by K Larsen
“I know, all right? I’m not interested in a relationship with him,” I huff.
“Then screw him and move on,” he says through gritted teeth. We avoid my sex life at all costs. It seems to kill Sawyer to admit that there is anyone outside of him. It’s a fine line we walk together.
I walk back out having calmed myself and grab my next client. I busy myself the rest of the day with my work and ignore Sawyer. Kylie appears at three to collect him and I barely acknowledge his half-assed goodbye. My last appointment finishes up at three-thirty, giving me a little time to clean up and refresh my make-up. I lock the door after she’s left and get to it.
In the bathroom I stare at myself in the mirror and get the urge to cut my hair. I want bangs. What the hell. I comb a section of hair forward and bring the scissors up to mid-nose. One chop of the scissors and I now have long, thick, straight brown bangs. I trim and clean them up a bit more until they rest just the way I want them to along my eyebrow line. A knock at the front door lets me know Dom’s back. I set the scissors down and hurry to the door to let him in.
“Hey,” I greet, a little breathy. His gaze flits down my body and I find myself feeling self-conscious under his scrutiny.
“You cut your hair?” he states shortly.
“Yeah,” I shrug, blowing it off. I don't care if he likes it or not.
“It suits you,” he says and nods.
“Gee, thanks,” I snicker. “What’s in the bags?”
Dom follows closely at my heels to the back room where I plop down at the table as “Rack City” thumps through the speakers of the shop. There is something about this song that makes me want to dance. It’s ridiculous, really. I’m definitely a thirty-plus white girl who should not be “feelin’” this song. Ha! I snort out loud at my train of thought. Dom’s eyes crinkle in confusion but he says nothing. He lays out two sandwiches from the store up the street as I bob my head to the music. He places a carton of fries in between us as he takes his seat.
“Turkey club or tuna salad?” he asks. Without answering I snag the tuna salad. Micky’s has the best tuna salad in town and I never pass it up. I unwrap the wax paper and grab some fries from the carton. Yum.
“Interesting choice of music,” he says blandly as I bob unconsciously along to the music.
“I didn’t know you liked Jay-Z,” I say, referring to “No Church in the Wild” which is now playing.
“He frequents some of my clubs. Nice guy.”
My tuna sandwich stops halfway to my mouth as I glance up at him in shock. “Seriously?”
“Yes.”
“Jesus, you really are grossly rich,” I say, shoving a large bite into my mouth. I push out of my chair. “Soda?” I mumble around my food.
“Pepsi?” he asks.
“Sure,” I answer and walk to the vending machine. I pull open the face of it and twist the key we leave in it. Pulling out two sodas, I kick the face shut again. Dom’s face is priceless, a mix of shock and awe, like I just robbed the place. “Perks of being the owner,” I laugh, handing him a can.
“You own this?” he asks, carefully wiping the mouth of the can with his napkin. Anal, I sing to myself silently.
“Sawyer and I co-own,” I fill him in.
“Wow. I didn't realize.” His lips twitch before placing the can to his lips and taking a sip. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows and it makes me want to do strange things to him.
“Why are you surprised? I’m no slouch. I had dreams just like everyone else,” I blurt, irritated. This guy can make my mood swing so fast it makes my head spin.
“Is there anything else you do I should know about?” he asks and grins mischievously.
“I teach chorus at the elementary school,” I shrug. God, I need to stop shrugging. It’s so unladylike. Not that I care. I’m no lady.
“Ahh, that's where the rock star vibe comes from. Is it charity?”
I choke on my sandwich at his reference to The Harp night. His laugh bellows out of him. It’s deep and hearty and musical. I love it. Uh-oh, not good.
“Oh, I do charity work, I volunteer my opinion almost every day!” I snigger. “But no, they pay me to teach the children to sing.”
“Where’s the little girl who was here yesterday?” he asks and my skin prickles a little.
“Allie’s at camp for a week,” I reply, trying to smooth my hackles back in place.
