by M. Never
“Philly? Your guy best friend?” I curl my lip.
She told me all about him in Hawaii.
“My gay guy best friend. Yes, the one and the same. It’s his family’s café. I can’t bail. Besides, I need money to pay those pesky little things called bills.”
It takes all my resolve not to offer to pay every bill she has just to get her to stay in bed with me. But I won’t do that. Not yet, anyway.
“Work sucks,” I pout.
“I know.” She delivers a quick kiss on my lips before she climbs out of bed. I follow by sitting up. She’s not getting away that easily.
“Should I order in for dinner?” I grab her waist, pressing my wet lips against her navel.
Tara slides her hands into my hair and moans regrettably.
“I have dinner plans with some girlfriends tonight. We do it every year the night after Christmas while they’re in town.”
Bummer.
“You will just have to settle for some late night dirty sex.” She leans down and kisses me, all hot mouth and eager tongue.
“I can do late night dirty sex.” I grip her tighter as my dick wakes up underneath the sheets.
“It’s a date then.”
I hope we have a lot of dates in the future, but I keep that sentiment to myself for now, until we can talk. A serious, proper talk about her and me.
“I’ll see you later.” There’s a smile on her face, but her eyes seem so sad. What’s that all about? She picks up her purse and then stalls.
“I almost forgot.” She sticks her hand in the large, black leather bag. “I got you a present, too.” She hands me a little box wrapped in shiny blue paper. “A day late, but it’s the thought that counts, right?”
“Right.” I take the present and tear the paper off revealing a wooden box with my initials, CJC, engraved on top.
“For your pocket watch,” Tara explains. “To keep it in a safe place. Maybe you won’t forget it so much.”
I run my thumb over the silver plate with my initials, same as my grandfather.
“I love it. It’s perfect.” I try not to sound like a complete fucking sap, but it’s a pretty thoughtful present.
“Good.” Tara gives me one more long, lingering kiss. I really don’t want her to go.
“I’ll see you late night,” she promises before she’s gone.
I MEANDER AROUND MY HOTEL room all day trying to figure out what to do now.
Our feelings have come bursting out, and there’s no stuffing them back into Pandora’s box. Not that I’d want to. But I do have to come up with a game plan. Everything is different now, and I need to strategize. My stay in New York is going to be considerably extended. Leaving Tara is not even an option, which means I’m going to need new accommodations. I can’t live in a hotel forever, especially one costing me a lung.
I fire up my laptop and search real estate agents. Maybe I can find an apartment that leases month to month. I would text Richard to see if he could recommend one, but I think that would be extremely obvious. I don’t think we’re ready to go public with our relationship just yet. Soon, but I’d like to keep Tara all to myself for just a little while longer. I’m sure that once the news gets out, we’re going to have to do some serious damage control. I suddenly regret not packing a bulletproof vest.
I shoot out a few inquiry emails then surf the net, recalling how Tara agreed to wear a collar for me. Score. I told her it would be fit for a queen, so it will have to be something unique. I punch in diamond collars, and about a billion options pop up. Everything from rhinestone dog collars to multi-million dollar chokers.
Choices, choices.
Then I find it. It’s not leather or lace. It’s twelve carats’ worth of diamonds, strung together like garland. Heavy and thick, while feminine and princess-like all at the same time. I can already picture Tara wearing it butt-naked as she rides my cock dry.
I click buy, glossing over the hefty price tag. I don’t know what’s come over me, but I’m becoming as possessive as Kayne and as perverted as Jett and loving every second of it.
Speak of the blond devil; a text comes through from him.
Jett: Will we ever see you again or has T’s pussy swallowed you alive?
Me: Funny … wish they had a middle finger emoji. Figuring out my next move as we speak.
Jett: Better hurry up, the big guy has been asking about you. Can’t cover forever. Gonna have to tell him you’ve been reassigned soon.
Shit.
Me: Buy me a little more time. Relationship status: it’s complicated.
Jett: It always is. Roger that.
