by Dakota Gray
Tarek has inner demons. I can recognize them easily because I have plenty of my own.
I tell my sister, “Traffic is a bitch.”
“That answer has nothing to do with what I asked.”
“I know.” I softly cackle at my sister’s frustrated grunt.
“How am I to be entertained if you don’t give me any details?”
I sigh and decide to do my sisterly duty. “No fondling, but I met his friends.”
“Meet a man’s friends and you know him. Do tell all.”
I squint at Tarek. His breathing is slow, restful but…he is not at all what he appears to be. Yet, my well-honed, forged-in-fire instincts are not going off. Tarek is a puzzle. I want to see that jigsaw in full before I relax.
“Well there’s Nate. He’s from Georgia. He uses his accent to snow you. Like, he gave me this kind of smile that I’m sure women melt at because it gives him this dimple. Then he says to me, his accent deeper than kudzu, ‘Sweetheart, what are your intentions?’ I’m pretty sure if I answered wrong, he would have challenged me to a duel. Then there was Duke, who looked into my soul. I think he cursed me or some shit.”
My sister hums like she does when the gossip gets good. “What are your intentions?”
Of course she laser focuses on that. “To win a contest.”
My sister laughs. “Okay, but for real.”
“That’s the realest answer I can give you. I know you, mom, and dad want me to invest in a much more stable future, but I love photography. I love being able to catch people when their guard is down and they are exactly who they really are in that moment.”
“I can’t speak for mom and dad. I simply want you to be okay.” Pause. “And to know if you’re going to fuck the hot personal manwhore trainer.”
“Layla,” I say on a snort.
“What? I’ve probably spent more time on his Insta then you, so my expectations are high.”
“Your expectations are for me to give him a steady diet of cornbread and pussy for the next two weeks.”
“How else is he going to stay thick?”
“You have an MBA. Use it. Your kids will be fine. They’ll be better than fine if you work outside of the home. Just don’t miss important things. That’s all.”
The longest silence I’ve ever had to sit in begins on the other end of the phone line before my sister whispers, “I can’t, Nina. I just can’t,” and there’s a desperation in her voice.
I glare at the cars in front of me. My sister’s hardline to be a SAHM has everything to do with me. Well, 40% me and 60% whatever damage my sister incurred from an absentee mother. Layla has it in her head if my mom had been more vigilant, more loving, more whatever, I would have never fallen for Thomas. If Layla herself hadn't rode the corporate life so hard, Thomas being an absolute soulless dickwad would have been obvious to her.
Thomas appeared stable, so safe. He had a state job. His retirement was well on its way to supporting his advanced age. His apartment and car were always clean. His mother adored him—not surprising, since he was an only child. Everyone who interacted with him had nothing but nice things to say. On paper, he was perfect for someone who had an occasional impulsive streak. He was so safe. I fell for him because he seemed like comfort, a predictable space, especially when I got a wild hair and would upend my life. We were Ying and Yang. He was incredible in bed. He was perfect.
Too perfect.
After a while, I got to see that staid control extended to me. I was simply an appendage to his life—a couch in his immaculate living room. I was to sit where he put me. Be decorative and comfortable. Spontaneity was on par with someone kicking a puppy.
My fingers tighten on the steering wheel. This is—I am—Tarek has triggered this line of thought and become water to this seed of anxiety. A guy who is more interested in how many push-ups you can do should be easy to deal with, easier to understand.
Still, I don’t know why he agreed to guiding me. Why didn’t he just take the money? He wasn’t as forthright as Nate, though to be fair, I don’t think anyone has ever been as straight-to-the-point as Nate. Duke poked and prodded with subtle questions and statements. His gaze assessed, analyzed, and sometimes went cold. He seemed nice, but the nice ones could be vicious.
I would have never pegged Duke as someone who would call Tarek family, much less friend. That puts too much not adding up on Tarek’s side of the equation. There’s only doubts at the decision I’ve made to hitch my wagon to him for the next two weeks.
The only reason I’m not running, screaming, in the other direction is that when I take away the fear and really look at Tarek and his actions, he’s not controlling. He’s not likely to fly into a rage because I questioned him.
Tarek shifts in the passenger seat. His voice is gruff when he says, “If you’re watching me, then your eyes aren’t on the road.”
Light sleeper. Something else to note. His lids flutter open and even that dreamlike glance pins me down. He’s still watching me like the power of his stare could strip me down to my core. All he has to do is look long and hard enough to see what that hammer did to me. How it remolded me into this woman who uses her dimples like weapons.
I smile. “Go back to sleep.”
Layla gasps in my ear. “Is that his voice? My panties just imploded.”
“You need to maybe call Ron and have a special conversation.”
Tarek chuckles beside me. “A special conversation?”
“Go back to sleep, and get out of my phone call.”
“Can’t now,” his full laugh bombards me.
“Layla, I will talk to you later.”
“Just put me on speaker, and I’ll ride along with you.”
I laugh, shaking my head as though she could see it. “I will not. Love you. Bye.”
She sighs. “Bye.”
I put my focus on the road ahead of me, but out of the corner of my eye I can see he’s still cataloguing bits of me I wish he didn’t see.
