by Gemma Weir
I want to say I’m repulsed by the debauchery that’s happening all around me, but if I’m honest with myself, all it’s doing is making me horny. The dull ache in my sex is reminding me of the way I’d moaned around Justin’s dick only a couple of hours earlier.
As if my wayward thoughts have summoned him, I lift my eyes and they lock with his. A gush of arousal pools between my legs. My body wants round two and it’s getting itself lubed up and ready for him.
I don’t want him to see the heat in my gaze, so I look away, dropping my eyes back to the pool table and the game that I’m barely participating in; but I can feel him watching me.
Something about this guy makes me behave like a bitchy teenage girl. I’m snarky for no good reason, I’m judgmental and harsh, and apparently, I also now take off my clothes and grab at his dick.
My skin prickles and I know he’s coming closer, probably with an eager girl hanging from his enormous arm. I need to apologize for attacking him in his truck. He wasn’t exactly an unwilling victim, but I think I probably started it.
“Hey,” he says, his voice low and rough. I wish I could ignore him, but I can’t. Just the low timber of his voice and the way I can feel the heat from his huge body next to me, has me turning to look at him, goose bumps pebbling across my skin.
“Hi,” I say breathily.
“Can I talk to you for a minute?”
He’s uncomfortable, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides and something about how awkward he’s acting calms me. “Yeah, sure,” I say.
“Outside maybe?”
I look to Rosie and find her watching us, her brows furrowed, and her eyes narrowed. Sighing, I close my eyes. When I open them again a knowing smile has curled the edges of her lips. I won’t be able to avoid her questions now; she’s going to want to know what’s going on. When I arrived at her apartment earlier, I’d been sex tousled and a little shell-shocked, but after telling her I was fine several times she gave up on her interrogation on how I’d ended up looking the way I did. I won’t get away as easily this time.
Justin touches my arm and I look away from my friend and back to him. “You ready?” He asks.
I nod, then move after him as he turns and leads the way toward the exit doors. As I follow his huge frame, he keeps glancing over his shoulder to check that I’m behind him. When the crowd gets thick, he reaches his arm back and takes my hand in his, holding me and making sure we don’t get separated. The sweet, thoughtful gesture softens me. Greg wouldn’t have worried about me like that, he’d never really worried about protecting me, regardless of the situation. Being protected, sheltered by a man, isn’t something I’ve ever really considered before. Maybe it’s because I was raised to be a strong, independent woman. I know I don’t need a man to look after me, but something about the way Justin keeps looking for me makes me think that just because I don’t need to be protected by a guy, doesn’t mean it isn’t nice.
When we reach the exit, he pushes open the door with his free hand, never letting mine go as he guides me ahead of him, holding the door for me while I pass. The clubhouse is crammed, but even more people are outside; some sat around fire pits that have been lit on the lawn to the side of the building and others in groups, talking and drinking.
When a few eyes look in our direction, I tug my hand free from Justin’s, avoiding his gaze when I feel him looking at me. The moment I’m free of his touch, I feel bereft, but I dutifully follow him a few more paces from the doors until he slows to a stop, turning to face me, his hands clenching in fists at his sides.
I wish my dress had pockets. If it did, I could shove my hands in them and I wouldn’t feel the need to fidget. Instead I cross then uncross my arms, lift one hand and briefly look at my nails, then drop both arms to my sides awkwardly as I wait for him to speak.
“Look, Justin,” I start, when it doesn’t look like he’s actually going to say anything.
“Can you please just call me Smoke? Only my mom calls me Justin.”
I shake my head. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can. All these nicknames, they make me feel like I’m ten and playing superheroes or something. I feel ridiculous.”
His chest rises as he slowly pulls in a deep breath. I watch as his shoulders lift, making him seem even bigger than his already gargantuan size.
“Look, Riley, about earlier,” he starts.
“God, I’m sorry about that,” I interrupt, speaking so quickly my voice becomes a high-pitched squeak.
