I took it and turned my head slightly to look at him. "I don't know anyone," I confided my anxiety.
His hand pressed harder into my lower back. "You know me. And Aaron is here somewhere. If you're not comfortable, you can go hang out with Ella for a bit then come back out. Okay? Stop stressing out."
With that, he left me to go greet the next group of people who were ushered through the door.
I bounced around hugging the walls for a minute before I felt someone sidle in next to me. "You couldn't look any more uncomfortable if you tried," Aaron's voice said in my ear.
"I just work here and make the desserts. I don't understand why I am here."
"Don't you, though?" Aaron asked, looking down at me.
"What do you mean?"
"You know, the day I met you here, that wasn't the first time I saw you," he said, changing the topic.
I felt my face scrunch up a little at him acknowledging something I had already considered when I got a look inside their security room. "You've seen me picking up my dad."
"Just about every week. In dresses like this. Sometimes all dolled up, sometimes with bed-head and half-awake eyes."
"Gee, what a great impression I have left."
"I'm just saying, sweetheart, not judging."
I paused for a minute, my eyes seeking Byron across the room where he was talking to a small group of people. One of which was Lyla. Lyla from the 'one and done' sex. I took a deep breath, reminding myself it wasn't my place to feel jealous or worried.
"Aaron," I said, feeling a swirling sensation start in my belly.
"Yeah?"
"If you've seen me every week for... however long," I started, turning to look at him and I saw the answer on his face before I even asked the question. "Has Byron?"
"Sweetheart," he said, taking my empty wine glass, "now you know why you're here." With that, he walked away, leaving me feeling like my brain was swirling.
Byron had been watching me? When he called my dad in, was that his plan all along? Did he just see me and decide I was an itch? God, how had I not considered that option before? It wasn't like he got accustomed to me, liked me as a person, then decided he wanted to fuck me. He saw me, wanted to fuck me, manipulated my life to make that happen, and then maybe started to appreciate me as a human being.
I looked up to see Byron watching me, brows drawn together like maybe he picked up on some of the shock and anger and hurt on my face. He excused himself from his group and made his way toward me. Not trusting my mouth to keep shut and not wanting to make a scene, I slipped sideways and away just as he closed in. The last thing I saw before I disappeared was his brow lifted and the promise there that said he was going to get to the bottom of my actions.
I didn't come back out when desserts were delivered. I didn't even find myself caring what the reactions were. When things started to sound like they were dying down at the party, I left Ella to get her cleaning done, kicked out of my heels, and made my way outside. I just needed a couple more minutes of peace. At a loss for what to do, I went off toward the walking track and did a few laps before moving to the grassy center and lying down, looking up at the sky.
It didn't surprise me when Byron's body towered over me a while later.
"What the fuck is this?" he asked, waving a hand at me.
"I needed some fresh air," I said, avoiding looking at him.
"Your desserts were a hit in case you care," he informed me, knowing damn well that I cared.
"I'm glad your party was a success."
"Alright, cut the shit. What did Aaron say to you?"
I turned my head slightly to look up at him, ridiculously handsome even from that angle. "He just mentioned that he had seen me many times over the years. I put the rest together."
"What did you put together?"
"That this was some elaborate set-up."
"Right. So I forced your father to learn how to count cards and then come into my casino and steal from me for the express purpose of getting in your pants."
"Did you used to watch me on the cameras?"
Byron sighed, taking his hands out of his pockets. Then he was down on the ground, his legs straddling my hips. It was an intimidating pose, but I knew better than to actually be scared of him. "Did I see you?" he asked, leaning forward slightly, his hand reaching out to touch my cheek. "Face like this, yeah, babe, I fucking saw you. Saw your love and determination too. But that doesn't mean this was a trick. I didn't even know you were coming with Mack until you showed up here. Did I see an opportunity and take it? Fuck yeah I did. Can you blame me?"
"So I am an itch."
"You're not a fucking itch. In case you haven't been paying attention, Prue, I've fucked you in every position, in every hole. And you're still here. If you were an itch, you'd be long scratched by now. So stop bringing that shit up."
"Why haven't you told me that you've seen me? Or watched me? Or whatever."
"Because this is what I knew would happen. You'd bend it all out of proportion and make it something it's not. I saw you. I thought you were hot. Maybe I gave some thought to fucking you. But, babe, if it was anything more than that, I would have come down and gotten the job done on any one of those nights."
"I wouldn't have fucked you," I insisted.
"Yeah, you would have."
"Um, no. The only reason you got in my pants is because I got to spend some time with you and see past the asshole-persona."
"If that's what you need to tell yourself, babe."
"It's not that you're not attractive. You are. But that's not the point."
"You're a relationship girl. It's hard for you to accept that sometimes your body just wants what it wants," he informed me, shifting his weight, going down on his forearms, and pressing his legs between my thighs.
"It's more than that," I admitted, giving him more than I told myself I would ever give him.
"Whatever you need to tell yourself," he agreed, leaning down and planting kisses across my neck.
"So... they really liked my desserts?" I blurted out when I couldn't keep it in any longer, making him chuckle and push up to look down at me.
