Hendrix (Caldwell Brothers #1)

by Chelsea Camaron

  “Yes, yes, please,” she says, her voice husky with desire.

  I rip the condom open with my teeth then pull away enough to roll it down my cock before I lift her up.

  “Wrap them around me,” I instruct.

  Her pussy is so wet, and thank fuck for that because she is so fucking tight I nearly come on the spot.

  “Can’t go slow,” I groan.

  “Then don’t.”

  “Can’t go easy,” I say as I push into her heat again.

  “Oh, God,” she whimpers.

  As I slam into her, she cries out. Again and again, I pump into her. Her pussy squeezes me as she comes again, loud and hard, her nails digging into my back through the material of my suit. God, I wish we were naked. The bite of pain I would surely be feeling as she claws me would only add to the feeling of her tight heat as I pound into her.

  I groan as my cock swells, and I thrust into her one last time, spilling my seed.

  “Oh, my God.” Someone laughs as the door opens behind us.

  I pull out, and she jumps down, kneeing me right in the nuts in her scurry. I double over, groaning in pain now, as she bends down, putting her shoes back on. She snaps up, and her head hits my nose.

  “Son-of-a-bitch,” I say, grabbing my nose with the hand that isn’t holding my aching balls.

  “Sorry. I am so sorry.” She walks toward the light shining through the crack in the door that some fuck head didn’t shut after barging in on us.

  “Where you going?”

  “Thank you. I had a good—umm … thank you.”

  “You’re welcome?” I question, unsure what the hell I am supposed to say. I don’t know what the fuck is happening here. Never have I had a chick make a running escape out the door like this before.

  My balls are still throbbing as I straighten my pants. Running a hand over my now very tight feeling suit, I step out into the hall, still trying to sort out what just happened. I am met by a smirking Latina.

  I nod. “Where’s she at?”

  “She had a great time, says maybe she’ll see you around.”

  I laugh. “Is that so?”

  “It is,” she says, standing taller.

  I stand with my hands on my hips, wondering what the hell to do next. “Tell her, come grab me when she wants to … dance.” With that, I walk out to the ballroom.

  Chapter Four

  ~Olivia~

  My goodness, what is that smell? I think to myself as I try to lift my overly heavy eyelids while my nose stings with the assault of something burning. My head throbs, my body aches, and I am not quite sure where I am as my eyes struggle to open and face the blaring lights around me.

  “Shit, shit, shit,” I hear Tabby shriek from another room.

  I pat the space around me, realizing I am on a couch. I blink, my eyes tearing up in the light. Closing one eye, I try to give my mind a reprieve as I look around me.

  Tabby’s apartment. I am on her couch.

  Taking a glance at my body, I see I am still wearing the black dress from last night.

  Last night…

  What did I do? We went to the charity masquerade ball. We had a few drinks to help me relax. Tabby said I needed to let loose for just once. We danced.

  Oh. My. God.

  I was dancing with the man, the one from the bar. We kissed—okay, we mauled each other. Slowly, the memories invade my pounding head.

  The closet.

  The janitor’s closet. What the hell have I done? What was his name? Coggsworth? Codwell?

  Sitting up, I rest my elbows on my knees and cradle my head in my heads as I rack my hungover brain to remember his name. I have never done anything like this before in my life. I can’t believe I let him do things to me … those kinds of things … in a closet at a fundraiser. Alcohol is a true inhibitor. I didn’t even think to react. I didn’t even think to stop him.

  The smells of burning eggs—yes, definitely burnt eggs—and something else assaults my nose, causing me to lurch. Jumping up, I rush to the bathroom, making it to the toilet just in time for my stomach to revolt and empty itself.

  When I finish and am left dry heaving, I look over to the doorway to see Tabby, a disheveled mess herself, smiling down at me. Tears have filled my eyes from puking, and she is standing there smiling at me like the cat who caught the canary.

  “Good morning, sunshine.”

  “Ugh,” is my simple reply as I fight to keep from heaving again.

