by Shelly Ellis
He didn’t answer her. She watched as he scowled at the steering wheel. He put his key into the ignition.
“Put on your seatbelt,” he murmured.
“What?”
Had she heard him correctly? He had just drawn a gun on someone in a bar, dragged her like some caveman across the parking lot, and gotten into a shouting match with her, and he actually was worried about whether she wore a seatbelt.
“You are not serious.”
“Yes, I am serious! Put on your goddamn seatbelt! I’m not getting a ticket over you!”
Stephanie rolled her eyes. She reached for the seat harness and buckled it with a loud click. “It’s on. You happy now?”
“Not really,” he muttered, suddenly shifting the car into drive and flooring the accelerator. Stephanie grabbed the dashboard as the car leapt forward, bouncing slightly on its shocks. The SUV went reeling through the parking lot with tires screeching. Keith then made a hard right and they were on the road. She watched in alarm as the needle on the speedometer climbed to eighty miles per hour.
“If you’re so damn worried about getting a ticket, why are you driving so fast?”
“Thanks to you, those assholes back there could be following us.”
“Thanks to me? How the hell did this become my fault? I wasn’t the one who pulled the gun!”
He didn’t respond. Instead, he squinted at the two-lane roadway.
A pickup truck loaded down with a big-screen TV and mattresses was in front of them, slowly chugging along, sending up a mucky cloud of exhaust. Keith crossed the double yellow line—not dropping speed—to get around them. The headlights of a sports car going southbound suddenly came into view. The driver of the sports car beeped his horn.
“Keith, you should . . . You should get over now.”
The sports car horn beeped again, frantically this time. Keith stubbornly stayed in the southbound lane. Stephanie gripped the dashboard so hard her fingernails were digging into the upholstery.
“What are you doing? You’re going to hit them!” she shouted.
He has lost his damn mind!
Stephanie closed her eyes, prepared for a head-on collision. Keith whipped the wheel to get back in the northbound lane only seconds before his Ford Explorer and the sports car would have slammed into one another. The driver angrily beeped his horn again. The blaring sound echoed in the night.
Stephanie opened her eyes seconds later, happy to find that she wasn’t being greeted at the pearly gates, but was still on some back road in Florida. She nervously licked her lips. “No one is following us. You can slow down.”
The needle crept up to ninety miles per hour.
“Damn it, Keith! Slow the hell down!”
She saw his grip relax on the steering wheel. Finally, the Ford Explorer began to decelerate. When the red needle dropped back to forty miles per hour, she exhaled slowly, slumping back against her seat.
“You can’t keep doing this,” he muttered.
She stared in puzzlement. “Keep doing what?”
“Keep handing yourself over to those guys! You barter with your body to get what you want! It’s pathetic . . . and it’ll age you fast. And trust me, you’re no spring chicken! I don’t think you wanna speed up the clock.”
“No spring chicken? No spring chicken?” she screeched.
She was only thirty-four years old!
“Oh, you can go to hell,” Stephanie said. “In fact, you can go to hell but make sure you kiss my ass before you go there, Keith Hendricks!”
“You’re going to be just like that old hooker I saw in the parking lot tonight,” he continued, undeterred by her outrage, “battered and used up. Then what? Who the hell is going to want you then?”
“Wait, are you seriously comparing me to some sad old hooker you met in the parking lot? Is that how it is?” She angrily pointed at him. “It must be really nice to think you know everything, but I tell you something: You don’t! You don’t know what I’ve done in my life! You just know what you’ve heard! So some old bitches in Chesterton gossiped about me! So what? They gossip about all of us—the whole damn family! If I slept with half the men they claim I’ve slept with, I’d be in the Guinness Book of World Records by now!”
“I don’t have to listen to gossip!” he yelled back, turning onto the road that led to their hotel. “I know what I’ve seen with my own damn eyes!”
“And what exactly did you see? I was just having a drink with him! I was sitting on his lap! I wasn’t having sex with him!”
