by Tara West
I slipped inside quickly, slamming the door behind me.
He tapped on the side window, his lips curled back in either a snarl or a smile. “See you tomorrow then?”
“Yeah,” I said in the most disinterested tone I could manage, even though my insides were shaking. I started the car and quickly backed out, shifting into drive and speeding off, grateful for the powerful engine.
What a sick fuck. He expected me to suck his dick for a few more lines. Too damn bad. He could dangle that carrot all he wanted. I’d go back to Texas before I played his twisted game.
I did my best to hold back my tears as I pulled onto the main road, instantly gridlocked in bumper-to-bumper traffic. At any given minute, I either loved or hated this town. Right now, I hated it and everyone in it.
* * *
There had to have been an accident ahead of me, or road construction, or maybe all the struggling Hollywood actresses had turned on their dickhead directors and were rioting in the streets. And I’d thought Houston traffic was bad. The drive home should have taken me a half hour, not two hours. If I hadn’t been streaming Monica Faulkner’s latest album, I would’ve probably lost my mind and driven down the sidewalk.
I cringed when my Bluetooth speaker rang and my nav system lit up with my mom’s number. It was the third time she’d called in the span of ten minutes. Against my better judgment, I answered, just in case it was an emergency.
“Hi, Mamá. Everything okay?” I cringed, waiting for her response.
“No, it’s not okay. Why don’t you take my calls?” Her anger shot through the speakers like a burst of venom, infecting me with guilt.
I slouched in my seat, feeling like a cornered mouse. “I’ve been busy.”
“Too busy to talk to your mamá?”
Ugh. How did she have the ability to make me feel like the worst daughter ever when she was thousands of miles away? “I’m sorry. I’ve had a long day.”
“When does your show air? I want to tell all my friends about it.”
I bit back a curse as I imagined Mamá and her Bible study friends watching me proposition a cop for sex. She’d probably fall to the ground and start foaming at the mouth. Then they’d have to call in a priest to exorcise her shame demons.
A major network had already picked up the show. The first six episodes would air this fall. I didn’t have a time yet, but I silently prayed it would be around three a.m.
“I don’t know if it’s even going to air,” I lied. “We’re just shooting the pilot.”
“Pilot? What are you saying, mija?”
“I love you, Mamá, but I can’t talk. Bad traffic. I’ll call you later.”
“But—”
I felt bad hanging up on her, but I couldn’t help it. I knew she’d start asking me about the part, and I still hadn’t told her yet. Eventually, though, she’d find out, and then the horseshit was going to hit the fan.
I loved her, even though she’s never had much faith in my acting career. The look in her eyes when I’d told her I was leaving Houston to temporarily swap houses with a doctor from LA was enough to know my sudden career move didn’t have her seal of approval. It was the same look she’d given me when I’d switched my major from science to drama, choosing to teach high school drama instead of becoming a scientist or a physician.
She was the reason I’d studied so hard in high school. She took education seriously, no doubt because the nuns who’d raised her beat her fingers with a ruler if she had one participle out of place. Besides teaching her perfect English, they’d also taught her Latin, math, history, and other subjects.
Despite the fact that my mom could speak four languages and was smart enough to have become a doctor or a lawyer, she came to this county without a green card and had been forced to take a job as Bud Boudreau’s housekeeper.
She’d given up her dreams so I could live mine, or so she’d said. And here I was, a Mexican prostitute.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
seven
It was late in the evening by the time I pulled into my drive with a bag of groceries, a store-bought Cobb salad, a bottle of wine, and a box of extra-large condoms. I knew the first two items wouldn’t go to waste, and I hoped I hadn’t bought the condoms for nothing. After my awkward night with Brad, I wasn’t so sure.
After I showered and changed into my nightie, I had only taken a few bites of salad when I was startled by a knock on the door. I looked through the peephole to see Mr. Tall Gorgeous God on the other side.
Omigod! He came back!
