I wanted her out of the shirt instantly, but when I unthinkingly told her to take it off, she crossed her arms like I was some kind of pervert.
If she hadn’t crossed her arms, I might’ve yanked the shirt over her head myself. Then knotted it, trapping her arms above her head, and sucked her nipples…
Or I might’ve just pushed her to her knees and filled her insolent mouth with my cock. I was so tempted when she pressed that ten-dollar bill against my lips.
But there was a hint of naked vulnerability underneath the daring attitude, so I backed down.
I shouldn’t have. All I’ve been thinking about at work is her. Her voice. The way she smells—all sweet and female with my soap over her. Her softness. Those small but sensitive breasts and that amazing pussy I can never get enough of.
Even as I focus on her body, regret seeps through. All that’s supposed to be left between us is my unresolved need for her body. I shouldn’t have bought the cereal and milk last night when I realized she was staying. Shouldn’t have tried to kiss her after that immensely satisfying orgasm or asked for one in the morning, like some lovesick idiot. None of our intimacy from before remains now. Hell, it wasn’t even real back then. The only one who cared was me. I was the fool who believed it was love, when she was just playing a game.
The idea is infuriating and humiliating. I hate myself for not being able to move past it, as though I’m walking away from an unfinished story. Whatever was between me and Fiona ended with her betrayal—why hasn’t my heart gotten the memo?
Love isn’t real. Deceptions are a dime a dozen. The time when we held each other and whispered sweet nothings and laughed and kissedand lost ourselves in each other is over. I mourn it because it was beautiful. But I should know better. Lovely moments don’t last. They always end before you’re ready, and they leave deep scars.
But scars do eventually heal. The ones Mom left are scabbed over. The ones from Fiona will mend, too. I’ll make sure of it.
When I glance down at the slim, well-manicured hand, the redhead glides it upward leisurely, but with a clearly seductive intention. She knows the score, and she’s just looking for a good time, nothing more.
Part of me wants it, needing something—anything—to push Fiona out of my head. Another part recoils at another woman’s touch.
Right now, the latter is winning—my dick lies inert. Bastard.
“You’re so tense,” the redhead says into my ear. Her moist breath feels sticky and unpleasant, but I let her continue. Her eyes drop to the untouched whiskey in front of me. “Why don’t you have a drink? Take the edge off?”
“I’m a tequila fan.” A lie, but I don’t want to touch anything when I’m not sure about the chain of custody. Anybody could’ve slipped something into the drink. Mom’s side of the family—the criminal side—loves to drug people. Her brother Harvey once put something in Ares’s whiskey to try to get him to work for the mob as their legal counsel.
Perhaps I’m being overly paranoid, but I’d rather be careful than regret it later. Mom, Harvey… I wouldn’t put anything past those two—or anybody from the Dunkels. My maternal grandfather, the Nesovian crime lord Vincent, is sick, and Mom and Harvey are fighting to take control of “the family business.” Supposedly, Vincent said he’d hand over control to whomever could bring his grandsons to see him before he croaked.
I hope he dies alone and miserable, and before he can put anybody in charge of his pathetic criminal enterprise. In a just world it will fall apart from internal strife—maybe even a civil war. If he’d agreed to put Mom in prison for what she did to us, I might’ve gone on my own to see him. But Vincent cared more about the optics of being a strong crime boss who protects his daughter than making her pay for her crimes.
He doesn’t get to act like a loving grandfather now, after all theseyears, without an apology. But I already know what he’d say:I love you, my boy. I did it for you.
Whatever. Too little, too late.
The redhead makes a soft humming noise. “I bet I can make you learn tolovewhiskey. You just have to have it right.” She takes a sip of the amber liquid, then cups my cheek and presses her mouth against mine. She pushes the fiery whiskey past my lips. I swallow reflexively, then shove her away. Her tongue is too invasive, and feels nasty in my mouth, like an overgrown slug. It leaves my blood cold.
She laughs. “Oh my God, don’t tell me you’re a prude. I don’t believe you came here to just sit and watch.”
I say nothing as the warmth from the liquor spreads. The sensation is a bit disturbing. It was only a mouthful, and my tolerance is high.
“I like you.” She smiles at me like I’m the last piece of chocolate left in the display case. “Why don’t we go somewhere? Let me make you feel good?”
She pulls me up, and amazingly enough I find myself standing. The girl’s smile widens. I glance back at Josh, but he’s occupied, probably testing for a soul-mate bond with a woman whose name he won’t remember tomorrow.
The redhead and I step out of the VIP lounge, where the deafening music pounds us with near-physical force. The pulsing of the beat makes my head spin.What the hell?
“I’ve got you,” she says when I sway a little. “Just lean on me. I’mmuchstronger than I look.”
Prickling sensations spread through my body. Heat starts in my belly and expands. My skin feels too tight. The air seems to thin, and I yank at my tie, undoing the knot and pulling it down. But that isn’t enough. My collar is suffocating. I unbutton the top button, then drag in more air.Still not enough.My vision blurs for a second.
“Are you okay? Let’s go outside,” she says.
Great idea. Outside means more air.
We burst out of the club. The cool, slightly smoggy air hits my face, but somehow my lungs can’t haul in enough oxygen. The heat from my belly spreads everywhere, even to my face. My cheeks burn, and myfingers feel shaky.
The streetlights are hazy halos against the dark of the sky. I turn to the redhead. “It’s foggy.”
