But I just can’t take it this time.
I pace inside the small room Dad cleared up for me in the garage. It’s a quartered-off space with a couple sinks for washing hair, a chair, and a giant, old mirror. I yank open the drawers, looking at the scissors arranged neatly side by side. They rattle as I slam it shut.
All of it is fucking useless if I can’t go to beauty school and get the hell out of here. Otherwise, what’s the fucking point?
What’s the point of practicing on these douchebags?
Blood pounds through my limbs as I seize a heavy hair dryer. I look at myself in the mirror. A girl with widened eyes and shaking lips stares back at me.
She looks weak.
I hurl the dryer at the mirror. It shatters and swings from the nails on the wall, crashing to the concrete. That’s not enough. I stomp on the shards, grinding them to dust under my boots. Fuck him and this place.
“Are you out of your fucking mind?”
Mom’s shrill voice stabs my ears before I feel her hand seizing my shoulder roughly.
“He’s trying to keep me here like some fucking pet!”
Mom crosses her arms over her low-cut black t-shirt, tossing her head to shake the dark hair from her eyes. “Everybody has a place in this club.”
I grit my teeth. “I never wanted this. Since I was a kid, I wanted to be normal.”
She reaches up and cuffs the side of my head like a bear swatting one of her cubs. “That’s enough.”
It’s not nearly enough.
“He’s a piece of shit—he thinks he can just lock me inside—”
“Go, then. If you want to live out there so badly, just leave. Leave and see what happens.”
The hollow feeling in my chest gapes open. Everything falls inside. Every hope I have for myself drowns in that emptiness.
“You know you can’t leave, baby. I know it’s hard, but everything he does is for your protection. He loves you.”
Mom touches my face and pushes back my thick hair, looking at me under dark lashes. That’s how she always is: a rising tide or a gentle lull. Crashing down on you one moment and then kissing you on the cheek the other.
“He doesn’t love me. He just wants to control me.”
I brush past my mom, the broken pieces snapping under my boots. The satisfying sound doesn’t quite take the edge off my anger, but it helps.
I’m going back to that bar, and I’m going to fuck the shit out of that guy.
I decide it the moment I step into the sunshine. If Dad’s determined to keep me imprisoned, I’m going to make his life hell, starting with giving myself to the hottest Italian guy I’ve ever seen.
Sneaking out twice in the same week isn’t hard, but it requires a little bit of finesse. And guile.
I shove my hands deep inside my pockets as I approach Julien at the gate, the sunshine glaring through the thick steel bars and casting long shadows on the ground. They crawl up my body in long, dark strips like the bars of a prison cell. How appropriate.
He’s a newly patched member, and he’s eager to please. The older members are used to me pulling shit, always trying to run a scam by them, but not Julien.
I lay my arm across my face to shield my eyes from the sun and he turns around with a little jump.
“Hey, um—listen, I need to go outside for a while. Just for a bit.”
His thick arms cross over his chest as he watches me. “Why?”
I bite my lip. “Um—I’d rather not say. It’s really embarrassing.”
“I’m sorry, but I need to know why if you want to leave.”
Then I lean in, my hair hanging around my face. “Well—I just got my period and we’re out of tampons.”
It’s the magic word.
Julien’s face immediately burns a bright shade of red as he wraps his arms around himself, taking small steps backward. “Uh—well—”
Poor, poor Julien.
I adopt an uncertain tone. “You could get them for me, I guess. I was just going to pop off to the store and get some.”
“No! I mean—yeah, I’ll open the gate. Give me a second.”
A grateful smile spreads across my face as I thank him and head to my car.
Sucker.
I don’t plan on coming back. Not for a very long time. Daddy will just have to deal with the fact that his daughter likes to have sex. With men. I know, it’s a shocker.
Parking at the nearest subway station, I take the train into Montreal. I don’t want to deal with the parking in the city, and taking the metro is just another snub at Dad. Even using the subway was forbidden to me.
My stomach churns as I think about what I’ll say to Johnny when I finally meet him. He told me not to come back to his bar.