“This time! But what about next time? What about when you had sex with me, huh?” he snapped. “Don’t sit here and lie and tell me you weren’t trying to get something out of that!”
At those words, all the fight drained out of her and all witty retorts died on her lips. The car fell silent as Stephanie felt hurt curdle in the pit of her stomach again.
No spring chicken . . . pathetic . . . She had taken those attacks better than she could ever take this. She swallowed the lump clogging her throat, fighting back tears.
“Huh?” he prodded again. “Got nothin’ to say to that, do you?”
“Actually, I do,” she said quietly. “Because I want to set the record straight. Yes, I did have sex with you, Keith . . . something I now regret. Believe me. And I had an ulterior motive, but I wasn’t bartering my damn body! I wasn’t doing it to get anything from you! I did it because I liked you, which was my mistake! I thought . . . I thought I was . . . I was going to lose you. I thought you were going to send me back to Virginia, and I . . . I’d never see you again. I’d just be the client that you e-mailed a final report to when all this was over.
“I did it for the same dumb reasons that every other woman in the world does this stuff. But that doesn’t make me a damn prostitute! That makes me human.” She furiously shook her head. “But don’t worry. I won’t make that mistake again. I’m over it!”
He finally tore his gaze away from the roadway and looked at her. She didn’t meet his eyes.
Wounded, Stephanie turned around in her seat and stared out the passenger-side window. She could feel tears stinging her eyes again, begging to spill onto her cheeks, but she stubbornly held them back.
Why do I let him do this to me?
Stephanie could pretend like she was hurt, pout her lips and get misty-eyed when the occasion called for it, but she had never really considered herself “thin-skinned.” When it came to Keith though, she felt like she didn’t have any armor. Every putdown left her ego bruised. Every unkind word left her frustrated and bewildered.
They rode in silence before arriving at the hotel five minutes later. When the car came to a stop, she threw open her car door.
“Stephanie!” Keith called after her. “Stephanie!”
She didn’t look back. Instead she walked swiftly to her hotel room at the end of the courtyard, digging in her purse, searching for her key. It took some effort. Her vision was blurred now, obscured by tears.
Cynthia had told her to suck it up, to get over it. But Stephanie didn’t think she could do it, not this time.
She just wanted to get inside her hotel room so she could cry in private. Maybe sample some of the complimentary bottles of Jim Beam and Jack Daniels in the hotel mini-refrigerator to drown her sorrows. In the morning, she would put on a good face, get the old Stephanie back, but tonight she would let the mascara run.
Stephanie finally found her hotel key card in the bottom of her bag. With shaky hands, she shoved the card into the lock, opened her door, and stepped inside, but felt someone looming behind her. She looked over her shoulder in alarm, expecting to find Big Red or one of his thugs. Instead, she saw Keith standing there.
“Stephanie, I—”
She tried to slam the hotel door before he could finish. He was faster than her though—and stronger. He grabbed the door and shoved his way inside, despite her trying to lean against it, despite her shoving back with all her might. He then closed it behind him, locking the deadbol
t with a click.
“Get out of my room!” she shouted.
“Not until we talk,” he said calmly, taking a step toward her.
“Talk? I don’t want to talk! Get out of my goddamn room!” She shoved at his chest, though he didn’t move an inch. “You have your own room five doors down! I suggest you go there!”
“Look, I . . .” He took a deep breath. “I owe you an apology.”
“Save your damn apologies! The old hooker doesn’t want to hear it!”
He slowly shook his head. “I don’t think you’re old . . . and I don’t think you’re a hooker either,” he hastily added.
“Yes, you do! You’ve made it pretty damn clear what you think about me! That speech in the car explained more than enough.”
“I know what I said in the car! I was angry! Goddamn it, I’m still angry! I hate watching you do this to yourself, Steph! ” He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. “Look, I’m not trying to hurt you! I’m just trying to—”
“Hurt me? You can’t hurt me!” she lied, sneering with contempt, trying her best to wound him like he had wounded her.