I smoothed my hair and pinched my lips to give them some color before opening the door. Brad held a small bouquet of six purple lilies surrounded by baby’s breath. They were the prettiest flowers I’d ever seen. I wasn’t a flowery kind of girl, but his gesture got me right in the heart.
“Sorry I didn’t stop by this morning.” He flashed a sheepish grin as he handed me the bouquet. “I got called in early.”
“That’s okay.” I took the flowers from him, inhaling their heavenly scent. “I figured you were busy.”
He shuffled from one foot to the other. “May I come in?”
How could I refuse? I held open the door. “Do you want a drink?”
“I’ll have whatever you’re having.” He sat down at the kitchen table, filling up the small space with his long legs. The guy must have played basketball in college.
I poured him a glass of wine, then sat across from him, trying to ignore the awkward blindfolded and gagged elephant in the room.
He sipped, looking at me over the rim of his glass. “What happened yesterday, Ariana?”
I brushed a hand through my hair, doing my best to feign ignorance. “What do you mean?”
He set down the glass and gripped the sides of the table. “You know what I mean. Why can’t I touch you?”
I was hoping we could go on ignoring my bedroom behavior for at least a few more fucks. “It’s complicated.”
“Who hurt you?”
I gasped, jerking back as if I’d been scalded. “Nobody hurt me.” I looked away, unable to meet his penetrating gaze.
He drummed his fingers on the table. “Ariana....”
I waved him off, standing on shaky legs. “I can’t talk about this now, Brad. I have too much going on.” I crossed my arms, hugging myself as I walked away from him.
Why did every guy I sleep with have to go there? Why couldn’t they just embrace my kinky side? I bet guys who wanted to play the dominant didn’t have to answer so many questions, because it was okay for men to be in control.
Keeping my back ramrod straight, I lowered myself onto the sofa, my gaze centered on a crack in the stucco wall. I fought back the emotion that threatened to constrict my lungs.
When he sat beside me, his weight made the floorboards creak.
Unable to meet his gaze, fearing I’d see judgment in his eyes, I turned the other way.
“Okay. We don’t have to talk about it now.” His voice was soothing and even, as if he was trying to calm a patient. “I’d hold you, but I don’t know if you’d let me.”
I bit my knuckles, choking back a sob. Omigod. After all that, he still wanted to hold me? I wanted so badly to let him, but I could hardly find breath to tell him it was okay. Besides, how would I react with his arms around me, constricting my movement?
I absently rubbed the scar on my knuckles as an image of Bud Boudreau flashed in my mind. He’d been taller than Brad, and he’d smelled of cheap cologne and stale whiskey. When I’d tried to run, he’d pressed my face into the hay. I could barely breathe, straining for each breath as if it would be my last. Then he’d stepped on my hand with the heel of his boot, making me cry out in pain as blood ran down my fingers.
“Ariana, please.”
I looked up at Brad as if he was a stranger. He held his arms open to me, a sad look in his eyes.
Why was I always revisiting that night over and over, as if it had happened yesterday? It had already been five years. When was I going
to get over it?
I didn’t know what force of nature compelled me to move toward him, but I did, crawling into his lap and grasping his shoulders.
When he tried to wrap his arms around me, I shook him off. “Don’t,” I commanded in a firm voice. I had to keep it together. I had to show him who was dominant.
I snaked my arms around his neck, burying my face in his chest. He smelled like soap, and his skin was warm. “This feels nice,” I said on a sigh.
He leaned back, slouching against the cushions while gently cupping my ass. “I’d never hurt you.”
He sounded so sincere when he said it. Damn me for being foolish enough to believe him.
We sat like that for several minutes. I rested my head against his chest, the steady beating of his heart soothing my frayed nerves.
By the time I finally summoned the nerve to look up at him, my eyelids were heavy. Today’s stress had literally knocked me out. I rubbed my sore elbow. “So now what?”
“I don’t want to do anything that makes you uncomfortable.” He placed a hand on my wrist, then quickly released me, looking as if he’d gotten his hand caught in the cookie jar.
