She wouldn’t. There’s something here I’m overlooking, but I’ll figure it out eventually. Once I get to know her more.
I wish I could say that getting to know Phoebe was just to help figure out what’s happening and who’s targeting her, but that’s not the reason. Something about her cheerful demeanor scratches at something in my brain I didn’t know I liked.
And hate.
Looking into her past, I find nothing particularly remarkable. Her mom died when she was twelve, which she’d already told me. There’s nothing I can find on her father. After her mom died, she came to live with her grandmother.
She went to culinary school and has an associate’s degree in business. There are a few years where there’s nothing, but then she popped back up when she opened up her bakery.
Could those few years between graduating and opening the bakery be the key to what’s going on?
I followed her to work this morning, and the club decided last night to take turns monitoring the bakery. It works for me to get distance while I figure things out, and they get free pastries. Plus, she’s a lot safer with men who have guns than Scotty with a taser.
But I honestly don’t think this has anything to do with Phoebe. Not really. I’ve seen this before. I come from the world of dark surveillance and taking out enemies, but Phoebe couldn’t be anyone’s enemy. Sure, she’s annoyingly perky and too friendly for her own good. If she was a child, she’d be the type to happily hop in a van with a guy offering free puppies or candy.
None of this screams plotting to take her out.
I need a release. All I could think about when I finally tried to get some sleep was Phoebe, and my hard-on hasn’t disappeared since. Even with three cold showers.
“Business or pleasure?” Queenie greets as I step into Velvet Desire.
She’s recently dyed her hair red, and I wish she’d go back to blonde. It would really help me play out the fantasy I have in my head right now, but I can close my eyes.
“Pleasure. If you have time.”
Queenie winks and smiles. “For you? I always have time.”
I’m not sure how she became the go-to woman for the three of us who can’t seem to have real relationships, but I’m glad she’s around. Not only can we find a way to get off, she also never asksquestions. Like how I got the scar on my cheek that stretches down across my chest. Or why I need very specific positions.
Fucking Queenie probably isn’t a great coping mechanism for me, though. Or Kannon or Capone. But she doesn’t care about the baggage we’d need a lifetime to unpack. She understands our struggle to form bonds with women, and at least this way, we’re able to have some form of physical contact and find a release that doesn’t involve blood.
I follow her into an empty room, and she shimmies out of her dress before grabbing the lube from the cabinet in the corner. I strip naked and grab a condom from the complimentary basket on the counter, rolling it over my raging hard cock
“You okay, baby?” Queenie asks as she rubs the lube over the condom, stroking me deliberately in the process.
She knows my boundaries. How to touch me. And to avoid looking at me.
I don’t like being looked at in general, but I can’t look at a woman when I’m fucking. It’s too hard to stare into eyes that don’t belong to the woman I want while I’m balls deep inside someone else, and most women can’t handle that. Not for more than a night or two.
“Just shit on my mind.”
The moment our clothes come off, she never looks up at my face. Even as she strokes me to get the condom prepped to take her, she stares at my chest or at her hand on my body. Never the face.
“A certain perky blonde currently staying under your roof?”
Turning around, she bends over the massage table with her legs spread. Foreplay isn’t her thing, and it works just fine for me as I walk up and slide into her.
“What have you heard?” I ask.
I stroke in and out of her slowly to help get her ready. Prepped. Even though there’s no love or emotion, there is mutual respect. And I do care about Queenie.
Wait, this all just happened last night. How the fuck does she know about Phoebe at my house already?
“Everyone’s been talking about her,” Queenie says. “Plus, hearing that you’re housing someone who is quite literally the opposite of you causes talk. I’ve met her before.”
“Yeah? And what do you think?” I ask, thrusting hard as she moans.
“She’s cute. And chipper.”
