The Virgin and the Kingpin

by Allyson Lindt

  Desperation flooded him while he stroked his cock. The dream superimposed itself on reality, drawing him into the unfinished fantasy until he swore he could feel Susan’s tight, wet pussy snug around him, milking and urging. He pressed his free hand to the wall for balance, jerking hard as he fell into the images. How she would feel. The sweet scents of sugar and vanilla. Her soft cries when she climaxed.

  He came hard, thrusting his hips, and a spasm rolling through him. He didn’t ease up tugging his dick until he was spent and worn out. He took a few minutes to catch his breath, cleaned up the mess on him and the counter, and zipped up again.

  The clock near the bed said it was only one in the morning. He wasn’t going back to sleep any time soon. Not with her in the room. His phone hummed on the nightstand. That was what had woken him up. He grabbed it and pulled up the text message that arrived half an hour ago.

  It was a picture of a blonde, taken from above, with a fantastic view down the front of her dress. She looked familiar. Susan’s friend? No. Friend wasn’t the right word. Rissa—that was her name. The note with the selfie read, Can a girl get a ride?

  How’d you get my number? he asked.

  Snagged it from Jodie. Is that a yes?

  That was the last time he did someone a favor like pass along a business card. He looked between the photo on his phone and Susan sleeping in his bed. His cock throbbed, already half-hard again.

  Fuck this. He needed an outlet. I wouldn’t mind you riding me. Where are you?

  Seconds later, he had an address. He scribbled a short note for Susan, barely aware of what it said. The brightness in the hallway was a shock to his senses. Stepping outside into the parking garage didn’t clear his head. He spent the ten-minute drive to the bar pushing the fucking sleeping vision to the back of his mind.

  Rissa was waiting outside when he pulled up. He rolled down the passenger window. “Need a lift, gorgeous?”

  “I was worried you’d never ask.” She bit her bottom lip—a gesture that looked scripted—and hopped into the SUV. “My place or yours?”

  “I’m hoping yours is closer.” He let his mouth run on auto-pilot. If his brain took over, he’d be talked out of this before they started.

  She laid her hand on his thigh, gliding higher as he drove, until she reached his cock. She drew her nails lightly over denim. “And I thought I was eager.” She traced the head of his dick.

  “A good picture always gets me started.” There was no way he was telling her the erection lingered from the dream and had nothing to do with her. He could convince both of them this was about Rissa if he focused on the now.

  “I wouldn’t mind you doing a little camera work on me, if you want a memento of tonight.”

  He hid his cringe. This was worse than an off-the-shelf porn script. It didn’t matter. When they got back to her place, he’d bury his face between her legs, making her scream in pleasure, then fuck her until he was spent. It was that simple. She was attractive, she knew what she was getting herself into, and he needed to get laid, so he could start thinking like a reasonable human being again.

  She gave directions while she continued to tease him through his jeans, and moments later, he pulled the car into the driveway she indicated. He didn’t shut off the engine.

  She gave him an exaggerated sultry look. “You’re coming inside, aren’t you?”

  Of course he was. Turn off the ignition. Pocket the keys. Follow that round, bouncy ass through the front door... “Not tonight.”

  “Do I need to beg? Is that what gets you off?” She scooted as close as the bucket seats allowed.

  He nudged her back to her side. “No. Turns out I’m not in the mood after all.”

  She searched his face, half-smile fading into a scowl. “Limp-dicked asshole.” She climbed from the vehicle and slammed the door behind her.

  Yeah. That sounded about right. He couldn’t pick out a clear thought beyond which direction to drive, as he headed back to the hotel. Now that he was awake, the past hammered in to collide with the present, mocking him with memories of his guilt from the fire, the brief time he and Mercy dated, and the sweet girl up in his room. Sleeping, if she was lucky.

  He made his way into the hotel’s twenty-four-hour restaurant, took a seat at the bar, and slipped the guy a Benjamin Franklin to leave the bottle of tequila after he poured Andrew a shot. Fuck local liquor laws. Fuck the past. Fuck six years of sobriety. And fuck whatever pathetic imitation of a sense of morals was trying to grow inside.

