The Virgin and the Kingpin

by Allyson Lindt

  “Sure.” Susan gave Andrew one last glance, then left.

  Mercy twisted a lock of hair around her finger hard enough it pulled her scalp. “Please?”

  She was referring to her request to keep his distance from Susan. “We were talking. You’re not really policing her friends, are you?”

  “You’re asking her to look at porn with you.”

  “Creative. Nothing worse than what you and I look at.”

  “Except I know exactly what you look and sound like when you’re trying to get laid.”

  Ridiculous. He didn’t want to fuck Susan—just to see what kind of buttons she had. Though now that the image was there... “You’re acting like you don’t trust me,” he said.

  “I’m not stupid enough to forget the past.”

  It was a simple phrase, but it sliced deep, and Andrew frowned. “You’re not seriously talking about something that happened seven years ago.”

  “I am.”

  He and Mercy dated, briefly, under the condition they had an option relationship. The first time he explored the see other people aspect of things, she decided she didn’t like the arrangement. It almost destroyed their friendship, but he thought they got over that back then. “I’m having fun with her. Nothing else. Even if I were interested in more, I’d be as honest with her as I was with you.

  “I’m asking. I’m begging. I’m appealing to you as a friend.” Mercy held his gaze. “I get that I don’t have a say in who she hangs out with. She’s a big girl; she can make up her own mind. But please don’t do to her what you did to me.”

  Andrew wanted to laugh the whole thing off. Remind Mercy he didn’t do anything to her she didn’t agree to. Give any number of brush-offs. But her request dragged back painful memories. When she severed ties with him all those years ago, what followed was some dark shit. Not just because he lost her friendship, but that was part of it. He didn’t want to go back to that, and he wasn’t interested in destroying the bond they shared. “I promise. I’ll be on my best behavior around Susan. Even better, I’ll behave like Ian would.”

  Mercy’s lips twitched in a half smile. “Bullshit. You’re not capable.”

  “Maybe not, but I’ll try.”

  “Thank you.” She gathered up the artwork they’d been discussing and shoved it in a folder. “Talk to you this afternoon.”

  Chapter Six

  Andrew swept his gaze over the room. Mercy and Ian’s wedding reception was like a junior-high dance, with her friends from her travels on one side of the room, and his from work and college on the other.

  Andrew was only a little surprised that Mercy's father didn't walk her down the aisle. Despite Dean Rice making amends, her relationship with him was strained. Andrew steered clear of the older man. They met once, at a client summit for R&T. Dean made no secret of the fact he didn't like Andrew's work—and by extension Andrew—and thought he was to blame for Mercy’s founding her advertising agency on something as revolting as selling porn.

  As much as Andrew thought most marriages were bullshit scams for both bride and groom, the ceremony had been beautiful. Mercy was gorgeous in an off-the-shoulder gown with a hand-beaded train, and Ian watched her walk down the aisle with what could only be described as pure, open adoration.

  Now the happy couple stood with their wedding party, greeting guests and wearing pasted-on smiles. If they could bear their way through an entire night of this, Andrew could wait in line to wish them well.

  The handshake he exchanged with Ian was stiff. “Congratulations,” Andrew said.

  “Thank you.”

  And that was that. Andrew didn’t have a problem with the guy per se, but Ian struck him as lacking in the ever-so-important sense-of-humor and chilling-the-fuck-out departments.

  Mercy was next. Andrew kissed her on the cheek. “You look stunning.”

  “Thank you. For everything. Ever.” She pulled him into a hug and squeezed.

  “Always.” He swallowed past the lump in his throat. The gratitude went both ways. He wouldn’t be here—among the living—if it weren’t for her.

  He repeated the ritual with Liz, minus the choked-up feeling. Unlike her brother, Liz seemed to know how to enjoy the world.

  When he reached Susan, his brain froze. A ridiculous reaction. It wasn’t as though he’d spent the week avoiding her for reasons he couldn’t explain. He greeted her the same way he had the other women. A kiss on the cheek and a brief, bible-between-them, chaste hug. It didn’t stop the familiar scent of sugar and vanilla from drilling into his head and taunting him. She even smelled like innocence and fresh baked cookies.

