Sin With Me

by JA Huss

  “Scarlett,” she purrs. Goddamn fuck me, her voice is sexy.

  “Yeah, uh-huh, but no, seriously… What’s your name?”

  She slows her grind for an almost imperceptible moment, then she says, “What’s yours?”

  OK. That’s how we’re proceeding? That’s fair. She doesn’t know me and I have caused her to be burned alive in two separate dreams now, so she’s being cautious. But like her, I’m not sure I’m ready to part with that information just yet. Until I’m certain she won’t bail once she recognizes me as the guy who destroys Heaven, I should be careful.

  I dunno if it’s because I just went car-shopping or if there’s some other reason this pops into my head, but I pull the first name I can think of out of the air. “Ford. I’m Ford.”

  “Ford what?” she asks.

  I stumble for a second. “Uh…” Then I just decide to go with the car theme and pick out the first car company that comes to me. Aston Martin. “Um, Aston. I’m Ford Aston.”

  Ford Aston? Seriously? Jesus Christ. She’s gotta know that’s fake. It’s like the most made-up-sounding name anybody’s ever thought of. Why didn’t I go with Ford Martin? Or Martin Ford? Or… Fuck. What an asshole. I need to pull it together. I should stop talking.

  But she doesn’t call me on it or make a thing out of it. She just keeps grinding her perfect, pretty pussy against me and I shut up and keep holding her gorgeous hands.

  MADDIE

  I’m not the greatest dancer here… but I’m fuckin’ motivated tonight. So I put some extra effort into it. Get my hips moving, just barely skimming his dick. It’s hard. Which distracts me a little.

  The waitress comes in, sets our drinks down on a nearby side table, and then leaves without comment.

  I wrangle one of my hands from his grip—he puts up a small fight about that, but I win—and then pick up one glass and hand it to him. “Here,” I say. “Relax a little. You seem a little tense.”

  He takes the glass, downs the drink in one gulp, and then sets the glass back down so he can grab my hand again.

  “Jesus.” I laugh. “You really need some attention tonight, huh?”

  He says nothing. Which is kind of disturbing, since he was pretty forward out there on the floor. Maybe even desperate. Fumbling over his words and acting all awkward like a strip-club virgin.

  Now he’s… different. More in control. Definitely not a virgin.

  “So are you really a lumberjack?” I ask.

  He looks at me for a long second. And then his thumbs start caressing little circles against my palms. It tickles a little. Sends a shudder up my spine. I want to pull my hands away and shake it off, but his fingers are wrapped around my wrists. Giving me the impression that there’s no way in hell he’s gonna let me go.

  I’m just about to put an end to this when he says, “Yeah. I cut shit down for a living.”

  His voice is low and throaty, his dick still hard.

  “OK,” I say, looking over his shoulder with a sigh. I stare at the wall for a moment and wonder just how the fuck I got here—in a dark room, alone with a guy who might’ve just hinted his job is killing things. People, not trees. I’m pretty sure he’s not talking about trees.

  But he lets go of one of my hands to reach for the other drink on the table and downs it. I breathe a little easier. Maybe he’ll just get drunk and sit here quietly? Hell, maybe he’ll fall asleep and wake up in five or six hours?

  I almost snicker at that thought.

  But then I stop. Not the snicker, but like… stop.

  Because he’s caressing my shoe.

  “What are you doing?” I ask. And there’s nothing nice about my question.

  “You said not to touch you.”

  “Right. So why are you playing with my shoe?”

  “You said hands only,” he continues, ignoring my question.

  “Yeah.”

  “So what about feet?” And with that, he slips my shoe off. It drops to the floor with an audible clunk.

  TYLER

  I cut shit down for a living? Good Christ, I really am a fucking tool. I take her foot up just to see if I can distract her from my unforgivable display of toolboxery.

