I have my set pieces of ass I can go to. These woman are fine as hell and down to do dirty shit whenever. They don’t ask questions, they understand that there’s not a chance in hell they’ll get anything more from me than a great fuck. But whenever I get horny, which is pretty much all the time, I gaze at the contacts list on my phone and it’s that feeling I imagine women talk about when they look at a closet full of clothes and have nothing to wear.
My cock keeps whispering: “Mia’s pussy. Mia’s pussy, please.”
I thought that by giving her my number, she might break and call me or text me more than once. But I gotta give it to her. She’s sticking to her guns. I haven’t heard from her since that one text this morning.
I don’t even realize I have spent the past twenty minutes thinking about Mia until my phone rings.
“Rex.”
“Hey bro, I’m in the bar. It’s bumpin’ tonight, but I see her. She was with Tiff for a while, but Tiff is all over the place working. It looks like some dude is creepin’ up on Mia. Looks like a total fucking knob too.”
Fire. I feel like my fucking chest is on fire.
“Specify creeping.”
“Well she’s standing at one of those high top tables, and it looks like he bought her a drink. I can’t tell if she’s feeling him or not. Oh wait, he just put his arm around her waist, but she kind of side-stepped.”
Atta girl. That still doesn’t mean I don’t want to break his hand, all five fucking phalanges.
“So, he’s whispering something in her ear. And she just laughed.”
Heat. Lava. In my veins.
“It looks like he’s pleading with her. Literally has his hands up like a prayer and she’s smiling...aaaand she’s going to the dance floor with him. He’s behind her...”
I am already crossing the street and heading to the bar before he finishes his sentence.
“I’m coming.”
“Oh shit,” Rex says. He knows me well enough to know what’s coming next.
I walk right in, even though I don’t go to Tiff’s bar for obvious reasons, any bouncer who knows a damn thing in this city knows not to stop me.
It’s like I have radar for Mia’s pussy, because in the dark, bustling crowd I spot her, rubbing the ass I own against that douchebag’s crotch.
This guy doesn’t have a chance of going home with me, and I have made that abundantly clear. But he bought me a drink and begged me for a dance, so I’ll have fun with him. He seems nice enough. Hell, I’m not in a relationship, at least not anything that could be considered as such by any normal standards.
I am going to have fun tonight, the way any normal American woman would, because I am so over feeling conflicted. Tax has abandoned me, and I really should be thrilled about that. I take two quick Jager shots before heading to the dance floor with this guy. He’s cute, but mildly douchey. I don’t mind the company though. Tiff’s got a lot on her plate tonight, so it’s nice to have people to mingle with.
I start playfully shaking my hips and the guy slides behind me, moving his in sync with mine, and rubbing up against my ass. He’s pushing his limits, but he’s smart about it. I’ll let it slide for now. If I feel any poking, we are moving to the face-to-face sidestep.
I look up at the huge crowd and smile. I am so happy for Tiff. The bar looks amazing. She has wanted to renovate since inheriting Cuddy’s a few years ago. It still has a homey feel, the kind of place you could hang with friends after work on a workday, but can quickly become a trendier weekend spot with some creative lighting.
And that’s the vibe that is going on right now: it’s dark, there is club lighting and the dance floor is full.
The crowd is like one lively organism: swaying, bouncing. I can hardly tell one person from the next. But then as I look off into the distance I spot a tall drink of water: he’s wearing a perfectly tailored black suit with a white shirt and no tie, his shoulders are broad, and my eyes travel up to his masculine jawline, his perfect tan, his hair shaved at the sides, long up top and his...neck tattoo?
Oh shit.
After the millisecond it takes for me to realize Tax is in the club, I notice he is making a beeline towards me. His nostrils flare like an angry bull’s. He is massive and intense and it freaks me out to see him outside of my house or the office building. Until this point, it’s almost like he might not have been real because no one else saw him.
But he’s real. He’s definitely fucking real.