  He stared at the golden liquid and the scarred bar-top underneath. There was probably a metaphor in there somewhere, but he wasn’t interested in looking for it. When he managed to shove Susan out of his head, ghosts of heat and pain seared back to torment him. If he pushed the disaster in Belgium aside, Mercy’s voice from seven years ago mocked him. Is it really that hard for you to imagine monogamy? Are you that fucked up, you can’t picture yourself with only one other person for more than half an hour at a time?

  That cycled back to Susan.

  “Hey, pal. My shift is up. Can I get you anything else?” The bartender interrupted his stare-down.

  Andrew turned a bleary-eyed gaze to his phone. It was almost six-thirty. Shit. He had to meet Kandace and Lucas in a couple of hours. At least he hadn’t touched the tequila. So much for sleep. His focus was in too many other places, for him to worry about how he was going to tell Lucas about his real parentage—that was one thing to be grateful for. “I’m good. Thanks, man.”

  He couldn’t face Susan, and he could think of one solid way to make sure it wasn’t an issue. He sent Mercy a text message. Hope the honeymoon was lots of naked fun. I know it’s early, but Susan is asleep in my hotel room. She probably needs a ride.

  He didn’t expect a response this time of day—Mercy and Ian didn’t get in until last night—so he was surprised when her reply buzzed through a couple minutes later. Explain.

  Put the pieces together yourself, he typed.

  I asked you for one favor. One.

  Guilt wormed its way in, to join the chaos already assaulting his cluttered mind. That was the last thing he needed—another list item to feel bad about. I’m not that good a guy, he wrote.

  He pocketed the phone, ignoring any other notes from Mercy, and headed back to his car. Kandace would forgive him if he showed up a little early. It was better than staying here.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Susan didn’t like waking up alone in someone else’s hotel room. Last night’s revelations lingered in her head and heart. She’d wanted to know what lay under the surface for Andrew, but she never expected so much pain.

  As he’d talked, looking like the words caused him agony, she wanted to do something—anything—to stop his hurting. A hug and a pat on the back hardly seemed appropriate.

  But when he talked about Lucas, pride and adoration shone through the grief.

  If she was curious before, she was enthralled now. Would he close off this morning, now he’d slept away reliving the past? She’d find out if she had any idea where he was.

  Her gaze fell on a scribbled note. Stepped out. Back soon. That didn’t give her much to go on. The chime that woke her, a text from Mercy, helped her draw a couple of conclusions but didn’t give her any answers.

  Do you need a ride? Mercy said.

  Susan wasn’t going to bother asking how her sister knew. It seemed as though Andrew’s definition of Mercy doesn’t find out was different than Susan’s. Something told her this meant no more glimpses of the real Andrew. The realization gnawed at her.

  She nearly replied to Mercy with a no, but the night before left her with uneasy questions about their family, and this seemed as good a time as any to see if she could get answers. She sent back a simple, Yes please. I’ll be in the lobby.

  She was hurt Andrew left without a word. He did have to see his sister. Maybe she slept through him trying to wake her up. She didn’t think that was the case. Apparently a night of sleep was all it took, for
his mask to fall back into place.

  When Mercy’s familiar Honda pulled up outside the hotel, Susan stashed most of her pondering for later and hopped into the passenger seat. So... what was the best way to ask, Was Dad really an asshole to you, or is your best friend exaggerating?

  Mercy navigated the car to the main road. “Are you going home? And are you all right”

  “My car’s at the office. Your office. And my pride’s a little wounded.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  What did Andrew tell her? “My car? Not really. And there’s nothing else to talk about, either.”

  Mercy frowned. “That good, huh?”

  “You’re going to have to tell me what you expect me to say, because my night was full of surprises, but I suppose none of them are news to you.” Susan sighed and slouched in her seat.

  Mercy handed over her phone. “I got these. That’s all I know.”

  Susan frowned as she scrolled through a conversation with Andrew. Her gut clenched at his clipped notes and the innuendo behind them. She dropped the device back in its cradle. “It went like this—I threw myself at a guy who feels like he owes you his life, and he said no, and then we talked so long, I managed to forget how humiliated I was. And don’t you dare smirk.”

