I want to answer him. I try hard to give him an explanation, but all I'm able to do is stand against the cold wood paneled wall, silent.
“That's what I thought.” He punches the wall beside me, causing me to flinch. I grab his arm as he turns to leave, but he pulls away.
He's leaving.
I have to say something, anything to explain to him why I'm no good for him. "Blake," I call. He turns around, his eyes clashing to mine. "You don't want me. I'm no good for you; I'm damaged goods," I assure him.
He walks toward me until we're face to face. "Yeah, babe, but you're beautifully damaged; perfectly broken. Just give me the chance to repair you," he requests.
He doesn't know what he's asking for. "I can't, not now."
He turns his back on me, leaving me in a beautifully broken mess. I stand here for a moment trying to catch my breath and debating if I should run after him or not. I decide to leave him alone. He needs time to calm down.
Pushing myself away from the wall, I search for Sophie. I spot her in a corner booth tongue wrestling with some random guy from the bar. “We're ready. Please unleash that beast and let’s go,” I urge, pulling her off his lap.
She reaches back and slaps me off. Bitch. I don't have time for her bullshit, so I leave her be and head outside to her car. As I make my way across the parking lot, I see Blake leaning up against his truck chattin' it up with some blonde. She's giggling, rubbing her hands up and down his chest as she speaks to him in a toddler-like voice.
Her voice makes me cringe; it's like nails gliding down a blackboard. She's more his type; long legs, silicone breasts, fake-n-bake skin, looking like she's stepped out of a Victoria Secret catalogue. Now, I'm not one of those girls that have low self-esteem and needs a man to make her feel pretty; fuck that shit - I'm HOT. I'm five foot five, have full perky breasts, an hourglass figure, and thick thighs that accommodate my ass nicely. I've got long dark hair that flows down the middle of my back, naturally tan skin, and honey eyes - not an ounce of low self-esteem. However, I have to admit that I'm extremely jealous watching her Barbie-like hands caress his chest. I want to karate chop this bitch in the throat right about now; however, ladies like me don't do well in jail so I'll refrain from doing so.
Forcing my eyes away from Blake and the blonde, I make my way to Sophie's car. Thank God, the doors are unlocked. Opening the door, I take my place in the passenger’s seat, but as I reach out to shut the door, a hand grabs it, preventing me from closing it. My stomach plummets to the ground before I have time to look up and realize its Blake. “Oh, thank God! You scared the shit out of me,” I breathe, clutching my stomach.
“Sorry, beautiful, but I can't let you leave without a proper goodbye.” He squats down beside me so that we're eye level. “Allie, I hope you understand why I stopped you earlier?”
I try not to look at him, but his eyes capture mine. “I get it, Blake. I'm sorry.”
“No. Hell no. Don't apologize, Al. I want you, but as I've told you many times before, I want all of you, not part of you.” He pulls me to him by the back of my head and places a kiss onto my forehead. “I'll see you at Soph's. And you'll need to drive. Slutty Sophie's a little slurry.” He tosses me the keys and heads back to his truck. Okay, so I’m totally against driving under the influence, but between the erratic breathing, rapid heart rate, and perfused sweating, my head is no longer fuzzy; I believe I can manage the drive.
Patiently, I sit in the car waiting on Soph to come out, but she doesn't. Now, I've got to go in there and hog tie her ass to get her out. I take a deep breath in to prepare myself for the rumble I'm about to experience. I pull open the door to Willie's, and to my surprise, I collide with a woman stripping from her clothes, piece by piece.
“Let's go, girl. Shit, it's hot! Are you hot?” She's stumbling and throwing her clothes to the ground.
“Whoa, woman! Put that back on,” I encourage, pulling her shirt back down. “Get in the car.” I open the door and shove her into the seat
“Hey! Easy!” I cut her off by shutting the door in her face - never fails. She gets shit-faced every time we go out. She doesn't tolerate alcohol very well. Tequila and Soph have a love-hate relationship. You know the song “Tequila Makes Her Clothes Fall Off” by Joe Nichols? Well, that's exactly what liquor does to her.
