed. “Perfect! I’d like to pay now.”
She followed a very sulky Sal to the register. Her grand total for her mattress, box spring, and frame was one hundred ninety-four dollars and four cents with tax. She signed the order form carefully. She’d never written her name so much in one day.
“Slide your card,” Sal said, gesturing toward the fancy card device on the counter. Luckily, from clerking at Clemons, she was familiar with the device. She swiped her card, and words came up. Lots of words. Shit.
“Type in your pin and hit Enter.”
Blowing out a calming breath, she typed in the address for Patras. 1-9-0-0.
“You have to hit Enter.”
Where was Enter? When she took longer than usual, Sal said, “The green button.”
Scout quickly hit the button. “Sorry. I forgot my glasses,” she lied.
“Hit Enter again if the amount’s okay.”
She looked at the screen. $194.04. That was correct. She pressed the green button again and more words appeared as a paper receipt spewed from the register. She’d been a bit concerned the funds wouldn’t clear, but it looked as though her money was available. Sal stapled it to her signed receipt and slid it across the counter.
“If you miss the delivery there’s a twenty-five-dollar service fee and our next delivery day isn’t until Saturday.” He certainly wasn’t as friendly since he learned he wouldn’t be making a living off of her.
Taking the paperwork, she gave him a nice smile. “Thank you very much.”
He grumbled a have a nice day and she left. Tonight she’d be sleeping on her own bed!
***
Scout was huffing and puffing by the time she made it up the narrow steps of her apartment with her bags. The living space was swamped with other bags and assorted items. She needed to get things put away before her bed arrived.
She was nearing a crash. Her legs ached. Over the past two hours, she hustled her ass off trying to get everything she’d need to make her place a home. She’d visited the general store and found sheets, a pillow, blankets, towels, her very first one-cup coffeepot. Every purchase validated her arrival into the real world.
As her bank account chipped away, she suffered little remorse for her purchases. She still had a ton of money in her account, and these were all items she needed. Although she asked Lucian to loan her thirty-five thousand, her actual plan would cost less. She was smart to ask for a bit more, knowing she needed a home. Well, maybe not needed. She’d certainly gone without such luxuries before, but it was time to join the ranks of normal adults.
She’d bought enough from the market to make it through the night. It was more sensible to bring a couple of bags home from work each day. For now, she had enough to keep her busy.
Hoisting her butt off the top step, where she collapsed with an arm full of purchases—she really needed furniture—she began emptying out her loot. The coffeepot was an easy setup, and she used the box as a trash can for now. Stacking all her linens in the corner with her pillow, she carried her toiletries to the bathroom.
As the apartment dimmed, the sun retreating for the day, she dug out her box of light bulbs and searched for an outlet. She’d found a lamp at a secondhand store for four dollars. She frowned once it was plugged in, realizing she had nowhere to put it. Using a large bag, she dumped in the trash from the coffeepot box and, instead, used the box as a makeshift end table.
“That’ll have to do for now,” she mumbled, admiring her handiwork.
The knock at the door startled her. Carefully walking down the steep, narrow steps, she opened the door a crack. A man in a blue jumpsuit stood with a clipboard. “Evelyn Keats?”
“Yes.” These must be the bed people!
“I have a delivery for you.”
She peeked out the door. The alley was dark. There was another man standing behind her mattress, which was now wrapped in plastic. “Come on in.”
She waited anxiously at the top of the stairs as the men maneuvered the mattress up the steps. Good thing she’d opted for the smaller variety. A bigger bed never would’ve fit.
“Where would you like it?”
She pivoted and considered the space. The bathroom and closet door took up one wall, while the kitchen took up another. The partition from the stairs made up the third, leaving only one choice. “Right there by the window will be fine.”
They perched the mattress against the wall and left to get the box spring and frame. In a matter of ten minutes, she was signing for the delivery and saying thank you. Anxiously, she shut the door, locked it tight, and rushed back up the steps. Her feet didn’t stop until she propelled herself into the air and crashed on her bed. It smelled new and she liked it.
Smiling, she sighed and rolled off. Making the bed up was a quick task, having much experience with such chores from keeping house at Patras. With considerable pride, she placed the pillow at the top. Beautiful.
The blanket was soft pink in the fuzziest material she’d ever felt. Despite all the luxuries she’d experienced while living with Lucian, her own things, purchased with her own money and by her own hands, meant so much more.
It complicated things, seeing Lucian yesterday, but it also felt better stipulating a loan on her conditions. By doing so she’d altered their relationship to a business one. The two hundred thousand he’d left in an account for her was tainted and tied to their intimate past, which was why her pride refused her to touch it.
Breathing out a pleased sigh, she gazed at the roof over her head. It amazed her that she’d already accomplished part one of her plan. Part two would require a bit more research, but she’d talked to some people at the library and they explained a great deal to her as well as given her some phone numbers they had on hand.
It felt wonderful to take responsibility for herself again. Lucian wasn’t opposed to her independence, but as a man who had always been in control, he’d never truly understand what it meant for her to stand on her own two feet.
It wasn’t about proving something to him. He was in her past. This was about proving something to herself, creating her own future.