  “I’m not.” Mercy adopted a straight face again.

  “You should have more faith in him. He’s been a perfect gentleman.” Well, not completely. But he definitely wasn’t trying anything like that with Susan any time soon.

  Instead of pointing her car down the main highway, toward the R&T offices, Mercy pulled into a coffee shop drive through. It was early, so there was no line. She ordered them drinks with extra espresso, then parked at the edge of the lot. She took a long swallow of coffee before she faced Susan. “I don’t know what you talked about, but I owe him as much as he owes me. He doesn’t like to admit it. But I also know what he’s capable of, and I would cut him out of my life completely, before you had to go through that.”

  That didn’t sound right. “Like what?”

  “Andrew doesn’t do things like exclusive relationships.”

  Since when was Mercy such a drama queen? Susan tried to sip her coffee, but it scalded her tongue. She set it in the cup holder. “I’m not dating him. Or sleeping with him—thanks to him, not me. We were hanging out. Why did you leave home when you were eighteen?”

  Mercy choked on her drink, and coughed several times before finding her voice. “I wanted to see the world, and life here was oppressive.”

  “The real reason. Not the bullshit story you tell people, to sound cool.”

  “God damn. He talks too much.” Mercy leaned her head back against the rest and focused on the roof of the car. “Dad kicked me out. Told me he never wanted to see me again. And that I wasn’t supposed to talk to you. He didn’t need me filling your head with worthless bullshit. His words, by the way, not mine.”

  Susan didn’t know what kind of answer she expected, but the reality chewed an empty pit behind her ribs. Their father wasn’t callous like that. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

  “Because Dad adores you. I missed everything about here when I left, and it took me ages to get over the fact that I couldn’t talk to the family. Why would I take that from you?”

  “I thought... I thought you were being selfish and didn’t care. And you never corrected me.” She didn’t know why this was so easy to accept, while at the same time it ached all the way to her core. It was like someone upended her view of reality, and it sucked, but part of her had been waiting for it to happen.

  “Andrew talks big, and he knows when he’s embellishing, but he’s typically pretty honest about that. Hates Dad for it.” Mercy shifted in her seat. “I have a list of four people I’d do anything for—there aren’t even enough to make it five. Ian, Liz, Andrew, and you. Dad won’t ever be on there, reconciliation or not. But that relationship works for you, and he’s been kind since I came back. It’s not my place to destroy your time with him.”

  “I didn’t know. I’m so sorry.” All these years, the things Susan thought about her sister... so completely wrong.

  “It is what it is. Are you sure you’re all right? Whatever happened, you woke up—”

  “Alone in a hotel room that wasn’t mine. I know. My ego’s wounded. I’m good otherwise. Thank you for coming to get me.”

  Mercy squeezed Susan’s knee. “I’m always here for you. Just don’t make me choose between you and Andrew,” she said in a teasing tone, complete with wink.

  Susan needed to process the morning’s revelations, and she didn’t know what to think about her father, but the joke made her feel better. “I won’t. Cross my heart, hope to die.”

  “Thanks.” Mercy’s frown vanished so quickly, Susan wondered if she imagined it.

  “I should let you get back. I’m sorry for interrupting your honeymoon.”

  “Good idea.”

  The new information raced in Susan’s thoughts while Mercy drove. If Dad had changed, there was nothing to worry about. But who would do what he did to Mercy to an otherwise good kid? If it was true, there must be more bad to Mercy than Susan knew, but that didn’t feel right either.

  Susan knew one thing for sure, out of the entire mess of confusion—Andrew was right. If she didn’t pursue her passion, she’d never forgive herself. If she couldn’t get past what held her back, and find a way to move forward with the kind of teaching she wanted to do, she’d always wonder why she gave it up.

  Before she knew it, the ten-minute journey to her car was over, and Mercy was parking next to it in the lot.

  “I have another favor to ask. Do you mind if I borrow one of the offices here today? I want to make some calls, and it seems more professional here.” And there was less of a chance for interruption.