“Allie is the spitting image of you,” he smiles. He noticed. Damn. She is, though. Her olive skin, chocolaty brown hair, and striking blue eyes mirror my own. It’s hard to find her father in her at all. Thank God for the little things in life.
“In more ways than one, not all of them good,” I laugh.
“I’m sure she’s a delightful little girl.”
“Sure, if you like gunpowder and lead,” I quip and lead our conversation away from Allie because I don’t want him to be a part of her life and he doesn't need to know any more than he does about her.
We chitchat through our sandwiches and I find myself liking him. He’s funny. He explains that although he grew up wealthy, he didn’t take any of his family's money; rather, he chose to strike out on his own and amass his own fortune. He sees his parents once a year at Christmas and is an only child. He does own a Harley, but the article was wrong, he only owns one and it’s a Fatboy. Mmmm, hot. Still can’t picture him on it though. He spends most of his time in Boston, not California or Miami, but does travel there frequently each month to check on his investments. His tattoo is a reminder to be a ruthless businessman even if it means striking people less fortunate than him, but the roses are meant to represent that even cobras can be gentle and beautiful. I get it and tell him as much. Our banter is easy and he really is pretty witty and laidback. Maybe he’s not as bad as I thought.
At four-thirty he strips for me again and I’m left just as breathless as the first time. Handing me a wad of cash, he adjusts himself on the table and settles in. I completely zone out in my work, opting for headphones so he can listen to the radio station of his choice. A bit later there's a tap at my leg. I yank out an earbud. “Yeah?”
“It’s a little chilly in here,” he says hesitantly.
“Oh shit. I forgot the AC. It’s on a timer. Hold on.” I leap off my stool and jog to the thermostat, cranking it up to eighty to try and offset the blast of the AC. When I’m back at the stool he thanks me and asks what I’m listening to.
“Lights,” I tell him, pushing an earbud back in. Surprising me, he reaches up and snags the other earbud and puts it in his ear. I grin at him and push play as he winks back at me. My playlist comes to a close around six, leaving just the dull buzz of the needle and the faint sound of the alternative station filtering through the shop. I’ve always found the noise of the gun to be soothing.
“Need a break?” I ask, sitting up and stretching a bit.
“Sure,” he responds, sounding sleepy. I wonder what he looks like sleeping. He’s strong, powerful, and reeks of male testosterone, but I bet when he sleeps he looks innocent and gentle. I wipe him clean and let him sit up to stretch. I should have remembered to turn the heat down because I’m starting to sweat. I whip my shirt off and toss it on the table beside me. Spinning back around I catch Dom’s heated gaze over my shoulder. He reaches out and fingers one of the butterflies that trail up my shoulder blade. “That's stunning,” he murmurs.
“Thanks,” I say quietly, trying not to break the moment. His touch feels incredible. His finger dips lower to the next butterfly that sits just below my camisole. He pulls the material down slightly and sucks in a breath.
“What?” I ask defensively.
“I want to see it.” His voice is low and rough and it does funny things to my belly. Funny things I like.
“What?” I’m confused now.
“Your tattoo, it’s much more than just this, isn't it?” he asks, trailing his hand over the visible parts.
“It is. But it’s not something I can show you without stripping,” I smi
le coyly, knowing I’m teasing him. “I’m not sure how you missed it when you stripped me.”
“It was dark. I didn't see your back, only the front,” he admits smugly. I’m sure my face just turned five different shades of red. My irritation at him flares at his admission.
“So you weren’t a perfect gentleman. Is there anything else I should know about that night? Because frankly I don't recall any of it,” I spit out. His breathing comes in short puffs that make his naked torso move in the most alluring ways. Snap out of it, Clara. He’s a total jerk!
“We didn’t have sex if that's what you mean. I didn’t do anything but admire your body as I changed you into something more...comfortable.”