***
Glancing at her watch, she noted it was only a little after six. After straightening up some of the mess, she bagged up her trash and walked it to the cans she’d noticed in the alley. Her belly grumbled.
For dinner, she made a can of chicken soup. The pot was a dollar find at the thrift shop. She washed her dishes and tucked everything away neatly in its proper place.
She bathed in her little tub and brushed out her hair. Using the sink, Scout rewashed her uniform by hand and hung her clothes from hangers on the doors. And it was time for bed.
Her feet slipped beneath the soft covers, and she pulled the sheets to her chest. Reaching out, she shut off the light and stared at the ceiling. Home. This was home.
It was a very intangible moment. She was satisfied, yet something was missing. Her mind knew what it was, of course, but had done a wonderful job of not thinking beyond her independence that day. And at night, when the world slept, that was the easiest time to get wrapped up in regrets and swept away by depressing thoughts.
Her conscience fought to hold on to the peace steering her all day, but memories were slowly pulling her down. Sighing into the dark, she stared blindly out the window.
Where is he right now? Who’s he with? What’s he doing?
She shut the door on such questions and tried thinking about work. Nick was working tomorrow, and he always made her days a bit more entertaining. Nick was young—her age—and funny.
Her eyelids grew heavy, and the slow echo of traffic in the distance soothed her like waves rushing by. Her battle to keep her memories at bay failed the more tired she became.
With a sigh of acceptance, she gave over
to the random thoughts playing in her head and found herself back in Lucian’s limo after having dinner with Shamus several weeks ago.
“Did you enjoy yourself?” Lucian asked, his fingers making gentle whorls over her stocking-clad knee.
“I always enjoy Jamie,” she said.
He grunted, a sound of approval with little censure. “You didn’t eat much.”
“I had enough.”
As Dugan drove, the city slowly rolled by, a tapestry of moonlit blues and shadowed buildings. Her eyes drew away from the window at the sound of the partition going up. She glanced at Lucian. The side of his mouth kicked up, intent clear in his eyes. “Pull up your skirt.”
Evelyn laughed silently. As soon as the partition was completely up, she lifted her hips and shimmied her skirt upward, bunching the thin material around her torso. Her stockings were black with zigzag designs sewn in and a blunt strip of lace at the top. She wore no garters. Her pale purple panties showed in a narrow triangle at the apex of her thighs.
Lucian turned his back to the door and eyed her. His elbow rested on the back of the seat as his fingers slowly swirled like a clock gear cranking. The slight telltale motions letting her know gears were turning in his mind. She waited.
“Are you wet?”
His words were like the kick of a marble running between them, knocking over little points, rolling up her flesh and plunking into a basket that set her arousal in motion, successfully plumping her sex and causing her channel to contract. “Yes.”
“I want a blow job.” She shifted and he stilled her with a flick of his fingers in the dim air. “I want your hands folded behind your back.”
Nodding, she slid to the floor. Her arms stretched behind her, fingers latching at her back. Lucian made no move to assist her or pull himself out. Leaning forward, she nuzzled his knee with her nose. His lungs drew in an audible breath.
Seeing he didn’t plan to help her, she carefully eased up and nudged his suit jacket out of the way. Her lips pulled at his pants until her teeth found his zipper. Carefully, she lowered the catch.
His thighs shifted, the soft leather seating crinkling under his weight. The gentle tug over her hair as he dragged his palm down the side of her face was welcome. His nonverbal praise filled her belly with warm honey. Turning her gaze on him, she smiled.
“You’re so beautiful, Evelyn,” he whispered, voice thick with affection.
His touch disappeared as the echo of his fingers deftly unlatching his belt filled the car. His cock filled his strong fingers, and he pumped slowly. The head was smooth and dark as his fingers gripped his shaft tightly.
She leaned forward and kissed the tip, a dewy pearl of precum anointing her lips. With a final glance at him she bent to her task, taking him deep to the back of her mouth. His cock was big, filling every crevice and stretching her lips wide. She sucked aggressively, bobbing over him. He gathered her hair in a makeshift ponytail and groaned as she worked him over.
She wanted to use her hands, but liked the sense of surrender he elicited by forbidding their involvement. Her head was forced low. Unhinging her jaw, she welcomed him to the back of her throat. Saliva coated him, and soon he was controlling her motions, using her hair as a rein to quickly fuck her mouth.
His hips lifted and his cock pulsed over her tongue. The quick touch of two fingers to the pulse point of her throat was enough of a warning that he was coming. Sealing her lips around his flesh, she sucked deep, milking his release and swallowing every drop.
Once she was sure he was finished, she sucked him clean, offering a final lick up his beautiful shaft and lowering herself back to her heels. He sighed. “Thank you.”
Tucking himself away, redoing his belt but not bothering to tuck in his shirt, Lucian watched her in the subdued light of the limo. The gusset of her panties grew weighted with her own arousal as the floor of the car vibrated faintly beneath her knees. Dugan would continue to drive until instructed otherwise.
“Still wet?” Lucian asked.
“Very.”
