by Rie Warren
From every corner of the room, men appeared. Lots of them. Almost naked men. No worse than what I’d gotten up to last night, but then Leelee had been focused solely on me. Now she wasn’t. Her mouth dropped open, her cheeks flushed in that pretty shade of pink—the way they did when she was on the brink of orgasm. Threading through the audience of bloodthirsty demons, aka dick-loving babes, the strippers eventually made it onstage in one piece, without their negligible outfits torn off their bodies.
A few kisses were probably stolen and asses squeezed, I knew, because I’d been on the receiving end of that before.
I sat, glowering.
Nicky snickered at my expense. “Remember? I told you I’d take you to a strip joint.”
My smile was sickeningly sweet. “Lover, if I wanted to see more dongs boing around, I’d still be backstage at Balls and Dicks or whatever the hell Jules called that free-for-all.”
Inside I was not a happy camper, but outwardly I tried to project something other than jilted-lover rage every time I looked over at Leelee. Great. Now I had to watch her drool over the Chippendales. Sausage-fest take two only this time I wasn’t performing and a bunch of limber-jointed, bendy bastards held Leelee’s attention. Joy. They were all waxed to within an inch of their lives. At least I had chest hair like a real man should, thank you very fucking much.
I threw in a few wolf whistles, acting the part.
Leelee strode forward to shove a wad of cash against the wad of the oiled-up asshole doing the wham-bam on his knees at the end of the stage.
I sat and stewed.
Magic Mike day/night or not, there was no magic. I was not feeling the magic. The gigolos grinded, the groupies groped whenever they got close enough. And I had to act gay and salivating when in truth I was so hot under the collar, I wanted to throw Leelee over my shoulder, stalk to the nearest exit, and have it out with her. Or have her under me. Either one would do me good.
That’s when the construction worker started dry humping his sledgehammer. Literally. There was so much bouncing going on, someone’s eye was gonna get poked out even though he was still somewhat bridled inside a pair of bright pink briefs cut-out around his ass cheeks. Jesus. I was blinded.
A sailor took the stage next, doing his best Gene Kelly MGM musical moves until he ripped off the pristine white uniform via the wonders of Velcro. He stood there with his sailor’s cap cupped over his cock. The ladies went ape shit. A short, stocky policeman followed. I didn’t really wanna know where he was going to ram his nightstick. This was a white-collar woman’s wet dream about blue-collar workers, and I wanted to stand up and shout I was the real deal. Men at Work? I’ll give them men at work. Just take a trip to Mt. Pleasant and over to Stone’s.
The cop stripped down to his jockstrap and Janice swooned in her seat.
When Missy stood up, the whole table shook and I guarded my beer. She bellowed, “Yeah, beat that nightstick, boy! BEAT IT!”
I lowered my head to my arms on top of the sticky tabletop. Of course, the clever MC-turned-DJ immediately pumped out “Beat It” by Michael Jackson. Fuckin’ A.
I only opened my eyes, peering through fingertips, when Leelee said, “Would you look at the Jesus crease on that one?”
It was a fireman, of course it was. Coyly flipping his helmet off, red suspenders dangling from his hips, he danced his shiny ass off under the lights. Leelee’s fingertips moved to her lips as she watched the stripper, never blinking.
Nicky laughed like a hyena until I wanted to hit him. “Didn’t know you had it in ya, L.”
Jacqueline’s gaze ran up and down the fireman’s hose. “I’d tap that.”
“I’d hit that.” Missy cheered.
Probably literally.
Janice wiped the steam from her glasses. “I wouldn’t kick that out of bed.” The round robin had reached me, and she asked, “Stone?”
The tableful waited expectantly, except Leelee. She stared past me as she’d done ever since she kicked me curbside in the wee hours of the morning.
“I . . .” I trailed off. Then smiled at Nicky and stroked his arm. “I’m a one-man man.”
“Le sigh.” Almost everyone simpered.
Leelee gave a derisive snort.
Nicky started talking to Robo-Cop, playing it up. “We’re looking for a third for the night.”
