Protecting His Baby

by Nikki Chase

  Jesus, did she wake up on the wrong side of the bed? This is what I get for trying to help her. I take a deep breath to calm myself down.

  “No, I’m changing your locks,” I say in the calmest voice I can muster. I’m not in the mood for an argument today, especially after getting lost on the way to the hardware store to buy the new door locks. I’m pretty tired and easily irritated right now, and I know fighting with Jessica would just turn my day from bad to worse.

  “Oh.” She sounds surprised.

  My hands stay frozen in the air, one holding a screwdriver and the other one holding the old door lock I’ve just removed. I look back over my shoulder to see color spread across her cheeks.

  When she notices me looking at her, she turns around and walks toward the porch railing, presumably in an attempt to hide her embarrassment.

  Too late, baby. I already saw you turn red as a beet.

  “How much is it?” She turns around as she leans her luscious ass on the railing.

  “Don’t worry about it,” I say. “It was cheap.”

  “But I have to give you something in return for doing that for me.”

  “How about a lap dance?” I turn around and raise an eyebrow at her, a lopsided smile forming on my lips.

  She glares at me without saying a word.

  “Can’t blame a guy for trying.” I shrug. She stays quiet as I put the new latch into place. Jesus, fuck. I really don’t need this silent treatment today. “Sorry. It was just a joke.”

  But I wouldn’t say no if you wanted to do it, I think to myself.

  “Yeah, well, it was a bad joke,” she says. Even without looking, I know she’s still glaring at me. I can practically feel the heat of her anger searing into my back.

  Okay, so she doesn’t like to talk about her previous job. It’s not going to be easy trying to find out what she’s up to with her being all secretive like this.

  I get up and hold the door between my knees as I put one half of the doorknob through the hole on the outside of the door and the other half through the one on the inside. They slide together into place. I step inside Jessica’s hallway to screw everything into place.

  “Wait a minute,” she says. “How did you open the door?”

  “With a credit card. Probably the same way the guy who broke in did.”

  “I didn’t know you could do that.”

  “Yeah. You had an older lock. This type is more secure, so he won’t be able to get in so easily next time. The police say this type of thing happens sometimes in this area, so he probably won’t try your house again next time. But if he does, he’ll see it’s harder to pick your lock now and maybe he’ll try another house.”

  “Now I feel bad for the neighbors.”

  “Eh, there are always going to be break-ins. All you can do is make sure it’s not your house that’s being targeted.”

  “Can you also do Bertha’s house?”

  “Bertha?”

  “Yes. She’s the older lady who lives a few houses down the street. She lives on her own,” she says.

  “Sure, I can do that.” I don’t have a spare set of door lock, but I can’t say no to that. Now I’d feel responsible if the old lady really got her place broken into. I guess I’ll have to make another trip to the hardware store. At least I already know the way by now so I won’t get lost again.

  “Thanks, Jacob.” Jessica gives me a sweet smile that makes me want to march across the porch and kiss her.

  Aw, fuck. Why do I have to be such a sucker for her pretty face?

  “No problem,” I say as I lock and unlock the door a few times to make sure it works. I cross the porch toward her and hold out my hand, the keys dangling from my fingers. “Okay, I’m done. I’ve already changed the lock on the back door as well. Here are your new keys. You may want to give your landlord a set. Oh, and your boyfriend, too.”

  I keep my expression neutral to make it seem like a casual question. In reality, I’ve been planning to drop this into a conversation since she mentioned the name of the guy who has a key to her place last night.

  While watching her through the window this morning, I was going through this conversation in my head. I thought my idea to change her locks was genius. And of course, I timed it perfectly to coincide with her coming home.

  “My boyfriend?” Jessica frowns as she takes the keys from me. Her hand grazes mine for a second and I resist the urge to grab it and pull her close so I can smell her hair again like I did last night.