I feel lighter than I have in ages when I get out at a stop with a bunch of shopping. There’s not much in my bank account, but I splurge so rarely that I don’t really feel guilty for trying on new dresses.
Maybe he’ll change his mind if I look like this.
In the department store, I look at myself in a sexy little summer dress. It’s a bright-red knit with an art deco design, and it clings to my every curve. Dark eyeliner makes my eyes pop, and my hair shines with the new ginger conditioner that I bought. I look sexy, damn it. No, I’m not model-thin, but who gives a shit?
Fuck yes. I’m buying this.
I walk out of the dressing room still wearing the dress, my black gladiator heels clicking on the floor.
My confidence is blazing when the girl at the register compliments how it looks as I buy it, even as I walk out into the dim early evening as men whistle at me from across the street. It feels different to be free, and I’m too angry to care about the shit I’ll have to deal with when I return home. The summer night is nice and balmy, and everywhere there are couples.
I pass by that bar, already bustling with people, and my heart slams into my chest so hard that I feel dizzy. All of a sudden my confidence bursts like a needle to a balloon.
A group of handsomely dressed people stream out of the bar and dig through their pockets to find cigarettes.
This is stupid. I can’t go back in there. He’ll laugh in my face. Besides, I don’t even know what to say—
You’re going to give up now? Coward.
I imagine myself turning tail and heading home, of making up some excuse to Julien why I was gone so long, and my stomach sinks. Failure isn’t an option. I want to go home with that man. Christ, I want to feel him inside me. The last time I had sex was years ago. Years of pent-up, unsatisfied urges, unable to touch myself in my own bed. The thought of another few years of this is too depressing to contemplate.
It’ll just be one time.
Yes, one wild night to remember.
I march through the open doors of the bar, straight into the thick of conversation and music. I wipe my hands on my dress and wade through the crowd of testosterone. Male heads whip around at me. There are so many here to choose from, but I only want one man.
The man who promised me that he’d make me come hard over his cock.
Is he even here?
I belly up to the bar, avoiding the gaze of the pretty bartender. A chorus of deep male laughter captures my attention. Four dark-haired men in suits hang near the bar, and the breath catches in my throat as I recognize one of them.
Johnny raises a shot glass to his wet lips, throws back his head, and swallows the clear liquid. My heart skips a beat when he licks the salt off his hand. His tongue drags on his skin, and a line of pleasure runs straight to the space between my legs. Goddamn, he makes drinking a shot of tequila look sexy. I want that tongue on my skin.
So what now? Do I just go up to him or do I puss out and order a drink?
If you don’t approach him, someone else will.
The thought sends a jolt of electricity through my legs, and I head straight for him. Even though the bar is crowded, it’s easy to navigate this place. I watch as his head turns, staring at the cocktail waitress’ ass. She se
ts down drinks for them and walks away.
Don’t look at me.
Don’t look at me.
Scorching black eyes pass over the heads in the bar, and then they crawl up my figure. They flicker back.
Fuck, he looked at me.
I can’t begin to describe the intensity of his eyes. They’re like some kind of personification of a lion’s stalking gaze. Everything about him doesn’t seem entirely human, from the perfectly slicked-back hair to his spotless appearance. He’s too perfect to believe. Then it suddenly hits me: no way this guy is just a bar owner. And my palms sweat as that realization drops into my head.
I want to bolt in the other direction, despite the fact that I just don’t get nervous around men anymore. Why’s he so different? I can’t figure him out.
I’m still shaking as I weave in between his men, inserting myself into that circle of testosterone as Johnny’s eyes lock onto my face.
He looks gorgeous as he lounges on that bar stool. Clean shaven, not a stray strand of hair, and that tantalizing V of skin right below his neck, revealing his tanned skin and a sprinkling of dark hair. He looks at me, recognition dawning on his face as a slight frown knits his eyebrows.
“I thought I told you not to come back to this bar.”
Oh fuck.
My pulse races ahead and I almost want to take a step back from him, that’s how forbidding he looks.
