by CP Smith
“No wonder you’re interested in Finn,” I chuckled. “You couldn’t find a less serious man if you tried.”
As we chatted about possessive men and ridiculous brothers, Angela’s friend walked up to us, smiling at everyone.
“Were you celebrating something when I walked in?”
“Melissa Webster, meet Nicola, Kristina, Kasey, and Janeane. Girls, meet Melissa, a loan officer at my branch. We’re celebrating a book that Nicola is going to write and we’re helping her with.”
“Is this your first book?” Melissa asked me as she sat down at our table.
“No, but it’s my first contemporary novel, and the girls are helping me with research,” I explained.
“I don’t read,” she told me with a shrug. I held back, with effort, the cringe that was my automatic reaction to hearing someone didn’t read. “But I’ll read this one when you’re done with it since Angela’s involved. What’s it about?”
Angela explained to Melissa in detail about Kasey’s catfish and how the story evolved, leaving nothing out, including, to my utter horror, the part about Dallas Vaughn. Tulsa was a small city, and you couldn’t go anywhere without meeting someone only to find out that you knew some of the same people. The last thing I needed was to find out that she knew Dallas. Which, of course, would prompt her to tell his wife about the pitiful writer who had a crush on her husband. Just thinking about the humiliation made me shudder.
Fortunately, Angela didn’t know his name or that he was married, since I hadn’t told her. But, unfortunately for me, she went on and on about the grin, the wink, and his ogling of my ass as I slumped further into the couch.
“He sounds hot. What’s his name?”
“No idea,” I blurted out giving Kasey a “zip it” look.
“It’s fascinating how you merge bits and pieces of real people together to form a story. I can see why you would use the detective as the hero. And that Dark Prince guy sounds sadistic. He’s clearly a nut case, which makes him perfect for the part of the villain. God, there are so many creeps out there lurking in the shadows just waiting to take advantage of women. You guys were smart to end the association,” Melissa replied with a nod.
Twenty minutes later, after a long discussion about internet dating and how it would influence my book, Finn walked into Gypsy’s unexpected and sauntered over to our group.
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Nicola and the Coffee Clutch Gang.”
“Hilarious. What are you doing downtown?” I asked.
“Royse Construction is handling the renovations of one of the rooms at the Mayo Hotel. We’re shorthanded so I’m lending a hand.”
“Shocking, you mean you left the comfort of your office and nonstop ESPN to work?” I joked.
Finn rolled his eyes before leaning down to mess up my hair. As he did this, he noticed Kasey and a slow grin pulled across his lips. “Kasey,” he mumbled in greeting. “Gotta run, Nic, I’ve got people to hire and places to go. You ladies have a good day,” Finn stated before kissing the top of my head and moving to the counter to order a coffee.
All the women at my table watched Finn walk to the counter to place his order. I heard sighs of lust around me and I rolled my eyes in disgust. When I looked back at my friends, they all had a look that said Finn had a starring role in their fantasies.
“Seriously, guys? Ewww.”
“Hey, I can’t help it. Your brother’s hot,” Angela, laughed.
“Uh, could you not drool over him when I’m in the room at least?”
“Nope,” Janeane laughed as she looked at her watch and announced, “Shit, I gotta run.”
Everyone stood, except for Melissa, who was pecking away at her phone.
“Are you heading back to the bank?” Angela asked her.
“No, I’m heading to Texas this weekend and I need to get home and pack. I’m gonna hang here and finish my coffee,” she smiled as her eyes drifted back to her phone
Nodding, Angela replied, “See you on Monday then,” as the rest of the girls and I threw out, “Nice to meet you,” and waved goodbye.
“Any chance we can meet here for coffee every day next week?” I asked before we went our separate ways for the weekend. Having to wait to work on the book until Tuesday and Thursday, when I was used to eight hours a day, seven days a week, was going to kill me. I’d already broken my promise to the girls about not working on the book without them last night and was hoping to redeem myself. If I could get more time with them, then maybe I wouldn’t need the secret accounts I’d created last night on POF and SSD. They all stopped dead in their tracks and looked back at me smiling. Ha, I'd totally gotten them hooked on the process of writing a book.
