For 100 Days

by Lara Adrian

  “Avery Ross, you little slut!” she gasps, grinning like a loon. “Tell me everything.” I giggle and she smacks me lightly in the bicep. “I’m not kidding. You know how I spent most of last night? Watching TV in Antonio’s ratty sweats with dried baby formula in my hair. I want details. I need details. Let me live vicariously, at least.”

  I laugh, then start telling her about meeting Nick at the art gallery, but I’ve hardly spoken three sentences before we hear Joel pointedly clear his throat behind us on our side of the bar. He crowds right in, obviously intending to break up our brief conversation.

  “Tasha. Gimme four shots of whiskey for table nine.” No please. No thank you. But that’s Joel.

  “Sure thing,” she says, rolling her eyes at me as she pivots out of his shadow to take care of his order. “You want top shelf for those?”

  He huffs out an impatient breath. “Do I look like I give a shit?” I don’t escape his glower, either. “Kimmie says you left her hanging fifteen minutes for a flight of tequila shots earlier tonight.”

  “What? That’s not true.”

  In fact, it’s a bald-faced lie. I glance past Joel’s round shoulder to where his little pet is giving one of her tables a prolonged view of her cleavage in her low-cut black shirt. I’m not sure who is the one trying to jerk me around, but Joel is quick to make his point.

  “You’ve been here a long time, Avery. Don’t start messing that up now.” He wags his finger between Tasha and me. “I see any more slacking off back here, I’ll dock you both an hour. Don’t think I won’t do it.”

  I want to tell him to get screwed so bad, the words are jumping on the tip of my tongue. But I can’t afford to lose the hour’s pay, let alone this job.

  Tasha sees my struggle for restraint and rescues me by drawing Joel’s attention away. “Here you go. Four shots of Glenlivet, ready to roll.”

  Without so much as a word of acknowledgment, he snatches the tray of drinks and carries it out to the table.

  Chapter 13

  It’s nearly midnight by the time Joel sends me on break. Subtlety is not his forte, but he’s not even attempting it when he finally comes over to the bar to announce it’s my turn to grab a quick bite before we head toward closing time. The fact that he makes a point of checking his watch as he grants my fifteen minutes only sets my teeth further on edge.

  Tasha gives me a dramatic eye-roll as he struts away from the bar. “I can’t believe he made you wait until everyone else went first. What an asshole.”

  I shrug as I finish running a customer’s card. “He’s got issues, obviously.”

  Tasha snorts. “And a very small dick, I’m sure.”

  “Ew. Let’s not even try to imagine, shall we?”

  She laughs and grabs the tab from my fingers. “Go on. I got this for you.”

  “Thanks.”

  As I start to clock out on the bar console, Joel’s fake barrel laugh carries over the other restaurant noise. He’s resumed his table rounds, pausing to greet customers like he’s the damn mayor himself. Kimmie is right there in his shadow, fawning and flirting with him and every other male in the place.

  Tasha groans at the same time I do. “Remind me again why we put up with this?”

  I slant her a wry look. “Because on any given night, we make twice as much as we would anywhere else in the city without taking our clothes off for a living.”

  “Oh, yeah. There’s that.” Tasha nudges me with her elbow. “Go enjoy your break.”

  “Okay. I’ll be back in fifteen.”

  She waves at me. “You know where I’ll be.”

  I fill a glass with tap water from the soda gun behind the bar, then swing by the kitchen to grab a cup of the day’s soup special and a hot roll for dinner. It’s not much of a meal after eight hours of working, but it’ll do. Lord knows, I’ve survived on much less for a lot longer than this.

  How many times had a can of watered-down chicken noodle been the only thing standing between Mom and me and near-starvation when I was a little kid? Too many to count. I don’t even want to try. Those lean years aren’t something I like to remember. And hunger hadn’t been the only trouble we’d endured together after my beloved daddy had died and left us alone.

  No, she and I had gone through much worse.

  Especially after she married my stepfather.