  When he dipped his head close, she whispered, “Can we talk?”

  “No.” His promise to Mercy echoed in his head. Talking to Susan wasn’t a bad idea by itself, but something about the request set off warning bells in his head.

  He pulled away in time to see a scowl ghost in before her smile evicted it. She turned to the person behind him without another glance in Andrew’s direction.

  She was good. How many events like this had she been marched through in her life?

  He stowed the question, but it wasn’t as easy to get her request out of his head. Or rather, his reaction. What was it about her that both captivated him and set off his every warning bell—besides Mercy’s simple and reasonable request?

  He couldn’t stop thinking about Susan, though, and every few minutes, his gaze drifted back to her. Her naïveté seemed genuine, and her attempts to hide it were standard, but there was more to it—to her—and he couldn’t name what that was.

  He shoved aside the thought and worked his way through catching up with friends he and Mercy met while travelling. He caught the attention of Justin Conroy and approached him.

  “Hey, old man.” Andrew clapped him on the shoulder.

  Justin shook his head. He was only four years older, but when in their early twenties, that had seemed like centuries. “Whatever. Mercy know you’ve got designs on her little sister?”

  “It’s not like that.” Was Andrew that obvious?

  “Long story, right? You need time to polish it before you share?” From his tailored suit, down to the pewter cufflinks, Justin looked like he belonged on Ian’s side of the dance floor. It was a good mask. The man was a wicked-brilliant programmer, who was more comfortable talking movie trivia than socializing. The tattoos hidden under his sleeves were the result of years of work, done by various artists, in every country he visited. Andrew and Mercy had been there for some of them.

  “Never let Mercy think there’s any kind of story. There’s not. Nothing there.”

  Justin squinted and studied him. “I’m sorry—what? I think I’m talking to the wrong guy.”

  “You’re funny. Barrel of monkeys.” Andrew fought the desire to glance back at Susan. No reason to make this worse. “Mercy hooked me up with your beta earlier this week. You collected all that in five years?”

  “I’ve got a good team.”

  A movement caught Andrew’s attention, and he turned in time to see Susan vanish out a side door.

  “And... I’ve lost you.” Justin sounded amused.

  Andrew turned back to the conversation. “Still here. Bummed your fiancée couldn’t make it. Lia, isn’t it? I wanted to see what kind of woman you suckered into marrying you.”

  Justin laughed. “The kind who likes money. Seriously, though, she’s amazing.” His dopey in-love look wasn’t quite as bright as Mercy’s, but it shone. “Next time you’re in San Jose, we’ll do dinner. It’s even on me if you don’t make it down until the wedding.”

  Andrew swapped a few more inanities with him, but Justin was fidgeting. They parted ways. The desire to mingle with the rest of the crowd faded, and Andrew headed outside.

  The December cold bit into his face when he stepped into the evening. It was a nice change from the hot air blowing inside. The salt on the sidewalk crunched beneath his shoes, sounding louder than it should in the still night. He wandered the frozen p
ath, past iced-over bushes and pine trees.

  Susan stood near a balcony overlooking the mountainside. She didn’t look up as he approached, but when he reached her, she spun in the other direction and brushed past him. “I’ll leave you alone.”

  He grabbed her arm harder than he intended, and she let out a half-groan, half-hiss. It wasn’t an irritated noise. She liked it? He dropped his hand away quickly. “You wanted to talk?”

  “Don’t worry about it.” Her tone was dismissive. “You’ll enjoy your evening more if you find someone who doesn’t rattle whatever skeletons you and Mercy have, to keep you company.”

  He rolled his eyes. “It’s not what you think—I almost guarantee it—but you don’t want to hang out with a guy like me.”

  “Because...?”

  “I’m a bad influence.” That was as close to the truth as he cared to get. He didn’t mind weaving a tale, but he wasn’t fond of the one where he almost lost Mercy’s friendship.