Titters and twitters went off like light bulbs sparking.
I almost decked him . . . God, I was gonna murder him, bury his body next to the grease monkeys out behind the garage. Nicky had half a lifeline left before I Godfathered him, and he’d be taking his long sleep goodnight beside a head gasket, not a horse head.
The po-po went to rub up against another stripper pole, and I tanked back my beer.
The DJ appeared through a cloud of smoke. “I hear we have a few famous writers in the house. Is there a Leelee Songchild out there?”
Whoops, hollers, oh hell no.
The fireman with the so-called Jesus crease jumped down. He hunkered between Leelee’s legs and flicked her calve with his tongue. The next thing I knew, his ass snuggled her face and his nuts tapped her chin. She gathered his suspenders like they were horse reins and hauled him in.
Missy hollered.
My knuckles turned white.
If Leelee got one more oily crotch that wasn’t mine in her face, I was gonna blow.
I wondered who set that shit up for all of a second until I saw the evil grin Nicky aimed at me. “Payback’s a bitch.”
On second thought, murder was too good for him.
The black-clad host mic’d over the melee as the fireman slid his ass off Leelee’s lap. “Give it up for our birthday girl!”
I ignored the clapping and the catcalling. If any other fucker got close enough to touch his crotch to Leelee’s lips, I was gonna blow a gasket. And, oh no, she was not getting birthday jizz on her face. And it wasn’t even her fucking birthday, for fuck’s sake. I’d Googled that shit.
“Enjoying the show, darlin’?” Nicky asked.
“I hate you.” I was fed up with playing follow the bouncing balls.
“You’re kinda blowing our cover.”
“As long as I ain’t blowing you.”
A waitress in a short skirt and half shirt served fluted glasses full of frothy red liquid. Another fruity cocktail.
“Drink up!” Nicky clanked his glass to mine as Captain Dick took his place on Leelee’s lap.
Drink up or bust the place up . . .
By the time she got free I was seeing red. She excused herself to the ladies. I waited a reasonable amount of time—all of twenty seconds—before I headed to the john.
I had two days left to bring her around. Time-wasting was not on my agenda.
She exited the restroom and I blocked her way. “You want a show, babe? I got it right here.”
Hauling back, Leelee smacked me across the face. “Fuck you, Stone.”
The slap was so hard it stung, but I shook it off. I grabbed her other wrist before she could come at me a second time. “Please do, Leelee.”
“You infuriate me!”
“That makes two of us.” I hustled her into a dark corridor.
When I had her caged beneath my arms and between my thighs, my anger melted away. Leelee the tigress turned all soft kitten.
Her eyes glistened and her lips trembled. “I already screwed my life up by myself. I don’t need to do this dance again.”
“I’m sorry.” I bent my forehead to hers. “I am such a fuckup.” My voice gentled.
She yielded when I clasped her face between my hands, intending only to comfort her. I laid a soft kiss on her cheek. I let her hair run through my fingers a final time.
Stepping back, I raised my hands. “I’ll let you run from me this once, Leelee. But trust me, next time I see you, next time I’m with you, I won’t let you get away.”
She hesitated for a moment before she turned on her heel. Leelee walked away without a backward glance.
Eleven
THE SHUTTLE RIDE BACK to the Ramada was another exercise in this fucking sucks. Leelee’s brittle smile combined with my broody mood, tension arcing between us. Thankfully the rest of the Hens peck-peck-pecked about the Magic Mike not-Night, oblivious to the undercurrent of awkwardness. Disembarking, I let Nicky take my hand and tug me inside. Everyone was in my way, the crowd more congested than ever. The lobby overflowed with balloons and posters and camera flashes. It seemed a Big Name Author had made her appearance.
I didn’t care about that shit. I just wanted to keep track of Leelee as she slid away from the group. I planned to hunt her down later. Craning my neck, I glimpsed her on the escalator that rose to the second floor. I considered storming after her, but she needed time to blow off some steam without me in her direct line of fire.