  I close my mind against the ugly memories that are always too close to the surface, clinging to my conscience like poison. Memories of the terror, the pain, the shame. Memories of bloodshed and tears . . . of violence and death.

  Shit. Will I ever be free of them?

  I don’t really need to ask. I know the answer. I’m no more free than my mother. The only difference is the steel bars and razor-wired walls that have kept her confined for nearly a decade. My bars and walls are self-constructed, but just as impenetrable. I’ve lived behind them for so long, I’m not sure I’d survive if I ever permit myself to step outside.

  The air is too pure. The light is too bright, leaving me no place to hide. No chance to escape my past or the impact it’s had on every facet of my life in the time since.

  I am my own warden out of necessity. And yes, out of fear as well.

  No one gets past my barriers.

  At least, no one has until now.

  Not until I allowed Nick Baine to screw me senseless, apparently.

  “Reckless,” I chide myself under my breath as I take my meal into the employee coat room to eat in privacy.

  With the rest of Vendange’s staff out on the floor, I grab my phone out of my locker then settle in on a rickety dining room chair reject, thinking I’ll check my email and browse the Internet while I take my short break.

  I see the text light blinking as I lay the phone down beside me and take my first bite of the hearty chicken stew. It’s probably Margot messaging me after I slipped away from the gallery without explanation last night. I’m debating on how honest I need to be with her as I swipe the screen lock and tap the message icon.

  Been thinking all day about how good you feel.

  How fucking sweet you taste when you come.

  Okay. Definitely not Margot.

  My stomach flips and a big grin spreads over my face. Even though Nick had asked for my number this morning, I hadn’t actually expected him to call or text me. My heart is racing as I read his sexy message again, erotic images of the two of us last night—and this morning—playing in my mind. Wet heat unfurls inside me, blooming into a deep arousal that makes me squirm and clamp my thighs together in response.

  He’s away on business, thousands of miles out of the country, yet he’s thinking about me. Wanting me. I can’t even pretend I’m not flattered. Although flattered is the least of what I feel. I’m turned on as intensely as if he were right here in the break room with me, growling his hot, dirty words in my ear.

  I notice the time stamp on his text is about four hours old. Fuck. Did he think I was ignoring him?

  Does he think I don’t want to hear from him?

  Granted, I shouldn’t want to. I should hope he’s taken my lack of response to mean I’m not interested and let the whole thing go right here and now. Before things between us get any further out of my control.

  Right. As if we’re not already heading that way faster than I can hope to stop it.

  Even if my panties weren’t damp from desire, I wouldn’t be able to deny the thrill that’s coursing through me at the thought of Nick sexting me from a continent away. As for him, based on what little I know so far, I don’t believe for a second that one ignored text would be enough to dissuade Nick Baine from going after something he wants.

  And what he seems to want right now is me.

  Another delicious flutter of interest beats through my veins. Several hours have passed since he sent his message. Given the five-hour time difference between New York and London, that means he sent it around one o’clock in the morning over there. Now it’s barely five a.m. on his end. Much too early to send a reply
.

  Isn’t it?

  I set down my soup and lean back in the chair to read Nick’s message again. My finger strokes the side of my phone as his seductive words lick across my senses. My body remembers everything about him too. I can feel him naked against me, our bodies slick with sweat and musky with the scent of sex as we move together in a driving rhythm. I can feel him inside me, his cock stretching me, filling me so completely it brings tears to my eyes.

  And I can feel his mouth on me again too. Those skillful lips. That wicked, unrelenting tongue.

  Oh, shit.

  My breath is rushing out of me now in rapid pants. My heart is pounding hard, my limbs loose and heavy. My sex is soaking wet, my clit throbbing.

  Impulse and sexual frustration get the best of me. Before I can convince myself it’s a terrible idea, I type out a short reply: Too bad you’re not here to finish what you’ve started.

  I hit SEND, catching my lip between my teeth to stifle my grin as I picture Nick reading my text after he wakes up this morning. If I give him a case of blue balls with his coffee, it’ll serve him right.

