by Amber Lin
I sneaked a look at Luke. He wore his gangbanger appearance well, so I almost didn’t know him. Underneath the soot and ratty white-gray fabric, it was still Luke. Wasn’t it? Like studying an optical illusion, I could look at him once and see Luke. I blinked, and the noble cop receded, replaced by the sooty criminal. The same image, different perspective, and my mind didn’t know what to make of it. His blank expression gave no clue as to whether he had noticed the girls in front of us, but I knew he had.
“Don’t,” I said.
His green eyes flicked to me. “Don’t what?”
I raised my eyebrow. He already knew. Don’t pull your cop routine to get these girls out of line. Don’t mess up our plan to assuage your goddamned integrity.
“They won’t let them in,” he said quietly. “Then they’ll look at ours more closely.”
“You don’t know that. Ella got in.”
A line appeared between his eyes, the only sign he was disturbed. “Look what happened to her. We can’t let them go in.”
“We’ll be inside too,” I pointed out. “We can help if there’s any trouble.”
“Us being there increases the odds for trouble,” he said drily. “Besides, it would blow our cover to help.”
“It would blow our cover to stop them from going in.”
We shuffled forward with the line, quiet for a moment as people resettled.
The girl with the striped stockings checked her phone. “My dad’s calling.”
“Don’t answer it,” the other whispered. “Text him. Tell him you’re at my house.”
I approved of Striped Stockings. The anxiety in her voice made it clear she didn’t want to be here. Her friend Blondie was the troublemaker.
“What if he calls there?” she persisted.
I mentally cheered. That’s right. Think of the consequences.
“Say you’re going to sleep now.”
From the side, I saw her bite her lip.
“It is pretty late. I’m usually asleep by now.”
It was barely ten o’clock. Luke didn’t have to look at me to make his point. See?
Okay, I did see. He couldn’t stand by and let them inside, knowing they might be targeted. And maybe that was beyond my capability too—damn Ella for messing with my sangfroid—but hell, I didn’t know how to make them leave. I sure as hell couldn’t make Ella do anything. We were nearing the entrance. The bouncers stood impassive, disinterested in the crowd, but any attempts to dissuade the girls would surely attract attention.
The group at the front slipped inside, and we all inched forward, a giant lumbering caterpillar with a multitude of feet.
I held my breath, hoping he would stay silent. Hoping he wouldn’t.
Luke cleared his throat.
A nervous sound of objection or surprise escaped me— Oh!
The bouncer in front looked over at me, bored at first, but his expression rapidly turning to one of interest. Sexual interest, hopefully, because if I had been identified before I even made it through the doors, I really had lost my touch. Like some sort of cartoon sketch, the bouncer pointed at me—directly at me, and I half expected a trapdoor to open in the concrete, sending me to a pit of crocodiles.
Instead the bouncer said, “Go ahead.”
“Me?” I managed to say.
“You in or out?”
“In.” I gestured to Luke. “He’s with me.”
The bouncer gave him a thorough once-over, which Luke returned coolly. The bouncer nodded a grudging approval. We started to slip past the girls, but the blonde one blocked our way.
“Hey, why do they get to go? We’re next in line.”
I stopped myself from rolling my eyes. Naive much, Blondie?
The bouncer’s face was like granite. “Wait here for your turn.”
“This is our turn,” she complained. “No fair.”
No fair? Oh Lord. Then I realized this would be an opportunity to get them booted from the club—maybe my only opportunity.
I drew myself up to full haughtiness. “Let me give you a little life advice. When someone insults you, it’s best not to draw attention to that.”
Two lipsticked mouths fell open, but the blonde recovered first. “Who the hell do you think you are?”
“Are you confused, sweetheart? I’m the girl getting bumped to the front of the line. You are the loser standing outside.”
Her face turned mottled red. She looked ready to blow.
“Is there a problem?” the bouncer asked.
She stammered. “I… She… Did you hear what she said?”
“Maybe we should just go,” Striped Stockings pleaded.
Blondie’s face twisted into a cross between a sneer and a pout. She was pretty and slender and probably used to getting her way—I should know.
Luke had viewed the whole exchange with the mild amusement typical of a lowlife watching a girl fight, though I didn’t know if that was genuine or part of his act. He stepped forward. “There’s no need to get upset,” he said in an oily voice I hadn’t even known he was capable of. “Nice-looking girls like you two deserve to party. I’ll bring you guys in, get us a table.” He leered rather convincingly. “I’m sure you can think of some way to repay me.”
With a flurry of rushed excuses, Striped Stockings dragged her friend away, out of the line and out of sight.
Turning back to the bouncer, Luke shrugged. “Their loss.”
Inside the door, we handed over the IDs to another bouncer who examined them under a bright light. A cold line of sweat ran down my back as I waited. There was no way they would catch them as fakes, and really, they would have known within two seconds. It was almost as if the extended wait, with the guy glancing from me to the card, was designed to elicit a reaction, the telltale heart of underage clubbing.