His eyes are black like coal, and I worry for the guy winding his hips against me. But Tax is in front of me too quickly for me to shoo him away.
“Let’s go,” Tax says. The nerve.
“No. I’m here for a friend,” I protest.
“Then you’ll be here for a friend, but you will come with me.”
“Dude, chill the fuck out,” the guy says.
Dude, that was stupid.
If laser beams actually shot out of eyes, Tax would have incinerated the guy the second he looked over to him. “Back the fuck up,” Tax says.
“Fuck you—“
Aaaand Tax drops him with one perfectly connected punch on the nose. He pulls the guy back up and slams his face down on the high top, making the glasses on the table jump, and twists his arm behind his back. Blood drips down his nose and onto the tabletop.
“Listen...” — he pulls out the guys wallet — “Paul? Get the fuck out, and drive straight home. You don’t know who you’re messing with.”
“My dad’s a lawyer!” he says. I knew he was a douche.
“Get the fuck out of here,” Tax says, shoving him towards the bouncers
Apparently the bouncers know Tax, because they drag the poor guy out and leave him alone. Some guy with spiky hair and a black leather jacket comes up to Tax, who nods and says something back. Then the spiky-haired guy follows the bouncers and this Paul guy out.
“Tax, are you out of your damn mind!” I yell. I should try this seeing him out in the open thing more often, it makes me a lot ballsier. “He wasn’t doing anything wrong.”
“I’ll decide who’s doing me wrong. Don’t worry, my friend is making sure he gets his ass home without bringing any cops into this.”
“Is everything alright?” Tiff comes over. “I did not expect to see you in the center of the shennani—well, hello...” She says, immediately noticing the stupidly gorgeous, tall, tatted guy standing next to me.
She gives me eyes. Fuck. Worlds colliding. This can’t be good.
“Ummm, this is Tax, my friend.” My serial fuck buddy—blackmailer. “Tax, this is my friend, Tiff.”
I omit the word best because I am sure he’s some version of a sociopath and I don’t want him to know how important she is to me. Just as quickly I realize he probably already knows who Tiff is because he’s a psycho stalker on some personal vendetta to fuck me to death.
“Nice to meet you,” he says. “Sorry about the commotion. Buy everyone a round on the house.” He hands her his credit card.
She looks around the room. “Seriously?”
“Do your damage,” he says.
“Ooookaaay,” she says, turning away. Then she turns back sharply to me and leans into my ear. “Bitch, we need to talk, and he is fucking HOT.”
This is a terrible, terrible turn of events. He’s moving out of the space in my life where only he inhabited and is now parking his tight behind in other spaces. This whole thing worked because it was a Tuesdays at 5am thing, but this crazy arrangement can’t work if he starts mingling with the rest of my world.
As soon as Tiff is out of earshot, I yell: “What are you doing here?”
“You can’t see anybody else. I thought that was clear.”
“See? You are implying we ‘see’ each other. We don’t see each other, you get to have me as you like and then remind me how much you don’t care. You stood me up twice this week. You didn’t even bother to reply to me today. Remember? You’re only using me? You don’t care how I feel.”
“T
his isn’t about feelings.”
“This is exactly about feelings. What just happened, just there? That’s jealousy. That’s a feeling. You can lie to yourself and say you don’t have them for me, but if you didn’t care, you wouldn’t be standing here. If you didn’t care, you wouldn’t have come to my house! You are such an asshole!” I shout.
“Enough,” he says in his booming low voice. “Come on.”
“I can’t leave, this is my friend’s event. She’s important to me.”
“We’re not leaving, we’re getting some air.”
He grabs my hand, and it’s an unfamiliar feeling. I am used to being dragged, shoved, yanked, but not taken by the hand. And instead of pulling me to the front, he takes me down the hallways that lead to the back of the bar and out to the back alleyway.
It’s empty, save for a trash container, and a few distant voices echoing from the main street.
“What do you wa—” Before I can get the question out, his lips are violently colliding against mine.