  “You look like hell, buttercup.” She smiles even bigger at me, causing the mascara streaks under her eyes to mock me further.

  “You are far too perky this morning for looking just as bad as I do,” I groan at her.

  “You should be perky after your midnight rendezvous in the closet.”

  Involuntarily, my hand comes up to cover my mouth in embarrassment. Tabby was the one who opened the door. I bolted past her to the bathroom to clean up and make my escape.

  “Don’t tell me you don’t remember. That guy was smokin’, not someone I would expect to be easily forgotten.” She moves over to the sink, wetting a washcloth before handing it to me.

  “I didn’t forget him. I just … I don’t do that sort of thing. One night stands, that’s not me, Tabby.”

  “Don’t beat yourself up, Livi. I know what you went through. I know how far you’ve come. This is a win for you. This is your year of empowerment and letting go.”

  “This isn’t me. I don’t go off with strangers.” The more I think on it, the more my mind swirls. I hunch over the toilet again, releasing the last of my meager contents.

  “Come on, I’ll get you some coffee. I tried to make breakfast, but I’m too hungover myself. I burned the hashbrowns and the eggs. For a minute, I thought I was going to set off the smoke alarm.”

  The thought of food makes my stomach churn. Seeing the change in my face, Tabby looks at me sympathetically before she walks away. I get up, slowly making my way back to her living room.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t think about how bad you might be feeling this morning. You were tossin’ them back last night, girlie.” She laughs lightly at herself.

  The room spins around me as dread fills me. I really let loose last night. Just call me loosey-goosey.

  What the hell was his name?

  While Tabby continues chatting, her words bounce around my head like a ping pong ball with me only catching every few words.

  “Totally can dance, girl.” I manage to comprehend that small fragment of whatever she is going on and on about. Why must she talk so much right now?

  Dancing? No, I wasn’t dancing. I was grinding. Heck, I was practically dry humping the mystery man’s leg. I acted like such a slut. No wonder he just took me freely in a closet.

  In a closet. A janitor’s closet.

  And what the heck was his name?

  “Hello, where are you at, Liv?”

  “Huh? What?” I reply, realizing I have no idea what she has been rambling about.

  “His name, what was his name?” She gasps, looking at my face. “You don’t know.”

  “Holdwell, no. Coldwell, Coldwall, Caldwell. He said, ‘Call me Caldwell.’ I think,” I stammer out as my friend bursts into a fit of giggles.

  I toss a throw pillow at her. “Not funny, Tabby.”

  “Oh, it’s funny. It’s hilarious. Always so reserved, Livi. It’s okay to let loose and have fun, and he was most certainly fun. The way you blushed coming out, you were thoroughly satisfied.”

  I shake my head, trying to shake off the thoughts of how my body reacted to him. I am such a slut.

  Mortification washes over me. Last night wasn’t the first night my body reacted to physical touch. Only in my inebriated state, last night, I wanted it for myself. Consent was fucking given.

  Tabby says this is empowering. Why can’t I accept that and let this help me let go of my past? Will the hold of my youth forever keep me on the outside in my future?

  Damaged goods. No man wants damaged goods.<
br />
  “Stop it, Liv. Don’t you be part of the double standard! Why is it okay for men to have sex for the sheer purpose of getting off, but a woman does it, and she’s a whore? No, ma’am, you are not allowed to feel guilty for last night. So what if you don’t exactly remember his name? You had a good time, had an orgasm, now move on. Call it a bucket list item; check it off, and on to the next.”

  “It’s more than that and you know it, Tabby,” I say on a whisper. She knows my past. She knows not only what happened, but the mixed emotions I go through. Every time I allow myself to think back on it, I don’t know if I’m up or I am down. I need to let go and I can’t.

  Maybe I have. Maybe last night was my first step in becoming whole again. It has been so long I don’t know what it feels like anymore.

  Last night, though, I went out like a normal twenty-four-year-old. I had drinks with a friend. I found a guy I was attracted to and went for it. Tossing all my cares, insecurities, and past transgressions aside, I went for it. That is empowering. That is becoming.

