You Own Me (Owned Book 1)

by Mary Catherine Gebhard

  “I'll see you later.” Vic stepped out into the hallway, pulling the door shut behind himself.

  I decided to go out and get over my obsession with Vic. No one knew that was the reason why I was going out, but that’s why. I also decided to introduce Lissie and Zoe to each other; thinking they would get along famously. So, it was just us girls out on the town.

  “I'm fine!” I repeated for the umpteenth time.

  “That's your tenth shot,” Lissie said, eyeing my now empty shot glass.

  “Do I look drunk?” I countered.

  Zoe pursed her lips, “Well no, but that's kind of what's worrying us. Are you a closet alcoholic?”

  I glared into the empty glass. Little drops of whisky glinted on the bottom. “Fine, I won't have any more. Just water. Okay?” If they knew I was out tonight because atomic bomb Vic blasted me away leaving nothing but a shadow of what-could-have-been, I don't think they'd be griping. But they don't, and I'm not going to tell them. Lissie and Zoe both nodded cautiously.

  “We're just out having fun. I don't want to make you uncomfortable,” I said a little too tersely. I just wanted to forget everything. Every single goddamn thing that had put me on this barstool.

  Cool, wet breath teased my neck. I was about to turn around and tell the person to fuck off when the owner of aforementioned breath asked, “Can I buy you a drink?”

  I can't believe people still use that line. But it works, so I guess that's why they do. I shifted on my seat to see who was using it on me. He was handsome enough, not really my type, but he'd do the job. He had thick blonde hair and puppy dog brown eyes. His jaw was a little weak, but his gaze was calculating. The way he looked at me, I could tell that if I said “No” it wouldn't ruin his night. He was a numbers guy.

  “Yes,” I responded. “I'm having a Seven and Seven.” That was about the time I stopped paying attention to Lissie and Zoe, and started paying attention to my buzz. And Brown Eyes.

  Brown Eyes, who I learned had the first name of Steve, and I didn't waste any time. After I downed the Seven and Seven he bought me, I said goodbye to the girls and he and I got a cab. He was on me the minute the cab door shut. Sloppy, and tasting like pretzels and beer, I wanted to tell him to shove off, but I knew I had to do this. I needed to do this to forget Dean and get over the weird connection with and dependency on Vic that I had developed.

  Steve was terrible. It was no surprise he stuck to one-night lays. His caresses could only be described as groping, and his hands were like paws. His tongue felt like a slug sliding across my mouth. Nevertheless, I felt that if I slept with him it would be some kind of rebirthing for me. A way to wipe the slate clean. Rebirthing wasn't supposed to be pleasant, anyway.

  We tumbled out of the cab, drunk and (only one of us) horny. I pulled him into my building and pressed the elevator’s up button. When we got inside the elevator, he was immediately all over me. The “hot and heavy in the elevator” scene isn't sexy when the other person isn't into it. All I kept thinking was “Seriously?” He was like toddler with a new toy. Slobbering, groping, and biting all over it.

  I was the toy.

  The elevator doors dinged open, and, assuming it was my floor, I tried to push Steve off of me so we could exit. It wasn't my floor. Dumbass me, I had forgot to press the button for my floor; the elevator had just been sitting in the lobby.

  Vic stepped through the elevator doors. I froze. Vic froze. Steve kept pawing at me like the toddler he is. I batted him away, irritated.

  I swear the temperature dropped twenty degrees. Vic pressed the button for my floor and then for his. He turned and faced us, his face contorted with fury.

  I stared at him, equally furious. Where does he get off? He rejected me! I was about to say as much when the doors opened. Instead of speaking my mind, I dragged Steve with me and didn't look back. I was livid, but Steve was completely oblivious.

  “Hey sexy—”

  Putting my hands up in a back off gesture, I interrupted Steve. “You have to go.” There is no way I can have sex with him. Not anymore. Not after seeing Vic.

  “What?” he asked, his face registering the first forms of awareness all night.

  “Yeah, you have to go. I'm not doing this.” I was growing more irritated with him the longer he stayed.

  “Why not?” Steve asked, nearly whining.

