The Virgin and the Kingpin

by Allyson Lindt

  “For someone who wants to outgrow her sister’s shadow, you sure do talk about her a lot.”

  Susan had steered the conversation down a lane she didn’t want it drifting anywhere near. And that didn’t stop her from hopping on for the ride. She was too hurt to let this go the way she needed to. “If I were more like her, would you tell me yes? I know you never got over her.”

  “I’m going to tell you this once, and if you mention it again, it will probably be the last time we speak. I’m not fucking in love with Mercy.” He ground out each word separately through gritted teeth

  Her brain screamed at her to shut up, but her heart kept moving her lips. “Really? What would you call this intense devotion then?”

  “I call it devotion. I owe her my life.”

  “Wow. That’s melodramatic. You’re right—that’s not love. It’s obsession.”

  “You’ve got a lot of opinions about a world you don’t understand.”

  “I’m trying to learn, and I keep getting cock-blocked by people who think they know what’s best for me.” Frustration slid into her voice and clenched her lungs.

  “So stop listening to them and do what you think is best for you.”

  She wanted to scream incoherently. Let out a long roar until her throat was raw and her ears ached. “You’re one of them.”

  And like that, his anger vanished behind a blank slate. “Consent goes both ways.” His tone was cool and completely infuriating.

  “You didn’t say, no, I don’t want to have sex with you. You fed me a bullcrap line about how this was for my own good.” Why couldn’t she be as chill about this as he was? Every time she opened her mouth, she made a bigger fool of herself.

  “And you didn’t believe me, so I’m changing my answer. If you don’t like the opinions of those around you, walk away.”

  “Like Mercy did?” Where the hell did that come from? Right. From years of resentment at her sister, for abandoning the family to go have fun.

  “That’s not—”

  “I’m not interested in leaving the people I care about and who care about me, to explore the world. There’s so much for me to learn here. The world can wait until I have my friends by my side.”

  “This has been eating at you for a while.”

  “Damn it. Stop. Don’t be calm. Or rational. Or condescending. Do you feel?” She clenched her jaw, to keep more words from tumbling out, and forced herself to count to ten. When he didn’t interrupt, she tried to sound more reasonable. “She walked out of the house with barely more than a goodbye, and left her family and friends behind because... why? She wanted to go screw guys in other countries?”

  Andrew’s chuckle sounded bitter. “Is that the version your father told you? He kicked her out. Disowned her. Your brothers refused to talk to her. He told her there would be consequences if she reached out to you. He cut her off from the entire family.”

  That wasn’t right. Dad would never. “He was so upset about her being gone.”

  “Because her choice was to conform or leave, and she chose to leave. It’s the same choice he’s about to give you. She didn’t abandon her friends. She never lost contact with Liz, and I spent countless nights listening to her sob because she couldn’t go back home.”

  Righteous indignation soured to doubt and churned inside with embarrassment, until Susan was sure she was going to be sick. “He welcomed her back. He’s been happy to have her around again. Once she accepted the olive branch he extended...” Was that true?

  “I don’t know the man.” Andrew stared at his clasped hands. “He’s softened, or she exaggerated, or he thinks she’s respectable now that she’s with Ian. I can only tell you what she told me. But I trust her, and her pain at being cut out of your lives always seemed real.”

  “Then he’s changed.” This wasn’t only about how upset Susan had been at Mercy for leaving. If this was true, it was possible Dad would do the same to her. She couldn’t believe that. “Losing her made him see he was wrong. He won’t make that mistake again.” He wouldn’t actually kick Susan out for pursuing dancing.

  Andrew shrugged. “Like I said, I don’t know him. My opinion is you can’t assume he’s bluffing. You grew up with him, though.”

  “So you’re saying I should quit?” How did they go from her wanting to lose her virginity to Andrew suggesting she give up her passion?

