Off Limits

by Vanessa North

  Her face freezes, then her lips twitch like she’s fighting back what she really wants to say. “I don’t know. Astrid wants to see me first thing Monday morning. I let slip that I sing in a punk band. It won’t be long before they figure it out. I violate the employee standards clause every time I step on stage.” She swallows and wipes at her eyes. “What the fuck happens if they make me choose between the job and the band?”

  My heart sinks. “I’m so sorry.”

  “I made my bed. Now I sleep in it.”

  I would do anything to take away the misery on her face, but if I’ve learned anything today, it’s that I can’t fix things for her—and even if I could, it only pisses her off when I try. All I can offer is company. And maybe a distraction.

  “Speaking of beds…” I glance pointedly up at the loft. “I wouldn’t mind seeing you in mine.”

  For a moment, I think it was the wrong thing to say. She stares at me, open-mouthed, and then she laughs and wipes at her eyes, and relief washes over me.

  When she speaks, her voice has gone husky—from tears or lust, I have no idea. “Lead the way.”

  Nat

  * * *

  My chest hurts.

  Bex takes my hand and leads me upstairs, her blonde hair a beacon in the sunlight streaming through the loft windows.

  Sunlight. Her apartment windows face west.

  “What time is it?”

  “Three in the afternoon. You were at the station a long time.”

  The words drip into my awareness, and I shudder. At a police station for questioning. What would X say? No secrets, no lies, no trouble. Oh, X, I’m in trouble now.

  Something’s got to give something’s got to give something’s got to give

  “Are you okay?” Bex asks.

  I nod, a dull movement to go with the dullness in my mind. Detachment is what the shrink I saw when I first moved in with X called it. All I know is everything hurts if I think about it, so I don’t want to think at all.

  “No,” I whisper.

  She tugs me down to the bed, and we lie on our sides, facing each other.

  “What can I do?” she traces her finger down my nose.

  “I don’t know.” I let out a bitter, helpless noise that might be a laugh. “I’m numb.”

  “Do you want to sleep?”

  I shake my head. I don’t think I could sleep even if I tried. “I want to feel something that doesn’t suck.”

  She stops tracing the planes of my face with her fingers and leans in to kiss me. It’s a gentle envoy, an entreaty. She pulls back.

  “Is this okay?”

  I nod and reach for her, and her expression sharpens. I have only a moment to appreciate this newly feral side of her before her lips are on mine. This kiss is like those first wild kisses we shared as strangers—raw and hungry, demanding. A pang of want ricochets through me, and the next thing I know, she’s rolling me to my back, her thigh between mine, and her weight presses me into the bed.

  My hands tangle in her hair, and she groans, then bites my jaw. The feel of her teeth on my skin makes me wild. I reach for the hem of her shirt, and she grabs my hands and presses them down to the mattress above my head.

  “No.” She shakes her head. “We’re doing this my way.”

  “Fuck,” I whisper, my heart racing. I’ve always enjoyed taking the lead in sex—it’s part of why Teri and I aren’t particularly compatible—but there’s something mind-blowing about having someone else take care of me.

  Especially today.

  Especially her.

  She helps me out of my clothes, playfully kissing and biting every bit of skin she exposes. She licks my pierced nipples and then blows on them as I writhe and squirm, then she catches one metal ring in her teeth and gives it a gentle tug. I arch toward her, letting out a strangled cry. The sting sends a bolt of lust through me, and there’s a rush of wetness between my legs. She grins around the nipple ring and then lets go.

  “I bet that got you wet.” She reaches down to investigate, trailing her fingers between my labia. When she finds evidence to prove her case, her eyes half-close and she moans. The sound hits me as hard as any bass line or drumbeat ever has. She draws her fingers up to my clit, spreading wetness around and teasing at the ring in my hood. I spread wide, giving her access, and I rock up against her hand, trying to get more friction. She teases me with expert precision, knowing just how to rub and circle to make me incoherent with need, and then, when I’m right at the edge, easing off and kissing me senseless, then doing it all again.