  I don't think he was mad that he wasn't going to have sex with me. No, he was mad that he'd wasted a night with a no-go. I wasn't special, I was a waste. He'd forget about me the minute he bagged another poor sap.

  I ground my teeth, trying not to snap at him. “I forgot that I have to get up really early tomorrow.”

  A look of pure rage rippled across Steve's features. Terror instantly seized my heart and stole my breath. I'd seen that look before: Dean. It's a look psychopaths get when they don't get what they want. It's a look crazies get when they aren't willing to let go.

  Instinctually, I stepped away from Steve and pulled my cellphone out. I wasn't willing to relive Dean.

  “Fine, whatever, bitch,” Steve said, his anger dissipating into resentment. Steve walked away, flipping me the bird over his shoulder.

  Oh, how lovely people can be when they don't get what they want. I didn’t dare provoke him into a Dean-like rage, so instead of yelling at his retreating back (which I really wanted to do), I sagged against my door jamb and took a few deep breaths. Then, I straightened my shoulders, jutted out my chin, and went inside to cry myself to sleep.

  Vic invited me to dinner at his place. I want to believe it was because of what he saw in the elevator. That is, he's jealous and wants me as much as I want him, but that's too dangerous a thought process. That road is filled with hope and romantic fantasies; keyword: fantasy. Vic and I don’t exist in reality.

  What I almost did with Steve was a way to heal from Vic. Instead of thinking love, I’m thinking friendship. This dinner is an unofficial olive branch. I’ve never, ever been to his place before, after all.

  I saw Zoe after I got off work. I told her I was having dinner at Vic’s that night. Mistake number one of my evening.

  “Holy shit, you're have dinner at Vic's? I don’t think anyone has been to Vic’s apartment before.” Zoe was practically bouncing on her tiptoes.

  I wondered why Zoe was so excited about my dinner plans. “Uh, yes.” I responded

  “Nox, I may be a lesbian, but I can tell when a guy is into someone. It's the same with either gender. Vic is into you.”

  “You're a lesbian?”

  “Yeah. Not all lesbians are butch.” She stuck her tongue out at me.

  “It's just you never wore your 'Hi my name is Zoe, and I'm a lesbian' name tag. How was I to know?”

  Zoe shrugged. “It seems that being gay is still quite fascinating. Like tigers at a zoo. Tom and Claire usually bring it up. Others in the building do too. And,” Zoe added, “you don't ask much about me.”

  I frowned. “Tigers at a zoo aren't that interesting.”

  Zoe sighed. “Is that really the point?”

  “I don't know anymore. What were we talking about?”

  “You and Vic.”

  “Oh. I don't want to talk about that. Let's talk about tigers.”

  “You should make a move, Nox.”

  Ugh. The rest of the conversation devolved into Zoe trying to convince me to make a move, and me trying to change the subject. I didn't feel like telling her that I had already made a move, and it had ended terribly.

  Vic wasn't interested me even when I was naked and literally panting at his feet. Hmm. It was still a huge ego blow, even when thinking about it in the past.

  I knocked on Vic's door. There was no answer. I checked my cellphone: 8:00 P.M. I was on time. I knocked again and then I started to get nervous. Nothing makes me more anxious than getting an address wrong. Standing outside, looking like a fool as you wait for someone to answer the door and they never do.

  I knew Vic lived in the penthouse; the entire top floor. How coul
d I get the address wrong when it's in my own building? If anyone could manage it, it's me. I was about to knock a third time when Vic answered the door.

  He looked crazy. Completely undone.

  I took a step back in surprise. “Are you alright?” I asked, genuinely worried.

  “Yes,” Vic snapped.

  I reeled my head back like I’d been slapped in the face. What the . . . ? I stood in the hall, feeling like a dunce. Vic stared at me, his black eyes wild and his hair a mess in his ponytail.

  “Can I come in?” I asked, peering behind him like a fan trying to see in to a celebrity's dressing room.

  “Why?” Vic asked, closing his door tighter.

  What the fuck? Did he forget we were having dinner? “For dinner? You invited me?”

  “Shit.” Vic stomped his foot on the ground. “Uh, can we do that another time?”

  “Vic, what's wrong?”