“Works for me,” Angela smiled.
“Ditto here,” Janeane greed.
“Hell, I’m free on Sunday,” Kristina answered.
“Just tell me where and when is my motto,” Kasey laughed.
“We’re gonna have to buy stock in Gypsy’s if we spend all our time here,” I chuckled as we headed for the door.
“This is true, but there is something so Emily Dickinson or T.S. Elliot about writing a book in a coffee house, don’t you think?” Angela laughed.
I hugged the girl’s goodbye then jumped into my light blue convertible Beetle to head home. I pulled left onto Cincinnati to head toward Highway 51, but was stopped at a red light at the corner of Cincinnati and 6th Street when a silver motorcycle came thundering up 6th Street, turning right onto Cincinnati with Dallas Vaughn on the back. I clenched my jaw at the sight of him because he was so friggin’ everything I could barely stand it. The way he rode his bike kind of hunched over in the back, casual, as if he didn’t have the weight of protecting the world on his shoulders was even more disarming. He looked like a White Knight or a current day Highlander on that bike. All he needed was a sword at his side as he rode his trusty steed and he’d be perfect. Then I remembered he was married.
“He grins sexily and winks at women while he’s married. He may look like a hero, but he’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing,” I muttered to myself.
Continuing do Cincinnati, Dallas jumped onto the same highway, so I stayed two car lengths behind him as we navigated the turn. When he took the Utica exit, the same one I had to take to get home, I held my breath. Half a mile from my home, he turned left off of Utica into a housing addition with cute gingerbread houses and I was tempted to follow him just to see where he lived. “Why are the hot ones always a disappointment?” I whispered as my eyes followed him down the street. Distracted by all that was Dallas Vaughn, I forgot what I was doing so when I turned my attention back to the road I had to slam on my brakes to avoid rear-ending a car.
“Jesus, Nicola, you’re an idiot,” I mumbled to myself as my hands shook and adrenaline pumped through my body. “Don’t get yourself killed for a book.”
***
His rage was palpable as he struck the fatal blow, one that fed the monster that lies within him. Her blood sprayed the wall like macabre crimson art as he covered her mouth to muffle her screams. His cock throbbed in exquisite pain as her legs gave out; his movements swift as he lowered her, his emotions on autopilot as his fury guided his actions. Air seeped from a pierced lung and blood mixed with her raspy gasps as she tried to fill her lungs. But, try as she might, breath still eluded her.
Blood masked his blank expression. The terrifying facade of calmness he wore disguised his rapid heartbeat, the lust he always felt for the kill . . . the shock that he always wanted more. As her blood dripped like teardrops from his chin, he watched her eyes grow wide with the knowledge that death was coming quickly.
Death doesn't care if you’re young or old, rich or poor; it takes your gift gladly with little fanfare, he thought. One minute you’re a living, breathing soul with your whole life ahead of you. The next you’re lying on the floor in a pool of your own blood, listening to your heart gallop, adrenaline feeding its fight to survive. And then bit, by agonizing bit, it slows to a slight t
hump, thump . . . thump, thump . . . thump . . .
Dark Prince rose from the floor and looked at his glove-covered hands. Blood dripped from his fingers as he turned them over and inspected the thick, red liquid coating the surface. He’d never killed with a knife before; he preferred his bare hands as his instruments of punishment. However, standing there now, feeling the very essence of her being coating the skin of his face, he smiled.
Six
“Meow.”
“Quiet, Snape,” I mumbled as I tried to ignore the guilt I felt about the Plenty of Fish and Sub Seeking Dom accounts I created on Thursday night. I thought I could resist the temptation of working on the book until Monday when the girls and I met at Gypsy’s, but I found out something quite unsettling about myself. I had no self-control.
After dealing with Dark Prince on Thursday, I knew I needed more control than I had over my creative process or I’d go nuts. But I also knew if I broke my word to the girls and worked on the story without them, they’d be pissed. I weighed my options and came up with the only conclusion I could.