  And this is it. I’m fucking this whole thing up. She told me only hands, and I broke that rule, and in about two seconds she’s going to scream for someone to come save her. I hope it’s that Otis dude. If I can’t fuck an angel tonight, at least maybe I can get out some frustration by busting open his fat melon.

  I’m sorry, angel. I’m sorry. I won’t blame you if you hate me. Fuck.

  MADDIE

  I’m about to scream for the room monitor when his thumb does that little circle caress on my bare sole.

  The shiver is back and it shoots right up my spine, leaving the hair on the nape of my neck tingling.

  There’s a few places on the human body that rarely get attention. So when these places do get that attention, everything about it is heightened.

  The calf, for instance. When a man touches my calf it drives me wild.

  The back of the knee. Kiss me on the back of the knee and I practically come.

  And the foot.

  I sit down on his lap as he continues. Placing my hands on his shoulders, feeling the hard, taut muscles underneath his shirt. My thighs brush against his jeans, which are soft. Like he’s owned them for years and they’ve been washed a million times.

  I close my eyes a little, so they’re half-mast, and enjoy the heat of his body as it mingles with mine.

  His cock is pressing against the thin fabric of my panties, reminding me that I’ve got a job to do. So I start moving again. Slowly. Just enough to keep him entertained and not so much that this turns into something more than I usually give.

  I gaze down into his eyes as he stares up into mine. And I want to say… What? Why are you looking at me that way?

  But I can’t find any words. We just stare at each other. Finding something in this moment. In each other. Something we recognize. Like… a dream you forgot and then remember. Or a stranger who feels like an old friend.

  He lets go of my other hand and slides his fingers over my other shoe. A moment later it too drops to the floor. And then I’ve got thumbs dancing on the soles of both feet.

  This time my eyes don’t stop at half-mast. I close them and enjoy the unexpected tingle of… attraction.

  TYLER

  Holy. Fucking. Shit.

  This is not how I expected this to go.

  I’m starting to get the sense that my angel needs something. That’s why she’s been so kind to me in my dream. That’s why she came back with me here even though she seemed like she didn’t want to at first. (That, and the money, the little voice in the back of my head tells me. I know, I respond to it silently. I’m crazy, not fucking stupid.)

  But she’s hurting. Somehow. She is. I can see it. I’ve seen plenty of suffering. Enough to know when someone is in pain. And she’s in pain. And it hurts me to see her hurt. And I do know this is insane. I know that she’s not really my angel, and that we’re in the back of a filthy fucking strip club, and that everything in me right now that feels hopeful and warm is a fucking lie. I know that.

  But I don’t give a shit.

  Because there is something here. Alchemy. You know it when you feel it. And I can feel it the same way I can feel her pain. And I decide that I’m going to help her. I haven’t been able to save her in my DREAM, but maybe that’s the point. Maybe THE DREAM is just a notification that I’m supposed to save her in the real world. Save her from what, I don’t know. But I think I have to try to find out. I know this is nuts, but I can feel it. Just like I can feel the end of my erection pounding against her creamy thigh.

  I take a breath to keep from coming right now, and I keep rubbing her foot. Because she’s letting me. My angel.

  MADDIE

  “It feel OK?” he asks.

  I take another moment before I answer. Get it together, Maddie. “Not really,” I lie. And it’s
such a fucking lie.

  He knows it too, because he lets out a small laugh. “I can follow the rules, Scarlett.” He makes a point of emphasizing my name to let me know that he knows it’s fake. But something about the way he says it makes me open my eyes all the way again and really look at him.

  He’s… scraggly. His hair is a shaggy mess of unruly darkness. And his beard looks like he just can’t be bothered to shave. Not the trendy kind of beard that some guys like to wear.

  “But, y’know, I like to bend them backwards as far as I can when I get the chance.”

  “Is that so?” I ask. My voice is low and throaty, just like his.

  “If you don’t like it, tell me to stop. I will.”

  I stare down at him and consider my options. He doesn’t seem to be concerned about getting his money’s worth. And that’s a good sign. But he also seems interested in… me.