  “Nothing, okay? It's just not a good time.”

  I pushed past him and into his apartment, kicking off my shoes when I got inside. Counter to his appearance, his place was immaculate and very modern: stainless steel, white furniture, huge glass windows. I don't think I could find a speck of dust even if I searched in the smallest nook. I turned back to look at Vic, but he wasn’t there. Looking around, I saw that he’d moved into his kitchen.

  “I don't have dinner made, so there's nothing for you here,” Vic said, gesturing around the clean kitchen.

  Ouch. Nothing for me.

  “Maybe you could use a friend right now,” I said, shrugging. I think I'm a masochist, putting myself through all of this torture. Being attracted to Vic when he doesn't want me. Being friends with Vic when he doesn't want me. All of it, torture.

  “No, I couldn't. I could use some peace and quiet.”

  “What the hell is wrong? Why are you so angry?”

  “It's none of your goddamn business, Lennox.”

  “Is it a girl?” I asked, hoping to God it wasn't.

  “No.”

  Score one for the G-man. “Is it about the building?”

  “Stop asking questions.”

  I moved closer. “Why won't you just tell me? I can help you.”

  “If you want to help me then you will leave,” Vic said.

  I swear I could see his teeth grinding together. That must not feel good. He was clutching the edge of the sink so hard that his knuckles were white. What the hell could make a person so angry?

  “Is it work?” I pressed.

  “Get out, Lennox,” Vic breathed, not looking at me.

  I was treading in dangerous territory. I felt like an explorer finding some new species. I needed to know its origins, no matter the cost.

  “Is it . . . your parents?” I asked, my voice low. Mistake number two of my evening.

  Vic grabbed a decorative glass plate from the counter and, without hesitation, threw one against the wall, inches from my head. It shattered, small shards of it peppering my head.

  Maybe I'm crazy (strike that; I know I'm crazy, two different psychiatrists have told me so), but I didn't run. I wasn't afraid of Vic. He hadn’t been aiming for my head. If he was, we had a much bigger issue. Like what terrible aim he had.

  He held a second plate in a loose grip, his gaze on the floor. “Get out,” he said, his voice barely audible. His regularly smooth and relaxing tone had been replaced with a gravelly rasp.

  Even though he couldn't see it, I shook my head. I wasn't one to leave a person in need; at least, I didn't think I was, I'd never actually been in a situation to leave a person in need.

  “Get out!” He threw the second plate to the floor, which exploded like a miniature grenade.

  I jumped up and back. I'll admit, that scared me. His posture was so erect and refined, but everything about him screamed undone. I didn't know what I should do, I didn't know what I could do, but I did know that I couldn't leave him.

  Tentatively, because there were shards of glass all over the floor, I walked into his kitchen. Every muscle in his body was clenched, from his neck to his calves. I reached and touched his forearm. He jerked his arm out, catching me off balance. I stumbled back, tripping over my own feet, and fell. Glass shards pierced the fabric of my clothes, and embedded into my butt and legs; warm blood trickled freely from pricks in the palms of my hands.

  The sharp pain from the hundreds of minuscule shards was nothing compared to the pain I felt from the look Vic gave me. It wasn't a look of remorse or even concern, but of anger—he stared down at me like I was another plate to break.

  Quickly, I stood up and, not bothering to grab my shoes, ran out of his apartment. I tried to focus on the pain radiating through me and not on my humiliation. I believed I could help him and instead I had landed on my ass in a bunch of broken glass. He told me to leave and I hadn’t. Again I had reached out to Vic, and again I had made a fool of myself. There was no one to blame but me.

  I had the morning off from work, the first one in weeks. If that wasn't fortuitous then I don't know what is. I spent hours the previous night pulling glass out of my skin with tweezers. I should have laughed at the sight of myself pulling the shards out of my ass using a mirror, but I couldn’t laugh; my heart was too sore.

  The glass excavation had taken most of the night, so by the time I had gone to bed it was nearly four in the morning. Naturally, when I heard a knock at my door around seven, I wanted to castrate whoever was at the door.

  “What!” I yelled at the mystery knocker. I was unwilling get up to look.

  “You forgot your shoes.”