  “No. Jesus Christ, nothing like that.” He met her gaze, intensity burning in his dark eyes. “You should pursue this for all you’re worth. I wouldn’t be helping you if I didn’t see a gift in you that deserves to be nurtured. You’re brilliant when you let go. I’m saying you can’t assume your dad is joking. I’m sorry.” He said the last bit so quietly, she wasn’t sure she heard right.

  “I can’t give up my family.”

  “If you really want to do this dancing thing—teaching, performing... If that’s what drives you? You can’t give that up either. If you walk away, you’ll always regret it, and regret makes people hateful and hard.”

  Indecision built inside, threatening to tear her heart in half. Susan had never felt this kind of intensity before, and she wanted to rip it out and stomp on it, to make it go away. “If I walk away from the people I love, I’ll regret it.”

  “Do you want to know how Mercy saved my life?” Andrew asked.

  That was the last thing she needed. “I’m not up for a story that’s glamor and glitz, wrapped in the kind of sex you think I’m too fragile to handle. Especially if it involves Mercy.”

  “This story is anything but glamorous. There’s no sex, and I promise it comes back to you.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Andrew couldn’t believe he offered to tell her this story. Ten minutes ago, he was berating himself for turning Susan down, arguing that he wouldn’t have hesitated if she were anyone else. He didn’t know if that was because of her or Mercy, but a tiny nagging voice said it had more to do with Susan.

  Now he was volunteering to spill a past that haunted him six years after the fact, and about which only he and Mercy knew the entire truth.

  Susan stared at him, jaw clenched and eyes rimmed with red.

  He needed whatever resolve she had, to make it through this. He summoned a light tone. “It was a couple of weeks before Christmas, and I was in Belgium. I was twenty-two, and it had been a few years since I traveled alone. We made a lot of friends out there, and we all tended to drift together and apart, depending on where impulse took us.”

  “That’s nice?” Susan twisted her mouth.

  “Stay with me. There’s a point to this.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Her sincerity sank into him, and despite her expression, he had no doubt she was staying right here and wasn’t upset about it. He cleared his throat. “Anyway. I was shacked up with a woman I met in the red-light district. She knew exactly who I was. I was paying her for pictures, the sex was decent, and she let me crash on her couch. She was sweet. Hid it from her johns...” The past surged forward in a haze of pain and regret, and he stammered. This was going to be harder to talk about than he thought. “I was also kind of a warning to her ex-boyfriend that she moved on.”

  “So you’ve always been a rescue-the-maiden-in-distress kind of guy?” Susan asked. She leaned in, listening attentively. That made things worse.

  “Yeah, well... not this time. I’ve had a lot of vices over time. Back then, they were alcohol and GHB.” Jesus this hurt. “One night we drank, we got high, we passed out. Like pretty much every night. Her asshole ex-boyfriend lit her trailer on fire with us in it. We both slept through it. I sustained third-degree burns.” The memory surged inside, scorching with agony. “She died.”

  “Oh my gosh. I’m so sorry.”

  He forced a smile. The tough part of the story was yet to come. “Me too. I spent weeks in the hospital, wrapped in bandages, writhing in pain and loathing myself. Because I didn’t protect her. Because I ached. Because I was jealous she didn’t have to live with th
e scars, when I did. That last one made me hate myself the most.”

  Susan opened her mouth, and he held up a hand to silence her. If she interrupted now, he wouldn’t be able to finish. “Mercy found me about a month later. She apparently called every hospital and local police station, until she tracked me down. At the time, I hated her for doing it. Which made me loathe myself more. You see the cycle. She walked into my hospital room the day I planned to kill myself.”

  “Fuck me.” Susan’s whisper barely reached his ears.

  He was grateful she wasn’t spewing false pity. That was the one thing he didn’t need. “She was sympathetic. Kind. Exactly what one would expect. Tried to feed me bullshit lines, like it wasn’t my fault, and reminded me I tried to be there for the woman. The whole time Mercy was talking, I was trying to figure out how to tell her goodbye without cluing her into my plan.