  But it’s not enough.

  “I want to see skin,” I demand.

  She pulls her shirt over her head and tosses it aside, then she stands up and stares at me for a long moment, her full breasts—all wrapped up in navy blue lace—rising and falling with her breath. Her voluptuous figure is everything mine isn’t, and it would be impossible not to appreciate all that warm softness and satin skin.

  “Holy fuck, you’re gorgeous,” I murmur, reaching again. She swats playfully at my hands, then moves out of reach, standing to step out of her pants, revealing exquisite plump thighs and dimpled knees. My fucking god. She drops her bra and her panties to the floor, and then she crawls back into the bed, letting the length of her blonde ringlets trail over my skin, a sensuous tickle.

  Then she’s back at my clit, this time with her tongue, and she thrusts two fingers inside me. The slippery sensation of her mouth against my clit and the pressure of her fingers against my G-spot makes me cry out, and my response seems to push her harder. She rubs the underside of my clit with her thumb, the upper with her tongue, and the combination of textures brings me right back to the edge.

  “Don’t stop,” I beg, and she licks me faster, twisting her fingers inside me. The first shudder of orgasm lifts my shoulders from the bed, and then I’m gone, convulsing in the rush of pleasure as she turns me inside out.

  She stays with me, slowing and gentling her touches while I come down from the peak.

  Sitting up, she smiles shyly down at me.

  “Come here.” I gesture, and she lies down next to me. I kiss her deeply, tasting myself on her, and it sends another wave of lust through me, only barely tempered by the orgasm. As her tongue tangles with mine, I stroke inside her with a single finger, finding her slippery and ready.

  “What do you want?” I murmur against her lips. “I’ll do anything for you.”

  She shudders and rubs against my finger. “More.”

  I move up over her, pushing a second finger inside and stroking her clit with my thumb. Her legs thrash, as if she’s reaching for orgasm, straining for it. I withdraw my fingers, then push all four into her.

  Her eyes snap open and she makes this noise—a frantic, desperate noise. I gently move my fingers only enough to give her the sensation of a thrust while I ply her thumb with my clit.

  Wild-eyed, she rocks her hips like she’s trying to bring my fingers deeper.

  “God, Nat. Fuck!” her head falls back against the pillows and she closes her eyes.

  She’s all mine now. Her body practically vibrates with unfulfilled need. I thrust inside her again, circling her clit with my thumb, and her breath hitches. I do it again, harder, and she writhes for me. I watch for that moment, that point of no return—when her whole body tightens.

  “That’s my good girl.” I rub faster, and she cries out, shaking in my arms as she comes. Her cheeks flush pink and her eyebrows pull together. Her mouth drops open on a breathless shout, and she collapses back against the pillows.

  I kiss her, most of my hand still inside her body, while she catches her breath. We kiss long, lazy and slow, and I ease my fingers out of her. When her hips start rocking again, I tease her clit with the lightest touches.

  “Oh god.” She laughs. “I can’t go again.”

  “I bet you can.” I kiss down her throat, over one silky collarbone, and down to her breasts. Her pink nipples harden under my kisses, and all the while I stroke her clit.<
br />
  “All the secrets of the universe.” I murmur against her skin.

  “What?”

  I shake my head. “Ignore me. I’m feeling sentimental.”

  I bring her back to the brink without talking anymore, and I hold her there, her pale skin flushed and her eyes wet with unshed tears. I want to freeze this moment in time and keep it forever—I’m strong, powerful, and in control. And when she calls out my name as she comes, I’m anything but numb.

  Bex

  * * *

  When Nat and I leave my place at noon on Sunday so I can meet Karina and Dad for brunch, the ghosts are gone from her eyes, but she’s still exhausted, and a crushing sadness envelopes our kiss goodbye.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to join us?” I ask while we wait for our respective Lyfts. “Karina likes you a lot.”

  She shakes her head. “I’m not good company right now. But thank you for inviting me.”

  “I think you’re good company. What are you going to do today?”