  “Yeah. Uh, Tony, right?” I frown and cock my head so it looks like I’m trying to recall the name that, in reality, has been branded on my brain by jealousy.

  “Tony’s not my boyfriend,” she says as she laughs it off. Good answer, but I have a few follow-up questions.

  “Oh, is that why he didn’t drive you home last night?”

  “Last night?”

  “Yeah. You were all dressed up and looking nice, so I thought maybe you had a date,” I say. I know she doesn’t usually wear heels, for example, but I’m not going to mention that.

  “Oh. Um, yeah. But it wasn’t with Tony,” she says.

  “Tony has your keys, but you went out with another guy who isn’t your boyfriend?” I whistle. “Wow, you’re really playing the field, aren’t you?”

  “Excuse me?” Jessica’s voice climbs in both pitch and volume. “Neither one of them is my boyfriend, but I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

  “I thought neighbors were supposed to share personal information with one another,” I say. I know I’m just making her angrier, but fuck not getting into a fight. She needs to know what she’s doing is not okay. “Listen. I’m telling you this for your own good. Maybe it was fine to play with the guys who went to your strip club. Maybe they were there just for fun and games, too. But guys in small towns, they don’t work that way. They get hurt and they may lash out at you, maybe break into your house. I suggest you move back to the city if you want to continue doing this.”

  “Don’t act like you know me. You don’t know my life. Who are you to judge me?” Jessica’s shouting at the top of her lungs now. She pauses, crosses her arms, and squints at me. She points her index finger at me and jabs me in the chest. “You know what, nobody I know has ever had a break-in around here before you moved in. So maybe it was you who’s lashing out at me, huh?

  “Well, excuse me for ever thinking you’re attractive enough to have a one night stand with. I don’t remember ever making any promises to you about seeing each other again. Is that why you moved here? To get some kind of revenge over a small slight I caused you, freaking three years ago? Have you been holding onto a grudge this whole time?”

  “Hey. Whoa.” I raise my hands in front of me. “I was just trying to help you, okay? I just changed your locks and gave you some safety tips. That’s all. I never said anything about me holding onto a grudge against you. Don’t get your panties all twisted in a bunch. I happen to have some business in town and I’m not even planning to stay for long.”

  “Good,” she says as she continues to glower at me.

  “Good,” I reply as I turn around and grab the toolbox I placed by the door. I walk back home next door.

  So much for not getting into a fucking fight today, I think to myself as the veins in my temples throb.

  It wasn’t all bad, though. Now I know she doesn’t have a boyfriend. Besides, she just said I’m attractive. She also mentioned something about her past for the first time since I got here and she even said something about the night we spent together.

  A smirk spreads across my face. Maybe it’s not such a bad day after all.

  Jessica

  This is the worst day ever.

  I close the front door behind me and fling myself onto the couch. As the weight of my body forces the air in the cushions out with a soft hiss, I let out a big exhale.

  First, there was that mysterious email from some guy called Caine Foster—in which he uses my old name.

  I knew
I had to change my name after putting Stan in jail because, despite being careful about not using my real name at the Pussy Club, it was mentioned numerous times at court.

  All I changed was my last name, from Lewis to Lake. I figured my first name is common enough. It would be impossible for Stan to check every single Jessica in the country.

  Yet here we are, barely one year later, and someone from my old life has already found me.

  I don’t know anybody called Caine Foster, but the name sounded familiar, so I went on Google to find out why.

  According to my research, Caine Foster is the first son of Robert Foster, the infamous so-called businessman who, according to rumors, runs a bunch of illegal brothels and gambling dens in San Francisco.

  I couldn’t believe a guy like that would be looking for me—a nobody. But when I checked the domain of his email address, I reached the website of a subsidiary company that belongs to the Foster family’s corporation. I even saw Caine Foster’s name and picture on their list of company founders.

  Why would someone like Caine Foster be looking for me? It’s obviously related to Nancy’s death, so it probably also has something to do with Stan.