“You’re sorry?” Justin says slowly, his body leaning ever so slightly into me.
“Well, yeah, I mean I jumped you and I’m sorry. It shouldn’t have happened.”
His expression shutters and I have no idea what he’s thinking. Maybe he’s never had someone apologize for having sex with him before; it’s a first for me too.
He shakes his head slightly and scoffs quietly. “You’re sorry?”
“Yes,” I reply cautiously.
“Let me get this right. You’re apologizing for us having sex?”
His words and the tone of his voice warn me to consider what I’m going to say next. Instead, I blurt. “Yes. I mean you seemed willing and everything, but I think maybe I started it all and I’m sorry.”
“You think I wasn’t willing?” he asks in a tone I’ve never heard him use before.
“Oh my god, I mean I thought you were. Oh my god. You were, err, you were,” my eyes glance down to his crotch.
A hard grin begins at the corners of his mouth and he slowly takes a step toward me. I retreat, moving back from him, only to have him move forward again.
“Are you trying to say that my dick was hard for you?” he rasps, his voice low and sinful.
“Err,” I say, feeling flustered by how close he is to me. I take another step back, only to find the cool wall against my skin and Justin right in front of me, so close I have to tip my head back to look at him.
“My dick was rock hard for you, still is now. Has been since the moment you climbed off me. Trust me on this one, sweetheart, I wasn’t unwilling.”
I swallow past the lump of want and need in my throat that’s so thick it’s threatening to suffocate me and just nod. My nipples have pebbled and my sex is pulsing and wet. My body is screaming at me to reach out and touch him. He’s so close that I can feel his hot breath on my cheek and I want him, I want him more than I have ever wanted any man.
“I want you, Riley,” he whispers against my ear, his body pressed up against me, his hands sliding around my ribs and heading for my ass.
My body arches into him. I know this is stupid and reckless, but no matter how loud my mind is screaming, ‘run he’ll hurt you like Greg did’, my heart is pushing me forward, telling me to embrace this explosive chemistry I’m feeling for him.
“Let me take you out, baby. Dinner, dancing, whatever you want,” he drawls into my ear, his Texan accent like smooth whiskey.
Finally allowing my hands to reach for him, I slide them up his arms, testing the size of his biceps with my fingers. My senses are humming. I need him to fuck me and make me scream and I want it now. “Where’s the truck?” I purr.
“At my place. I’m on my bike.”
“Do you have a room here? Let’s go there,” I say, madness and desire taking over as I let my fingers move to his abs and slide over the defined bumps I can feel beneath his shirt.
“No, baby. Let’s go get dinner, get to know each other, relax a little,” Justin says, his coaxing voice almost entrancing me until his words permeate the lust-filled fog of my brain.
“What?” I ask, unsure why we aren’t naked yet.
He pulls back, lifting one hand to cup my cheek as he looks at me intently. “This afternoon, the truck, that was fucking unbelievable. But I want to take you out Riley, on a date.”
“You want to take me out on a date?” I repeat, the words not making sense despite almost all of the lust-soaked haze having faded away.
“Yeah, just the two of us. We c
an go get dinner or whatever you want. Ice-cream, or I don’t fucking know, whatever you want.”
“A date?” I say again, trying to wrap my head around his words.
“Yeah, baby, a date.” he says with a hint of amusement.
“I don’t think so.” The words tumble from my mouth as my brain takes over, protecting me, despite my heart’s pleas to take a chance on him.
“You don’t think what?”
“I don’t think we should go on a date.” I say, but the words are harder to get out than they should be.
“Why not?” Justin asks, moving to stand straighter, his body inching away from mine until we’re barely touching.
“Because we don’t even know each other.”
“That’s exactly why we should go on a date, to get to know each other,” he says, with a smirk.
“You’re not really my type,” I say, knowing that I’m lying but saying it anyway.