"Yeah, babe, they really liked your desserts. Several asked for your business card."
"I don't have a business card," I added unnecessarily.
Byron's face went a little wicked as he pushed back to sit on his ankles, reaching into his pocket and fishing out a card. He held it out to me and I reached for it, already knowing what it was, but needing confirmation. And sure enough, it was a business card. The front was light pink and white stripes with a picture of a cupcake and my name. The back was plain pink with my cell number and an email address. It was an email address that didn't belong to me, I might add.
"Byron..." I said, looking up at him, feeling a little emotional again.
"Look, I get that you need the safety and stability of your boring nine-to-five. I know you need that for your peace of mind. But there is nothing saying you can't do what you love too."
"You make it sound easy."
"Maybe it will be, maybe it won't. But there's nothing saying it needs to be easy. What in your twisted little life has been easy? At least this will be the kind of hard that leads to something you really want."
And, well, he had a point.
"Can I ask..." I trailed off at his brow raise, knowing he hated when I asked permission to ask a question. "Why waste your time designing and ordering and handing out cards for me?"
He was silent for a long minute, looking off into the darkness before looking down at me again. "Fuck if I know, Prue. You've had a rough life. I can commiserate. I had someone to help me get a leg up. Figured you deserved at least that."
"So you're... paying it forward?" I asked, hearing a bit of disappointment in my words and hoping he didn't catch it.
"Something like that. Now are you done with this bullshit? Can I fuck you now?"
And, well, I wasn
't done with the bullshit. But I definitely wanted him to fuck me.
So he did.
Slow and sweet at first, then ending up rough, dirty, primal, my cries echoing out across his open land.
--
Four days after that, everything going the status quo I was beginning to expect, even if it hurt my soul and heart a bit more than I wanted to admit, Byron walked up behind me in the kitchen as I refilled both of our coffee cups. His head rested on my shoulder; his arm went around my belly. "There's a dress on your bed," he informed me.
"For?" I asked, feeling a swirling in my belly. It had been about a week since he put a hand on me during 'business hours'. He always seemed to keep our sexual activities separate from what I did during the day for him. I couldn't quite say if it was something I hated or maybe appreciated. It helped me keep things in prospective, but a part of me was always hoping for more.
"We're going to Mandy's tonight."
"Why are you bringing me to work?" I asked, shaking my head.
"I'm not bringing you to work. I am bringing you to a restaurant and casino I just so happen to own."
"I really don't think..."
"Gotta get over your hangups about casinos. They're not the awful places you have experienced them to be. So come with me, let me show you a side of it that doesn't involve your father and his issues."
"Why?"
"Why the fuck not?"
"Byron, I just don't..."
"For me?" he asked and I felt myself stiffen. That was a very un-Byron-like thing to say. It was almost as if he maybe had picked up on my more-than-sexual feelings toward him. And then decided to exploit them.
"For you?" I repeated, my tone cautious.
"You're going to make me eat alone?"
"You eat alone almost every night," I insisted.
"Humor me."
"I don't think..."
"Don't think. You're always weighing shit and debating shit. You're missing out on everything. Just agree. And trust me."
"Trust you?" I asked, shaking my head the smallest bit.
"Babe, if you can trust me to tie you to my bed spread-fucking-eagle and walk the fuck away and trust me to come back before someone finds you," he said, referencing what he had done the night before, "then you can trust me to take you to dinner."
"It's a different kind of trust. You know how I feel about gambling..."
"And if at any point tonight you are uncomfortable, I'll take you home. All I am asking is you take a chance."
Maybe it was the way he said 'home' like he meant it, like his home was my home too. But I felt my defenses that were, admittedly already rather weak, crumble. "Okay," I said, leaning back into him slightly.
"You sound so excited," he drawled. "Way to boost a man's ego."
"The last thing your ego needs is any kind of boosting."
"Babe, every time you scream my name out when I am inside you, that's all the ego boost I need," he told me, voice close to my ear, before he stepped away and left the room.
I got dressed feeling both excited and nervous. The dress he picked out was the color of champagne, the perfect golden beige. The hem fell longer than the blue dress he had gotten me, almost meeting my knee, but it made up for it with a sight more cleavage. I slipped into the nude shoes I wore to the party and tied my hair up in a clip which I thought made me look a little more sophisticated.
I grabbed my wallet and made my way down the stairs to find Byron waiting in the foyer, watching the steps for me. As soon as I rounded the bend, he gave me a small smile that didn't slip until my feet hit the landing. He moved closer, reaching behind me and pulling my hair out of its clip.
"What's with you and my hair?" I asked, shaking my head as he settled it around my shoulders.
He completely ignored my question and trailed a finger down my cheek, neck, chest, bodice. "Perfect."
I wasn't sure what, exactly, he was referring to, but my chest warmed. "Yeah, it fits..." I started, only to be interrupted.
"I wasn't talking about the dress," he said and the warmth intensified until it burned through me. "Let's go," he said suddenly, snapping me to attention as he turned from me and went to the front door. He held it open for me and let me pass, but didn't put his hand on my lower back like I had come to expect.
