Slowly.
He’s a tight fit, but I relax and feel him stretch me to the max. I can barely take him, but he goes slow. I expect pain, but there is none. When he’s all the way in and his balls press against my butt, I moan.
“Fuck yeah.” He starts to thrust. Rhythmically. Slowly. Sensually.
I gasp, breathy, “Does this mean I’m not a virgin anymore?”
“Not till we come. Together.”
We lock eyes.
I nod. “Together.”
He continues slowly. In and out like he’s revealing the secrets of the universe. It feels so incredibly good.
I want this feeling to last forever.
Him inside me.
Fucking me.
And like that, something happens.
I have had many orgasms in my life. In private. This is completely different. The level of pleasure is overwhelming and I’m not even coming. I can’t form a coherent thought. I’m obsessed by the simple motion of the in and out. I don’t want to think about anything else ever again.
Just.
Fucking.
“This is my pussy,” Lance grunts desperately. His eyes are crazy again, like last night when he snuck into the bathroom. He is an animal trapped in the body of a man. Or a monster. Whatever he is, he just needs to fuck me. “Nobody else is gonna touch this pussy ever again. Nobody.” He sounds furious. “My virgin cunt. All fucking mine.”
I can’t quite make sense of what he’s saying. The in and out is scrambling my brain. But some vague corner of my mind mutters, We’re not even dating. I don’t know what we’re doing other than having sex. This isn’t even making love. It’s ridiculous. It’s just meaningless slut fucking. But somehow, I don’t care. I’m loving every dirty word he says and everything his dick is doing to me.
“Only I fuck this pussy. Ever. Nobody else. You come for me and only me. You understand?” He’s growling in my ear through fanged teeth, his voice low and dangerous, thrusting into me deeper and deeper. “Say it! This is my fucking pussy!”
“Yes!” I hiss. “Only yours. Just yours. Fuck me, Lance. Please fuck me hard.” He does, building up speed in slow motion until my entire body is on fire with ecstasy. I whimper and start to come.
“Now!” He grunts. “Fucking come!”
We come together. Screaming grunting dying our little deaths at the pinnacle of climax. It’s the most powerful orgasm I’ve ever had. It gives whole new meaning to coming.
I think I’m hooked.
If this is what sex feels like, I want to have it again and again every day and night until I can’t think straight.
I grab the back of his head. He cups my cheek. We kiss blindly, devouring each other, breathing hard, coming down slowly, lost in our passion.
Oh my goodness.
That’s when it hits me.
I’m not a virgin anymore.
I can’t imagine a better first time.
I will remember this moment forever.
“WHAT IN GOOD GOD ARE YOU TWO DOING?!” Mr. Molton roars, standing in the doorway of the store room, his face red rage.
Oh.
No.
“YOU HAVE WHIPPED CREAM ALL OVER YOUR NIPPLES!”
I want to laugh because that’s what he notices? Not Lance’s condom covered cock inside of me?
Unfortunately, I don’t laugh because this is a disaster.
Chapter 13
CHASTITY
“THE CASH DRAWER IS EMPTY, CHASTITY!” Mr. Molton screams. Lance and I are throwing clothes on while Mr. Molton has a meltdown. “Where is all the MONEY?!”
“I don’t know!” I whine, jerking my pants up.
“Why the hell were you back here fucking! This is my store, God damn it! We got robbed!”
I wince, clutching my bra and polo shirt in front of my breasts. “For real?”
“NO! For FAKE! Yes we got fucking ROBBED! Because you were back here SCREWING!!!! What in HELL is wrong with YOU!! My son is in the hospital and I trusted you to cover the shop while I was gone!!!!”
“I—I—I—” can’t think of anything to say right now. Nothing can explain my actions. What I did is unforgivable. I am a terrible person. I am a sinner. An adulteress. None of this would’ve happened if I hadn’t—I block out the Mom thoughts before my head explodes.
“Chastity, this is the worst kind of fuck up I can imagine!! You’re FIRED!!!!”