“You were sleeping with your mouth open,” I lie and look at him again because I can’t stand not to.
His mouth lifts into a smile. “How much longer until we hit the first stop?”
I gesture to the cars that are practically sitting on top of each other on the freeway. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
“Wake me up when we make it to one.”
“Why?” the question is out of my mouth before I can curtail it.
“I need to stretch my legs.”
I purse my lips, a question about his scars just on the tip of my tongue, but he’s back in that protective stance, warding me or anyone off. That’s good. It’s smart. We’re going to be joined at the hip for two weeks, and the simple fact is, Tarek is dangerous in a way I can't yet identify. I’ve learned to look for dark recesses inside of a man. They usually have a glint in their eye when they look at you, like all they want is to destroy a part of you. Or own it. Have power over it. And Tarek sometimes looks at me likes he’s trying to find all my weak spots. My gut says he’s not looking to dig his fingers in those wounds to make me cry out in pain.
But why is he looking for them, then?
I turn on the radio and ignore his existence. It’s self-preservation.
5
Tarek
* * *
An hour and a half later, Nina stops at a trucker’s gas station. The world’s barely opening its eyes, but the parking lot’s packed with big diesels, a Greyhound, and a smattering of sedans and vans filled with families.
She barely parks the car before making a break for it. Reality has finally dawned on her. She’s alone with me, a man she really doesn’t know.
Wondered when that truth would settle in, especially when I can’t entirely say my intentions are pure.
What I want to do is beating inside me like a caged monster. I’ve been sitting in a car with her for close to four hours. Her scent permeates every inch of it. I’m sure if I press my face to my shirt, I can pick up the hint of cocoa butt
er and vanilla.
Instead of following the thoughts down the obvious road, I climb out of the car and go through my stretching routine to keep my shins and knees from locking up on me. I don’t get the luxury of taking days off. If I sit on my ass, ghosts of injury past rattle my bones and muscle tissue. The pain is penance for being reckless and stupid. Could have been worse. Should have been. So I eat any grunt that wants to come out as I push through my shortened routine. I’ll do it again before bed.
Fifteen minutes later, Nina remains a ghost scent and an ache in my balls. I lock up the car and follow her dust trail inside. Since it’s a pitstop for truckers, there’s food, tools, audiobooks, music, pretty much everything one could possibly need for a long trip.
I find her near the audiobooks. She’s already holding five. I spread my arms and rest my elbows on the metal clothing rack next to the section and clear my throat.
“I’m tired of the radio playing the same six songs,” she mutters without looking at me.
I tilt my head to read the spine of her choices. “Should I be worried you’re only picking up murder mysteries?”
“We could listen to Fifty Shades if you want.”
It’s meant as a joke. I reply to her like it’s a challenge. “Sure.”
That brings her stare up to mine, her eyes narrow. “They don’t have it.”
“Then let’s see...” I push from the racks to check out the selection of goods. Her glare bores a hole into the side of my head. The trucker station has the obvious selections of the top bestselling authors from the last two decades. I find what I’m looking for in the section right next to it. I pick up at least four audiobooks that have shirtless men in various poses on the cover that scream the kind of romance novels my sister loves to devour. Given my sister cusses like a sailor and has little to no filter, they are probably filthy in various ways.
Nina’s nostrils flare. The look she gives me… if I were a weaker man my balls would recede for the next fifty years.
I lift a brow. “I was promised full control of the radio.”
She opens her mouth and smiles. Her dimples make me dizzy in such a good way. She doesn’t look cute or cuddly, but harmless. I know that’s a fucking lie. That’s what gets me off. That’s what makes me twisted.
“You demanded three thousand dollars.” Her voice is matter of fact. “You have yet to take it. Is this why? You think if you don’t take the money, you’ll have free rein to seduce me?”
She’s a smart woman. I give her a smile of my own. “Nina?”
“Yes,” she snaps.
“Seducing implies there’s someone receptive to being enticed.”
Silence meets my statement then she huffs. “I’ve got…nothing.”
She whirls on her foot and heads toward the snack aisle. Four months ago, I would have let her walk off and left it there. But three months ago, I started to search for something I could never really put a name or a label on. It’s just something that starts to dig inside me, burrows into my veins and bleeds into my thoughts, my actions.
I follow Nina until I’m standing behind her. I don’t touch her. I let my warmth at her back be the caress. She stills, her hand resting on a chocolate candy bar.
I lower my mouth to her ear but don’t make contact. “Do you want me to stop? Want me to ignore what’s buzzing between us?”
“You didn’t bring up the attraction before we started this trip, don’t bother to say something now.”
“Let’s be clear here. Are you pissed I didn’t try to fuck you that night in the bar? Or are you mad that I haven’t been fucking you since then?”
My questions are met with an expectant silence. I blow softly on her earlobe. Her hand clutches the candy bar, crushing it in her fist, but anyone walking by would think she’s unruffled. I love it. Her reaction proves I’m not paranoid or reading too much into her reactions. She’s not just a buoyant personality who smiles because it comes easy. There’s steel in her spine.