Poor Brad. I didn’t want him to panic every time he touched me. I was selfish for leading him on. This relationship wouldn’t get very far before he tired of my rules, but I kept thinking of that big cock of his, how he’d felt when I slid on top of him, every inch of his girth stretching and filling me with a mixture of exquisite pain and pleasure.
Damn me for wanting to fuck him again.
I slid off his lap and sat on my heels. “I want to tie you up and ride you.”
He arched back, veins popping out of his neck as he eyed me. “That’s what you want?”
“I do.”
Then Brad did something remarkable. He held out his wrists and smiled.
I kissed his cheek and nibbled his ear. “Thank you,” I breathed. “I promise this time will be even better.”
I led him to the bedroom, pleased when he obediently laid on the bed and stretched his arms to the iron bedrail.
I restrained and blindfolded him first, then I took my time undressing him before slipping off my panties.
I massaged his legs as I worked his pants down. His cock jutted from his pelvis like a big, pink torpedo. I was shocked he had enough blood in his body to fill it, but it stood erect, lengthening to the bottom of his belly button, ready to be sucked and teased.
I smoothed my hands up his abdomen and toward his chest, squeezing his hard pecs while I lowered my mouth onto his cock. I licked the precum off the tip and then ran my tongue down his shaft and around his heavy balls. I sucled one ball, then the other, before lathering my hands with spit and massaging them in slow, undulating circles.
He’d gone from groaning to panting, his hips twitching as I continued to play with his balls. I slurped back up his shaft and swallowed him, relaxing my throat muscles until half of his erection was buried in my mouth.
I picked up tempo, thrusting harder and deeper, massaging his balls and licking his humming flesh.
His breathing was coming in gasps now, his body heating beneath my touch. “Oh, God, Ariana, please don’t stop.” If it was at all possible, his dick swelled even more.
I loved sucking his big cock, but I didn’t want him to come yet.
“Please keep going,” he begged.
“No, baby,” I mumbled as I showered his dick with kisses. “We’re going to make it last.”
“I can’t last,” he cried. “I can’t.”
I let go of his cock completely, sitting back on my heels and frowning at him. He tossed his head from side to side as he fucked the air, thrusting his hips with jerky movements.
He was being a naughty, impatient boy. I pushed him on his side and gave his ass a good slap. He swore, and his pale cheek reddened with my handprint. I felt bad about not kissing him yesterday, so I splayed across him, nibbling his bottom lip. He sighed against me, his organ pulsing against my abdomen. I sat up, straddling his waist and bending over him, kissing him in earnest, our tongues fucking in a frenzy. He rolled beneath me, and I could tell he was trying get me to slide down until our bodies joined, but I wasn’t finished yet.
I nipped his skin all the way down to his jutting member, sucking and teasing some more until he bounced the bed with his movements.
“Please end this torture,” he begged.
By the time I slipped a condom over him, I was wetter than a busted water pipe.
I slid down his erection slowly, gasping when he thrust his hips, forcing me to take him deeper. Damn, he felt even bigger than yesterday.
“Kiss me, Ariana.”
I grasped his face in my hands, pressing my lips to his, gasping against him as he kissed me back with fevered passion. The man kissed like he meant it, almost like he cared for me. I paused with him deep inside me, lost in the moment, forgetting to move until he ground his hips upward.
Oh!
How had I so easily succumbed to his spell? I anchored my hands on his shoulders and slid up and down. Soon we found our rhythm, our timed thrusts slamming against my sweet spot at just the right moment. The pleasure was building, threatening to pull me under as the water balloon inside me swelled and then burst, exploding in a brilliant firestorm of ecstasy. I convulsed against him, fighting the urge to fall onto his chest in a motionless heap, but I kept my rhythm, and was rewarded by a groan, cut short, as if the powerful orgasm had stolen the breath from his lungs.
I continued riding him because it felt so damn good. My next orgasm came on so fast, I had no time to prepare for the glorious feeling that washed over me. I shuddered again, my throat raw with emotion.