  Having nothing more to say to her, my mind races with memories of the night before.

  I move to straighten up the couch and gather my things. After a quick goodbye, I am in a cab and then back to my apartment. No way could I walk today, and Tabby is too hungover to drive safely both ways.

  Scraping the last bit of change from the bottom of my borrowed clutch from last night to tip the cabbie, my fingers trace over the delicate fabric of my mask. A mask I was able to hide behind so easily last night.

  Carefully, I get out of the car, hyperaware of my lack of undergarments. I am, yet again, mortified at remembering my behavior last night. Hot as he may be, he was a stranger, and now he has my panties. Like a souvenir or something, I don’t know.

  At my door, I notice an envelope taped to the door. Tearing it off, I then pick up the newspaper on my doorstep before entering my apartment. The newspaper that I let the salesmen rope me into prepaying for a year subscription to. The newspaper that I shouldn’t have gotten, but in a few more months that will be a bill I can cut loose. For now, it is my only source of current and up-to-date entertainment. The comics are just as funny now as when I was a kid. At least some things never change.

  Walking inside, I set down my purse and paper. Opening the envelope from my door, my heart sinks.

  Utility Disconnect Notice

  Your account with us is seriously past due. Your water is scheduled for disconnect in five business days. Please pay your balance in full to avoid interruption of service. If service is disconnected, customer is responsible for reconnect fees and security deposit before services will be restored.

  Feeling defeated, I toss the notice and the newspaper on the bar then make my way to my bedroom. Slipping out of my borrowed dress, I make my way to my bathroom and take a scalding hot shower, wishing I could wash away all my problems as easily as I can wash off the dirt of my previous day.

  Once out of the shower, I dress in yoga pants, and a T-shirt, skipping the bra, then head into my tiny kitchen space. Grabbing a bottle of over-the-counter pain killers, I quickly pop two as I stare at the cut-off notice, a glaring reminder that I am slowly losing everything.

  I can’t call my mom. She has no extra money to help me. What’s more, nothing would convince me to call my dad. My step-monster would love nothing more than for me to need something, anything, from them.

  Therefore, picking up the newspaper, I do the only thing I know to do. It is time to look for a second job. The hospital has great benefits, but the pay for a bottom grade social worker isn’t enough with my college student loans breathing down my neck. The monkey on my back that no one prepared me for when I left for school is always hanging around.

  Scanning the classifieds, my heart sinks. There aren’t many options to work with my schedule. What am I going to do?

  Then I see a few positions for waitresses and two for barmaids, all saying to apply in person. I could do that.

  Circling the ones that seem promising, I look at the clock. It’s mid-afternoon, no time like the present to face my new reality.

  I apply at four places before my hangover wins, and I go home. Tomorrow, after work, I will hit up the last spot.

  Chapter Five

  Hendrix

  I’m standing in front of the bar with a sledgehammer in my hand when Jagger pulls up.

  “What the hell are you doing?” He hops out of his Dodge Charger and walks toward me.

  “Taking out the front windows and the walls.”

  “The walls?” he asks, grabbing the sledgehammer. “You know how many times we put these bitches back in?”

  I laugh and nod. “They have been broken a few times, haven’t they?” Before I have time to say anymore, he swings the hammer, and then broken glass goes flying. “Fuck! Jesus, Jagger, safety fucking glasses!”

  “Those things are for pussies.” He swings again and hits the wall.

  I head to the truck and grab two pair of safety glasses and another sledgehammer. I hand him the glasses, and he rolls his eyes yet puts them on.

  After spending a couple hours releasing a shit ton of frustration, the storefront is demolished. We fill the wheelbarrow then take the rubble to the dumpster out back.

  “What the fuck possessed you to do this shit now? It’s February, man.”

  “Finished the hardwood upstairs last Sunday and Monday. The railing is up. The place looks too fucking upscale. Gonna put a garage door in the front. When we’re open and it’s warm, it can stay up. When we are closed, ain’t no motherfucker gonna be breaking a window, that’s for sure.”