  “That’s cause we’re fucking. I’m much worse company without orgasms.” She smiles mirthlessly. “Rehearsal, then dinner with Ritchie and Jacks.”

  “Do they know?”

  She shakes her head. “I’ve been with you ever since I left the police station. I haven’t had a chance to talk to anyone. And some things you just don’t say over text.”

  Her Lyft arrives first. “Call me if you need anything, okay?” I kiss her again, and this time she smiles into the kiss.

  “I will.”

  Watching her Lyft drive away is almost physically painful. Our lovemaking the night before was raw and emotional—something we both needed. I wanted to comfort her, and I did. But somehow, I let go of my carefully claimed control, and she turned me inside out instead.

  In the light of day, I wonder if she got what she needed at all?

  Sixteen

  Nat

  * * *

  “What the fuck, Jacks, can’t you stay on beat?” I hiss after the third time my voice is drowned out by a cymbal clash at exactly the wrong moment.

  “I’m on beat,” he answers mildly, exchanging a glance with Ritchie. “I’m not sure you’re even in the same room.”

  “I gotta pee.” Teri puts her guitar in the stand and walks out of the shabby rehearsal space we share with three other bands.

  “Why don’t we take a break?” Ritchie suggests. “We’re all tired, Nat’s distracted—”

  “I’m not distracted. I’m fine. I want to get this new song ready for Thursday night, and we only have a half hour more,” I cut him off.

  “Well, I’m not fine.” Jacks stands up, shoving his sticks in his cargo pocket. “I’m going outside.”

  “What the fuck is his problem?” I ask Ritchie.

  He scowls and runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t know, pick one: you’re jumping down his throat every five minutes. Teri is barely speaking to any of us. He’s hungry. He’s got a late shift tonight. His mom called.”

  “What did she want?”

  Ritchie shrugs. “He won’t talk about it. He cut himself this morning. Thinks I don’t know, but he left the blade next to the sink. Maybe he wants me to know but didn’t want to say.”

  My stomach sinks, and I fight back a wave of nausea. Jacks and self harm aren’t anything new, but it’s been a long time. We’d hoped— “Shit.”

  “Yeah, so you want to tell me what the fuck is going on with you?”

  “I think I’m going to lose my job.”

  Putting the words out into the world like that makes it feel even more real, and dread washes over me.

  “Because of your Barbie?”

  I shake my head. “No. They don’t know about her. Because of us. This.” I gesture around the rehearsal space. “Vertical Smile doesn’t exactly comply with the employee standards clause.”

  “How’d they find out?”

  I wince. “Because I told them. They were asking me about something else, and I thought they’d found out, so I started pleading my case like a goddamn idiot. And then—shit.”

  Jacks walks back into the room, his eyes red and the smell of pot wafting off him. Teri follows him, avoiding eye contact with me. Have they been having their own heart-to-heart while Ritchie and I were chatting?

  “And then what?” Ritchie prods me gently.

  “And then I got hauled down to the police station to answer questions about an embezzlement scheme they thought I was running, but it was really just a distraction so the woman who was actually running the scheme could leave the country.”

  You could hear a pin drop. I look up to see three faces staring back at me, mouths open in shock.

  My family.

  Jacks, with his sleeves pulled down to cover the fresh cuts among his scars.

  Ritchie, usually unable to keep still, frozen like a deer in headlights.

  Teri, who hasn’t looked at me all fucking night, pinching the bridge of her nose.

  “What can I say?” I try to play nonchalant, even though I’m suddenly terrified for all of us. “My life is weird.”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” Jacks blurts. “Why didn’t you call us? You haven’t said anything? Don’t you trust us?”

  “You were at the police station for questioning? You don’t think we’d have wanted to know?” Ritchie practically shouts over Jacks, and a burst of shame washes over me, because right now, Ritchie is the one holding us all together, and he looks like he’s about to fall apart at the seams. And it’s all my fault.

  “It’s over. It doesn’t matter.” I shrug.