Nicky made his excuses to go hobnob, and I grabbed a sandwich from the over-priced in-hotel deli, heading upstairs. One hoagie down and digesting, bottle of water glugged, gym shorts and workout ignored, I flipped open Ride.
Jase fucked women for money. He dressed in a monkey suit for wealthy society broads, women who had too much bank and not enough bang in their bedrooms. He undressed for them and made sure their orgasms weren’t the fake kind screamed out to massage the egos of their high-powered ‘daddies’. He pocketed the cash and got out as quickly as he could.
Going home alone, he relegated each lady to a memory of money made that had nothing at-fucking-all to do with lovemaking. They were distilled into dollar signs and decimal points as Jase reminded himself he was lucky he could use his body as a business transaction. He’d hit the shower—painfully hot water, strong soap, three complete washings—hit his studies, and study his bank account.
“Oh shit.” Jase was a bigger fuckup than me.
All his tats, his motorcycle, his rep—it was to keep people off his back. He let people think what they wanted because their opinions didn’t matter. But Ave’s did. She was the only person he wanted riding his back. She could never find out how he kept them flush.
So maybe he was a rent boy who let women use him for easy money, but at least he paid the bills on time. That usually included Ave’s share too so she could concentrate on her studies. He managed to keep his grades at dean’s list level, which wasn’t too shabby. And it meant his dad continued to foot the bill for tuition and fees even if he didn’t bother with those pesky necessities like food, shelter, clothing . . . condoms.
When Jase slunk into the kitchen stinking of high-class perfume, Ave closed her books and stood to make her escape.
She was clean, she was innocent. That’s why Avery was so special to him. She didn’t make him feel dirty no matter how filthy he felt. Ave made Jase want more, from her. And frankly, her skittishness after a long evening of riding some woman he hoped he’d never see again made him a little on the tetchy side.
He grabbed her elbow.
“I have an exam tomorrow, Jase.” But her protest died on a whimper when he curled his arms around her.
“So fuckin’ beautiful, baby.”
She covered her face with her hands. “I’m horrible.”
Every moment with Ave showed him a new side. This one had him growling, “Who told you that?” Tears slithered down her cheeks and he scooped them away. “Stop, honey, stop. Please.”
Hesitant fingers slid through his hair when his lips replaced his fingers on her face, his tongue collecting the salty teardrops. “Jase?”
Immense hunger ripped through him with that one little question. He shed his leather jacket and wondered how much Ave was willing to give. Because for her, for the first time, he’d give everything.
This kid was killing me, his thoughts so precisely mirroring mine. Jesus, maybe I could pick up some pointers from him about how to win Leelee over, especially since she was the one who’d created him.
“Are you using me?” Ave asked, pulling her skirt down around her thighs when he tried to tug it up.
“You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.” The kiss he brushed along her neck made her sigh. There was no duplicity in his actions, just sheer want. For her taste, her feel, her freshness he’d never experienced.
Soft starving eyes slid to his. “Don’t do this, Jase. Not if you’re going to hurt me.” Her shoulders rolling forward, she tried to hermit her way back into her shell of protection.
Everything. Ave meant it all. Her shy ways, her bookish looks, her need . . . she needed him like no one ever had.
“I wanna make love to you. Wake up with you.” His lips tripping across her mouth again, he aimed inside.
Tentative licks met him. Then wild wet heat. Every motion, every intense and deep emotion, she met. The lapping, the teeth scraping, the lashing in and out as their mouths meshed had Jase on the edge of dragging his jeans off and grabbing his cock.
He let her go to get rid of his shirt, chuckling in a tight, low drawl when her fingers traced the grooves of muscle and the trail of hair from his stomach to the top of his pants. His cock rapped hard against the zipper. He was full, erect, eight wide inches of dick begging to be fucked or sucked.
Pulling her hands off him, watching her eyes widen, Jase smirked. “Want it, darlin’?”
He was pushing her, he knew it.
The stain on her cheeks and the flush up her neck was a telltale sign she liked it. He breathed against the small curl of her ear, tasting her earlobe, as sweet as her lips. “I know you do. You wanna see me naked again, you wanna fuck me. You want my mouth on your cunt and your hands driving into my hair to hold . . . me . . . tight.”