Sheer horror strains my face. “No! You can’t, Mr. Molton! I need this job!”
“If you needed this God DAMN job, why did you FUCK this DEGENERATE in MY store room on MY time?!” He shovels both palms toward Lance.
“Easy, buddy,” Lance warns. “I’m not a degenerate.”
“Then what the FUCK are you?! A THIEF?! Did YOU steal the money?! Or did you have a friend help?! Was that your plan? Get Chastity in the back and seduce her while you ROBBED me?!”
Oh no. Leaden dread bombs my stomach. Is that why Lance closed the door when I asked him not to? Did he steal the money when he was getting the caramel sauce? I am so gullible! I totally fell for it!!
Mr. Molton grabs Lance by the T-shirt and twists it in his hand. Lance is way bigger than Mr. Molton, but Mr. Molton is so angry he doesn’t think twice.
“Step off,” Lance growls.
“My son is in the hospital! He won’t wake up! The doctors don’t know what’s wrong with him! Who are you to tell me what to do?!”
Oh, no! Caden must’ve really gotten hurt. I really am a horrible person. A terrible, selfish, short-sighted idiot.
Mr. Molton’s face crumbles. “My son!” His hand relaxes and he releases Lance’s shirt. “Get out of here. Both of you.”
“Can I put my clothes on first?” I have my pants on but I’m still holding my bra and polo shirt over my chest.
Mr. Molton doesn’t look at me. “Get dressed in the bathroom. Then get out of here.”
I grab the key from behind the counter and hurry into the women’s room to dress. I don’t check myself in the mirror, just throw my bra on over the remaining smears of whipped cream and caramel sauce and pull my pink polo shirt over my head before rushing back to the front of the store. Everything is happening too quickly. I need to do something.
But there’s nothing I can do except watch Mr. Molton unravel.
He stands behind the counter and grumbles to himself, “Why are there jelly beans all over the place? And why didn’t the thieves take the change? Fucking IDIOTS!!” He picks up the black plastic cash tray from the register drawer and throws it against the tiled floor. It cracks and spins chaotically, throwing coins in every direction in a pinging dance that takes forever to settle.
A lone penny spins on its edge on the cold marble slab. Mr. Molton stares at it, leaning his hands against the edge, unaware of the icy cold marble. When the penny finally comes to rest, he breaks into sobs.
A woman with two little girls at her side leans her head in the door and says, “Are you open?”
Mr. Molton stares at her, shaking his head, tears running down his face.
The brown haired girl says, “Mommy, why is that man crying?”
“You might want to come back later,” Lance says quietly.
The woman hurries off with her kids.
“Get out of here,” Mr. Molton sobs.
“How much was in the drawer?” Lance asks him.
“What? I have no idea! Now get the hell out of here!”
“How much do you think was in the drawer? If you had to guess.”
Mr. Molton stares.
“How much?”
Mr. Molton shakes his head, frustrated and irritated. “I don’t know. It was a busy day. I hadn’t cleared the drawer since we opened. So, a lot.”
“How much?”
“Why do you care?”
“Because I didn’t steal your money. How much?”
“I don’t know. If you minus the change, the charges and debit cards, at least six or seven hundred dollars.”
Lance pulls out
his wallet and starts counting out bills. “Here’s eight hundred and eighty. It’s all I’ve got on me.” He sets it gently on the counter.
I don’t even want to think about why Lance has that much money in his wallet.
“Why are you doing this?” Mr. Molton chokes out.
“Because you got robbed. Let’s go, Chastity.” He gestures for me. “Come on. I think your boss needs to be alone.”
I hurry across the shop and take Lance’s hand.
He walks me outside until we’re standing in front of his black motorcycle. “I’m taking you home.”
I wince. “I really don’t want to see my Mom right now. She’ll want to know why I left work so early.”
“Fine. We’ll go someplace else. You hungry? It’s dinner time.”
“Not really.”
“Cool. We’ll just go somewhere. Anywhere but here.”