Outside, Byron's car was idling and Matt was standing outside the front doors. I know he noticed just as I noticed that Byron rushed off ahead of me, going down the steps without helping me down. Matt stepped in, taking my hand, leaning down, and saying in a sexy whisper, "I'd take a bite, honey."
"Hands off, Matt," Byron barked, standing beside the passenger door he was holding open.
"Didn't want her to ruin her pretty face falling down the steps in those heels," Matt declared unapologetically and I had to fight to keep from smiling. And, to my surprise, Byron didn't raise to the bait.
"Thanks, Matt," I said as he released me and I ducked inside the car. I barely had time to swing my legs in before Byron slammed the door.
The entire ride to Mandy's was in tense silence. Tense because Byron was in one of his moods and I was not about to get into a fight with him about it. So I stared out the side window and Byron focused on driving. My door was opened by the valet who offered a hand to help me out, but was promptly shouldered out of the way by Byron who must have run across the front of the car to get there that fast. I looked at his palm for a long minute before he barked out quietly, "Take my fucking hand, Prue."
I did, trying to ignore the sparks that seemed to ignite at the casual touch. He helped me out and led me toward the doors where he was greeted and I was given smiles. His hand stayed wrapped in mine and I swallowed hard."Is this proving some kind of point?" I asked, squeezing his palm slightly. When he didn't answer, I went on, "Matt was just offering some manners."
"Matt was laying the groundwork for getting up your skirt. If you think anything different, you're not as smart as I've given you credit for."
"Listen," I said, trying to pull out of his hold, but his hand was a vice on mine. Then suddenly, my body was jerked to the side as Byron opened a door and ushered me inside a room that was some sort of storage closet, brown boxes stacked on metal shelves in a space just big enough to throw your arms out in.
"I told you how I felt about this Matt shit."
"There is no 'Matt shit'," I said, shaking my head. He moved to open his mouth, but I beat him to it. "Look, you're always asking or demanding me to trust you, why the hell don't you trust me?"
"Because," he started, then shook his head and looked away, a muscle ticking in his jaw.
"Because why?" I demanded, moving my head into his line of vision again.
He released his breath on a sigh. "Because if you are vested in me in any way, even just exclusive sex, babe, you're incredibly foolish. And it's hard to trust someone like that."
"I'm... foolish?" I sputtered, yanking my hand hard enough to get out of his hold.
"You're taking this personally. It's not personal."
"It is personal. I might be a lot of things, Byron, but I am not, and have never been, foolish."
"It's not about you, can't you see that? It's about me. I know what kind of man I am, Prue. And I'm not one you should trust. I'm certainly not the one any sane woman would choose over a guy like Matt. So I have to believe that you're foolish and therefore untrustworthy or just..."
"Just what?" I asked, anger a coiled snake in my belly, just wanting him to flinch so I could strike.
"Just getting your rocks off before you smarten up and tell me to fuck off."
"Well, let's just save time then, shall we? Fuck off, Byron," I snapped, my voice raised, almost hysterical, as I pushed past him and reached for the door handle. But his body came up behind me fast, crushing me against the door, his head ducked into my ear.
"This is getting blown out of proportion," he said, his voice annoyingly calm while I felt like I was crawling out of my skin.
"Right. Because I am so foolish."
"Stop, babe, just stop," he said and his voice was doing that soft thing that turned my insides liquid. "I wasn't trying to piss you off. I was trying to explain where I stand here."
"And where do you stand, Byron?" I asked, my voice still snippy.
"I don't like seeing you melt for another man."
"I didn't melt for Matt."
"You were close. And Matt might be loyal to me, but he'd have taken advantage of that in a second. You either genuinely don't see it or you like that it pisses me off."
"I like that it pisses you off," I admitted, squeezing my eyes tight against the admission.
"Why?"
"Because it's proof that I'm more than an itch."
"Jesus fucking Christ, we're back to this again? Prue, you're not an itch. You're obviously not a one-night stand. You barely even qualify as a fling anymore. I don't know what the fuck you are, but you're not those things. So just stop bringing that shit up." I rested the side of my forehead against the door and took a deep breath. "What, babe?"
"I hate this," I admitted.
There was a long pause, his strong body still pressed into mine. "Then let's change it," he suggested, his hand going around my front and sliding up my thigh, hiking my skirt up inch by inch.
"That won't fix anything," I objected, already feeling my breasts swell and my muscles clench in anticipation.
"No, but it will feel good," he agreed, his hand sliding into my panties and stroking up my slit until he found the throbbing bud of my clit and started working it. "I'm not gonna fuck you here," he informed me, his finger moving down and pressing inside me as his thumb continued the sweet torment of my clit. "But I am going to make you come. And then we will go back out there and have a nice dinner and screw around at the tables. And then when I get you home," he paused, letting me get antsy for an explanation.
"And?" I asked, feeling his finger curve and start raking over my G-spot.
"And then I am going to introduce you to my flogger while I fuck you from behind until you scream loud enough for your throat to get raw."
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