  “‘Kay. ’Cause I’ve never heard that before. I wanted to talk for a few minutes. It wasn’t like I was proposing we set up our gift registry.” A gust sliced through the night, and she shivered and rubbed her arms.

  He shrugged out of his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. And now she was a petite miss in an oversized coat, and that was more tempting. Damn it. He needed to remind himself why this fascination was unhealthy, prove to her she should be disgusted by him, and abide by Mercy’s request. “You’re not offering the kind of company I prefer.”

  “And yet, you haven’t left.”

  Good point. Why didn’t he let her walk away? Better question—why were they having this conversation outside? “You’ve got me curious as to what this is about.”

  “You said you’ve helped people deal with performance issues.” She cringed and bit her bottom lip. “You know what I mean.”

  Because sometimes he didn’t know when to shut his mouth and walk away. This time he’d do it consciously, though. He’d deter her once and for all. “I do know. And I was talking specifically about fucking on camera.”

  She didn’t flinch. “You also said there was more to it. How does it work?”

  “You don’t want details, Suzie-Q. It’s all about debauchery and fetish and getting off in public.” This way he could convince himself he’d warned her. It was hard to tell if the pink on her cheeks was embarrassment or from the cold. Either way, she’d ask for more information, then realize her mistake, and the discussion would be over.

  “And there’s got to be a universal principal in there somewhere. Something I can use. I’ll filter out the screwing and process the rest,” she said.

  “All right.” He moved closer, blocking out her intoxicating scent and ignoring the heat flowing between them.

  To her credit, she held his gaze and didn’t back away.

  “Because each person needs a customized motivation, I’ll give you an example.” He knew the perfect explicit memory. “When I first got started doing this, and I was only a blog with an Adult Warning banner and a login page, I met a girl in Brazil. Gorgeous body. Dark skin. And the things she did with her tongue...”

  Susan didn’t flinch.

  He pushed forward. “She was flexible as fuck. Knew exactly how to hold herself for the perfect shot, and—Jesus—her pussy was gorgeous. She insisted she wanted to do porn, but she froze every time I grabbed the camera. She loved to dance. Wasn’t as graceful or talented as you. Nowhere near the same league. But she could move to a good club mix like nobody’s business. We went out one night, and I made one request when we got there.”

  “Okay?” Susan flicked her tongue over her bottom lip, watching him.

  “She had to take off her panties. She hesitated, but the beat called and the room was dark. No one would know but her and me. The dancing was awkward at first. She couldn’t lose herself in the music. Fuck, it made me hard, though. When she found her rhythm, the bumping and grinding was more intense than it had ever been. It was as though having that secret between us cut a ribbon of restraint inside her. The way she pressed into me... I wanted to fuck her on the dance floor. I didn’t care who saw.”

  The story was an old one. A tale Andrew used to shock and impress at industry gatherings. He’d told it so many times, it didn’t do anything for him anymore. Except tonight, it had his dick harder than one of the icicles hanging from the roof, and he wasn’t to the happy ending yet. Some of his arousal had to do with his audience. Susan wasn’t shivering under his jacket anymore. The sides had fallen open, and the satin of her dress pressed into her breasts with each breath. Her lips were parted ever so slightly, and those clear blue eyes threatened to capture him.

  There was more to the story, and she’d lose interest in him once things got too nasty. That was the point. “She spun and dug her ass into me, and I inched up her skirt to slide my hand between her legs. I expected her to pull away, but she pressed harder. She was so fucking wet. I pushed two fingers inside her, and she rode my hand while the entire club carried on around us. I led her to a booth near the back of the room. The place was crowded, so it wasn’t exactly isolated, but it was dark. She was lost in the moment. Didn’t care.