My brain is screaming at me to bitch slap him, storm out, and never look back, but my gut is clenched with anticipation and there's a fire growing deep in my belly. “What would you have done if I were awake?” I find myself asking rather breathlessly as I squeeze my thighs together discreetly. His face darkens as he speaks. Part of me likes a man with a firm hand--just not a heavy hand. There’s something hot about being commanded and forced to submit to desire, as long as they are good at what they do. I suck at relationships. Most men are intimidated by my bluntness and straight talk or just turned off by it altogether, but Dominic Napoli seems to crave my sailor speak and rotten attitude.
“Clara, what wouldn't I have done?” he all but growls. I raise an eyebrow at him. “I’d like to feel that silky skin under my hands. I’d like to taste you,” he rumbles and I gasp at his forwardness. “I’d explore every inch of your body until you beg me to stop.” My breathing is more of a pant now as his words sink in. His pants are undone and I witnessed the twitch of his dick as he speaks about me. I’m flushed and feel reckless at his speech as he continues. “I’d like to bring you to the edge with my fingers.” His hand darts out, capturing mine, tugs me between his legs, and I struggle to keep breathing. “Then with my tongue and....” His hands languidly move up my spine to the nape of my neck and curl around it possessively. We’re face to face with him sitting on the table and me standing at his center. “Then...with my cock,” he breathes into my ear and I think my entire body just caught fire. “I want to feel your nails when they dig into my back. I want to hear you scream my name. I want to make you come, Clara.” His lips brush against my neck and a moan slips from my throat.
His tongue slides to my shoulder then follows the ridge of my collarbone to the other side, teasing me, and slides up behind my ear. He sucks and nibbles on my earlobe and I can feel myself losing all self-control. His hands splay my waist, gripping me firmly and keeping me in place. My hands betray me and tangle into his glossy thick black hair forcing his mouth lower on my skin. I cock my head to the side giving him better access to my neck as he lavishes the sensitive skin with affection. My breath comes in ragged gasps as I let him work over my neck, throat, and décolletage. As strangely and quickly as it started, it stops. I tug his head back to me, ready to kiss him, but he’s strong and stops inches from my mouth. “Don’t stop,” I hiss.
“I want you, Clara.” Well, no shit. Now I’m confused.
“And I’m giving myself to you,” I answer, stumped.
“I want more than just your body and I’m willing to wait until you’ll give it,” he says slowly and deliberately.
“What?” I step back, shocked by what I think he’s saying.
“I’m not a cheap lay, Clara. I don't want one night, I want all of them.” He reaches for me but I evade his hands.
“Sorry, I’m only up for a one night kinda deal,” I say, hands up defensively and retreating further away. “We’re done here.” I can’t believe I was just rejected. I’m completely shocked and if I’m honest, my ego is bruised. “Call next week to make your next appointment,” I say harshly.
“Why won't you date me?” he inquires curiously. My eyes dart to the ground as I silently form my response.
“It doesn't really matter...I just won't, and you need to accept that before I get really skeeved out and scream bloody murder,” I state firmly. He stands and dresses slowly, never taking his eyes off me. I walk to the front of the shop, unlock the door, and hold it open for him. “See ya,” I clip.
“I’m not known for giving up...”
“And I’m not known for backing down, now get out,” I interrupt.
“Just to be clear, you were willing to fuck me without hesitation but you’re not willing to go on a date with me?” He asks, his tone dangerously close to judgmental. One statement and he’s reduced me to some cheap whore and I hate him for it. I’m a little wild but not like that. Not usually. He makes me want to surrender my body to him. We’ve never even kissed. I don't know him.
“What can I say, I’m attracted to you. I was willing to go with the attraction and ignore your personality for the night,” I drop sarcastically, then shove him out the door and make a show of locking it behind him. As soon as he disappears out of sight I collapse on the floor as a few tears leak from my eyes. How dare he make me feel like a slut. I’ve been with five people and I’m thirty-two for Christ's sake, that’s hardly skank territory. In fact, I’m sure it’s safe to assume that Mr. Pompous Ass has been with at least double that. Sniffling, I wipe my cheeks clean of the tears that have spilled down them, reset the thermostat, kill the lights, and head out. This day has been nothing but crap and I’m done.