I lean back on the couch and stare at the ceiling, only seeing Tara’s eyes. The sparkly, dark blue ones that hold me hostage twenty-four hours a day.
My phone beeps again, and I am expecting a last-minute snide remark from Jett, but it’s an unknown number instead.
Unknown: Caught a break. Want to go clubbing? ~ S
Me: Clubbing? WTF … ?
I’M STANDING IN AN ALLEYWAY next to a shady building in the middle of Hell’s Kitchen at midnight. Faint club music pumps through the air as I wait for my accomplice. Thump … thump … thump … My head hurts already.
Slade materializes out of the darkness in his usual attire. Black hat, shirt, and jeans. He looks like night personified.
“So what’s the scoop?” I ask as I look around, scouting the immediate area.
“After further investigation into the girl’s phone records, I found something peculiar.”
“And that was?” I blow into my hands to warm them up.
“Joe’s Pizza.”
“Excuse me?”
“Joe’s Pizza. There was an abundance of calls on her phone bill for a Joe’s Pizza.”
“So she liked pizza. How is that a lead?”
“The calls were incoming. All of them.”
“Huh?”
“My thoughts exactly. Why would she be getting so many calls from a pizza place?”
“Deadbeat boyfriend with no cell phone?” I throw out there.
“One theory. So I traced the number and found out it wasn’t Joe’s Pizza. It was Club Clip.”
“Shady Club Clip?” I thumb down the street to the line on the sidewalk.
“As shady as they come. Thought we could poke around and see what exactly is going on in there.”
“The sooner, the better so we can get the fuck out of the cold.”
“You’re turning into a pussy.” Slade heads down the alleyway.
I roll my eyes. “I’m just not partial to freezing my balls off. I prefer tropical climates.”
“Whatever you say, pussy.” There’s humor in his gravelly voice.
The bouncer gives us a once-over before he lets us in, skeptical of our appearance and our interest in the club. We’re older than all of the other people standing in line and not wearing a stitch of designer anything. But they luckily let us in reguarless without any hassle.
Inside, it’s a typical dance club. Nothing I haven’t seen before. A couple of bars, big dance floor, and flashing strobe lights.
“So what are we looking for exactly?” I ask Slade as we order a drink and pretend to be nobodies at the bar.
“Anything unusual.”
I take a sip of my crappy gin and tonic. “Informative.”
After a few minutes, we decide to part ways to cover more ground and inspect the place more thoroughly. He stays on the edge of the dance floor as I climb the stairs to the second-floor landing. I stay back, as inconspicuous as possible, and scan the room. I watch the dancers, the bartenders, and even the bouncers. Everything looks kosher. Just a bunch of drunks letting loose in the appropriate atmosphere.
I spot Slade snaking through the crowd slowly, but not unusually slow. As I visually follow him I catch a splash of blonde hair in the middle of the dance floor. I take a step forward to make sure my eyes aren’t playing tricks. And they’re not. It’s her, in a short pleated skirt, cropped top, and thigh high
boots. Her tousled hair curly and long and being grabbed by some prick wearing a polo shirt who couldn’t be more than twenty-one. My stomach lurches as I watch them. She lied straight to my face. Said she was going out with girlfriends. Why? Probably because she didn’t think grandpa would approve, my subconscious sneers. How long did you think you were going to keep a young, gorgeous blonde satisfied?
I find that hard to believe after the week we’ve had, but I am seeing it with my own eyes, how she responds to him, laughing and grinding against his body as they move to the obnoxious techno music.
In a moment of blind rage, I bolt toward the dance floor, pushing my way through the sweaty crowd as I try to find them. I scour the whole club and somehow come up empty. I saw them, her, but seemingly they’re gone. I retake my position on the second level, vowing to stand here all night if I have to. Minutes tick by and my rage only escalates.
“I wish you’d stay … you’re the only one I come for … I love you.”
It feels like all my emotions are being wrung dry.
After a while, I spot the guy in the crowd, but no Tara to speak of. Before I can even think, I’m hurrying down the stairs and following him into the bathroom. He doesn’t even see me coming as I force him into a stall, locking us both inside.