Making my way around her candy-apple red convertible Mustang, I hop into the driver’s seat and crank the engine. Before backing out, I take a look at Sophie; her cheek’s smashed up against the door with her hair hanging out the window.
“Al, if you don't turn on the AC, I'm going to reach over and give you the nipple twister of your life. I'm scorching over here!”
I do as she commands, because we all know how badly nipple twisters hurt. I let the top to her convertible down, and as the air and wind hits her face, she passes out. As I drive, I glance at Sophie and see her mouth hanging wide open. I'm pretty sure she's catching bugs. Gross I know, but I ain't waking her up.
Twenty minutes later, we arrive at her apartment. I park the car and put the top up before shutting off the engine. I reach over to shake Sophie but she's out cold. I give her a slight slap across the cheek, but she doesn't flinch. I'm debating on leaving her in the car when Blake pulls up beside us.
“Need some help?” he asks, stepping down from his truck.
“Seems that way. I sure as hell ain't carrying her.”
Bending down, he lifts Sophie from the car and into his arms effortlessly. He carries her up the two flights of stairs that lead to her apartment without getting winded, and no sign of breaking a sweat. Damn, gotta love a man that's fit. When we enter her place, he takes her to bed and lays her down.
“Can you get me some covers for the couch?” he asks sweetly.
Rummaging through her closet, I grab him a cover and two pillows. “Here, it's all she has.” I gently shove the bedding into his arms. “Need help getting situated?”
“Naw, I think I can manage,” he replies sleepy. He bends down and points to his cheek indicating he wants a kiss.
“Night.” I place a kiss upon his stubble.
“Night, gorgeous, sweet dreams.”
He exits the room, leaving me alone, heart racing, panties melted, and no clean clothes. Looks like I'm going commando. Hopefully, Sophie will refrain from old habits, and I won't wake up to her groping me in the morning; that's one way my bat ain't swingin'.
Lying in bed, I toss and turn for what seems like hours. As I turn over, I see that the clock reads three in the morning. I've punched and fluffed my pillow, changed positions, slapped the covers, and even kicked Soph a few times - nothing's helped. I can't get Blake out of my mind. What happened between us keeps playing in my head. The way his hands felt as they grinded against me, the way his lips sent heat through my body, the way my pussy throbbed for him as I felt his hardness against me. Shit. I may or may not be soaking Soph's sheets right at this very moment. Oh well.
Sitting up, I exit the bed and go through her dresser in search for something to wear. Throwing on a tank top and thong - still with tags - I head for the kitchen to find something to quench my thirst. As I tiptoe down the hall, I come to a halt as my eyes settle on Blake's bare chest and his leg hanging out from the cover; it's not either one of the legs he uses to ambulate - if you know what I'm sayin'....
Oh, sweet, sweet, sweet, baby Jesus - it's glorious. My brain's chanting “close your eyes, Allie, just close your eyes,” but my eyelids disobey me; they seem to have a brain of their own. It takes all of my strength, but I tear my eyes away from him and all of his glory. Quietly, I make my way into the kitchen and raid the fridge for a bottle of water. I scan each level, but there isn't a damn thing to drink. As I bend down to check the bend at the bottom of the fridge, a hardness presses against my ass, and two large hands rest upon my hips.
“Thirsty?” he asks, his voice raspy.
Why I'm still bent over looking for something I already know isn't there is beyond me. Who am I kidding? We all
know why I haven't moved; I mean, would you? “Actually, yes. What the hell does she drink besides vodka?” I ask, rummaging through the fridge for a third time.
He reaches an arm around my waist and pulls me back. “I took the last bottle of water she had.” He closes the refrigerator door.
“Oh yeah? What's a gal gotta do to get a sip of that purified, crisp, ice cold water, huh?” Taking my hands, I slide them up his chest and rest them on his broad shoulders.
“Depends on how much water this so-called gal is trying to take,” he shrugs.
My mouth is so dry that if a droplet of water hit my tongue, it would sizzle like an egg hitting a heated frying pan. “You name it, you got it, big boy.” I tickle my fingers down his chest and tuck my fingers into the waistband of his boxers.