After our breathing had returned to near normal, I put on my nightgown and robe and then untied him so he could remove his blindfold and condom.
He returned from the bathroom, whistling a song I didn’t recognize, kissed me on the cheek, and then put on his pants, which were now wrinkled.
“You don’t have to get dressed now,” I said as I twisted my satin belt around a finger.
He paused, his gaze darting to the bed. “I thought you were a light sleeper.”
“I am, but I’m not ready to sleep yet.” I cautiously approached him, placing a hand on his chest. His heart thudded against his ribcage.
His eyes lit up the room. “How about we try a new pose?” “I told you, I can’t.” I stepped back, rubbing the scar on my knuckles.
He crossed his arms, glowering at me as if I was a wayward child. “Are you ever going to tell me why?”
Ugh. We were having so much fun. Why did he have to ruin it? “Because I don’t trust men.”
He advanced toward me, his brows slanting low over his eyes. “Who hurt you?”
My libido popped faster than a set of Beverly Hills tits in a head-on collision.
A knot of panic formed in the back of my throat. I turned up my chin, determined not to let him see my fear. “It doesn’t matter.” Why did men always do this whenever I let them get too close?
He frowned, smoothing a hand down my arm. “It does to me. Did he at least pay for his crimes?”
I arched away from him. “Oh, believe me.” I smiled. “Karma got him good.”
Bud Boudreau had drunk away the remainder of his life before succumbing to prostate cancer. He’d repeatedly asked for his daughter while he was on his deathbed, but Savannah had refused to see her father. I wasn’t the only person that man had abused. I considered myself lucky he’d only hurt me that one night. He’d treated Savannah far worse, beating her when she was just four years old because she’d cried at her mother’s funeral. He mistreated her throughout her childhood until she’d finally had enough and run away. I liked to think the devil had a special torture chamber in hell for pendejos like Bud Boudreau.
“I wish I could help you.”
I hated that look of pity in Brad’s eyes, like I was one of his terminal patients. “What would help me is if we stopped talking about it.”
He grasped my shoulders, his eyes searching mine with urgency. “I have a list of reliable doctors and therapists.”
I jerked free, threw open the door, and marched into the kitchen. I was getting too claustrophobic in the bedroom. I cringed when I heard his heavy footsteps behind me. I poured myself some water, hating the way my hand shook as I lifted the glass to my lips.
“I don’t need to see a damned therapist.” I took a hesitant sip before slamming the glass on the counter.
Grrr. I knew what a therapist would want me to do. Talk about it. I didn’t want to talk about it. I just wanted to forget that painful night and focus on my career.
He held out his hands in a defensive gesture. “I’m sorry.”
“Look,” I groaned, raking my fingers through my hair, “I have a long day tomorrow. You should go.”
He leaned against the counter, lines framing his eyes and mouth as he continued to stare at me. “I can’t rest, knowing you’re upset.”
“All right.” I threw up my hands, yelling at the ceiling. “I was raped, okay?”
For the briefest of moments, it felt liberating to get that off my chest. For five long years I’d kept the painful memories from that night buried deep inside the cavity of my battered heart.
Fuck. Why had I told him? Telling him would only lead to more questions. More prodding into my past. My chest heaved as I fought back tears. I would not let him see me cry!
I stomped a foot, screaming like a madwoman. “Are you happy now?”
His face paled as if he’d seen a ghost. “No.”
“We need to get some sleep.” Anger fueled my movements as I stomped into the front room. I jerked open the door and waved toward the porch. “You need to go.”
He stuffed his hands in his pockets and walked over to me. “I don’t want to leave you like this.”
Too bad he was so cute, because I was never having sex with him again. “Please leave, Brad,” I said through a stiff jaw.
“Okay.” His shoulders slumped as he walked past me and out on the porch. “I’ll check on you in the morning.”
I didn’t bother to answer him as I slammed the door in his face. Back stiff and head held high, I returned to the bedroom, feeling as if I was marching to my own funeral.