  “A garage door?” he laughs at me.

  “Think about it, man. Fucking perfect.” I step back and look at the gaping hole in the front of my place. “Looks good.”

  “Are you out of your dammed mind?”

  “Nah, think of the private parties we can have.” I smile at him. “Monday night cards?”

  “No, shit. Morrison will love that.” He is catching on now.

  “His ass may be able to win every other place he plays, but not here. We know his tells.” I laugh.

  “We sure as hell do.”

  *.*.*.*

  By dark, Jagger and I have the garage door hung. It looks cool as fuck.

  In the cities, they use those gates in front of storefronts, but I’m not trying to make it look like the hood any more than it already does down here. I sure as hell don’t want to keep replacing windows, though.

  To the right is another entry door, allowing access when the large door is down

  Consent is fucking required.

  I laugh to myself and feel shit stir a bit in my jeans. The giggler was one hot piece of ass, and for some reason, I can’t get her out of my head.

  I try to shake it off and decide I am sure as hell gonna have a sign made that says, ‘Consent is fucking required,’ when I finally get one that says, ‘Caldwell’s Dive,’ to replace the Hooligans sign of my dad’s.

  *.*.*.*

  I look up and laugh as Morrison struts into the bar. “Well, there he is. New do?”

  I swear, not one of the three of us look alike, but you would think Momma was banging the delivery man when she got knocked up with Morrison. Jagger and I can pass as brothers, more on the basis of eye color than anything else. Morrison, though, he has blue eyes. Fucking pretty boy dresses like he is from uptown, too. “Gotta have swag,” he says when we bust his ass about it.

  “You home for a while longer than expected?” Morrison’s choice of career gives him flexible hours and as he puts it ‘travel benefits.’

  He takes off his jacket, blowing his hands to warm them. “Sure as fuck wish I was in Vegas right now. It’s cold as a witch’s tit in a brass bra out there, man.”

  “What’s keeping you?”

  He holds his hands up and rubs his thumb and fingers together. “Waiting on pay day.”

  “You broke, man?” Morrison always has money. The fucker is a card shark and never loses.
He has been banned from a few casinos because they thought he was counting cards, even though he wasn’t. He is just that damn good.

  “Bet everything I had on a fight.” He smiles as I slide him a cup of coffee.

  “And you haven’t been paid yet?”

  “I bet a lot.” He winks.

  “I see. Good for you, man, good for you.”

  “When you gonna have entertainment in here?”

  “Couple weeks probably,” I say as I sit on my stool behind the bar and take a drink.

  “What are you gonna do to draw them in until then?” He smirks, and I know exactly what he is thinking.

  “Nah, man.” I smirk back.

  “We haven’t done a proper ladies’ night in years, Hendrix.”

  A few years back, Momma and the old man took off for a week. They went to a casino or some shit, and I was left in charge. We didn’t have a band that night, since the old man wouldn’t allow it. Said we couldn’t be trusted. I needed bank and so did my brothers, and band nights were the big pay nights. Morrison had a date the next week with one of his highballing bitches, the kind who required flowers and dinner before they put out. I was trying to fix up my Nova with a new, small block engine. Jagger wanted to hire a trainer. As a result, we advertised a ladies’ night, and the place was packed.

  Morrison was fucked up and ended up dancing on the bar. Then Jagger hopped up there, too, and both of them stripped down to their boxers. The crowd started chanting my name, and I had drunk just enough to make me say, “Fuck it.”

  I threw the bar rag over my shoulder and decided to join the fun. I got up and grinded a bit, lost the boots, the socks, the shirt, and the broads were still begging. Jagger was turned around, twerking at the crowd or some shit, and I snapped his ass with a bar rag. Funny as hell. I still remember him being pissed until I handed him a shot.

  About that time, I dropped the denim, and well, let’s just say, underwear isn’t my thing. The fucking chicks went crazy. I pulled the bar rag off my shoulders and covered up the crowned jewels of Caldwell then grinded some more.