  “It totally matters. That’s—it’s your job.” Teri finally looks at me. “What are you going to do? How are you going to pay your bills? This is a big fucking deal.”

  “I know it’s a big fucking deal, I’m trying to change the damn subject, thank you very much.”

  We sit in silence, nobody making eye contact. The air in the room is dry, brittle in my lungs. The electric hum of the amps fills the silence until Ritchie—never one to sit still for long—stands and starts turning off the equipment. Jacks gets up to help him, and Teri moves her chair closer to me.

  “Look, if everything goes tits-up, I could use you at the tattoo shop part time—taking appointments and doing social media stuff,” she offers. “At least until you find something.”

  “I appreciate that.” I smile at her, or at least I try to, and then I’m crying, and she’s holding me, and Ritchie stops puttering around the equipment and wraps his arms around us.

  “We’re here if you need us,” he murmurs into my hair.

  And even though I know he means well, I don’t know how they can possibly help—or how I can possibly leave this band—this family—and not shatter into a million pieces.

  And that’s one possibility I can’t even mention—not to Teri, withdrawing a bit more every day. Not to Ritchie, who is desperately holding everything together. And not to Jacks, with the fresh slashes on his forearm not even scabbed over yet.

  Damned if I do, damned if I don’t. How do I keep from taking my family straight to hell with me?

  Natalie

  * * *

  On Monday morning, I enter the Thorns through the front door, not willing to face the questioning eyes of the entire kitchen staff.

  “Natalie!” Ashleigh looks up from the desk, eyes wide. “I didn’t think you’d be in today—Mitch is here.”

  My stomach lurches and I swallow hard, trying to hold back the trembling, roiling nerves threatening to explode out of me. “I’m here to meet with Astrid. About my job.”

  “There’s no way they’re going to fire you. They can’t.” Ashleigh tries to smile at me, but it looks more like a grimace.

  “Hey, Ash—” Mitch steps out of the office and stops still. “Natalie. Hi.”

  I smile weakly. “Hey, Mitch. How are Sara and the baby?”

  “They’re great. She’s home now.” He pulls out his phone and shows me the lock screen, A photo of Sara grinning
and holding a red-faced baby to her chest. She looks exhausted and beautiful and happy. A perfect madonna. An ugly pang of loneliness sweeps over me.

  “They’re beautiful. Congratulations.”

  His face softens and he smiles at the photo. “Thanks.” He shoves his phone back in his pocket. “It’s good to be able to pick up extra hours. Don’t worry though, I’m not getting too used to the day shift. Just keeping your seat warm.”

  “I appreciate the vote of confidence.”

  “You’ve given half your life to this club. You have been here for every single one of these rich ladies in some kind or another of a ‘crisis’. You deserve something for yourself.” Ashleigh’s face goes splotchy, like she’s about to cry.

  “No one should be able to tell you what you can and can’t do when you’re on your own time,” Mitch adds.

  “Yeah, but I signed a contract.” I shrug. “So I guess they do.”

  Ashleigh’s phone buzzes and she answers it. “Yes. Okay. I’ll send her up.” She hangs up and looks at me. “Astrid’s ready for you.”

  I say a rushed goodbye and head for the stairs. Astrid’s office is on the third floor, insulated from the noise of the dining room during the day and the bar at night. It’s decorated in a playful mix of antiques and modern art, a lavish room that once graced the pages of Elle Decor. Today, as I peer inside, it feels hostile and cold.

  “Come in, Natalie.” Astrid looks up from her desk and gestures to the chair across from her. “I’m not going to bite you. And shut the door, please.”

  I try a hesitant smile, then give up and do as she says, taking the offered seat.

  Astrid is a tall, imposing woman in her fifties and has been the general manager of the Thorns for the last decade. Before that, she did my job. She’s known me since I was a teenager, and she held my hand during X’s funeral while I tried not to fall apart. A photo of her with her wife, holding hands in front of Niagara Falls, perches on one corner of her desk. I stare at their beaming faces, trying to remind myself that she’s family.