by Mj Fields
He reaches to shake my hand, but I pull mine back.
“You come at her again like you did—”
“Her little performance on the bar was meant to provoke me, and—”
“You’re really quick to think that was about Quinn when, in reality, more money is made the quicker drinks are served. You don’t fuck with the cash flow over a dislike for a bartender, and that’s just business. Your boy was the one who made it personal.”
“So he did,” Harrison agrees.
“Tell them to cool the shit and leave Gabrielle the hell alone. She’s mine.”
He purses his lips in a smirk and nods. “I wish you both well.”
“You have recommendations on who to fill the other soon-to-be empty seat, I’ll take them.”
“Was assuming it would be one of you.” His jaw ticks.
“I don’t want them to carry the burden. Next year, we’ll all be gone. The younger crew wants it, they can have it. If not, maybe this shit will end.”
He shrugs and thrusts his hand to me, and we shake.
As we walk toward the house, I look at him. “On a personal note, you fuck with Tris, I will break you.”
He smirks. “Not to knock you off the pedestal your crew puts you on, but you won’t have to worry about that. She actually scares me more than you do.”
When we walk in, both having just laughed, I see Patrick, Tobias, and Gabrielle look us both over, trying to figure out what just went down.
Harrison pats my back. “I’ll go close up the tables.”
I nod and bite my tongue as I do.
I walk over to the crew, and Patrick asks, “New friend?”
“Trust me; I won’t be inking him in this lifetime.”
“Let’s wrap this shit up.” Patrick winks. “I’m going to head to Crystal Lake and camp for the night.”
“Cool.” I nod.
“Wanna come?” he asks.
I shake my head. “You wanna take my phone with you, so Dad thinks that’s where I am?”
“Where you gonna—” He stops, and then his smile grows bigger, and he looks at Gabrielle then back at me. “Well, shit.”
“Shut the hell up, Patrick, and shut down the music,” I grumble as I walk toward the bar to let them know we’re done for the night.
“You wanna take Truth’s phone, too?” Tobias asks Patrick.
Sitting in the library with Tobias, Reeves, Miles, and Kai, I watch them make piles of money, minus the cover fees, which apparently went through the app again.
Shit still pisses me off.
“Twelve five for covers,” Miles says, tossing his phone on the table showing everyone his account.
“Thought we were pulling back to one seventy-five instead of two fifty?” Tobias says.
“Summer’s seventy-five for day parties, one seventy-five max evenings,” Reeves tells him.
“Day parties?” I ask.
“Two a week. Times and dates change,” Kai says, stacking money. “Evenings. Once a month.”
“Seventy-five a head includes food, not alcohol,” Miles grumbles.
Tobias explains, “Not as much money. Sometimes, not even a card game, but keeps Seashore thirsty, keeps Bayside fed and willing to do it all again.”
“Why the shift and days?”
“Never know when her family is going to be in town.” Kai pushes a pile forward. “Seventy-three eighty for the tables.”
Reeves chuckles. “Two grand of that was mine.”
“Who you kidding? It was your father’s.” Tobias shakes his head.
“Don’t hate, man.” Reeves purses his lips.
“Never did. I have no problem taking your money.” Tobias smirks.
Reeves looks at me. “Might want to watch Max. Kid raked it in today. Doesn’t always happen that way.”
What the fuck, Max, I think.
“Will for a few times.” Kai laughs. “Then they’ll rape him.”
“Thanks for the heads-up,” I grumble.
“Bar’s seventy-five hundred,” Tobias pushes his pile forward. “Four goes back to Gabrielle.”
They each count the money, checking each other’s counts.
“Twenty-seven three eighty?” Miles asks, and they all nod.
Tobias sits back. “Sixty-four to Ty, four to Gabrielle for the bar, sixteen nine eighty divided up between four.”
Kai raises his chin. “What about Steel?”
“I’m good until Tobias goes to school.”