He opened his eyes.
“How the hell could you hurt me? I don’t give a shit about you! Why would I?” she choked, feeling the saliva lodge in her throat. “I’ve dated men who make more in a year than . . . than you’ll make in your entire lifetime!”
“And that’s what counts? How much a man makes? How much he can give you? That’s all that matters to you?”
“No!” she shouted. “I mean, yes! I mean . . . I mean . . .” She angrily balled her fists. “Damn it, stop psychoanalyzing me! I’m not listening to your shit anymore!”
“So they wine and dine you and buy you gifts,” he continued quietly. “A gold watch? New shoes?” He pointed at her feet. “That’s worth trading yourself for?”
“No, it’s not! I’m not trading myself! Stop calling it that! I’m doing it for . . . for . . .”
He looked at her expectantly. “For what?”
She blinked. What am I doing it for?
A sense of security? Maybe, but it never stayed for long. Sugar daddies went through playthings like they went through cars. They were always looking for the newer, better model. But at least she had something to show for it in the end, right? Stephanie thought back to her jewelry box of trinkets her ex-boyfriends had given her over the years. In total, they were probably worth forty thousand dollars, give or take a few hundred, but with one year of work she could have made more in commissions. Her ex-husband’s alimony checks had petered out over the years to less than two hundred dollars a month since he had lost his car dealerships thanks to the recession. Had what those men given her really been worth all the time and effort?
Her shoulders slumped.
No, it wasn’t, she concluded sorrowfully. She had spent almost all of her youth chasing after men who would readily trade her in for something better, who had never truly loved her. And while examining her life in the past few weeks, she wondered sometimes what was there to love about her? She had always been a taker, not a giver. She had manipulated and used them. Besides her mother and her sisters, she had never truly loved anyone.
But she was in love now. She had fallen for Keith and he refused to believe it! Here was someone who she wasn’t trying to manipulate, who she didn’t want anything from but love and affection in return, and he thought it was a trick. He still thought she had run some con on him, much like the one Isaac had run on her. It hurt that he felt that way about her. It was so painful it tightened her chest, twisting its grip like a vise.
Keith looked at her intently, still waiting for her reply. With those dark eyes on her, she could feel her armor melting away. He could see it. He could see through her angry protests and her taunts. He could see her, and she was ashamed of what he saw.
“Stephanie,” he said softly, “you have to want more. You’re worth more.”
“I . . .” She choked. “I . . .” Her eyes stung. She was unable to hold back the tears any longer. She turned away in frustration, not wanting to cry in front of him again.
He reached out for her and she frantically shook her head and waved him away. She tried to seek refuge in the hotel room bathroom, but Keith stopped her. He tugged her back toward him and wrapped her in his arms.
“Don’t touch me, damn it!” she hiccupped as she buried her face against his shoulder, linking her arms around his neck as she sniffed. She left black streaks of mascara on his T-shirt as she wept.
“I’m not touching you,” he murmured, rubbing her back.
“I don’t need anything from you. I don’t even like you!” she argued between sniffs, clinging to him, not wanting to let him go.
“So you keep telling me,” he said with a wry smile before lifting her head from his shoulder and lowering his mouth to hers.
Stephanie didn’t fight him. To the contrary, she stood on the balls of her feet and passionately kissed him back. When she felt herself being lifted from her feet and carried across the room to the hotel bed seconds later, she docilely let Keith do it. She wanted his hands on her. She wanted to ease the throbbing between her legs and the ache in her heart. She didn’t care if he would mistake her affection for manipulation, or if he would turn cold as soon as it was over. At this moment, all she wanted was him.
They continued to kiss even as they undressed, standing by the edge of the bed. She felt the familiar warm tingle on her skin as his hands trailed over her body while he opened buttons, lowered the zipper of her denim skirt and pulled away her shirt. The vibrating heat snaked its way up her limbs as his teeth toyed with her lips, as his tongue delved into her mouth.
