by Ada Stone
Still, I was supposed to be considering a long term affair with a woman. I just didn’t think the fiery little redhead in the Daisy Dukes was the kind of woman anyone had in mind for that.
“Hey, so, how well do you know her?” Sorenson asked as she walked away, his eyes riveted to her plump ass.
I rolled my eyes. “I know she likes a little tongue beforehand. And that she’s easy. So go on before someone else bites off a piece of that tonight.”
Sorenson did a small fist pump, reminding me he was definitely still a kid, then bounded towards the waitress. I watched them just long enough to see him waggle his eyebrows at her and her lean forward until her heavy breasts were on the counter top. He’d get into her pants tonight, I was sure of it, and it didn’t bother me in the slightest.
Definitely not long-term material if I don’t even care who else she sleeps with, I thought as we waited on our beers.
It didn’t take long for Sorenson to come bounding back. I looked at his hands, which were full of several beers.
“Wow, not only did she get an eighteen-year-old to fuck tonight, but she got you to do her job for free, too,” commented Garrison, laughing at the glazed expression on Sorenson’s face.
The younger man made a face. “Shut up. I’m almost nineteen.” But he didn’t argue about getting laid or doing her job, just set the beers down in front of us. We talked a little after that, mostly joking about Sorenson’s interest in older women.
“Hey! Age is just a number!” he’d tell us whenever we brought it up.
I wasn’t sure about that. That redhead was close to my age and he was six years younger than I was, so I thought that was a bit of a gap. Still, pussy was pussy and I doubted they were going to get married over it, so I didn’t stress it. He could make his own fumbling mistakes and learn from them easily enough.
We drank and laughed, but I was muted. I was still worked up over the family man crap, not to mention Armand’s determination to stir up trouble in my club. The beer wasn’t doing much to soothe my frayed nerves and I realized that I was either going to have to beat the crap out of someone or fuck a woman as hard and fast as she’d let me. Either would be fine at this point.
My gaze traveled over the faces in the bar, lingering now and again on a pretty one. I’d assess her heavy makeup, then move on to her body. I’d look over her breasts—were they big? Perky? Real?—then her ass and hips. Guys were so focused on the tits that they forgot how important the hips were. Something to grab onto while you were thrusting. But every time, I let my gaze shift to the next woman. I couldn’t seem to find anything that caught my eye tonight, and maybe I wasn’t really looking. A woman wasn’t the thing that I absolutely needed tonight, but she could fill in that burning need to do something. Violence or sex, I needed one of the two tonight, and if I couldn’t settle on a woman, I’d have to go with the violence, which meant picking a fight with one of the mean bastards in the bar tonight.
Because that’s a bright idea, I thought to myself.
My gaze continued along until I saw the door open and Fat Freddie wave in a group of people that couldn’t possibly be old enough to be in here. They looked like they could sit in the same classroom as Sorenson and be perfectly okay.
I would have just glanced right over them and moved on except that I caught a quick view of lovely cleavage that was ringed in a hot pink bra. I didn’t know what it was about that particular pair of tits that caught my eye, but when someone crossed over them to block my view, I found myself straining to see them again. The figure moved and I caught sight of those lovely breasts. They were perky and large, curved in just the right way to tell me that they were young and full, but also real. And they also happened to be attached to a complete knock out.
She was wearing a black shirt that was tight enough to be a second skin and was torn strategically enough that I figured she’d bought it that way. It had rhinestones on the front of it, telling me that she wasn’t as hard as she wanted to be. The tears exposed the edges of her hot pink bra as well as her midriff, a smooth expanse of silky pale flesh. The shirt stopped just above her belly button, and her jeans—black and definitely ripped deliberately and probably expensive as hell—were slung low and tight on her hips. The result was what looked like miles of sweet, slender flesh.
At first I thought she was fairly tall for a woman, but then I noticed the little ankle boots she was wearing, black and with heels so high and thin I was sort of amazed she could walk at all without stumbling instantly. But she seemed comfortable in them, confident even. Like they gave her a little extra power.
They certainly did a little something extra to the growing bulge in my tight leather pants.
Her blonde hair was thick and wild, but like everything else on her, it was well maintained and very obviously deliberate. I saw her pink tongue pop out of her mouth and slide over her bright cherry red lips, full and sultry.
When my gaze finally reached her bright blue eyes, I let myself take in the whole of her. I groaned.
The woman was barely a woman. She could have been eighteen, or even younger, and it made me hesitate for half a second. If she was still in high school, she was off limits, but the way her curves called to me…
I’d ask if she was eighteen, I promised myself. I’d sneak a peek at her ID. Whatever. The way her body was put together was like a godsend, and it was more than I could just walk away from.
“Who is that?” I heard Delano ask from across the table, leaning over slightly so that he could be heard over the loud music with indiscernible lyrics.