The three of them all look at each other, and then Reeves shakes his head. “And we’re good with a five-way split.”
“Thirty-three ninety-six each. Forty-four eight on the table. Twelve five ready for Monday night.”
“Give the cash to Gabrielle,” Tobias says.
“Give it to Tobias. She’s got the bar money to fall back on,” I suggest.
“I’m good,” Tobias says firmly.
“You got finals next week, and Truth to take out tomorrow night. The rest of us have credit cards we don’t have to pay back. Seriously, Easton, take the cash.” I stand up.
“Agreed,” Reeves stands, too, hands me an envelope labeled “bar,” and one with Tyler’s name on it.
After they all leave, she looks at me and holds up the envelope. “I feel guilty about this.”
“Why? They wouldn’t.”
“I know it may seem that way, but I’m not like them.”
I shove my hands in my pockets and look around. “Right now, I’m not at all worried about anything else besides you and me.” I reach in my pocket and pull out the remote. “You feel me?”
“That sounds—”
I hit a button on my new favorite remote, and she cries out.
“You remember where I want you?”
She clears her throat and, as she says yes, I hit it again.
Standing in front of the chair, she looks nervous, and I hope to hell I don’t.
“Lose the dress, keep the panties,” I say as I unbutton my shirt.
“The shoes?” she asks, voice quivering.
“Barefoot works for me.” Always has, I think.
She struggles with the zipper a bit, and I see it’s because her hand is shaking.
“Could you give me a hand?” she asks, turning around.
I take the few steps, removing the safety between us, and unzip her.
She turns around, tits bare beneath the dress now brushing against the skin beneath my chest, kicking one shoe off to the side, then the next, lowering her a good four inches so her nipples now press hard against my abs.
“You want my pants off? Make it happen.”
Hands shaking, she manages to unbutton me.
“Easy with that zipper—the thing has teeth.”
“You’re covered in scars of your own making,” she whispers. “What’s a few teeth marks?”
“Don’t like the art?” I ask.
“On the contrary, I want to know what each one means.” She shoves her hand down my pants, covering my cock, as she uses her other hand to lower my zipper.
When my pants start to slide down, she looks up and wraps her hand around my dick.
I shake my head. “No hands. No teeth. Assume the position.”
Legs on the back of the chair, hair hanging to the floor, eyes moving from mine to my cock, watching me stroke myself, no doubt in my mind that she wants to do it herself.
“Let your knees fall apart,” I say, voice thick as I look down at the remote and hit the lowest setting. Her knees immediately slam together. “Open your legs, Queenie. I want to see your panties get wet.”
“I want you in my—”
“It would be best if you would just shut that hungry, hot as fuck mouth of yours, Queenie, or I’m gonna fill it before I get you off,” I warn.
I increase the speed and watch her knuckles whiten as she grips the arms of the chair. She’s holding her breath, arching her back.
“Look at those titties, Queenie. Fucking perfect. I’m gonna come all ov
er them, make them messy.”
I increase the speed.
“Justice!” she cries, knees clenching.
“Spread your fucking legs, Queenie,” I seethe as I move over her, to rub the tip of my cock, my piercing, across her full lips.
Her mouth opens, and I step back, pulling my cock away and releasing it to tap the remote until it’s on the highest setting. Her knees clamp shut again, and she cries out.
“Spread your legs!” I hiss as I shove the tip of my cock in her open mouth.
Crying out around my cock as I hold back, she then wraps her hot as fuck mouth around me and sucks. My hips jerk, causing her to gag. I force myself not to do what I fucking dreamt of doing to her from the minute I saw her again at Seashore.
I force myself to look away from her eyes, because those eyes have fucking haunted me for years.
Her legs are shaking as she fights to close them. “Fucking come, Queenie. I know damn well you want to.”
I pull my cock out of her mouth and wipe the saliva from her cheek as she clenches her teeth and growls.