  Could Caine Foster be the guy who’s finally going to punish me for my little act of rebellion? Is he coming after me for taking to the witness stand and putting Stan in jail?

  It doesn’t sound likely. Even if the Foster family has dealings with some strip clubs, it’s unlikely that Stan knows someone that high up in the hierarchy. Caine Foster shouldn’t even know some small fry like Stan existed. So…why?

  I guess there’s no way to find out, unless I email him back and meet him in person like he requested, but what if it’s a trap?

  And that's not even my only problem. There was also that weird message from my Tinder date.

  Just as I was about to drive home from school, while I was sitting behind the wheel, I heard the beep of a text message. It was a text from Steve.

  Steve: Sorry you had to leave early last night. Let’s reschedule. You’ll regret it if you don’t.

  What the hell is that? Why would I regret it? Is that a threat?

  It’s possible that he has confirmed the fact that I used to be a stripper and has decided to blackmail me, threaten to tell the school about it.

  It’s also possible that he called some people back in San Francisco and learned even more about my past. Maybe someone told him Stan’s willing to pay him a handsome reward for giving away my location, or for taking me back to the city himself.

  Less than two weeks ago, nobody in town knew about my past, other than Tony and Bertha. I felt safe in my little Ashbourne bubble.

  Now, suddenly there are three more men who know, and I’m worried about all three, to different degrees and for different reasons.

  To top it off, just when I thought my day was getting better, what with Jacob fixing my locks, he started judging me for dating too many guys at once.

  He accused me of being a player! Me! A player! Ha! Can you believe it? Tony--one of my supposed boyfriends--would laugh in Jacob's face had he heard that.

  I’ve had the longest dry spell in history. Between work, college, Mom’s illness, and Nancy’s case, I already didn't have much time to meet men while I was still living in San Francisco.

  Then I moved here and had way more free time, but there aren't any eligible men. If I weren’t showering daily, there’d be cobwebs forming between my legs already.

  I'm so deprived, in fact, that I was totally creeping on Jacob the whole time he was working on my door. He was facing away from me a lot, so I had a lot of opportunities to check him out without him noticing.

  The dark green shirt clung to his body from sweat, and I could see the muscles on his back move and ripple as he crouched by the door. His arms, which used to be a blank canvas three years ago, are now covered with tattoos from where they bulge out of his sleeves, all the way to his wrists. I couldn't help but wonder if he had any more artwork beneath his clothes.

  I may not know all the marks he has etched on his skin, but I can remember the shape of him vividly. He’s a good lover, and I’ve often pulled out the images I’ve stored in my brain of our night together for when I need some, uh, release.

  And now, having just seen him in person, I can add more details to my fantasies.

  I'm angry at him, but for some demented reason, that only makes me want to pull him down on top of me so he can fuck me senseless. Even when he was yelling at me, my eyes were transfixed on his moving lips and I kept thinking about how I could shut him up if I kissed him.

  Just thinking about it sends tingles to my core. I lift my waist off the couch and slide my pencil skirt off. I don't want to get creases on it--or fluids, considering how wet I am already.

  I slide my panties aside and start to lightly stroke the ache between my legs. My other hand slides up my belly to grab my breast, mimicking the way Jacob touched me that night in his room. I pull my nipple and imagine it's his mouth biting on it while he looks up to trap my gaze, frown lines appearing on his forehead.

  “Let's test how well the new door lock holds up against some force from the inside,” he says as he pins me against the door. His lips move tantalizingly against my nipple as he speaks. When he captures it between his rows of perfect teeth, I gasp as warmth envelops it.

  Jacob’s stare is intense, unavoidable. It’s making me feel self-conscious, but at the same time I recognize the hunger in his dark eyes and it makes me want him more.

  He rubs my clit and slowly builds my arousal. Soon enough, I want more than Jacob’s fingers are giving me. I bite down on my bottom lip, groan, and give him a pleading look.