Finally, he handed back the cards and stamped our hands with Xs. I plunged into the sweaty mass, eager to blend in. Luke was right behind me, his slick fingers entwined with mine. Everywhere I looked, people laughed and frowned, flirted and fucked with their eyes, their words, their hips against hips. Too many people, too little space. We reached an empty back wall, and I melted against it, sucking in the air at the edges of the room.
Luke’s body closed in on me from behind, and we could have been fucking like this, except for the kindness in his touch.
He murmured into my ear. “What’s wrong? If you’re pretending some sort of overdose, it’s very convincing.”
I shook my head. Even the wall shook with the effort of holding this many bodies, but then I realized it was me moaning. Underwater, unable to hear the sound of my own voice except for its vibrations in my throat. Unable to hear anything at all except the rush in my ears. I let the currents pull me, the too-tight grip on my arm like a hook yanking me out of the water. We stumbled together into a bathroom. I staggered back, supporting myself on the ceramic sink. Luke grabbed a dirty mop and slung it through the metal handle, keeping everyone out.
He turned on me. “What the hell happened out there?”
“Sorry,” I muttered. “Freaked out a little.”
“Yeah, I got that. Want to tell me why?”
“I don’t know. So many people.”
“There were plenty of people at headquarters, and you didn’t lose your shit. So tell me why.”
“I don’t know. Those girls, the way you looked at them.”
He seemed genuinely puzzled. “How did I look at them?”
“You know,” I choked out.
“Like I wanted to smack them for being little idiots. Is that what you mean?”
“No, no. Like you wanted them.”
Understanding dawned in his green eyes, and with it, bright shame within me.
“I didn’t want them,” he said gently.
The kind of soothing tone you use with a child. It’s only lightning. It can’t hurt you. But I had seen the lightning and the lustful light in his eyes. I had felt its burn and knew well how it hurt.
“I kno
w you didn’t.” Did I? Oh shit, I was losing it.
“Breathe.”
The low command penetrated my haze, drew me back to the surface. I breathed. When his face came into focus, it was concerned. That part would have been fine. The part that really sickened me was the kindness. Poor Shelly. She can’t help what she does. This was all predetermined years ago. No way to change my course.
“I’m fine,” I said. “Got a little derailed, but I’m fine.”
He looked doubtful. Extremely doubtful, and I worried if I didn’t convince him soon, he would abandon our entire mission.
“Look, I’m okay. See? I’m standing all by myself, breathing without you having to tell me. Very mature-like.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“And I realize I’m jumpy, so as a gesture of good faith, I’ll let you hold on to my gun for me,” I said magnanimously.
“I’ve already got it,” he said, reaching back to where he’d stashed it in his belt. He swore as he came up empty.
I handed it to him. “Sorry. But not really, because you had no right to take it from me in the first place.”
“I had every right. Do I even want to check the registration on this?”
“Only if you want your worst suspicions confirmed.”
“No, thanks.”
“This way is better. I’m giving you permission to hang on to it. Because I trust you.” My emphasis on the last few words could not go unnoticed.
A slow smile spread across his face. “I see.”
The door rattled, then shook violently as someone banged on it. Shouting came from the other side, too muffled to understand through the steel door and the roar of the club.
“Gee,” I said. “Do you think he wants to come in here?”
“Occupied,” Luke called over his shoulder.
I started toward the door. “I think we’re done here.”
“Oh no.” He stopped me. “We need to snort a few lines. Then I’ll probably make you pay me back. On your knees. All that takes a while, so he’s just going to have to wait.”
The picture he painted was so accurate it chilled me. “It creeps me out how well you fall into this role.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Would you rather I open every conversation with the Miranda rights?”
The banging on the door grew louder, stronger. I wondered if the rusty metal pole of the mop could bend. More likely the door handle would break off first.
Luke prowled over to the door and rattled the mop in the door handle. “Hold your fucking horses.” He turned to me. “We should give them a show.”
“Oh my God, you’re so long,” I said in a loud voice. “And thin. And with all those bristles on the end.”
“You’re complimenting the mop here?” He strolled back.
I smirked. “He’s the only hard rod in the room, I believe.”
He reached me, standing close, then ducked his head to my neck. With his hands on my hips, he pushed me onto the ledge of the sink.
“He can’t please you like I can, baby.”
“I don’t know about that.” My legs parted as he closed the space between us. I stared at the fuzzy exposed pipes above us, wondering exactly how far this little show would go. “I like a man who cleans up nice.”
His fingers walked up my thigh. “It’s all show. He’s limp where it counts.”
“And you?” I matched his wandering fingers with my own, traveling down his lean belly. “How are you?”
“Thorough,” he whispered, and my legs fell open a little more.
He found the damp string of my thong and slipped past it. The touch of his fingers on my slick skin was electric, sending waterlogged sparks through my body. The thought alone was almost enough to bring me to orgasm. He was touching me. Luke had his hand on my cunt, and what’s more—I liked it. I was wet for him, not freaking out for him. As his fingers slipped deeper, I began to rock against him. This was real, the most real sex I’d ever had, in a dirty bathroom, with the door rattling angrily, while we both pretended to be different people.