  “She slid my zipper down and worked my cock free, and when she wrapped her lips around it, I almost came. She was kneeling close to me, so I could tease her clit, and I played with her until she was groaning against my shaft. Squirming. Sucking me off. Climaxing and not caring that a couple of guys at the bar watched the entire thing. When I squirted in her mouth, she licked me clean. Kissed me hard and hungry. Sucked her juices from my fingers. As the euphoria faded, she realized we had an audience and they were entranced. She shoved my hand back between her legs and begged me to make her come again. Never had problems in front of the camera after that.” It was only a tale. Words he’d memorized from telling it so often. Simplified, to make a point. So why couldn’t he get his hard-on to stop begging for attention?

  Far, far worse was that Susan never looked away. Her pupils were dilated, and her lips flushed red. God damn it. She was turned on. “Do most of the stories go that way?” she asked.

  “That’s a tame one.” He tried to focus on the cold. To wrap himself in discomfort and chase away the fire searing through his veins. It wasn’t the story that had him hornier than he’d been in ages; it was her reaction. “Disgusting, isn’t it?”

  “I... um... Wow. What if you got caught? There were really people watching?”

  This was doing exactly the opposite of what he hoped, and he couldn’t find the desire to change it. “Is that really such a big deal? They were enjoying themselves. Participating at a distance. Stroking—” He bit off the words before he could make things worse. He forced his hands into his pockets, rather than give into the impulse to drag a thumb over her bottom lip.

  Summoning the last of his willpower, he reached past lust and desire and the urge to press her against a nearby wall and find out what she was or wasn’t wearing under her dress. He grabbed the point of the conversation instead. “Anyway, that’s how it works. Some people already know how to perform in public, but anyone can learn.”

  “And that’s how you teach your actors to get over the camera fright?”

  “Public blowjobs? Sometimes.” He ground his teeth, to keep any more unfiltered words from coming out. She obviously didn’t have a problem with the conversation, but he promised Mercy...

  “There’s more to it than that.” Susan was like a dog with a bone.

  He winced mentally at the poor choice of words. “There’s a lot more to it.”

  “Teach me.”

  “No.”

  “Just like that?” Her lower lip stuck out in a pout.

  Which shouldn’t be enticing, but fuck if he didn’t want to nip at her mouth. “Preemptively and completely. No.”

  “It’s because of Mercy, isn’t it?”

  “It is.” Andrew wondered if this was as much about keeping his distance from Susan at this point—removing the temptation�
�but it sounded as good as any answer.

  “Because after all these years, you love her and would do anything for her?”

  The oversimplification of the situation helped him grasp more sensibility. “Sure. If it makes you stop asking, why the fuck not?”

  “You’re right.” She shrugged out of his coat and handed it over. “I don’t want to put you at odds with my sister.” She passed him. “Now that I know what I’m asking for, I’ll find someone else to help me.”

  Manipulative, clever, seductive— “Like whom?” Simply because his solution to what she was asking for sounded like it revolved around public sex, he wouldn’t be the first one to flinch.

  “You’re not the only person who understands stage fright in its various incarnations. I’m sure someone out there would be happy to help a girl like me get over it.”

  “You’re baiting me.”

  She turned to face him again. “Who? Me?” The tiny smirk that danced on her face both infuriated and enticed him.

  “It’s not going to work.”

  “And if I ask the wrong person, and that someone takes advantage of my naïveté, it’s on me.”

  “Technically, it’s on them, though I suspect you’d suffer more. I’m calling your bluff. Go find someone else. Have fun with that.”

  “I’m not bluffing.” The pout and wide eyes and bid for pity vanished from her expression. “Have you ever wanted anything so badly, you could taste it in everything? Every breath. Every touch. Every sound. So much that it haunted you and refused to leave you alone?”

  Reason kicked on in time to point out he shouldn’t go with the facetious answer. He swallowed his, You. Right now. “You won’t like how the process works.”

  “I’ve practiced several hours a day for more than fifteen years. Forgoing sleep. Giving up a social life. Stumbling into the studio at four in the morning, to fit it into my schedule, and spending the rest of the day sore for it. I don’t have to like the details, as long as it gets the results I want.”

  “And doesn’t compromise your morals?”

  She drew her lips into a thin line. “I don’t think you have a good grasp on what those are.” Gone was the timid girl, and the determined woman in front of him was no less alluring.