“See, that little move right there just earned you ONE gulp.” Taking my hands, he leads me to the water; just like a camel. I follow him to the couch and take a seat. He hands me the water and I chug it all, sucking it until the plastic bottle scrunches.
He's sitting beside me with his hands clasped behind his head and his feet resting on the table in front of us. “Damn, babe, you weren't kiddin'. I said one gulp, not one bottle.” He tries to look serious but fails as a smile slowly creeps across his face.
“Sorry.”
He reaches over and grabs me by the chin, turning my face to his, lifting it so he can stare into my eyes, “For what?” His brows furrow and I lift the empty bottle to give him a silent, but obvious answer. Shaking his head, he grabs the remote and flips on the television. I prop my feet up on the table beside his and snuggle into his side, resting my head on his chest; listening to the rhythm of his heart as my head rises and falls to the pattern of his breathing. It doesn't take long for my eyelids to become heavy and for me to fall fast asleep in his arms.
Sexed into Submission
One
Piper
Love. It isn’t for me. Emotions, in general, are for the weak. Daughter of a housewife whore, and a fuck-all-his-clients attorney, I learned early on that ‘love’ doesn’t truly exist. My father was never home, always traveling or at a bar fucking any broad with blonde hair and silicone tits. My mother, well, she screwed anything with a third leg, muscles, and tattoos. I owe a big thanks to the both of them for passing the fuck-‘em-and-leave-‘em gene along to me. Always fuck, never love, that’s my rule to live by.
My mother wasn’t a parent. She was more like my best friend. The summer before my junior year of high school, my mother and I went shopping for new bikinis. Growing up in Phoenix, my mother and I spent most of our days lying out by the pool. When we arrived to the shop, I went for a simple neon green string bikini, a color that would irradiate my sun-kissed skin. Of course, my mom found a hot pink piece she thought would look fabulous on me. She barged into my dressing room and tossed the swimsuit in my direction. Obviously, I wasn’t expecting her to just barge in and throw shit at me, so it fell to the ground, exposing my glorious birthday suit and me. Her eyes went wide, and her mouth fell open. From head to toe, she examined her naked creation. That summer my body filled out marvelously. My hips spread just a touch, giving me an hourglass figure. My once C cup breasts magnified to Ds. My stomach remained flat as an ironing board, and thanks to cheerleading, my ass remained round and firm.
With a smile filled with pride stretched across her Botox injected face, she said, “Piper, my baby, your body is fabulous, a weapon.” Her eyes remained glued to me as I slipped on the neon material. “Listen to me, Piper. If you never remember a word I’ve spoken, remember this: you’ll never want for anything as long as you learn how to use your body as the weapon it is. Flaunt it and use it to your advantage.”
From that point on, I sat back and took notes as I watched her manipulate every man she let step foot inside my father’s home. A year ago, I put her advice to practice, and no truer words have ever been spoken.
One last time, I turn and examine myself in the full-length mirror. Taking the hairspray, I spray my locks, and then use my fingers to ruffle it, giving a messy, yet sexy just-fucked appearance. Picking up my tube of lipstick, I coat my full lips a fuckable, fire engine red. When the music stops, and the lights shut off, I know it’s my time to shine.
My eight-inch platform heels clink against the hardwood stage as I make my way front and center, ready to give these rich and horny bastards the show of their life, just like I always do. Lining my spine with the cool steel, I get into position and gaze out into the crowd. All I can see are dark shadows and the twinkling eyes of twelve or so members surrounding the edge of the stage. When the red light above my head brightens, I reach my hands over my head and grip the pole behind me. As I wait for my music to begin, hoots, hollers, and whistles fill the room. An impatient member bellows from afar, “Come on, sweetheart. Shake that sweet ass!” Ha! There’s nothing sweet about me. My body, face and smile, they’re all tools to lure you cheating fucks into my trap. Build you up, fuck your brains out, and milk you for all you’re worth. That’s what I do. My pussy’s sweet as molasses, but my heart pumps vicious venom, or so I’ve been told.