She-Bitch
The house is annoyingly quiet. Sawyer left a note saying he was staying at Kylie's tonight and with Allie gone that leaves just me to hold down the fort. I grab a beer from the fridge and plop down on the beanbag chair usually reserved for Allie. It smells like her and my heart aches a little knowing I won't see her for six more days. I take a sip of my beer and start thinking about my pathetic love life. I’d shied away from men mostly because my mom was an absentee mom growing up, always doting on a new boyfriend after my dad was found guilty of embezzling and sent off to prison. I didn’t trust men and I didn’t want to be like my mother. I’d given my V-card to some douche in high school who didn’t even know my last name. It was quick, relatively painless, and completely uneventful. After that I’d waited until college before trying again. Tucker and I had dated for a year and although the sex was fairly vanilla, it was satisfying because we cared deeply for each other. I’d left Tucker, like a jerk, for Daniel. He’d come into the coffee shop where I worked and swept me off my feet. Hook, line, and sinker, I was a goner from the first moment he spoke. He was a Harvard Law student and came with an impressive trust fund. Never had I been so pampered and spoiled, so taken care of. It was like a fairy tale. Between the sheets he subjected me to a whole new world of possibilities and I loved every second of it. Although he was overbearing, controlling, and possessive, I continued deeper into our relationship. Amanda and Marg hated him. I can understand why now, but I was too blind to get it then. The day I graduated college he proposed. His grandmother’s engagement ring was a stunning family heirloom and valued at well over twenty thousand dollars. We moved in together shortly after that to his townhouse while he finished law school. From there we would move back to his California home where he would be groomed to follow his father’s footsteps in politics.
Appearances were everything. I needed to look and act the part any time we were outside our home. There were no days off in Daniel’s world. I’d always wanted to be a tattoo artist. My degree in graphic design was just that: a degree, a fall-back, but Daniel would have no part of my dream. I was to fall in line and be a kept woman. I was not to complain that he was out with other women doing what he wanted. I would always smile and appear picture perfect. I grew to resent and later hate him until one day I disappeared into the wind and never looked back. I abandoned him, my mother, and everyone else in my life. I moved constantly and never really let anyone in. After delivering Allie I became even more vigilant about our safety, knowing that if Daniel ever found out he had an illegitimate child with a poor tattoo artist it would be detrimental to his appearance an
d his family’s social standing. I couldn't imagine how he’d react or what he might do so I never gave him the chance. No one entered my little bubble until Sawyer.
I don't know why but when he blew into my and Allie’s lives it felt right and safe and meant to be. The feeling seemed to be mutual but like always I grew restless and pushed him away. Well, emotionally at least. He gets it though, and stays anyways. Connor was a month-long, intense fling that fizzled out almost as intensely as it started. Sawyer hated Connor. Lastly, there was Brian, a really nice guy. I guess that was the problem. We dated for a few months and he was just too nice. There was no edge to him. We never progressed past first base. I’m not exactly warm and fuzzy, but he was and it just didn't make sense. We still wave and chitchat if we run into each other but he’s happily dating one of the kindergarten teachers now, which totally makes sense. And there you have it, my sordid past and depressing sex life laid out in a neat lame package.
Outside of Sawyer and Daniel, no man has ever claimed me, consumed me, or had the balls to make me submit. I can't explain it but when a man takes control and just...well...takes you, it’s a complete turn-on. When they know what they’re doing of course. I don't mean they just take you without giving back, I mean a man who claims you with the intent of pleasing you and then taking from you what he needs. It’s hard to find a guy that confident in life. I think I see that in Dom, which is probably why I let all my defenses crumble and threw myself at him. For crap’s sake, our lips have never touched. He’s never kissed me. Strange now that I think about it...I mean, he kissed other places, but why hadn’t he kissed my mouth? Not that it matters. Dominic Napoli can kiss my ass now. I am not some cheap tattoo tramp. It disgusts me that I feel a pull to him, that I want him. I finish my beer and curl up on the couch, flipping aimlessly through the channels trying to find something to entertain me.