  “Then she said something. I don’t remember what, but it was one of those obligatory things people say to those who survived. It struck me hard, and it felt insincere—so unlike Mercy. I snapped. I shouted at her, Because everything happens for a reason? She’d want me to go on with my life? Blah blah—fuck you, too?”

  He breathed deep, to stem the flow of emotion that came with the memory, but it didn’t help. “She stared at me and didn’t say anything for the longest time. I wondered if she was going to walk out, and I wanted her to, so I’d have another reason to hate myself. Then she told me shit happens all the time for no other reason than people suck. As for what my prostitute friend wanted, my life should be about what I wanted. If I wanted to keep living, I would. If not, that was on me. I couldn’t shift that blame to anyone else.”

  “I can’t believe... What did you do?”

  “I told her to get out and that I never wanted to see her again, and while we were at it, what the fuck was wrong with her? She was the worst fucking grief counselor ever. She pointed out she wasn’t a counselor; she was my friend, and we were always honest with each other. I disagreed. It was the perfect reason. The truth hurt, and I wanted a little fantasy in my life. And why the fuck hadn’t she left yet? She looked wounded, but she said goodbye and walked out.”

  “Then what?” Susan’s voice cracked.

  “I seethed. I hated myself, and then I hated her. At least the cycle had changed. Why didn’t she try harder to tell me how amazing and wonderful life was? She didn’t bother feeding me lines I didn’t want to hear. Night crept into morning, and I realized she was right. If I stayed in this world for anyone besides me, I wouldn’t be happy. I called her, begged her to come back, and told her I owed her an apology. She said I didn’t owe her anything. And she stayed by my side until they released me.” The skin grafts covered most of the damage, but he knew what lay underneath.

  “Wow.”

  He needed to numb the memory. Too bad he also quit drinking back then. “My point is, if you keep dancing, do it because you’re passionate about it. Mercy wanted her freedom. I wanted my future. You want your expression. Family expectations are a bad reason to throw away your dreams. Same goes for the sex. Don’t do it because you’re tired of not doing it. Do it because you want to.”

  She gave him a half-smile. “You sure know how to make a point.”

  “That’s why I’m in porn, Suzie-Q.” He couldn’t linger in the hurt any longer. She leaned forward and kissed him on his scarred cheek. Though he didn’t have nerves there, he swore it burned.

  “I can’t believe you’re comparing deciding to live to whether or not I should keep dancing,” she said.

  “It’s my understanding that when you’re passionate about anything, giving it up is a bit like dying.”

  She shifted on the mattress, scooting back to pull her legs under her. “So what are you passionate about?”

  “Besides living every day to its fullest?”

  “That’s actually pretty good.”

  Fuck it. If he was dragging skeletons out of his closet, he might as well go for broke. “Lucas.”

  “Your nephew?”

  “He’s my son.” Andrew gave her the Cliffs Notes version of finding out he was a dad when he was eighteen, and his reasons for both leaving Lucas with Kandace and wanting that to change now. He left out the conversion therapy information. There was only so much pain he could take in an evening.

  Susan fiddled with a loose thread on the comforter. “Now I feel childish and immature, carrying on like I did, given what you’re going through.”

  “Don’t,” he said quickly. “My reasons for not sleeping with you have a teensy tiny bit to do with Mercy, but a whole lot more to do with me enjoying your company. I respect you. I’m choosing friendship over sex.”

  “So if you couldn’t stand me?” A hint of teasing lay under her question.

  It was nice to slide into the joking. “All other things being equal? I’d fuck the hell out of you.”

  “Then damn me, for being sweet.”

  “Damn you to hell.” With the story fading, he could breathe again. It left raw bits inside, but those would ice over with time. “Did you still want The Bistro for dinner?”

  “Or you take me back to my car?”

  “Only if you want to leave. Otherwise, we order room service and see what’s on HBO, while I find out what skeletons you’ve got in your closet.”

  She patted the bed next to her. “Only if you join me over here. I promise to behave and keep my hands to myself.”