I shook my head. “I don’t know,” I told him, then tore my eyes from her long enough to fix him with a warning glare. “But she’s mine tonight.”
Chapter Two
Amelia
I had been home for a grand total of three days. My last semester at college had been so bad that I was seriously considering dropping out. I’d been keeping that little tidbit of happiness to myself since arriving home in Mount Rose, but I should have known that it would have gotten out eventually. My father wasn’t the type to resist poking and prodding until he got whatever information he was looking for.
Probably it made him a good businessman, but I had always thought it had made him a terrible father.
“It’s a really good school and I expect your performance to improve next fall,” my father told me as he combed back his thick salt and pepper hair. He was attractive, despite being in his early sixties. That was because my father was all about appearances, about taking care of his body so that he looked like the suave, charming ladies’ man that the Mount Rose population seemed to appreciate so much.
I, however, didn’t appreciate it.
“The school is fine, Dad,” I told him, folding my arms across my chest. I was still wearing that pearly white dress from dinner that evening, looking like the sweet little angel that he liked to sell to the public, especially during re-election years. It was itchy from the sheer overlay on the silky fabric and made me want to fidget. “But I really wanted to talk to you about that University of Arizona program.”
He snorted, loosening his tie. We were home, so he could let out some slack from his otherwise immaculate appearance, though I never saw him really tone it down. Even his workout attire looked like it belonged on a high-end model—or on a store mannequin. “We’ve been over this,” he told me, and I felt myself sag. We had been over this. It never ended well. “Arizona is halfway across the country and its business program isn’t half as good as the one at Rose University.”
I gritted my teeth because it was the only thing I could do to keep from screaming at him. I’d told him a thousand times that I didn’t want to study business, but would he listen? “Dad, they have a really decent minor program, and I can major in nursing—”
“I don’t know where you got that stupid idea from, but you are not going to spend your life working around sick people all day. You’re going to come back home, settle down with a nice young man, and run the fam
ily business. This has always been the plan, sweetie.”
He said it all without so much as glancing at me. Instead he slipped off his tie and hung it on one of the hooks in his closet. Then he took off his jacket and hung it over the door and took off his vest, too. Next, he worked his cufflinks until he had them undone, too, and placed them carefully in the jewelry box on the vanity. All of this he did automatically, familiarly, making him look like some robot just going through the motions because that was all his programming allowed for him to do.
I hated it. With everything that was me, I hated it.
“Not my plan!” I finally bit out, turning on my heel to storm off.
But of course, he wasn’t going to let me get the last word. “Don’t you walk away from me, Amelia Rose Rice! We’re not finished!”
I cringed at the use of my full name. Like I was five all over again and throwing a tantrum because my teddy bear tea party was interrupted by one of daddy’s business friends. “Yes, we are!” I threw back over my shoulder, marching towards my bedroom. Before I slammed the door, I swiveled to face him and shouted, “I am not going back to Rose University! And I’m not running your stupid business!” Then I slammed it in his face even as he started yelling back at me.
I heard him through the door for a little while, his voice growing angrier with every word, but I ignored what he was saying altogether. It was the same old crap anyway. Go to college, study business. Come home and get married to one of my rich friend’s sons. Run the family business, get knocked up, start a family, smile pretty.
Blah, blah, blah.
I didn’t care about any of that. Not in the least. I had no interest in running the family business. How was I supposed to be interested in running some trucking company? Hell, it would probably have been more interesting to do the driving.
Muttering about my father’s unjust tyranny, I began tearing off my dress, tugging at the zipper in the back and jerking the sleeves down off my shoulders. I stepped out of the thing, leaving it puddled on the floor at my feet so that I was standing in my bedroom in only my kitten heels and my underwear. It was white but lacy since that was the only way I was getting away with any kind of sexy in that dress.
“This is so unfair!” I griped, beginning to pace my room.
After a while, my father yelled out a final decree, “You will go to college next year!” then stomped off down the hall, slamming his own door. I took a moment to glare, then resumed my pacing.
All I wanted was out of my father’s house. Well, out of his house and a free ticket to a nursing school with excellent accreditation. And maybe that was asking for a lot, but he was griping about sending me to college and doing better and making something of myself, but that was what I wanted to do all along! I just didn’t want to do it the same way he did.
I’d considered just going off on my own and winging it and had even run away from home one summer after I’d returned from boarding school to find my father married to some trailer park hussy with a nineteen-year-old son who I’d, thank god, never met. That hadn’t gone so well and I’d been grounded for a year afterwards, but the idea of taking off hadn’t left me since.
One of these days I’d do it; I’d been promising myself since then. Yeah right, I thought miserably, plopping down onto my queen-size bed with the lacy pink duvet. I didn’t know the first thing about living on my own. No money, no job, not even a car—I was sure dad would have that taken away instantly if I tried to get out. No, if I wanted the money that came from my father’s lucrative business, I’d have to play things his way and eventually run said business.