“I kind of want to be alone right now. I’m really confused.”
He stares at me.
I wince. “Is that bad?”
He shakes his head. He looks hurt.
“I’m sorry. We can—”
“Where do you usually go when you need alone time?”
“My room?”
“We can’t take you there. How about a park. Is there a park around here somewhere?”
“Yeah. It’s—”
“Put this helmet on.” He hands me one.
“Don’t you need one?”
“I brought a spare.” He screws his own helmet on his head and adjusts the strap. “I figured I’d pick you up. You guys only have one car, right?”
“Yeah. My mom’s Toyota.”
“It was in the driveway when I swung by the house, so I put two and two together and figured you’d need a ride home. Let me help you with that.” He gently squishes my helmet on my head, flips up the visor, and adjusts the chin strap. “Not too tight?”
“No.”
He lifts me up onto the bike like a feather then swings his leg over the seat. “I’ll go slow. Hold on tight.”
I wrap my arms around his waist and hug him, vaguely aware of the muscles beneath his T-shirt.
“Where are we going?” he hollers at a stoplight, head turned back toward me.
“Uh, let me think. I never go to the park. How about that one in North Hollywood? On Tujunga? Do you know where it is?”
“The one at Magnolia, right?”
“Yeah.”
The ride to the park is gentler than my mom drives, which is super careful. We may as well be on a bicycle. Bicycles make me think of poor Caden which makes me nauseous. I push down the guilt for now, but I know it’ll come up later.
Whir.
When we get to Tujunga, he parks the motorcycle in a metered space next to another motorcycle already in it.
He lifts me off the seat. “You still wanna be alone?”
“I just want to sit some place. That picnic table in the grass looks good.”
“You want me to sit with you? I won’t say anything.”
“Sure.”
The 170 freeway is visible from the park and Sunday cars blow by. For a neighborhood park, this one is pretty big, but the surrounding streets and apartments are visible in every direction. Two guys play frisbee on a wide patch of lawn. A woman jogs past with a spotted dog on a leash. A Mexican family surrounds the next table over. Rapid fire Spanish and laughter billows into the air, wafted up by the meaty smoke coming from the rugged public grill. Kids circle a battered piñata hanging from a nearby tree, taking swings. By LA standards, we’re as alone as we’re going to get.
I sit on top of a square cement table, hunched over with my arms folded across my waist and my ponytail dangling from one shoulder, feet on the bench. Lance sits to my right on the next bench, legs outstretched, rocking the heel of one boot side to side in the tamped down grass.
My emotions are a jumbled mess. Too many extremes in too short a time. Too high and too low. I can’t deal with all this right now. I stuff everything down as deep as I can and just sit there, numb. Numbing out is a trick I learned after one too many screaming matches with Mom. Rage is draining. I hate it. Numbness is easier. But it doesn’t stop the dentist’s drill in my stomach.
Whir.
Or my thoughts.
They go right back to Caden. I hope he’s okay.
Whir.
And Mr. Molton. I suck.
Whir.
I’ll have to see Mr. Molton in church next Sunday. Unless I don’t go. Maybe I should quit going altogether. The low hum in my stomach blossoms into nausea. It’s the stress. The price of numbness. All that anxiety has to go somewhere. Mine likes to destroy my stomach.
Whir.
I mutter, “I feel sick.”
“Are we still not talking?” Lance says softly.
“You can talk.”
“Have you eaten anything today?”
“I’m not hungry.”
“But have you eaten anything today?”
“You know what? I haven’t eaten a thing since last night.”
“Maybe you should have some Sprite or 7 Up or something. You might be dehydrated.”
“Shoot, I haven’t dranken anything since I walked home from church.” I said dranken. I can barely think. I do need food.
“There’s a 7-Eleven right across the street. I’ll go get you something.”
“I’ll come with you.”
He stands when I do. He lifts his hand like he’s going to grab mine.
I blurt, “Did you steal that money?”
He drops his hand. His eyes shift from side to side doing a whole lot of looking everywhere but at me.