“What the fuck, man!” he shouts at me, but I crush my forearm to his throat, silencing him. The guy’s green eyes widen with fear. That’s right, buddy; be scared.
“The girl you were with, where is she?”
He shakes his head as if to say he doesn’t know.
“Where?” I slam my fist against the wall right next to his head. He jumps, looking like he just shit himself.
“I don’t know. She’s gone.”
“How do you know her? Are you dating?”
“Dating? No!” he scrambles. “Are you her boyfriend? They said it was anonymous!”
“They? Who?” I demand.
“Are you some sort of cop?” His voice is high-pitched, terrified.
I tilt my head, now really looking at the man in front of me.
“You could say that. Now, tell me what I want to know or I’ll make your life a living fucking nightmare.”
“They’ll kill me if I talk.”
Enraged, I grab his junk and twist. “If you don’t talk, I’ll make sure you never use your cock again.”
“All right, all right!” He puts his hands up in surrender and lifts onto his toes. What a little punk. “She’s a whore! She’s a whore! I paid to sleep with her!”
I freeze mid-twist.
“What?”
“The club,” he splutters. “It’s a front. They run this service. It’s like a monthly subscription. You pay a fee and can sleep with any of their girls you want, as much as you want.”
My blood turns ice cold. “How do you know which girls are which?”
“The wristbands. The girls with the red wristbands. There’s a new code word every night. Just whisper it to them, and they’ll take you into the back. There are rooms.”
I’m shaking by this point with a vice grip on the guy’s cock.
“What’s the word?”
“I can’t. If you’re not a member! These guys are bad news!”
I squeeze, and the guy actually screams. Good thing it’s loud as fuck in the bathroom. The bass is literally vibrating the stall.
“You should have thought about that before you bought pussy. Now tell me!”
“Buttercup!” He gives it up.
I release the guy’s package, and he slumps onto the toilet, gasping. “Give me your wallet.”
He glares up at me. “Fuck off.”
“Oh, now you grow a pair?” I grab him by the throat and pull him to his feet. He’s not very tall or muscled, and sort of reminds me of a wet noodle, tight jeans and all. I snatch his wallet from his pocket and pull out his license.
“Insurance.” I throw the wallet back in his face. “Tell anyone about this conversation and I’ll kill you. Fucking slowly.”
“Like I have a death wish,” he spits at me.
I storm out of the bathroom and back into the club, looking for the doors to the back room the kid spoke of. That’s when I spot her, standing unassumingly by the bar with her back turned to me. Stealthy, I creep up behind her, uncontrollable anger boiling in my chest.
“Buttercup.”
“BUTTERCUP,” SOMEONE HISSES IN MY ear. I actually sag. This is my third John tonight. I want to cry. I don’t turn around immediately, taking a moment to find the energy to put up another front. Being here is eating me alive. I want to run, but I have no choice. Nino’s threat keeps ringing in my ears. He reminded me again tonight. He’s keeping me on a short leash, and I hate it.
I finally turn around, fake smile and all as I come face to face with the one person I never expected to see.
Tears immediately well in my eyes.
“You don’t look happy to see me, shortcake,” he says just loud enough for me to hear. “What’s the going rate for a subscription call girl these days?”
His tone is as sharp as a blade that effortlessly slashes me wide open. I don’t respond because I have no words.
“Let’s go.” He grabs my arm tightly—so tightly it actually hurts. “Show me what all this back room hype is about.”
I nearly burst into tears. He pushes me, and I walk reluctantly to a hidden door in the back that is painted black, same as the wall. It’s virtually undetectable unless you know it’s there.
I push it open while CJ keeps a firm grip on my arm. We walk down a short corridor where there are more doors, each leading to a private room.