I lean over her, balls sliding down her face, as I grab her knees and spread them. “Fucking come, Queenie.”
Her legs shake as she cries out, and the gray material between her legs darkens.
“Fucking beautiful,” I groan as I let go of her legs and quickly untie the ribbons on her hips then push the fabric away and grab the vibrating piece of plastic, throwing it on the floor.
“I see your little pussy is soaked and swollen.” I bend down and inhale her sexy, sweet scent then blow on her slick slit. “Get my cock in your mouth, Queenie. Now.”
As the heat of her mouth surrounds me, and she runs her tongue up and down the throbbing vein on the underside of my cock, I rub a finger inside her silky slit. She moans around my cock, and I press a finger inside her.
“Plushest pussy I’ve ever—” I snap my mouth shut, stopping the words from falling out like they used to when we lay under the sun and stars, exploring each other’s bodies.
I push another finger inside her, and her pussy clenches around them. Curling them up, rubbing her soaked center, my fingers hit that spot.
I look between us, and my cock is nowhere close to being all in. I thrust my hips forcing her to take me deeper, as I fuck her pussy with my fingers.
“Christ,” I say as I pull out of her mouth, move to the side of her, fingers still fucking her. I shove my arm under her shoulders, pick her up, and help her onto the floor, where I fuck her mouth from the side, watching my head puffing out the side of her mouth as she tries to suck me off while fingering her just like I said I would, from one orgasm to the next, and then I come on her tits.
Denied
Gabrielle
I wake in my bed, feeling sore. But for the first time in a very long time, it’s wonderfully so. We fell asleep right where we were, him naked, me covered in his shirt, panting, sweating, and holding hands. It wasn’t wrapped around each other, he didn’t kiss my hair, inhale me, tell me he loved me, but it was a picture I could now fall asleep to, an image that may chase away the nightmares that came right before they all left me.
He carried me to my door, set me on my feet, grabbed my face, pressed his forehead to mine, and whispered, “I can’t wait till you fuck up again.”
When I asked him to sleep in my bed, he reminded me that I told him he wasn’t allowed in my room, and then he sat in the open doorway as I lay on my bed, in his shirt, the same one I wear now, and we fell asleep just like that.
I woke up at one point and brought him a pillow and a blanket. He thanked me, then told me to get my ass back in bed.
Rolling to my side, I look out the window and watch the sun rise, smiling and thinking back about all the promises we’d made one another, and none had a thing to do with sex toys or me plotting the next way in which I could piss him off, just so he’d whisper all the ways he would punish me, make me “suffer” with his sexy sentences.
I lie back and look up at my ceiling, knowing it’s what I’ll be doing all weekend. Because, before he left, when I was half-asleep, I heard him whisper, “Sleep well, Queenie. See you Monday.”
Most people live for the weekends and hate Mondays, but by the time it rolls around and I hear the gate alarm, I’m standing in the window, watching for his vehicle to pull up the driveway, and realizing how much I really love Mondays.
When I see a vehicle that isn’t his, and it isn’t Ty’s, or Tiggs’, or anyone from school, or the local police, worry sets in.
Heart beating faster, I hurry to the door and lock it. Then I run back to the window to watch for them to get out. For a split-second I have hope that maybe it’s my father, my mother, or even my half-brother. However, when the driver lays on their horn as they open the door and stand up, I see it’s Justice.
Laughing, I grab my bag and hurry to the door, unlock it, and walk out. “Nice ride,” I say, hurrying down the stairs.
“That’s what she said.” He smiles as he starts to walk around the vehicle.
“Couldn’t confirm that.” I beam, hoping maybe he’s coming to open my door, and praying he’s going to kiss me.
When he stops in front of the vehicle and bends down, my heart sinks a bit, but hey, at least he’s smiling.
“Everything okay?” I ask, walking toward him.
He stands up. “Yeah. Thought I hit a bird or something.”