“Did you?”
His fiery eyes land on mine. “You watched me count my money out for your boss.”
“So?”
“What kind of bills did I give him?”
I frown, “Stop dodging. Answer my question.”
“What kind?”
I shrug, trying to picture it. “A bunch of hundreds and some twenties.”
“Eight hundreds and four twenties. It was all I had on me.”
“Who carries that kind of money around?”
“I do.”
I lose it. “You don’t even have any furniture!! You have a thrift store couch and you live out of moving boxes!!!! How am I supposed to believe you just happened to have that much money?! If you subtract the stolen money, you would’ve had like one or two hundred in your wallet! That I’d believe. But not eight whatever!!”
“What sort of bills do you usually have in your register?”
“You’re avoiding the question.”
“What. Sort. Of bills?” It’s a question and a command.
Irritated, I scowl, “Lots of ones. Always more than you need. Fives, tens, twenties under the tray. Oh, ship.”
He nods, smirking. “How many hundreds do you get in an afternoon?”
“Not eight.”
And like that, I believe him.
My stomach starts to settle. What a relief.
I lean forward and grab his hand and lead him across the grass holding hands.
We J-walk between moving cars on Tujunga. At the 7-Eleven, Lance opens the door for me. When I pass through, it chimes.
It sounds exactly the same as the one at Marble Slab.
Whir.
Lance notices and squeezes my hand. He gazes into my eyes while stroking the back of my hand with his thumb, but he doesn’t say anything. He just leads me through the store as he grabs a bottle of water from the refrigerator wall. “Do you want a room temperature one?” He motions at a stack of them behind me.
“No, cold is fine.”
He leads me to the soda machine and grabs a 64 ounce cup. “In case you’re really thirsty. Ice?”
“Please.”
Ice clatters and he fills the cup with Sprite.
He grabs a big bag of Peanut M&M’s. “Protein. Everybody likes M&M’s.”
I struggle not to smile. He’s right. I love them.
He pays with his credit card.
Outside, we sit on the curb like school kids.
He holds the Sprite up to me with a straw in it. “Sip.”
I do.
He tears the corner of the M&M’s open with his teeth then sets the bag between his crossed legs and pries out a brown M&M. “Do you like brown? They’re always the last to go.”
“I like brown best. They’re more chocolatey,” I grin.
“They’re all the same,” he chuckles then feeds it to me.
I chew. It crackles and melts in my mouth then crunches peanut. “No, the brown color adds a chocolate ambience. What about blue says chocolate to you?”
“You have a point.” He drops the blue one he’s holding back into the bag and pries out a brown one. He’s smiling when he crunches into it.
I didn’t realize Lance could be such a gentleman. And I never imagined eating M&M’s and sipping Sprite sitting on the dirty curb at 7-Eleven could be so incredibly romantic.
As the sugar goes down, the dentist’s drill in my stomach whirs faintly, reminding me hazily of the fact that my life is now upside down.
Fucked, fired, and fed by the hand of this gorgeous man in less than an hour.
With Lance, anything is possible.
What a crazy day.
Chapter 14
CHASTITY
“I don’t want to go home.”
“We can go wherever you want,” Lance says as he tosses the wadded M&M’s bag into the cement can in front of 7-Eleven.
I’m buzzing from a sugar high. I see the two shirtless guys at the park still playing frisbee. “I wish we had a frisbee.”
“Those guys have one.”
“What, are you gonna steal it? Oh, sorry. That didn’t come out right. I meant we can’t use theirs. It’s… theirs.” My idiot streak continues.
He smirks, “I knew what you meant. Let’s join ‘em.”
“Can we do that?”
“We can ask.”
I dash across traffic, J-walking. I wait on the other side.
Lance crosses casually, not even watching the cars.
“You’re gonna get hit!” I holler.
He shakes his head, grinning, but doesn’t go any faster. Just strolls up to me.
“You think the world revolves around you, don’t you?”
The Bad Boy Next Door: Lance & Chastity Page 15