Long fingers caressed his chin and tapped his lips. “I’m debating what to do about that.” His comment caused her brow to kink. “You were very chatty with Jamie tonight,” he said thoughtfully.
“I like Jamie.”
His expression gave nothing away. “What do you like about him?”
She considered Lucian’s best friend. He had a disposition that always set her at ease. Although he didn’t always make her laugh, he made her smile. He was . . . nice. “He’s nice to me.”
“He thinks you’re beautiful.”
Heat tinged the crests of her cheeks and she hoped the soft lighting of the limo disguised her reaction to his confession.
“How does it make you feel, knowing Shamus has seen you come?”
Her blush intensified. Jamie was there the first time she’d ever had an orgasm. It was at Lucian’s hand and on his command, when they’d first begun their association. Since then, she’d believed it was an exhibit he’d regretted greatly. She wasn’t like his past lovers, she suspected. Once he realized that, he’d been a lot more discreet with his sexual displays while in the company of others. Exhibitionism was fun, but he never again flaunted her as a toy. There was a difference and they both knew it.
“No answer?”
She shrugged. “I don’t think about that when I see him.”
“Good.” He reached for his glass and took a sip, returning it to the sunken coaster by the door. “Do you mind being watched, Evelyn?”
“It depends.”
“On?”
“I don’t know. It just depends on the situation and who’s watching us, I suppose.”
“What if I lowered the partition and fucked you.”
Oh God. She shook her head.
“You wouldn’t want Dugan seeing you?”
“No.”
Lucian seemed to consider this, but nodded. “Me neither. Is it strangers then?”
She shrugged. There was something titillating about being watched, but knowing she might see her audience again sometimes made her alter her actions. “I guess that’s it.”
He glanced at his pocket watch. “It’s almost eleven. Are you tired?”
“No.”
“Good. I want to play. Pull your skirt down and come sit.”
She did as he asked. Once she was seated, he brushed his lips over hers in a teasing kiss. Her body was primed and anxious for release. The partition lowered.
“Dugan, take us to Church.”
“Yes, sir.”
Evelyn frowned. “We’re going to church?”
“Different sort of worship . . .”
The car navigated through the upper west side of Folsom, where boutiques and high-end eateries made up the storefronts. Mannequins were placed in provocative positions under aesthetic lighting, wearing the world’s finest fashions. The car turned off the main strip and into a slightly seedier commercial district.
They were still in a higher-class section of Folsom. The limo pulled up outside a building with an awning. She stared at the neon sign above the door, unable to read the word. “Is this it?”
“Yes.” Lucian said, shifting and pulling out his wallet. He removed a card and placed his wallet back in his pocket. “Keep your hand in mine at all times and don’t talk to anyone. If someone addresses you, simply nod or shake your head.”
The door opened and he slid out. She had questions, but they would have to wait. Once outside of the limo she could hear music pumping from inside the stone walls of the establishment. Was it a club?
“I’ll wait at the corner, sir,” Dugan said quietly as Lucian took her hand.
He knocked at the black metal door, and a man in a tuxedo answered. Lucian flashed the card he’d taken from his wallet, and the man let him pass. The entrance was dark and loud. A slow, sultry r
hythm vibrated the walls from speakers unseen.
“Welcome, Mr. Patras. It’s been a while,” the man in the tux greeted as Lucian paid the cover.
“Good to see you again, Mr. O’Malley. This is Ms. K. We’d like a seat in the Red Room.”
The man nodded and led them through a dim corridor. The accents she could see were nice. Expensive sconces adorned the walls, which were papered in an antiquated black-and-ivory floral print. She wanted to ask if this was a bar, but Lucian instructed her not to talk.
At the mouth of the corridor there was a large room filled with tables dressed in crisp linens. It looked like a number of the functions Lucian had taken her to, except it was dark. They weaved their way to a table in the front of the room, where a stage sat as empty as a shell. Lucian pulled out a chair and she sat, sinking comfortably into the cushioned seat.
“I’ll have a brandy and Ms. K. will have a tequila sunrise.”
She faced him, her brow arching curiously. Lucian often gave her wine to sample with dinner, but she wasn’t much of a drinker being that she got intoxicated rather quickly. A tequila sunrise was the first cocktail she’d ever had. The night she’d first tried it, she drank about eight of them, and Lucian had to practically carry her home.
The other man left and she looked around. Lucian took her hand and rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. “You okay?”
“Yes. What is this place?”
“You’ll see.”
The other patrons were granted a bit of anonymity by the cleverly placed lighting. Shadows created private pockets of space. On the stage, she could make out the silhouette of what looked to be an old-fashioned button-back settee.
A woman appeared with their drinks. Her outfit was bizarre. Deep purple hues reflected in a velvet jacket. Hook buttons marched up her busty chest in military style. Her breasts were overflowing from the expensive-looking garment, and the back let out in a train reaching to her knees. Her hair was slicked back and appeared blue under the lights, but Evelyn deduced it was blond. A petite top hat perched on her head, and a black lace choker collared her neck. She looked like she’d escaped the Black Hills during the high times of Deadwood.
Coming Home Page 5