  Not even a second passes before my phone buzzes with his incoming message.

  So, you are there. Thought you might be playing hard to get.

  I smirk and type out my answer. After last night? Too late for that, don’t you think?

  His reply comes just as quickly. Are you saying I’ve already got you where I want you, Ms. Ross?

  My brows rise. Depends on where that might be, Mr. Baine.

  I don’t have to wait long before his answer appears. His suggestions come at me one after another, each of them leaping to erotic life in my mind.

  On your back.

  On your knees.

  On my face.

  Anywhere and everywhere I command.

  I swallow as I read that last text. Part of me flinches at the idea of giving up control to him or any man—an instinctual chafe against an old memory I buried a long time ago. It fades to nothing under the blaze of my arousal for Nick. How exactly would he command me? What other sensual games would he draw me into with him? I’m shocked at how intensely I want to know. How eagerly I am tempted to follow him wherever he may lead me.

  I want you at my complete mercy, he adds. Anywhere I can have you wrapped around my cock or squirming under my tongue.

  Oh, God. He’s killing me. I lick my dry lips and text back my reply. That certainly leaves things wide open.

  Yes, it does. What about you, Avery? Are you wide open for me right now?

  I can almost see the darkly amused curve of his mouth as I read his response. Picturing him on the other end of the line as he sends me dirty texts makes my heart flutter against my rib cage. My clit throbs at a slower, deeper tempo, a dull ache I can’t ignore.

  Are you as wet for me as I am hard for you right now? he asks.

  I am drenched with desire, but the idea that he’s equally aroused is fuel to my fire. My breath races as I read his message. My sex is already pulsing and hot, but now it clenches in response to him. What I feel is primal and raw . . . irresistible.

  Flushed with embarrassment and more need than I can handle, I glance toward the open door of the coat room. I should end this conversation before it goes any further. My fifteen-minute break is half over. I need to wrap this up soon and get my ass back out on the floor before Joel comes looking for me.

  As for Nick, he doesn’t know I’m at work bartending and I’m not about to tell him that I lied to him about my job last night. Among other things.

  My phone vibrates in my hand with his incoming text. Don’t tell me I’m scaring you away so soon . . .

  I groan as the last shred of my good sense abandons me and I type my reply. I don’t scare that easily.

  His response is immediate. Good. I’d be disappointed if you did.

  I grin and push up from the chair. I walk to the coat room door and peek out to the bustling restaurant and bar. My legs are shaky and loose from desire, my hands trembling as I reach for the door and pull it closed. I turn the lock—something Joel explicitly prohibits his employees to do—then I settle back in as my phone buzzes in my hand with Nick’s incoming message.

  You haven’t answered my question. Are you wet for me now, Avery?

  My finger hovers over the phone’s touch screen, but only for a second. Yes.

  Tell me.

  I hesitate, uncertain at first. I’ve never done this with anyone before.

  Even better, he texts back. Tell me how wet you are.

  My cheeks flush, but my reply is anything but meek. My pussy’s drenched for you. Just like last night. And this morning.

  It takes him a second to come back with a response. Fuck. Do you know what that does to me?

  Tell me. Two can play this game. Reclining back in the chair, I let my legs relax and part, my hand drifting down between my thighs as I wait for his answer.

  My cock is hard as hell. Has been since we started talking here. I’m stroking it now.

  Oh my God. A jolt of heat arrows through me at the image he’s conjured in my mind. I know what he looks like naked and aroused. I can easily picture his big hand moving up and down the thick shaft . . . palming the broad crown of his gorgeous cock.

  My breath slips past my lips on a sigh. I’m jealous of your hand.

  Then join me.

  I catch my lip between my teeth at his instant reply. Maybe I already am.

  As I send my message, I tell myself I’ll only play along for a few minutes. I wasn’t lying when I said I’d never done this before. The fact that I’m contemplating doing it at work, with my boss and coworkers and easily a hundred more people just on the other side of the coat room door makes me wonder if I’m losing my damn mind.