“I was your type earlier when you were sinking that tight cunt of yours down on my dick,” he growls, stepping completely away from me, his body language becoming agitated, almost aggressive. If I sensed any danger from him, this is the moment that I would run for my life, but despite not really knowing him in anything other than the biblical sense, I know he wouldn’t hurt me.
“That was just sex,” I say, trying for a flippant tone and failing.
Lie.
“I’m not interested in you.”
Lie.
“I kind of have a boyfriend.”
Lie.
Lie after lie spews from my lips and I watch as the beautiful man in front of me flinches with every verbal hit I inflict on him. This man, with the ability to have any woman he wants, just asked me on a date. He didn’t ask me to fuck him or proposition me for sex. He asked me out, to have an opportunity to get to know me, and rather than being honest or even graciously declining, I’m deliberately hurting him.
Justin jerks back as if I’ve slapped him. All of the heat in his eyes is gone and in its place is a distant coldness that makes me ache with regret. I start to reach for him, then think better of it and let my hands fall to my sides. I did this and even though I know why I’m rejecting him, that I’m only trying to protect my heart, this doesn’t feel right—in fact it feels incredibly wrong.
All I’ve done since I met Justin is hurt him. This whole time I thought I was protecting myself from a guy who was just like my ex, but maybe it’s him who needs to be protected from me. I’m a bitch. I’ve been to dinner with Dan several times, I’ve let him kiss me on most of those occasions and I’m not remotely interested in him. But Justin, a guy I have off the charts sexual chemistry with, just asked me out and I said no. If he’d have asked me to have sex with him again I’d have said yes, but when he wants to take me to dinner, I say no. What the hell is wrong with me?
I watch, helpless as he takes another step back, until it feels like there’s an ocean of distance between us. Without a word he turns and walks away from me, leaving me outside, filled with regret and alone. For a moment I just stare out into the dark night. I’m not sure when the sun went down, but the darkness seems appropriate for how I’m feeling right now. A hollow sense of loss and regret fills me. Why did I just do that?
My eyes search the darkness. I’m not sure what I’m looking for. Maybe I’m hoping he will come back, that I can apologize and tell him the truth. That I don’t have a boyfriend, that I think I could like him, that I do like him. But after the way I just shot him down, the way I behaved, he’s not coming back out here, and I only have myself to blame.
It takes me a full five minutes to pull myself together and go back inside. In the fifteen minutes since I left, the crowd seems to have swelled even more and I can barely see from one side of the room to the other. Trying to decide how to get back to my friends, I head to the bar with the intention of getting to the wall and trying to avoid the crowds. I’ve only taken two steps when I stop.
Justin’s arms are bulging as he heaves himself up onto the wooden bar, standing before the crowd. Every female eye in the room is drawn to him and a chorus of hoots and hollers jeer above the music, cheering like he’s the main act at a male strip show. I wish I could tear my eyes from him, but I can’t. I’m fixated, my body getting excited once again just from the sight of him. But his eyes aren’t on me. Instead they’re scanning the crowd, smiling like a predator hunting for prey.
I watch, enthralled, as he grabs a bottle of liquor and brings it to his lips, swallowing down a gulp before leaning over the crowd and pouring the liquid into the waiting mouths of the women below. I can’t see their faces as they gaze up at him, but they want him, they all do. When he lifts his head, I swear he looks right at me and his smirk vanishes. A second later it’s back, cruel and angry as he scans the crowd, lifts his hand up and points into the horde. The crowd parts for him, and he jumps down from the bar, making a beeline for whoever he picked. A moment later, he glides easily through the sea of partygoers and when he reaches me standing motionless on the edge of the throng, he looks at me and winks as he guides the girl out of the door.
She turned me down.
She apologized for the sex we had.
She has a fucking boyfriend.
I replay her words over and over as I turn my back on her and walk away. I can’t be near her right now. Everything inside of me is screaming that this woman is mine and that I need to hunt down and kill anyone that dares to try to keep her from me.
Her body reacts to mine. She’s so responsive that just my voice can make goose bumps rise on her flesh and her nipples pebble. I’d bet good money that her panties are wet and her cunt is slick and ready for me. But she doesn’t want to date me, she just wants to have sex with me.