“Relax, hon. I’m just joking. I knew you’d come back.”
Heat rises in my cheeks as deep dimples carve into his face.
Cocky son of a bitch.
He turns his head, addressing the guys around him. “She told me she didn’t fuck Italians.”
Laughter explodes around me. I knew it would happen—I expected it. Hell, I deserve it for turning him down.
He sits with his hands on his knees, grinning at me like the Cheshire cat as his friends laugh and laugh their asses off. “Some balls!” one of them yells.
Johnny’s speech is a bit heavier than usual from the alcohol, but his eyes look just as sharp. “Couldn’t resist a bit of Italian sausage, am I right, sweetheart?”
I roll my eyes at the crude banter. If he thinks he’s going to offend me with that shit, he’s wrong. I’ve heard worse. I’ve heard a thousand times worse. Hell, I grew up around a bunch of foul-mouthed bikers. This is child’s play.
Still, that deserves a brushing off.
“You know what?”
The corners of his lips pull, and I hate how my heart does a little flip when I see it directed toward me. “What?”
“I think you’re right. My pussy is too good for your cock.” I flash a grin at his stunned face. “Bye.”
Then I turn around and walk about two feet before my body stumbles backward into something solid and warm. A hand grasps my arm and yanks me back.
The air from my chest disappears as his strong hands turn my body around so that I’m facing him, crushed against his chest. Still smiling, he leans in until his lips are brushing my ear. If I thought I was uncomfortably warm before, it’s nothing compared to now. My whole body heats up like a furnace, responding to his touch.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
The growl in his voice takes me aback for a moment. I wonder if it’s another joke, but it doesn’t feel like it when his fingers are pinching me. Jesus, I’ve never met such an intense person in my life.
Despite the fact that I’m just waiting for him to turn his face and brush his lips against mine, I push his chest. “I’m going to find someone else who won’t humiliate me in front of his friends.”
“You started it.”
Whatever.
His eyes light up with mischief. “That’s the only reason why you’re here, isn’t it? You’re pissed off at Daddy, and the greatest revenge you can think of is to suck my cock.”
Yeah, that’s about the size of it.
“You want me thrusting inside you, filling you up with my cum. You want to be defiled by me. Don’t you?”
Sweet Jesus, yes.
I want to have one wild night with him. Not because he’s Italian. Not because I want revenge. Because I haven’t gotten laid in years, and he’s the most seductive, sinful man I’ve ever met. He’s just a bar owner, but he acts as though he’s larger than life. The confidence. The sexiness. Trash flies from his mouth, and my pussy gets wet. I don’t understand it.
I want to strip off my clothes right now.
“I want—I want a good time. You look like you’re good.”
He takes my chin between his forefingers, and I feel like some kind of pathetic puppet. Dark eyes dance at me. “You bet your sweet ass, I am.”
Warm breath mists over my face, and I’m waiting for him to kiss me. All train of thought halts to a standstill as he touches my waist. The warmth from his hand burns through my dress as though it were made of silk. His hand. On my waist. Oh, he just squeezed me.
Fuck, he’s talking.
“Maya?” he says with laughter in his voice. “Did you hear a word I just said, or were you thinking about how badly you want my cock inside you?”
No, you’re letting him get overconfident.
“Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?”
“Yes,” he says, eyes flashing. “I can do many things with my mouth. I think you’ll find that I’m very talented.”
His arms wind around me slowly, like a snake coiling around its prey. I’m slipping into some kind of coma, trapped in this guy’s arms. His jacket smells like cedar, but there’s not a hint of cigarette smoke, despite this bar being full of it.
“Talented at what?”
But I already know the answer. I already know it from the smile on his face, as he drops closer and closer, his hands locking me into place now. His lips hover over mine, and I stand still as if paralyzed.
“Eating out your pussy.”
I can feel it clenching tight at his words. Eating me out? I’ve never experienced a man’s tongue and mouth down there, but now I’m imagining his dark head bobbing between my legs.
Then his hands unwind from my hips and he steps back with a pleasant smile, the warmth gone.