  I must be, because even while I’m assuring myself I won’t let this go too far, I’m popping the button on my black jeans and easing the zipper down to make room for my fingers to slip inside.

  Tell me what you’re doing. Nick’s demand pulses onto my phone’s display.

  With my free hand, I tap out a brief reply. Touching myself. Thinking of you.

  Fuck, yeah, he fires back. I’m there, baby. You feel like silk. Wet. Hot.

  Yes, I confirm, trailing my fingertips into the liquid satin between my legs.

  My cock wants inside you, he tells me, fanning my flames with a string of quick replies.

  I know how good you feel.

  How tight you are.

  That sweet, greedy little pussy.

  Can feel your slick walls gripping me all the way over here.

  Oh, Christ. My breath rushes out of me as I read his provocative words. The teasing flicks of my fingers over my clit and into my heated cleft become more deliberate. I’m appalled at myself for this lack of control, but I can’t stop what Nick has started. I shift on the chair, slouching lower and widening the V of my legs to give myself better access. My hips rise and fall in rhythm with my strokes, my body hungry for something more than I can give it alone.

  I want him. If Nick was here right now, I’d fuck him without hesitation. Without a care in the world for the fact that my boss and a restaurant full of people are on the other side of the door.

  Hell, as hot as I am for him, I’d fuck Nick in front of the whole damn place if it meant easing this unbearable need.

  His incoming message pulses again. So quiet now, Ms. Ross. Are you close? I think you must be.

  My eyes are glued to the phone’s display as I rub and stroke my pussy toward climax. Nick seems to know this. He seems to know instinctively what I need to push me over the edge.

  Another string of texts come in and I read them through a bleary gaze as the first tremors of release begin to vibrate deep inside me.

  I’m close too, baby.

  So fucking hard.

  I could drive nails with this cock.

  Can you feel it?

  Yes. Oh God, yes. My fingers stroke in and out, but it’s a poor imitation of what I really want. What I nee
d.

  Tell me how you feel, baby.

  Tell me how much you want me to fuck you.

  So much. I want him here so badly, I whimper with the force of it.

  I’m beyond control now. And I’m too lost to my need for release to even think about answering his wicked command. My fingers move faster, more fervently between my folds. Warm cream coats the pads as I rub my wet, swollen clit harder, stroking myself toward the climax that’s just out of reach but swiftly roaring up on me.

  My phone slides out of my other hand, onto the floor with a soft thud. I don’t care. I can’t focus on anything except the need Nick has stoked in me. I picture his fingers on me instead of mine. Spreading me open. Massaging my tight little bundle of nerves with ruthless, delicious friction. Penetrating me. Filling me. Hammering into me the way he did back at his penthouse. Making me scream for more.

  My head drops back on a low moan. My body goes tense, my spine arched like a bow. As the first wave of orgasm breaks over me, I clench my teeth in a failed effort to hold my cry. Pleasure ripples through every fiber of my being, splitting me open. Shattering me.

  “Fuck,” I gasp, my fingers plunging deep, wringing every last shudder from the slick, wet channel of my body. My clit is swollen, hypersensitive to the swirling motion of my thumb.

  I’ve never come like this—so fiercely, so shamelessly primal and raw—not even in my loneliest, neediest nights alone.

  I’m lost to it . . . so much so, I hardly register the rattling of the doorknob across the room.

  When the sound finally breaks through my daze—when the abrupt, powerful rapping of a fist on the locked door carries over the racket of the restaurant and music on the other side—I jerk to attention.

  Joel’s voice rumbles from outside. “Someone in there? Who locked this goddamn door?”

  Shit! I scramble to pull myself together as he jiggles the doorknob again. Clothing straightened, jeans zipped, I adjust my black top and hastily smooth my ponytail back to order.

  “Just a second,” I call to him as I step around my cold cup of soup on the floor and reach to retrieve my phone from where it fell. “I’ll be right out.”