My mental health won out.
Therefore, I decided to create accounts in my pen name and was now on POF and SSD as Grace Martin using my real photo, and my profile clearly stated that I was doing research for a book. But I still felt guilty, with good reason. I was breaking my oath.
Even though the girls had promised to meet me for coffee after work five days a week until we mapped out the story, the weekend stretched out in front of me and I gave into temptation by Saturday night.
So here I sat, trying to convince myself that there was no harm in looking at the messages in my in-box. That I was only doing what needed to be done for the book, yet, I hesitated.
On Thursday, I’d been determined to message with as many men as possible in order to get a feel for the type of guys who frequent these dating sites. I wanted to see the vast differences between the catfish Kasey encountered and honest men just looking for love. In addition, if truth were told, I was tired of sitting at home, so if in the course of research I stumbled across someone I was interested in, mores the better.
It had been two days since I’d posted both profiles and I was shocked to find them so full. Either there were a lot of desperate men in Tulsa or there weren’t a lot of women to choose from in this area. It wasn’t as if I was a knockout. I’m more of the kid sister type. More cherub faced than an exotic beauty like Angela, pint sized in comparison to Kasey’s long slender frame. My boobs were just average next to Janeane’s double D’s and my ass was put to shame by Kristina’s Voluptuous Maximus. Basically, I didn’t stand out in a crowd, but wasn’t exactly plain either. My best feature was my hair, but the rest of me wasn’t bad either in a short, blonde, big-eyed, firm legged, glowing skin kind of way.
I scanned through the messages while I fought with my guilt, but I figured what’s the harm in just looking. I opened the first message and I laughed instantly when I read, “I’ll sum up internet dating in two words for your book. Hopeful and emasculating.”
I continued to scan through the messages, which ranged from insulting to downright rude. There was “Hey, baby, you’ll be starring in my wet dreams tonight” to “If I agree to an interview, I accept all forms of payment. But fucking is my preferred form.”
Disappointed by the selection, and not seeing a catfish in the bunch, I scrolled back up to the first message and checked out the man’s profile picture. Thomas Sheldon was extremely good-looking, with light brown hair and green eyes. He reminded me a bit of Dallas, though he didn’t have that dark hero look to him. It was rugged yet more refined, more GQ if you will, than the jeans wearing detective.
“Married and a jerk, Nicola, so move on,” I reminded myself.
With nothing but a night of reading ahead of me, I figured I’d come this far already in breaking my oath to the girls, I might as well correspond with the man.
One hour later, after exceptional discourse, I hesitantly agreed to meet him Monday at seven for a drink to discuss my book further.
Picking up my Kindle after signing off my computer, I’d at least listened to Kristina’s advice about reading a BDSM novel in place of corresponding with a man like Dark Prince. Powering up my kindle, I opened Katherine Rhodes’ Consensual and picked up where I left off before logging on to POF.
“A good Dom will help their sub learn what they need to know so both of them can derive pleasure from the act. As I said, it can be as simple as some sensory play or it can get as deep as master-slave play. It could be a blindfold and hot lingerie or it could be forced chastity and cock and ball torture.”
Nathaniel's eyes grew wide. “Cock and ball torture?”
“Those in the lifestyle would ask you not to judge, Mister Walsh,” she said, a bright smile shining in her eyes. “There is a tenet in the lifestyle which everyone should adopt in life: always safe, always sane. Always be in possession of all of your faculties when you engage in play. Do not start a paddling session if you are angry. It changes from sex to revenge, then, and the pleasure is tainted forever. It will always be in the back of both of your minds—pleasure or true pain. And as such, if you are both safe and sane, there is almost nothing off limits.”
“What the fuck is cock and ball torture?” Bo shouted in outrage from behind the couch, causing me to jump out of my skin. Finn appeared in front of me and grabbed my Kindle, ruining what had been a quiet evening with a cup of coffee and a book.