I lift my hand so it hovers right where her pulse is in her neck. I suck in air because I need it and because I can see her heart beat is racing. “Do you want the truth, Nina?”
“What’s the truth, Tarek? You wanted me to say something first before you made your move?” She’s quiet for a long moment. “Or do you just want my submission? A piece of me?”
“A piece?” I shift closer, still not letting our bodies touch. I can't, not without giving up ground, but the air is electrified between us.
I can feel her shiver. I want this same reaction if I’m ever buried deep inside her.
“I don’t take pieces,” I say. “When I’m with a woman I want all of her, every beautiful and ugly part of her.”
“Then you can’t have me.” She drops the candy and faces me. Her gaze is hard, but the way her chest rises and falls in a rapid pace, the way she brushes her fingertips over my hand, I know I’ve gotten under her skin, in the best way. “I’m not impressed with your teasing or lofty proclamations.”
“Don’t challenge me, Nina,” I warn.
Her throat bobs with the swallow she takes. “And that’s why you can’t have me. I’m not throwing out a challenge. I’m not offering all of myself to you. Ever.” She emphasizes the ‘V’ by scraping her teeth over her bottom lip. She smirks when my gaze drops to her mouth. “What’s your damage?”
“An ex. Yours?” I ask though I know. I can imagine all too well and still can’t touch her horror. Did she need a codeword, so when family phoned, they knew to call 911? Did she have an exit strategy? Can a sound or a certain kind of touch trigger her?
I won't know, and all I can do is imagine until she tells me. To be clear, I don’t want to know so I can hurt her. I want to know so that I never hurt her. Broken people like us need to stick together.
“My damage is an…ex.” Her tongue runs over her top lip. “Why didn’t you make your move in the bar?”
I couldn’t play this game of cat and mouse, not when she’d been pleading for a chance to change her future. “The fuchsia bra you wore distracted me.”
She laughs and relaxes at my answer. “How about you stay on your side of the car and I’ll stay on mine. We can revisit this stalemate if need be, but I doubt we’ll need to. Two weeks huffing and puffing through California should distract us well enough.”
Nina doesn’t wait for an agreement. Her word is law. She grabs the chocolate bar she mutilated and turns on her heel. She leaves me standing in that aisle.
I should have told her to ignore me. I’m feeling on edge and searching for any kind of reaction. But all I can do is stand there and want her, knowing I shouldn’t.
6
Nina
* * *
After we get back into the car, I fumble with getting the key into the ignition. We’d gone from having a light banter to my knees dribbling to my feet. The force that is Tarek had closed its hand on my throat, and I had almost begged for a tighter hold. I can’t even say what set him off, and that should trouble me instead of making my panties damp.
He seems so benign. He smiles, he laughs, he gets an intent soft gaze when he’s listening—really listening—but deep on the inside, he’s a beast. I had assumed he would only be capable of brute seduction that I could see a mile away.
Nope. Fuck, nope.
“You okay?” The frown he throws in my direction seems genuine.
I take a breath and shove the key in. “Yup.”
I’m rattled. I pull the candy from the bag I’ve stuffed into the arm rest.
“Are you sure?”
The chocolate is just a sad reminder I’d lost control. “Extremely.”
His sigh is long and so full of frustration. I squint at him. He offers a raised brow as though the ball is in my court. That irritates me only because he got the drop on me. If any seducing is going on it’s because I initiated the exchange. I’m supposed to be the one who walks away when he’s just a mass of want and desire.
Maybe my pride gets the better of me fo
r what I do next, but I pop in one of the romance audiobooks to prove being in a sexually charged situation did not mean we had to give in to our baser impulses. We can be mired in want and need and still act like well-behaving adults. It was a noble stance in the moment.
Totally fucking stupid in retrospect.
Three hours later I’m wishing for a time machine to punch myself in the face. When I impulsively shoved the first CD in, I expected him to sneer at the story, the prose, and be the all-around douche I know jocks can be.
Except I’ve been forced to listen to a compelling story of a women who fell for her bad boy neighbor. That includes three sex scenes, moans played out even if they weren’t in the text, cocks stroked, pussies eaten, nipples pinched, necks licked. Rinse, repeat.
And how was Tarek during this reading?
Three hours of sexual fantasies played at full blast on the stereo and one arm is wrapped around the head rest. His seat is reclined back. His eyes are hooded. His hand rests on his jeans, and there’s no doubt his palm is on his dick. The bulge he’s either hiding or mindlessly petting when the words get graphic is unmistakable.
Had that been all, I would have swallowed my pride or pushed him out of a moving vehicle, but he’s laughed at all the jokes, smiled at all the sweet moments, and overall reacted to the story like he was watching a football game—offering suggestions to the characters whenever he thinks they are doing something wrong. Slower not faster, the spanking should have been longer, more lube.
Me, I’ve kept my attention fixed on the road ahead of us, counting down the minutes until we hit the hotel where I can get some peace away from him.
That’s another thirty minutes. The longest minutes of my life.
“You don’t like the story.” It’s a statement not a question.
I refuse to look at him and find proof he’s smirking at me. “It’s fine.”