  He smirks as he straightens up to his full height, letting my hardened nipple dry in the cool air, while his fingers maintain their agonizingly slow tempo.

  “I’m going to make you beg me to fuck you,” he says in my ear in a raspy, lustful voice. When our eyes meet, I shoot him a challenge with my steady stare. He slows down even more and my treacherous hips fly off the black door to gain more contact with Jacob’s big, callused hand.

  My vision blurs as I give in to the delicious sensations he’s introducing between my folds. I may not beg him with my words, but my body is already doing it with shivers and moans. And yet that's not enough for Jacob.

  “Beg for it,” he says, his breaths hot and urgent on my cheek. He lines up his thick, hard cock at my opening and leaves it there, letting me feel its warmth and potency.

  When I attempt to lower myself onto his shaft, he grabs my shoulder with his free hand and holds it in place against the door.

  Knowing I’m at his mercy, Jacob looks me in the eyes, impatience radiating from his sculpted body, and says, “Be a good girl, beg me to fuck you, and I’ll make you scream out my name until all our neighbors hear.”

  “Please, Jacob.” I look at him, pleading for mercy, but he's still waiting for me to say it.

  His fingers rubbing my clit and the spongy head of his cock resting against me make me lose my mind. I hear a deeper, hoarser version of my voice say, “Please. I beg you to fuck me.”

  Jacob's cocky smirk widens. He holds my gaze hostage as he slowly pushes up and impales me. My pussy stretches around my own slender fingers.

  “Fuck,” I curse aloud in frustration, wishing I really had Jacob's cock between my legs. I press against the front wall of my pussy and continue playing with my clit, while imagining Jacob's stern gaze watching me. I come with a light shudder and pull my fingers out.

  The need within me has become less urgent now, but I’m still throbbing, aching for more. I want the real thing.

  As infuriating as Jacob can be, I remember why I would’ve gotten in touch again with him if it weren't for that phone call the morning after.

  A part of me thinks it’s a bad idea to get close to him because, as unlikely as it is that he’d be related to Stan, he’s still a link to a past that I’d rather bury. And considering the way he gets my blood boiling almost ev
ery time I see him, he’s probably bad for my blood pressure.

  Yet a different part of me—including the part that's pulsing between my legs now—doesn’t want to stay away.

  Jacob

  A Snoop Dogg song filled the strip club, drowning out all conversation. Neon green and purple lasers shot across the oversized room.

  On stage, the hottest girl in the club took slow, deliberate steps on her impossibly high heels. The bright, blinding spotlight shone on her, highlighting one side of her luscious body, while casting the rest of her in shadows. Her long, glossy waves looked like they had caught on fire. Scarlett. The name suited her.

  I bet the name made it easy for the men in here to remember her name. I saw them crowding around the stage, watching her intently, ogling her as she swayed and writhed to the music, wrapping herself around the silver pole on stage.

  One by one, she shed her clothing. The necktie, the button-down shirt, and the plaid skirt came off quickly enough. Now that she was down to her skimpy bra and thong, she took her time.

  The men drank it all in, their eyes following her hands as they slid all over her body and pulled the remaining items of clothing on her body aside. She was teasing them, and they were captivated. Some of them had their mouths hanging open.

  This was torture. My chest tightened and my hands clenched into fists. I wanted to punch those men in their faces.

  I knew what she looked like without all those things. Without her itty bitty bra and thong, without the stripper heels, without the garish lighting. Without her putting on a show.

  It wasn’t a performance when she moaned and writhed underneath me, my name escaping her lips as she breathed erratically. I could feel her shake and quiver against my sweat-covered skin, her muscles gripping my cock rhythmically. She couldn’t have faked that.

  And yet she didn’t even give me her real name. Scarlett couldn’t be her real name, right? No stripper would be dumb enough to use her real name, and she didn’t strike me as dumb.

  Maybe I was the dumb one.