“Hey, give me that back, you miscreant,” I shouted. Snape went flying to the floor when I stood up and glared at Finn.
“Miscreant? Jesus, Nic, you need to get out more. Repeat after me: asshole, douche bag, or rat bastard are acceptable terms in the twenty-first century,” Finn chuckled.
“Finn, I mean this with all the love a sister can have for a brother when I say: please give me my Kindle, then get out and don’t come back for a year.”
Of course, he ignored me and started reading my book instead.
“Why are you here?” I asked Bo as Finn chuckled.
“We’ve come to the conclusion you’re a hermit and need a night out on the town with us.”
“I’m not a hermit, Bo, and my idea of fun is not hanging around strip clubs while you attempt to make it “rain” when you can only afford to “drizzle.”
“Jesus, Nic, we were kids when we took you there.”
“Bo, that was last year,” I pointed out.
“And your point is?” he grinned.
“Out,” I shouted, grabbing my Kindle from Finn. “I was having a lovely evening with my book.”
Finn looked at Bo and shook his head in brotherly “Nicola’s nuts,” fashion before he leaned down, put his shoulder to my waist, and pitched me up and over. I was used to this maneuver so I didn’t fuss. Whenever they wanted me some place else they hauled me with them against my will. It was futile to throw a fit; they would only laugh and ignore me.
“Promise me no strip clubs . . . unless it’s male strippers,” I decreed. I wouldn’t be opposed to bare-chested men, but the look of “in your dreams” Bo gave me as he walked behind Finn said it was a no-go.
“We have something better in mind. All you can eat pizza and bumper cars.”
“Incredible Pizza?” I blurted out in excitement.
Finn put me down and grinned at my excitement. I loved Incredible Pizza. It’s the only place in town you could overdose on pizza, and then play laser tag, bumper cars, and putt-putt golf.
“You know it’s sad, Nic, that a kiddy arcade makes you this happy,” Bo exclaimed with a sigh as we headed out my door.
“You only say that because I kicked your ass at putt-putt on the last trip. Do you want a chance to redeem yourself or are you a chicken?” I goaded him with a chicken dance as he stared blank-faced at me.
“Double or nothing,” he growled as we climbed into Finn’s truck.
He was so going down.
“Like taking candy from a baby,” I bragged as we pulled out for a nigh
t of family fun.
Too bad, it was short-lived.
***
Incredible Pizza was really just a Chuck E. Cheese on steroids. It was geared toward older kids, but they took into consideration that parents would be hauled along for the ride, therefore they had bumper cars, a racetrack, bowling alley, and laser tag to keep everyone entertained.
The place was hopping with folks of all ages since it was Saturday night and a favorite place for families to spend time or have a birthday party for their kids in one of their private rooms. These private rooms were where my night went from family fun to all-out war with my brothers and a certain detective.
You see, there’s a shortcut of sorts that runs along the wall of the private rooms from the theater area to the food court. That’s where I’d cut through to get more pizza for my bottomless pit brothers. When I rounded a corner, once again with my head down, my mind on putt-putt and laser tag, I slammed into, yet again, a certain married detective.
It had to be said that the fates weren’t on my side. This made four—count them, four times—that I’d been responsible for covering the man with liquid. However, this time around there was a healthy dose of pizza and salad mixed in. And to make matters worse, Bo and his big mouth came up the rear after the collision laughing before I could apologize.
“You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me,” Dallas Vaughn growled as pepperoni fell from his shirt.
“Oh, God, I’m so sorry I—”
“Hey, you wanna watch your fuckin’ mouth?” Bo barked out in brotherly defense.
Oh, brother, here we go.
For some reason neither of my brother thought I could take care of myself.
“Bo, telling someone to watch their mouth while swearing doesn’t give the desired effect,” I pointed out.
“Nicola, who gives a—”
I threw my hand over his mouth to stop his remark, and he glared at me, but held his tongue, thank God. I turned back to Detective Vaughn, hoping to smooth things over, and found the same brown-haired beauty from the picture standing next to him, smiling as she picked cheese from his shirt.