If this is the way women are made to feel by men, then fuck, I think I just became a motherfucking feminist because I have never felt so objectified in my life.
I asked her out on a date, and she asked me to take her to my truck.
Fuck.
My palm hits the door to the club with much more force than necessary and the wood bounces off the brickwork with a heavy thud, then swings toward me as I stalk back into the room. I need a drink, or twenty. I need to forget that this ever fucking happened, that I ever felt how perfect Riley’s cunt was, how sweet her kiss was, and how much I want more with her.
Because she has a boyfriend and she’s not now, nor will she ever be, mine.
Making a beeline for the bar, I grab a bottle of beer and lift it to my lips, draining it dry and slamming it back down onto the bar a moment later. I grab another beer and do the same, then I lean forward, resting my elbows on the wood and let my head fall into my hands.
I’m the king of the motherfucking world. I have my pick of pussy and yet the very first time I find one that I want for more than just a warm wet hole to slide my dick into, she only wants a hard dick to ride. Ironic isn’t it?
This must be karma, the universe playing a fucked-up joke on me.
I don’t know how long I stand there, my head cradled in my hands as I curse the fact that the first woman I actually want, doesn’t want me. Then I lift myself up, climb onto the bar and resume normal service.
This is my life, this is my club, and these clambering women below are my people. They all want me and all I have to do is pick. Only tonight, this all feels hollow. I pour whiskey into my mouth, then into the mouths of the girls below my perch on the bar top and I let my eyes scan the crowd the same way I always do when I’m looking for that night’s lucky lady.
Like a moth to a flame, my eyes find Riley. She’s stood on the very edge of the crowd, looking like sin in her bright blue dress and heels. Less than five minutes ago, her body was pressed up against mine, her fingers roaming my arms and stomach. For a moment I lose my breath, and my body sways toward her. Then I remember that she isn’t interested, that she belongs to someone else.
I force myself to look away and lift my arm up and pick the first girl my eyes find. Jumping off the ba
r I walk to her and when I’m at her side, I bend down and whisper in her ear. That’s it, that’s all it takes, and I lead her through the crowd, straight past Riley, winking to the woman who broke my fucking heart as I walk out the door.
When the cool night air hits my skin, my sense seems to return, and I look down at the girl who is running her nails along the skin of my arm and wonder what the hell I’m doing. This woman is of zero interest to me; the only reason I even approached her is because Riley was watching.
Shaking my hand free from the brunette’s grasp, I lift my arms above my head then bring them down to rest on my hair. I tug at the short strands and sigh, lifting my head up to look at the sky full of stars above me.
“Baby,” the brunette coos.
“Go back inside, I changed my mind,” I hiss, turning my back on her and blowing out a shaky breath.
I half expect her to protest, but she doesn’t. “Asshole,” she calls over her shoulder as she leaves me, walking back into the clubhouse.
I don’t say a word. I am an asshole.
My cell buzzes with a message and I drag it from my pocket and swipe the screen to bring it to life.
Park: Shop thirty minutes.
Me: Okay.
Walking toward the barn where my bike is parked, I try to figure out how this has all gotten so fucked-up, but honestly, I have no fucking clue. Riley has shown me how little interest she has in me since the first time we met. The first words out of her mouth were a backhanded insult, so where the hell did I get the idea that she might be interested in me?
There’s something about her that’s making me act out of character and I can’t fucking pinpoint exactly what it is. When I spot my bike, I climb on and within seconds I’m riding through the compound gates, nodding at Duke, the new prospect, who is on sentry duty for the night.
He’s a good kid, young, but he understands the life and the club. Once he loses the chip on his shoulder, I think he’ll be a good fit for us. My mind spins back to the BBQ last weekend and the way Riley had stood chatting and laughing with him. How is she comfortable around him and all the other people in my life, yet with me she either ignores me, insults me or rips my clothes off?