  Every guy who comes in here with me comes for me, right? I don’t know why I think this is different. But there’s something about this guy. Something more in the look of him, in his quiet assertiveness that makes me reconsider everything about what’s happening.

  “Do you want me to stop?” he asks.

  I’m not in control at the moment. And this is very unusual. At least while I’m working here at Pete’s. Lately, Pete’s is the only place I have any control over my life. I get to call the shots. I get to lay the ground rules. I get to say yes or no.

  “Scarlett? Angel? Give me a road map. Or I won’t know where the limits are.”

  “Do you have a problem with limits?” I ask, snapping back to the moment.

  “Yeah. Sometimes.”

  I decide he is, at the very least, being honest. So I’m gonna give it a little longer before I make up my mind about whether or not to cut this short. Besides. It really does feel fuckin’ amazing. “No,” I whisper. “Don’t stop.”

  He offers up a small smile. But it’s kind of a sad smile.

  And I don’t know how I know this, but I do. Because I recognize it. And I think I’m smiling back at him in the very same way. We are two people filled with the same world of hurt and for some reason, it makes me feel better and worse all at once and I need to know more about him. Because… because I don’t want to see myself in this stranger. I don’t want to see the pain and sadness. Whatever’s bothering him… I want to fix it.

  “Did you have a bad week?” I ask, letting my fingertips slide up underneath his hair. It’s soft. Softer than I would’ve imagined. If I imagined those kinds of things.

  “No worse than the thousands of bad weeks that came before.”

  Now we frown together. Understanding each other. My hands are fully engaged in feeling the texture of his hair. My fingertips brushing lightly across the little bit of bare skin above his shoulders.

  On an impulse, I reach down and tug his shirt up. He raises his arms and lets me take it off. It brushes past my thigh as it falls to the ground.

  TYLER

  Here we go. And not in a good way. Well… that’s fucking life. Shit.

  MADDIE

  And that’s when I see the scars.

  “Jesus,” I say.

  When I look at him, he’s just… looking back at me. Expressionless.

  “What happened?” I ask. It’s a stupid question because there’s only one way to get scars like that. Fire.

  He shrugs and squeezes both of my feet. Like he needs to hold on to me. “You don’t wanna know.”

  OK, soldier.

  My words when we first came in here echo in my head. The pained look on his face.

  I decide he’s right. This isn’t something I need to know. It’s too close to my own pain. Way too close. So I do something else instead. Something I never do. I take his face in both my hands and I kiss him.

  He doesn’t respond at first, but I don’t give up. I brush my lips against his. Softly at first. Then harder and more persistent. For some reason I know he needs this kiss. And I’m the one who needs to give it to him.

  I take it a step further. Just add one more thing I never do to the growing list of things I’m already doing, because I need to forget and how can I forget if he remembers? So I touch his chest. Feel him. Feel the jagged edges of his scars.

  And that’s when he kisses me back.

  His mouth opens and his tongue slips inside me. I breathe heavy, my heart beginning to gallop as his hands leave my feet and land on my hips.

  “Sorry,” he says into my mouth. But when he withdraws them, I clamp my hands down on the back of his and keep them there.

  “Don’t be,” I whisper back, still kissing him. My body feels limp and soft and he feels like a goddamned rock. Hard. Stable. Secure.

  I start to grind on him. Moving seductively.

  The waitress appears with fresh drinks, but neither of us cares.

  He’s mumbling something as I take my kisses to his neck. Something about Heaven or…

  I don’t care what he’s mumbling. My mind is spinning with what he’s been through and what I’ve been through. And what it means that this guy—someone who seems just as lost and vulnerable as I do—might be just what I was looking for tonight.

  It’s dumb. And I feel a little naïve for buying into the bullshit. Like the customers must feel at the end of a lap dance. Taken for a ride, but unable to step off because… because they need it.

  I unbuckle his pants, slip my hand inside. Find him very hard.