Her breathing deepened. Her lashes lowered. Her nipples hardened and she pressed herself eagerly against his chest. When she felt her denim skirt being roughly pushed over her hips and down her legs, she was almost dizzy with desire. She staggered drunkenly on her heels and fell back against the mattress. He lowered himself on top of her and she spread her legs wide in willing invitation. She cupped his face and dragged his mouth back to hers.
He didn’t pull his lips away, even as he slowly peeled her bra straps from her shoulders and pushed the bra cups to her waist. He took a breast in each hand and kneaded them lovingly before lowering his mouth to one of the nipples. She moaned and arched her back. She bit down hard on her lower lip just as he lowered one of his hands. He pushed past the elastic band of her thong and his fingers crept between her legs. He massaged her, teased her, making her moist, making her groan. She closed her eyes again and twisted and bucked underneath his touch.
He hadn’t known her body very long, yet he seemed to know instinctively what it wanted and what it needed. He removed the thong completely and slowly shifted to the end of the bed, leaving a trail of kisses all over her body that made her whimper and moan. He eased her legs over his broad shoulders and lowered his mouth to the wetness between her thighs, lashing her clit with his tongue. The torturous teasing became even worse. Her twisting and bucking only increased. She clenched the bedsheets in her fists, dug her nails into his shoulders. She fought to take shallow breaths, feeling her chest rapidly rise and fall. When she felt that she could endure it no longer, the sensation reached its peak. The trembling and shaking started. Her back arched and her toes curled. She shouted his name over and over again as the spasms washed over her body.
She wished the sensation would never end, but she knew she would die if it didn’t.
“Oh, God,” she moaned breathlessly minutes later when her body finally went slack. “Oh, God.”
She wasn’t given much time to recover. He slowly flipped her over. She prostrated beneath him on all fours, naked save for her high heels.
Unlike last time when they had given away completely to abandonment, this time he did pause to use a condom. She shuddered with anticipation while she waited for him to put it on.
When he steadied her hips and entered her from behind, she accepted him almost with relief. Her body fina
lly had gotten what it had been yearning for. His pounding had her clutching the sheets again, but this time to steady herself. She closed her eyes and suddenly the room became only noise and sensation: the feel of his hands on her, the mattress digging into her knees and elbows, the sound of his groans, the creak of the bedsprings, and the rapid beat of her own heart in her ears. Then there was the familiar throbbing at her center that grew wider and wider until even the tips of her fingers seemed to quiver.
She only opened her eyes when she came again, feeling as if she was just given an electric shock. She shouted his name for the umpteenth time as she felt the tremors crest over her body and her thighs began to quake. She felt Keith jerk inside her with his own release and heard him shout her name a second later. Her arms no longer seemed able to bear her weight and she slumped forward tiredly, barely able to see because of the tendrils of hair that had fallen into her eyes. He slowly lowered himself on top of her. He lay half on her back and half on the mattress, breathing deeply.
They lay in silence for several minutes, both trying to catch their breaths. He pulled himself from her and slumped on the bed beside her. He trailed his hand along her bare spine and then the roundness of her behind. When her breathing and her heartbeat finally slowed, Stephanie turned her face away from his. She gazed at the headboard.
She was resigned to what she was about to say, but knew she wouldn’t have the courage to say it if she had to look at him in the face. She was about to break the biggest Gibbons family rule. By this admission, she was giving Keith—a man—all the power, but she had to get it off her chest.
“I love you, Keith,” she murmured.
The hand that had been caressing her stilled.
“I know you don’t believe me when I say it, that you think someone like me couldn’t mean it, but I do. I love you and I don’t want anything from you, all right?”
She felt him shift at her side but he still didn’t speak a word.
“I’m not trying to get anything out of you. I’m not saying that you . . . that you have to love me back,” she continued. “I just . . . I just wanted you to know that I love you.”