  “Of course. Don’t stay too late. Set the alarm when you’re done. You know the drill,” Mercy said.

  Susan grabbed her coffee and hopped from the car. “Thank you. For everything.”

  Mercy looked like she wanted to say something, then smiled and waved. “See ya.”

  Susan got settled at Reception and logged into the network. When she said she’d done everything she could to get a dance job, it wasn’t completely true. She’d been so hung up on landing a high-profile gig—full of glitz, glamor, and with a low rate of acceptance—she avoided the more obvious opportunities. Teaching at smaller, private studios. Performing more often, with less in-the-spotlight groups. If the point was to fill her résumé, she needed to stop being so picky. And if she had to be honest with herself, the appeal of the bigger venues was that they gave her a better excuse when she failed.

  She started down the list of studios, phoning and speaking with managers, seeing who was looking, and talking to anyone and everyone who would take her call. After several hours, she had only had one nibble, but she jumped on it. Making the interview meant taking time off work, but it wasn’t as though she’d miss the paycheck. She’d tell Dad it was classroom observation, in conjunction with her major. Not technically a lie.

  She wouldn’t keep this from him, but there was no reason to tell him before things were set in stone. When he heard, he’d be happy for her.

  And if not... She’d deal with that bridge when she reached it.

  ANDREW ASKED THE WAITRESS to keep the coffee coming, but he didn’t know if there were sufficient amounts in the restaurant to ward off the creeping exhaustion. He struggled to focus on breakfast, rather than on how Susan was reacting to what he did. He couldn’t explain why he’d texted Mercy or given her the impression he did. However, running on two hours of sleep and some haunted fucking memories and dreams, it seemed like the smartest way to keep himself in check.

  “Why didn’t you bring your girlfriend?” Lucas’s question dragged Andrew back to the meal.

  Andrew must have missed a detail somewhere in the conversation. “Who?”

  “Susan. The one with the blue hair.”

  Kandace m
et Andrew’s gaze, then took a sip of her iced tea.

  What the hell was that look supposed to mean? “She’s a friend,” Andrew said.

  “Oh.” Lucas poked at his waffles and rolled a strawberry around. “One who might come down with you next time?”

  Andrew liked the excuse both to visit Lucas again and see Susan. “It’s up to her, but I’ll ask. How’s therapy?” It would have tasted better to ask how the institutionalized brainwashing was going, but he didn’t want to argue. Not today. Not with what he was here to say.

  Lucas speared the helpless fruit and shoved it in his mouth. He added several others in quick succession.

  “Hey. What’s up?” Andrew nudged him.

  Lucas scowled. “Mom said you wanted to talk me out of it. I don’t know why you care.”

  “Because I do care. I worry about you.”

  “It’s fine. I like it a lot. I’m learning about how I shouldn’t listen to my hormones because there are more important things in life.”

  Andrew didn’t have a good argument for that. “It’s true. Hormones screw with a lot of otherwise rational thoughts.”

  “But any avenue to make a buck?” Lucas finally looked at him.

  This wasn’t the worst possible way the conversation could have started, but it was high on the list.

  “Hon, Andrew has something he needs to tell you.” Kandace reached across the table and covered Lucas’s hand. “Hear him out, for me?”

  “I’m listening,” Lucas said.

  Great. Now their talk was born of obligation. He looked at Kandace.

  She gave him a sympathetic smile and turned to Lucas. “You know how I’ve told you that you’re adopted, but I love you as much as any mom loves her son?”

  “Yes?” Lucas dragged the word out, making it last several syllables.

  “I’m your father.” Andrew felt a huge weight lift in saying the words. “Kandace is your aunt, and she took you in when you were born, so you could have a better life.”

  Lucas gave a choked-off laugh. “That’s not funny. Out of all the mean jokes you’ve ever told, that’s the worst.” Andrew opened his mouth, but the boy wasn’t done yet. “In fact, I don’t understand why I’m the one kid who has to have the screwed-up uncle. None of my friends have to deal with relatives who make stupid jokes and try to embarrass them whenever they’re around.” He looked at Kandace. “Why can’t I have a normal, broken, single-parent home, like a normal kid?”