What the fuck?
“Want a drink?”
The suggestion makes me angry. He stands in front of me, humor in his eyes as I cross my arms over my chest. His guy friends are still eyeing me, but I don’t give a fuck. I’ve been waiting way too long for this, and if he won’t give me a one-night stand, I’ll find someone else who will.
My voice erupts in the middle of the bar. “No, I don’t want a drink. I want you to take me home and fuck me.”
My raised voice catches the attention of his friends, sitting nearby. One of them looks at me with a slack-jawed expression as the bar goes suddenly silent, the patrons wheeling around to look at the crazy girl.
“Jesus Christ, Johnny,” one of them says as he eyes me. “If you’re not banging her, I will.”
A smattering of laughter rings out, and the noise returns to normal levels.
My very ears are burning.
Johnny’s voice darkens as he shoots the man a warning look. “Don’t be an asshole.”
It’s weird. The man gives Johnny a cowed look and mumbles an apology to me. Johnny turns his attention back to me, hitching up a smile on his face. He tries to act cool, but I can see the hunger blazing in his eyes.
“Why the fuck should I? You insulted me last night.”
My laughter chokes my throat. “What are you, the Godfather or something? I insulted you because I didn’t want to fuck you?”
“You’re a real smart-ass. You know what you did.” His grin widens. “I could have any piece of ass in this room. Why should I waste my time with you?”
I take a bold step forward, showing him that I’m not afraid of him despite whatever the fuck he thinks he has to prove. I take his tie in my hands, watching how his eyes flicker over my lips.
“Because I’m the hottest piece of ass in the room.”
A smile
tiptoes over his face, and there’s real laughter in it, unlike the condescending grin he keeps wearing.
I pull his tie slowly, his head inching toward mine, and he lets me draw his face in. His lips crash against mine, tongue darting inside my mouth to taste me. A shock zaps through his lips into mine, running all the way down my back in a delicious line. He still tastes like tequila. Fingernails slightly dig into my scalp as he fists my hair and forces my mouth against his. I lean into him as every part of me starts to heat up. It’s as though my body’s waking up after a long sleep, and he feels amazing and it’s just kissing. I’m not going to regret this.
When he pulls back, it’s not because either of us wants to. It’s just to breathe. He takes a deep, shuddering breath. “All right. Let’s get out of here.”
He pulls away from me for a moment to whisper something in that guy’s ear, and then he returns to my side, wrapping his arm around my waist. He digs his phone out of his slacks and makes a call.
“Chris. I need you to pick me up. All right.”
Then he ends the call and shoves it back into his pocket.
There’s just so much that doesn’t add up about this guy.
He pulls me toward the exit, never letting me go for a second. A black Audi pulls up to the curb and Johnny lets me go to open the door for me like a perfect gentleman. Man, he’s so different from the guys back home. I feel heat emanating from him as I walk past him and slide into the backseat. He joins me, his thighs pressing against mine.
“Take me home, Chrissy.”
The driver, a young guy wearing a leather jacket, nods and pulls the car away from the curb. How strange. The driver isn’t wearing any kind of professional clothing. For some reason it makes me a little nervous.
Fuck it. Who cares?
I want to think about his hand casually resting on my leg, his fingers wrapping around my knee, and the thrill that it gives me. He looks at my legs, my thighs, my tits, as if he’s deciding what he’s going to do with me. It’s a bit awkward with the other man in the car, but Johnny doesn’t seem to care.
We drive back to his place in silence. It’s a bit unnerving, and the closer we get to his home, the harder it is to ignore my frantic heartbeat. He kneads my thigh, inching up higher, dragging my dress over my skin as I turn sideways. He tips my head back with a single finger under my jaw and his lips fall over mine. They start out soft, at first, oddly restrained, and then they’re hard and biting. He slides one of his hands up my waist and grabs me roughly, as if he can’t decide which part he should focus on. I gasp into his mouth as his palm slides between my breasts. He grabs one of my tits—just groping it roughly, sliding his thumb over my peaking nipple.
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