He’s let me kiss him, and only really once before, but never has he initiated a kiss. And this is not just a kiss, it is a kiss. It’s filled with the range of human emotions, it sends me a message without saying anything. He feels something for me. Maybe he can’t articulate it, maybe he doesn’t understand it, but he feels it. And this is the only way he knows how to tell me what he feels without saying it.
He presses me against the brick wall of the exterior of the building. It scrapes my bare back, the burn contrasting the smoothness of his lips. We are shielded from the main street by a dumpster about 20 feet away, but that doesn’t save us from the possibility of a club employee or random wanderer coming upon us.
And I don’t care. In fact, I kind of like the idea.
Tax tugs my dress up past my waist, sliding his hand down between my legs.
“No underwear,” he grunts.
“I think it was wishful thinking you might come around,” I admit.
“You’re the perfect little whore, but you’re my fucking whore,” he says, pushing me down in a deep squat position and pulling out his rock-solid hard on, pent up due to his own stubbornness.
“That means no other fucking man touches you but me. Spit on my cock. I want to hear it,” he commands. I follow his orders by pooling my spit in his mouth and spitting on his tip, then using my hand to smooth the wetness up and down his shaft. He slams his hand against the wall behind me and throws his head back with abandon as I take him all the way to the back of my throat, choking on him.
I reach a steady rhythm with my hand and mouth, sliding up and down. His groans fuel me to fight the ache in my jaw from sucking on his thickness.
He swells in my mouth, but before I can take him all the way, he pulls me up to my feet, slams me up on the wall, and wraps one of my legs around him.
Someone comes out to the alley from the kitchen for a smoke.
“Get back inside!” Tax’s voice booms. I watch the person’s shadow jump and run back into the building.
I laugh, and then he laughs when I laugh. It’s such a rare, beautiful sight. The brightness of his smile overwhelms the shadow of darkness in his eyes.
He pushes his wet dick into me and I gasp carelessly as his curved cock lands right against my g-spot.
“Tax, fuck me,” I beg. He’s fucking me, but I want more. I want him to hurt me, I want my body to reflect my mind with conflicting feelings of pain and pleasure.
“Mia...Mia you are so goddamn beautiful,” he murmurs so low, I almost miss it. He says it like he begrudges that he feels that way. “I hate you...I fucking hate you,” he grumbles in a much clearer voice.
“Hate is a feeling too,” I whisper through a moan.
“I don’t want to feel anything anymore.”
“Feel yourself inside of me,” I plead. “That’s all you need to feel right now.”
“You ruined me,” he growls, thrusting forcefully, snarling at me.
“You ruined me,” I reply.
He flashes his teeth as he grips his large hand around my throat, squeezing, slowly cutting my airway. He looks me in the eyes and I stare back, just like he has trained me to do.
I clench around his cock as it stabs me, a weapon he uses to hurt me that is far greater than any knife or gun. He grips at just the right pressure so that if I suck fiercely, I can get enough air to stay conscious.
The dull thudding of the club music, the chatter from patrons on the street, the steady dripping of a drainage pipe on the far side of the alleyway, it all disappears behind the sound of my own sharp gasping.
And I erupt around him, frantically clawing at his hair, his jacket, the waist of his pants, as my vision goes bright for a millisecond. I hear him call my name into my neck, but he sounds distant, like he’s somewhere far away. Again my senses are dampened like I am underwater. It’s like my orgasms with him are traumatic and my body shuts down to cope with it.
I dig my fingers into the fabric of his suit and grip, afraid of this feeling, like something inside of me has jarred lose. Afraid he might just leave me in this alleyway used and alone.
But he doesn’t pull away, he doesn’t yank my hands off him. He lingers for a few extra seconds. And then he pulls out a fresh pocket square from his jacket, pulls out of me, and wipes me between my legs.
“That should do. I want you to keep my cum inside of you all night.”
I nod in silence, as I collect my bearings. I pull my dress down, and smooth out my hair, waiting for him to insult me, to make it clear that I am garbage, that I mean nothing, that this means nothing.