  “Give up a secret first.” He tried to keep his tone light.

  “Um...” She screwed up her face. “When I was seventeen, I lied about my age, in order to audition as a Jazz cheerleader.”

  He moved to sit next to her on the bed and grabbed the room service menu in the process. “That needs a lot more embellishment. Pick what you want for dinner, and we’ll work on adding a little flair to your story.” If he kept this up a little longer, he could stuff the past back in its box—that was the plan. Having her here was numbing old wounds, and that was a good start.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “I was thinking... sex?” Susan molded her body to Andrew’s, and he swore he felt her skin through his shirt.

  He dragged his fingers up her bare back, memorizing how soft her naked body was against his palms. He didn’t remember how her clothes came off, but he wasn’t complaining. “I was thinking you’re brilliant.” He kissed along her neck, burning her sweet scent into his mind.

  She gasped and squirmed against him with each new touch. When she reached for the hem of his shirt, he pushed her hands away. Her pout made his rigid cock ache with the need to thrust between those full lips. “Why not?” she asked.

  He didn’t know. Couldn’t put it into words. “Because I said so.” He nipped at her skin and moved one hand to her breast. We’re not going to do this. The faint voice nudged the back of his mind. Apparently, they were. She was willing. So was he. No reason to stop now.

  He wanted to memorize every detail of her body. Where her freckles were. The color of the nipple he tweaked and pulled, to elicit a delicious series of sighs. None of it stuck in his mind, except her voice and intoxicating smell. They would have to do. He lowered his head and dragged his tongue along the hard nub. She gasped and pushed into his mouth, writhing under his touch.

  He continued to suck and lick, while he glided his hand down her stomach and between her legs. Fuck, she was slippery. He wanted to prolong this—make her come over and over—but he wanted to be inside her more. He found her clit, swollen between her folds, and traced circles around her tender button. She ground against his touch, squirming and moaning. When she drew her nails up his back, he felt the sharp sting on one side, but not the other. That didn’t make any sense; the scars didn’t run that far.

  He expected screams when she came, but her whimpers weren’t bad either. She fumbled with his zipper, and he helped her slide it down. Time slowed as each tooth separated, humming in his head. Buzzing. Taunting him.

  That wasn’t a zipper. What was it?

&nb
sp; He didn’t care. He wanted to feel her cool fingers around his shaft. Wanted to slide inside her soaking pussy. Stretch her out.

  His eyes flew open, and it took a few seconds for him to make sense of the dark hotel room. The hammer of his pulse in his ears drowned out any other sound. He struggled to process his surroundings. Fucking dream. He was surprised he didn’t wake up humping the bed, as turned on as he was.

  The rest of the world swam into focus, as consciousness set in. Susan lay on the other half of the mattress, curled around a spare pillow and sleeping soundly. Great. They fell asleep talking, clothes on, about as far apart from each other as possible, while still being in the same bed.

  He hadn’t told her the complete truth about why he wouldn’t have sex with her, but what he said was mostly accurate. It wasn’t simply about wanting to keep her friendship or not wanting her to get attached. If he crossed that line with her, he’d have a hard time letting go. She wasn’t going to be happy with a guy who was so far from wanting a commitment, it wasn’t funny. Considering most things were funny in the right light...

  And staring at her, thinking about sex—including why they weren’t having it—didn’t make his hard-on go away.

  Careful not to wake her, he extracted himself from the bed and stumbled into the bathroom. He didn’t turn on any lights. Didn’t want to disturb Susan or see confirmation in the mirror that he wore a pained, haunted look. He splashed cold water on his face. Instead of chasing away the lingering traces of the dream, it froze the images in his head, making them vivid.

  His dick strained against his jeans, aching and relentless. What was he doing? This wasn’t him. He either went after the girl, if he wanted to get laid, or walked away and found a different outlet. He yanked down his zipper, reliving the pressure but not the agony. When he wrapped his hand around the shaft, he had to bite the inside of his cheek, to keep a groan from escaping.