I’m always a little nervous when I see him, but today, I’m extra anxious.
Rocking back on my heels, I ask, “So, did you have a good weekend?”
Walking back to the driver’s side, he nods. “They’re all good.”
I open the door and slide in, setting my bag down. “So, whose is this?”
“Mine. Sold the Hummer and made enough to get this and then some.”
“This has to be worth more than that—”
“Be nice. She was my first ride. Just got a real good deal on this and thought why not?”
“Makes you look less intimidating; that’s for sure.” I laugh.
“Highly doubt that.” He starts the vehicle with a push of a button.
“Probably right.”
He looks over. “Queenie, I’m rarely wrong.”
“And so humble about it.”
He smirks as he shifts into drive.
I want to keep the conversation going, so I ask the types of questions boys seem to like. “So, what’s the color called? Steel?”
“Carpathian gray. Should be Steel, huh?” he says, pulling out of the driveway and onto the road.
“I kind of like Steel.”
“Yeah, well, Steel’s kind of tolerating you, so let’s not fuck it up, yeah?”
Ouch.
At the stop sign, he reaches over and tugs at the fishtail braid I spent hours perfecting. “You decide to say fuck it and knot up your hair today?”
“Yeah.” I nod, smile, and die a little inside.
The Sound app is back up, which I didn’t know until I got a notification that I was the top mention of the day. When I clicked on the notification, it was a picture of Justice and me kissing. When I showed him, he rolled his eyes and explained how lame it is that people spent their time commenting on shit like that. Shit that had not a fucking thing to do with them.
I wanted to tell him that not everyone house-hopped every day and night between familes houses, or spent hours in the gym, and maybe some people needed to connect that way, possibly escape for a few hours, or even just a few minutes, but I didn’t.
Obviously, I didn’t get the reaction I wanted.
More buzz came by noon when Brandon Falcon posted the very first picture of his son, Cooper Steel Falcon, and how proud he was of his wife. Kiki posted pictures, too—most of them from the baby shower—and she tagged me and Justice on IG, where he had an account but followed only his family and posted absolutely nothing.
We held hands occasionally in the hallway, I got quick kisses when someone was looking, and short conversations to
and from school.
Other happenings? Nina and the girls started acting as if I didn’t have the plague and, Thursday night, my order came in to replace the Cubs flub with Yankee onesies, ball caps, little tee-shirts, and Teddy bears with Yankee uniforms instead of the Cubs. And I had their names embroidered on the back of the little jerseys. I even found enough courage to deliver them to Jase and Carly’s. When no one answered the door, I left the gifts and a note for each of them on their doorstep.
Four hours is the maximum amount of sleep I get per night, which is much better than my average over the past thirteen months.
Now it’s Friday and Justice is running late. My super sleuth skills locates him still at home, and since I’m extra irritable today and would rather not play the game and use the whole pissing him off to my advantage because that seems to be a cycle in which I have fallen in, I decide to drive myself to school.
It isn’t until lunch that I see any of them, and it’s the look of pity that Tris gives me in the hall as we pass by each other that prompts me to check his location and see that he is at Quinn’s.
Being an expert in presentation of myself, I hold my head high, and when all is quiet in Statistics class, meaning neither Truth nor Patrick say anything but hello and see you tonight, I still hold my head high.
Walking out of school, I have to force myself not to run to my vehicle, because the dam that held my tears at bay since checking his location is passed its limit and ready to burst.
At home, I allow myself to cry in the shower then dress in clothes that are actually comfortable—black leggings, a tank top, and a lightweight, cropped, pale pink cashmere sweater—before running down the stairs to grab money from the desk drawer. Walking out of my father’s study, I zip the money in my clutch as the front door opens and Justice steps inside with a box in his hands.
“Feel free to take that back. I’m going to buy what I regularly do.”
“Please don’t fucking start,” he snaps as he walks into the lounge and sets the box on the bar.