I find one that’s open, and we slip inside. The room is nothing spectacular. It’s small, with a mattress on the floor and a couch against the wall. The lighting is a shitty dull yellow that enhances nothing. The nicest thing I can say about it is it’s clean. Whore is definitely the name of the game. Guys pay to be with a girl they could never pull in real life. That’s the niche. A jacked-up fantasy fuck. That’s why my hair is over curled, my makeup is too heavy, and my skirt is too short. My worlds blur together at the irony. CJ wanted me to be his fantasy girl, and here I am, in the fucking flesh.
CJ backs me up against the wall with rage burning in his eyes. He doesn’t utter a sound, and I think the silence scares me more than anything. I would prefer him to yell. Confirming what a god-awful person I am. But he just breathes erratically, like a raging bull.
“I’m sorry,” I squeak out, not knowing what else to do or say.
“Sorry? You’re sorry?” He sounds disgusted. “You have no fucking idea what sorry is.”
He spins me around and slams me against the wall. “You were fucking lying to me this whole time. How many other fucking guys, Tara? How many did you let fuck you while you were with me? Huh?” he shouts.
The thought of answering that question turns my stomach.
“Answer me!”
“None until tonight.” Oh shit, that sounded so bad.
“Until tonight?” he seethes.
“CJ, please,” I beg, pathetically, because I am pathetic.
“Please? Please what? Is that what all your Johns like to hear? You begging?”
I don’t answer.
“Tell me, Tara!” He crushes me against the wall with his body.
“Do they savor you like I did? Do they inhale your scent and caress your body?” He touches me roughly, and I can’t believe it, I actually feel him getting hard.
“No, no one touches me like you.”
It’s the truth.
He grunts like I triggered something. “No one touches you like me?” There is so much anger in his voice. “You’re goddamned right, no one touches you like me.” He gropes my breasts and bites my neck, twisting my nipples until I’m writhing.
He scoffs as he palms my ass, discovering that I’m not wearing any underwear. He squeezes my cheek so hard, I can feel the fury biting through his fingertips. Then he sinks a finger inside me, and I hear the conf
liction in his growl. “How many men have been in this pussy tonight?”
I close my eyes and bite my lip. I won’t answer. Why does he want to know? Just to escalate his anger?
“How many?” he yells as he fingers me. I’m so confused. He’s mad, but he wants me?
I hesitate for a beat before I answer. “Two,” I whisper. “Only two.”
“Slow night?” he responds scathingly, as if he loathes me.
I press my face against the wall and fight back the tears. CJ was the one good thing in my life, and I’ve ruined it. Not on purpose, but because I was trapped.
“I’m sorry,” I force out, my tone brittle. It’s all I can say. It’s all that’s left to say.
“You’re sorry?” he snaps at me. I then hear him rip his pants open, taking me by total surprise. “I’m the one who’s sorry,” he hisses enraged right before he slams his cock into me, burying himself directly to the hilt. We both expel a choked moan as he fucks me right up against the wall. No reason, no regard. He takes all of his aggression out where I can feel it the most, right between my legs. I should hate him for this, but I don’t because I know this is the last time CJ Carmichael is ever going to touch me. So I’ll accept his displaced anger as my parting gift. He pounds into me again and again every so often muttering, “Bitch.” I absorb every brutal punch of his cock, my pussy tightening involuntarily around him. This is not just some rough fuck—it’s a primal, no-holds-barred, brutal hate-fuck. He hates me. It destroys me that I drove him to this, but in all its fucked-up-ness, it’s some of the best sex I’ve ever had. I claw at the walls as he thrusts so hard he lifts me right off the ground. It’s loud, sweaty, and ruthless, and in all honesty, I’ve never felt so turned on and like such a whore in my entire life.
CJ hits me square in my sweet spot, and I moan like a feral cat. I’m so fucking close and wet there are squelching sounds echoing around the room.
CJ grabs my hair and fumes in my ear. “You going to come for me, baby?
“Yes!” I answer in a state of heady lust.
“Because I’m the only one you come for, right?” He resentfully throws my words back in my face just as I’m hurled over the edge. I cry in disgrace at the same time mewling with pleasure as my womb spasms out of control.