The music plays and red and white lights flash along with the beat. When the artist’s voice fills the room, the red and white flashes of light disappear. Fluorescent black lights surround the stage, illuminating my white two-piece and shimmery, bronzed skin. Snaking myself down the pole, I grind my hands along the sides of my body and go into a split. Licking and biting my lips, I seduce the crowd with my crystal blue eyes, which I’m sure look wicked under the UV lights.
Pulling my legs together, I lie back against the wood and roll into a back flip. Taking hold of the pole; I invert my body, hook my legs, and squeeze my knees around it. Holding on with only one hand, I extend my body so it’s parallel to the floor. Then, I lift my legs toward my face so they make a V and hover over the length of my body. Slowly, I spiral down the pole in a spinning helicopter. Gracefully, I stand to my feet and grip the steel once more. Just like an acrobat I flip my body over my head and place my hands flat on the floor so I’m in a handstand position. Upside down, I climb up and do a few sexy moves to tease the crowd before I dismount and lower myself onto the floor.
One handed, I lift my long locks away from my neck and reach around to untie my top, removing it from my body and tossing it aside. Like a cougar searching for her prey, I get on all fours and skim the crowd, looking for the wealthiest man to give my undivided attention. This is a complex task. Unlike most clubs, who let in every Tom, Dick, and Harry to grope their dancers, Dean’s strict about who he lets obtain membership. Contract states that members can make no less than six figures per year, and they have to prove it by providing Dean federal tax returns.
As usual, most of the men are in business suits, so it can be difficult to tell which one’s willing to make it rain. Fuck making it rain, I’m on the prowl for someone who’s willing to flood me with Benjamins. Finally, I catch a glimpse of an unfamiliar face: my victim. Straight-ahead, at dead center of the stage, my eyes link with awe-inspiring eyes, momentarily causing me to tremble. I can tell by the way he’s dressed casually in a white button down shirt, no tie or jacket that he’s not a regular. Also, he’s younger than our usual crowd, appearing to be in his early thirties, rather than late fifties. His dark hair, broad muscular frame, and twinkling eyes are completely erotic, panty drenching.
As I dance around and own the stage, my eyes never leave his. He nods me over and I make my way to him. Dipping my lower back in intervals, and scrapping my teeth over my lower lip, I crawl to him. Before we’re face-to-face, disappointment immediately washes over me as his eyes roam my body, almost as if he’s evaluating my moves instead of enjoying them. Since he’s new, and clearly the only man who doesn’t seem to appreciate my performance, I decide to give him attention I’ve never given another member before.
When I get to the edge of the stage, I drop my top into his lap. Then, I lean back onto my ankles, take my breasts into my hands, and pull
on my nipples as I roll my hips and stomach. He latches onto his bottom lip, crosses his arms, and arches his brow, challenging me to up my game with his spellbinding, emerald eyes. What is his deal? This is not the reaction I’m used to receiving. The men in this club drool over me, fall on their knees and worship me. What I should do is move along to the next man waving money toward me, but for some fucked-up reason, I’m hungry for this asshole’s satisfaction.
Fuck it. I’m breaking the rules, but that’s nothing new. We’re not supposed to touch the members with our tits, ass, or pussy unless they pay for a private show. However, desperate times call for desperate measures. Rolling onto my back, I scoot my ass to the edge of the stage, getting as close to him as I can without falling off. I pull my legs together and point them to the ceiling, arch my back, and then I let them fall open to the side. We’re close enough I feel his breath brush the inside of my thigh as he breathes. He wants to challenge me, does he? I’m more than he can handle.
When he least expects it, I take my long tan legs and wrap them around his thick neck. Crossing my ankles behind his head, I use my arms to support my weight. I roll my body and lift my hips up in front of his face while other members fill my bottoms with bills. Mystery asshole’s arms fall to his lap. Lust and anticipation fill his eyes and his nostrils flare as his breathing turns shallow. He takes his tongue between his teeth and bites down, resisting the impulse to lean up and taste my sweetness.
Now that I know he’s enjoying the show, I can move along to give my faithful, paying men and women the attention they deserve. Before I release him, I tighten my legs around his neck and pull his face into my dripping heat, thrust my pelvis, and glide my pussy up his face.
Fatal Knockout (Knockout Series Book 1) Page 16