Except that I was terrible at all things business. That was my decided major—decided by counselors and my father, not me—and I had bombed enough of my classes this last semester to get myself on academic probation.
Father was not happy to say the least, but what did he expect?
I was still fuming about my rotten luck when I got the text message from Rihanna.
Tonight. Devil’s Night. Dress to impress.
I felt a smile slip over my features. I knew just how to get back at my father and how to remind him that, whatever he thought or felt, I was old enough to make my own choices.
…
Hours later, I was putting the finishing touches on my makeup—dark, smoky, with a streak of popping cherry red on my lips—when I got the next text message. It was Rihanna again, letting me know she was outside and down the street to avoid immediate detection.
I went to my window and shoved it open. I shoved The Gentle Caress of Business: How To Be a Suave Entrepreneur In Today’s Economy into the windowsill with some satisfaction.
About time I found something useful to do with the damn thing, I thought in all seriousness. I had cracked it maybe twice in my last year at school and the gibberish inside was so bad that I’d quickly decided it wasn’t worth the effort of even trying to figure it out.
Three hundred dollars down the drain for absolutely nothing. And could I sell it back? Of course not. They wouldn’t be using the book for the coming year, meaning they wouldn’t buy it back. Not that it was any of my money. Daddy was footing the bill for this one, as right he should. After all, I didn’t want to go to business school. This was his dream; he could pay for it.
The book would keep the window open tonight just enough that I could climb back through when I got home without having to worry anything about it. This had all been so much easier at our last house—I’d had a ground floor bedroom instead of a second story one. After the death of my stepmother, we’d moved. Dad said something about being heartbroken, but I was pretty sure it was only an excuse to have a bigger, better house. He was like that, mixing emotions with other, ulterior motives.
My stepmother had been gorgeous with thick dark brown hair and deep, seductive eyes. Top it off with a smile that could charm a blind man and a set of huge breasts that were maybe real, maybe not, and it was easy to see why he’d been taken with her. But I’d always resented the marriage.
I tried not to think of her like that, some part of me sure it was unfair. Good for her for marrying up, right? But it was hard to see that perspective most of the time. She had been all looks and no breeding, meaning that my father had married her for her looks, because he was all about pedigree. He claimed love, but I knew my father well enough at that point to know better.
He was just interested in banging something closer in age than my own mother had been.
I felt myself tearing up at the memory of my mom, a sweet woman who had played the role of rich stay at home mom to a tee. She’d made delicious double chocolate chip cookies and she’d pick me up from school every day. I was ten when she died and around fourteen when Daniella, my stepmother, had taken her place. Maybe that was why I could just never forgive her.
How could I forgive anyone trying to replace my mother?
With force, I shoved the thoughts aside. If my dad wanted to use grief to move to a bigger house, what did I care? If he wanted to sleep with a woman half his age, go for it. It no longer mattered to me, I told myself firmly.
Throwing my right leg out the window, I straddled the sill, wishing for a second that I was wearing sweats or something rather than the clingy, low-slung jeans that were ripped across the thighs deliberately and hugged my body like a second skin. And the heels, damn it, they did not make my job easier. Beauty is pain and all that.
I felt around until I got a foot stuffed into the trellis. When I felt secure, I pulled my other leg out, using my arms to hold myself until I could begin my decent. The window slipped down quickly after that and slammed down hard onto my textbook.
I grinned smugly.
I climbed the rest of the way down the trellis, finally dropping down to the grass on the front lawn. Making sure that no one was around and that my dad wasn’t sitting at a window somewhere watching me, I made my escape. Quickly, I darted across the lush lawn and made for the front gate. I opened it up, wincing as it squeaked, then ran down the street to t
he red mustang that was parked just a little way up.
Rihanna was seated in front and popped the door open for me. She gave me a once over, then whistled between her teeth, ignoring her gum. “Hell of an outfit you threw on tonight.”
I poked my tongue out at her. “You said Devil’s Night. What did you think I was going to put on?”
“Something that covered your tits,” joked Stephanie from the backseat, tugging at my t-shirt. It was ripped, too, the tears showing off my cleavage and displaying hints of the hot pink bra I had on underneath.
I swatted her hand away, but laughed anyway. Both of the other girls were dressed much the same, Rihanna with leather pants and a red crop top that looked like it might have been borrowed from the movie Grease and Stephanie with her miniskirt so short that I’d know what color panties she was wearing by the end of the night. That was the point of Devil’s Night, something the three of us had come up with our junior year of high school. It was a night of fun, of being wild and crazy and trashy when the rest of our lives were all about being perfect little angels. Tonight was about going to the bar and doing shots. Tonight was about picking a man at the bar and riding him until he came. Tonight was about rebellion, and damn it all if I wasn’t good at it.