  His hands are wandering too. Slipping between my legs, his fingers pushing inside me.

  I grind my hips even more forcefully, even as I try my best to hold back.

  “Hey,” he says, breaking the moment. “You don’t need to do this. You don’t have to.”

  I’m conflicted. Because I’d forgotten where I was for a moment. At work. With a customer who is paying me money to be here with him.

  So I pull away and reach for the fresh drinks. I hand him his, then take mine. I don’t ever drink at work, either. But what the fuck? I guess I’m just throwing out every rule I have for this guy.

  He takes a sip of his Scotch. It’s watered down so much, he doesn’t even wince at the burn. And then he sets it down and places both hands on the back of my calves.

  I close my eyes and bite my lip to stifle a moan.

  It’s like he knows me. All my deepest secrets. All my desires. All the pleasure spots on my body. How the fuck does he know me?

  “Should we go back to the ground rules?” he asks.

  But I just shake my head. “No,” I say. “We’ve gone long past ground rules tonight.”

  We talk for a little bit after that. Turns out, he’s kinda funny. I find myself laughing more than I have in… hell, years, I think.

  He tells me about his car. Which is pretty typical of men, right? But I don’t even know what kind of car he’s describing. He calls it some kind of Land Rover. But when I say, “Yeah, I can totally picture it,” he insists that no, there’s no fucking way I can picture it.

  And I believe him. I don’t know why. He’s just some random stranger and his word means nothing to me at all. But I do. I believe him.

  I let him describe it to me in every detail. The wheels and suspension. And a whole bunch of other shit that’s lost on me. But he’s smiling the whole time, so I don’t care. And I don’t even know why I don’t care. I just… want to listen to him. Hear his voice and see his smile. I want to feel his bare chest under my fingertips and know that we’re in this night together. Whatever pain we have. Whatever regrets and bullshit are haunting us. We’re in this night together.

  TYLER

  I have no fucking clue why I’m talking to her about my stupid car. I feel dopey. High, almost. It’s not like I’m trying to show off or brag to her. I could give a fuck if she thinks I’m awesome because I have a fancy car. In fact, if she DID think I was awesome because I have a fancy car, I’d be fucking out of here.

  But I know she wouldn’t think that. Because that’s not who she is.

  No, I’m
telling her all this shit I guess because… I like her. I don’t know her, but I feel like I do. We have something in common, but I’m not sure what. I only know that I feel immediately comfortable with her. And I’m positive that it’s not just because I’m paying her. Something inside me tells me that she’s not good enough at her job to fool me that much. No, there’s something else between us. I promise myself I’m not wrong. And, shit, I don’t really like anybody, but I like her.

  I laugh and shake my head at that, and that’s when I glance down at my watch.

  It’s four-fucking-thirty in the morning.

  What happened to the night? It’s almost gone. How did that happen? Haven’t we just been here a few minutes? How has all this time flown by and it feels like I’ve only just arrived here with her? What have we even been saying? Not much. Stupid stuff. Nothing even really that personal. Just talking about cars and… drones… and “Tahoe Blue” being a color… and…

  I haven’t spent all night talking to a woman without trying to fuck her since I was fifteen years old.

  I start thinking maybe we should get out of here. Continue talking at breakfast. I can bring her to my place. I have burnt toast and whiskey. Or maybe we can just head out and watch the sun rise. Or maybe…

  Maybe I should just tell her my name.

  And, in an instant, I remember that happiness and good times are things that are generally reserved for other people. Because I stop my fucking fantasy thrill ride into the future when I look down at her hands. And I see that she’s touching my history again.

  MADDIE

  I trace the edges of his scar, this time paying more attention to them. And when I look up at his face again, he’s frowning.

  He says, “Seriously. You don’t wanna know,” like he’s reading my mind.

  And he’s right. I don’t. But I picture it anyway, because I don’t really need the details in order to take a good guess.

  “Stop,” he says, again with the mind-reading.