“Alright, let’s go fucking party,” he says.
Garbage – #1 Crush
Tax takes me by the hand and leads me back through the hallways and into the commotion of the bar. I am surprised to see Tiff at the high top table I was using earlier, chatting with the spiky-haired guy who was talking to Tax earlier.
She spots us walking in, smiles and waves us over.
“Mia, you left your purse here. What’s gotten into you?” she asks jokingly. More like who.
I am still in a daze, and the loud music and club lighting aren’t helping, so I just smile and my eyes dart over to the guy she’s with. “I assume you two know each other,” she says. One would think so since I know Tax, but I know nothing about Tax, let alone his acquaintances.
Before I can say anything, Tax says: “This is my brother, Rex.”
Brother? They don’t have an inkling of family resemblance. Rex has green eyes and he’s fit too, but much smaller-framed, maybe 5’10” or so. And his hair is dyed black, but he is very fair, with freckles, like he could be a red-head underneath the dye.
“Step-brothers,” Rex says, noticing my confusion. “That’s why I’m not jacked like him.” He winks.
“Do you two know each other?” I ask Rex and Tiff.
“Oh yeah! He comes here all the time. We’ve known each other for years now. Maybe you should stop making dildos and party where the real dicks are,” she says. Rex erupts with laugher, Tax smirks.
But I shudder a little bit. Tax has a friend who knows my friend. Is that a coincidence, or like everything he does, some sort of calculation?
“Yoooooo dude! You’re the man.” Some drunk guy says, walking by and pointing at Tax, who is obviously not thrilled with the attention.
“You fucking rock man!” says someone else.
Tax leans across the table towards Tiff. “You could have gone without telling people who bought the drinks.”
“Badass motherfucker!”
“Oh no, you’re getting credit for it bud,” she says, leaning in, with a wink. She thinks he’s hot. Who doesn’t? But I know that’s just how she is, she’s not trying to take him away or anything.
“So,” Tiff motions the beer in her hand to my direction. “Mia is soooooo in trouble with me. She has never mentioned a guy named Tax. I thought we told each other everything.”
“I wonder why that is...” Tax muses aloud.
What a bastard.
“It’s nothing,” I say, going overboard on trying to downplay our “relationship.”
“Nothing?” Rex says, calling me out in jest.
“Mia, he’s right there! How cruel!” she says.
This is unbelievable. I’m the cruel one. How does he do this? How does he stand there and do nothing and make me look like a jerk?
“I didn’t mean it like that! I mean, it’s new. And I’m just trying to keep things private.”
“Well fine then,” Tiff says. “So...now that it’s not private, how did you two meet?”
A round of shots come to the table. I freeze. I was so not prepared for this. Tax’s hand rests on the small of my back. I think it’s part comfort and part shut the fuck up and I’ll take this one.
“I purchased Alea and I took a silent role. So I work with Mia while she runs the company.”
Tiff’s eyes widen. “Oooooh, so I get it. Private because of the whole working thing!”
“Yes!” I say, thankful that this whole thing is coming together so much better than I had imagined.
“Well, Tax, be good to my friend. She’s the best person in the world.”
“Awwwww,” I say, knowing it’s already too late for that request.
“She is something,” he says, his hand rubs my back and I stiffen more. That statement is so loaded. And this touching without sex thing is throwing me for a loop.
“So what do you do, Tax? Besides buy vibrator companies?”
“Hey,” I butt in, “they are intimate devices for female pleasure.”
“They are amazing is what they are,” Tiff says. She turns her attention back to Tax. I am so envious she can ask him the questions I am not allowed to, but I intend to take full advantage of her nosiness.
“Well, I do a lot of VC, stocks, it’s all boring. I rarely do any acquisitions unless I see something I really want, something that has a lot of potential.”
His hand is still on my back, making my spine tingle.
“I know I sound like I am gushing over my friend here, but keep her around. She loves Alea and no one will work harder than she will.”
Debt Page 13