He stilled.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, breathless.
“Be louder,” he whispered.
His words poured cold water over my body. The tender skin around his fingers ached; the dampness chilled. All this was a show.
I moaned loudly. “Is this right?” I muttered. “Am I doing it right?”
His hands began to work their magic again, and to my frustration, I slipped under their spell. My moans grew louder, fake and gaudy, but beneath the wild cries resonated true pleasure. Underneath the facade of a prostitute was a woman in heat. My long moans and heated encouragements gave way to breathy pants.
“Why are you doing this?” Why taint the act with something real? Why show me what I couldn’t have?
Without answering, he ducked down, matching his mouth to his fingers. I let out a shout of surprise—one that would surely satisfy a curious audience. I held myself suspended on shaking arms, a picture of wanton depravity, spread open on the bathroom sink. He licked my clit while his fingers fucked me, winding me tighter, dragging me higher, until the air was too thin to breathe and the drop too high to look down. My hips rocked into his mouth and waiting fingers, wanting more, seeking his generous tongue and the sweet friction.
“Let go,” he muttered against me, and the vibrations, right there, almost pushed me over. Almost, but not quite. I didn’t like to come with a man. It had happened before, and each time, I had felt dirty.
“Stop thinking.”
“I can’t.” My lips formed the words silently.
“You can do this,” he insisted.
A desperate laugh escaped me. “The magic cock again?”
“My cock isn’t a part of this.”
He paused with his fingers inside me and looked at me, his green eyes pure and bright and pained.
“This is just about you. Giving you pleasure. Making you come.”
I had to ask. “Why?”
Not breaking his stare, he pushed his fingers deeper inside me, searching, searching for a certain spot. I knew where—a little left—but I wouldn’t help him. I didn’t want this, did I?
“Don’t you think you deserve it?” he asked. “Pleasure. Orgasms.”
“You know I don’t,” I moaned, bucking against him.
“No,” he said, a little sadly, his fingers still rubbing and stroking and searching. “You don’t think so. But you’ll let me do this. You’ll let me lock you in a bathroom and force you, because then it wouldn’t matter if you deserved it or not. You’d just be doing your job.”
“Ahhh,” I cried out as he found the right spot.
“There?” he asked, the tease.
“No, no,” I begged, because I didn’t deserve it, didn’t want it, except for the burning desire to have him and keep him and feel this way forever.
“Just take it,” he murmured. “You’re not responsible for this.”
He closed his mouth over my clit once more, sucking and lashing it as his fingers pushed me over. My entire body jerked once in a futile protest before giving in to the flood of pleasure. Wave after wave crashed over me, until my vision blurred to a distorted hue and my mouth filled with water, and then he was kissing me, soothing me, rocking me gently back to shore. I shuddered against his still hand as the last vestiges of my orgasm left me.
Like the insistent cawing of seagulls, the rattling on the door was too distant to disturb my stupor.
“Oh, Luke,” I sighed, resting my forehead against the softness of his neck.
Tension tightened his body broken only by the tremors that ran through him.
“Let me touch you,” I said, knowing he wouldn’t. In that way, he was like me.
“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” he said gruffly.
“Sex in a dirty bathroom is usually a spur-of-the-moment activity. Or so I assume. I have never done it before.”
“Really?” His voice was wry. “An accomplished sexual maestro like
yourself?”
“Yes, well, usually I have standards about these things.”
“Except with me.” The amusement was gone.
“You’re my new standard,” I said softly. “Anything else doesn’t compare.”
He pulled back, his features strained. “God, Shelly. The things you do to me, the things you say. I can’t even lust after you properly. I want to devour you, swallow you whole. I want to secret you away where no one can ever take you from me, not even you.”
My breath caught at the jagged edge of longing that grated his voice. If ever I had imagined us together, there were silk petals on satin sheets and scented candles in the window. Sweet words and courtly manners were a safe fantasy. But this feral desire did more than woo me—it thrilled me. A dark and primal part of me awoke from deep slumber and stretched, its sleek black body rippling with its urge to claim, to mark, to devour him right back until we were inseparable. I wanted to drown in the sea of possession, to tie myself to his weight and throw myself into the water, so that even if I lost my nerve, we would still be together. “You won’t be satisfied until I’m ruined, will you?”
His eyes swirled green and black, molten malachite, as he murmured, “Turnabout is fair play.”
As we left the small bathroom, sauntering past the angry line of people, I wondered if it was true. Would I be willing to ruin his career to make him want me? And if he did abandon his principles for me, would I even want him still?
Chapter Ten
We handed over a few hundreds to get into the back areas with large booths and thick tables, probably made for dancing on. Low platforms skirted the length of the room, studded with poles to the ceiling, but no strippers graced them. Testosterone filled the room like dust in the desert, emanating from the lounging men. A few women perched on laps. They were eye candy as much as the gold chains and flashy watches the men wore.