Her whimper drove a spike of need through him. He slipped his tongue into her mouth, hauling her into his arms. He’d never been kissed like this. Little pants of breath, small sips of lips in between deep, heady, all-seeking lunges. His hands dragged up her nape, into her hair, clasping, winding, tightening.
Breaking away from her addictive lips, Jase clasped Ave’s face. One hand fell to her waist, bunching up the blouse, touching bare skin he’d never seen. “Are you gonna insult me again by asking about my intentions with you?”
“No!” Her mouth was so swollen he wanted to fuck it with his cock, slowly.
“Are you gonna tell me what happened to you, baby, to make you think you’re anything less than goddamn perfection?”
She gasped and turned to flee, but he grabbed her around the waist before she could get away.
A whip of her hair flicked across his face, and fury filled her expression before being buried inside. “Not now, Jase.” She slid her hands into the out-of-shape cuffs of her sleeves. A nervous twitch. One Jase wanted to break her of once he found out what had caused it.
Touching her cheek, he sought her eyes. “Sleep with me tonight, Ave.”
She shook her head.
He wrapped his arms around her and rocked side-to-side. “Sleep with me. Every night. Goddamn it, I want you however I can get you.” He kissed her neck, her lips, her lowered eyelids, murmuring all the time. “I’m not what you think.”
He was worse, though. Dirty, inside and out. Used, paid for, a fuck for money. But not for Ave, never with her. She didn’t know. She had no idea. And he planned to keep it that way.
One silent nod of her head beneath his chin and Jase groaned. All the months of wanting, the years of searching, of finding Avery, and she was going to sleep with him. He wanted to strip off and do a victory dance before bending her over the table.
He was pretty sure those wicked ideas gleamed in his eyes, but he tried to extinguish them.
“Now,” he tilted her chin up for a quick kiss, “put on your ugliest nightgown and get to my room. I’m holdin’ you all night long.”
And that was it, all he wanted.
A sniffled weak laugh came from her before she turned away.
Jesus Christ. I gave a watery laugh, too. Who knew Jase had it in him? The story Leelee wrote was explosive, emotional. It was full on, hands-down-your-pants hot, and I’d gone and g
otten myself all worked up over her again.
“Fuck.” I closed the book. All I wanted was Leelee as she’d been last night, open and fresh-faced instead of armored in attitude as she’d been today.
Checking the time, I saw it was coming up to eight already. I did a round of redneck washing in the bathroom then commenced my hunt for Leelee. She’d had enough time to cool down, and I’d had enough to heat up.
I checked the second floor bar first, figuring that’s where she headed after the shuttle dropped us off. No such luck. I scoped out all her hideouts and hangouts. I pounded up and down the halls and that elevator at least half a dozen times, fedora angled over my eyes not doing a damn thing to hide my growing scowl.
An hour had passed by the time I returned to the bar, intending to swallow down the bitter taste of regret with a couple brews. There she was. She sat alone at the bar, nursing a glass of white wine. Her shoulders were practically up to her ears as she hunched forward. Classic get-out-and-stay-out posture. Too bad I didn’t read body language so well. I plunked down beside her, not bothering to ask if I was welcome because I already knew the answer to that. Ordering a beer, I chanced a look at Leelee’s profile. On second thought, I added a shot of bourbon, too.
She might’ve been sitting all hunched up to keep people out, but that was because otherwise she looked completely defenseless. Vulnerable, unprotected, undone Leelee sent a piercing blow to my heart.
She flinched from the hand I set over hers. But that was okay, I deserved it. Besides I knew how to handle her, just like my Camaro when I’d restored it back to its pristine bragging-rights glory—lovingly, tenderly, and with patience. I’d worked methodically on that machine, coaxing the engine until new life burst from the old. I did the same with Leelee. Murmuring quietly, I stroked her fingers and then her palm when her hand fell open. I knew how to take care of her: by telling her as I did then that everything was going to be all right because I was gonna make goddamn sure of it.