  I immediately pushed my tangled hair from my eyes to see Vic holding my shoes.

  I spent the better part of the night thinking about the events the led up to what I now refer to as the Moore Glass Excavation Party. Sure, I didn't get out like he said, but when someone is combusting before your eyes you don't leave them—you get the fire extinguisher! I paid for my stupidity, or bravery, or whatever the kids are calling it these days. I understand that. Through the night, I became less humiliated and more furious. Vic told me to leave, but I didn’t. So fucking what? That doesn't give him an excuse to go from being Bruce Banner to the Incredible Hulk.

  I expected an apology at the very least. Yet, here Vic was, holding my shoes and without an apology. It definitely wasn't what I expected.

  Vic was wearing tight gray jeans and a black V-neck sweater. He looked like typical Vic, as if last night never happened. On any other occasion, I would have taken a mental picture of him and gone to town on myself, but right now, I just wanted to punch him in the face.

  “What?” Vic asked.

  “What do you mean, ‘what?’” My voice was pitched high in incredulity at his blasé response. I raised my hands to show him the bloodied bandages.

  He smiled! The bastard smiled his crooked, cocksure smile that normally melted my insides. Again, right now it just made me want to punch him.

  He shrugged and said, “I told you to leave.” Vic stepped to the side of the bed and moved some of my tangled hair out of my face. “Had a rough night, did you?”

  I scoffed, shaking his hand off of my face. This was seriously not how I expected it to go. I wanted an apology, dammit.

  Vic unceremoniously dropped my shoes on the floor. The air around us shifted, and became heavy and charged. Vic sat down on the edge of the bed, his weight creating a cavern that pulled me to his side. He grabbed my wrists and examined the bloodied bandages covering my hands—first the left, then the right.

  “You should have left.”

  “Yeah, well you won’t have to tell me to leave again, because I’m never going back to your place again. Ever. Now that I know what kind of crazy—”

  His lips covered mine. Swift and ferocious, like the waves on a stormy night. There was no time to think, only react. My heart was beating fast, and I could feel the blood pumping in all of my wounds. I reached for him through my thin sheets and his tongue dove into me, claiming me. I fought back, biting his bottom li
p hard.

  He laughed, deep in his throat and I felt it all the way in my core. He pulled back and then dove for my neck. “Greedy,” he murmured, biting at the tender skin. Kissing his way down my neck, he pulled my T-shirt aside, stretching it across my shoulder until the collar bone was exposed. “So lovely.” He crooned against my skin.

  I moaned, completely beside myself. His touch was driving me to insanity. I needed more. I tugged at his shirt, urging it up.

  “Vic,” I whispered.

  He was teasing me, refusing to do anything with his hands save lightly touch me. I knew the power he held in his body, I had witnessed it last night. I arched my body closer to his touch, willing him to feel me. To heal me.

  His fingertips grazed my breast and I shuddered. He smiled against my neck and continued his gentle assault on my body. His featherlight touch trailed lower, to my navel. I bit at his shoulder, begging him with my body to go lower.

  “Vic . . . I need . . .”

  “I know what you need.” He said with confidence. I nearly came right there. Vic thrust his hand under the waistband of my pajamas and covered my bare mound. As quickly as all the teasing had begun, it was over. He was feeling me intimately. I squirmed against his touch.

  “Oh, Lennox, you're so wet. You're so wet for me.” Vic thrust a finger inside of me.

  “Vic!” I shuddered as he thrust another finger deep in me.

  “Yeah? Do you like that?” Vic asked, voice rumbling against my ear.

  I nodded against his shoulder, unable to speak. I was tethered to him like he was a life preserver.

  “Say, ‘I like that Vic.’”

  “I . . . I like that, Vic.” I gasped as he played my G-spot like a maestro.

  Vic growled, his whole body humming to my response.

  “Good girl.” He thumbed my clit to show his appreciation, and my vision went black, I was seeing stars. “Not yet, babe, not yet. Say ‘You own me, Vic.’”

  I was going to come. I was on the brink, my whole body was tingling. I could feel it in my toes, fingers, my gut. It was wonderful. Oh God, I had never come like this before. It was ecstasy. I could get addicted to this—