by Frankie Love
I keep talking. “So Lucy, my friend who I had plans with, thinks I’m a flake for the thousandth time—but family comes first, you know?”
“Something like that. Maybe you just have a really close-knit family. I haven’t seen my brother in a year.”
“That’s terrible,” I tell him, meaning it.
I can’t imagine not seeing my sister for a week. I pick up my nephew from his private school a few days a week, I eat dinner around my sister’s kitchen table, I swim in the pool in her backyard. Our lives are connected. They are the fabric of my days.
McQueen shrugs. “I like my family; it’s just that my family is so different from me. They have no idea about what I do for a living, and I’d die if they knew.”
I raise my eyebrows, relating to him more than he knows.
“What’s that look for?” he asks me.
“My family doesn’t know I’m training for another MMA fight. They don’t know I do this at all.”
“Really?” McQueen’s jaw drops. “That’s nuts. You’re here all the time. Do you have another job that explains the bruises?”
“I don’t have another job,” I admit, wondering how much I want to reveal. “My Dad and brothers would never understand this. Let’s just say my family is ... old school about gender roles.”
He nods seeming to understand. I don’t think he quite gets it, though. My dad isn’t exactly a safe person. He does shady stuff, every day. My brothers—well, I don’t even want to know what they do all day. More of the family business.
In our house we have an arsenal of guns, drugs in a safe, and no one is allowed over, ever, if they aren’t on a pre-approved list.
“I cover the bruises with makeup the best I can. But honestly, the men in my house don’t really pay me much attention. It’s not like they’re inspecting me or something. And my sister is usually so frazzled she doesn’t notice, either.”
“Huh.” McQueen seems to have another question on the tip of his tongue, but he holds back. I appreciate him not prying. But then it’s like he can’t help himself. “You’re safe though, right, JoJo? At your house? The guys you live with, they wouldn’t hurt you or anything, right?”
“Of course they wouldn’t.” I wave off his fears. “It’s not like that. It’s just ... they have ideas about how I should live my life.”
“You could always start over, like me,” he says. “I skipped town the moment I graduated high school and only go back for holidays.”
I shake my head. “Yeah, my family isn’t like that. I could never leave my sister. My family sticks together.”
“Kit’s right, you know.” McQueen wipes his hands on a napkin, wads the garbage up, and stands to toss it in the trash.
“About what?”
“He said you’re a keeper. I get why your family doesn’t want to let you go.” He walks to me and pulls me up to stand.
“Why’s that?” I want to understand McQueen. If there’s more to him than a handsome face and capable cock, I want to know about it.
“You’re different,” he tells me simply.
“That’s what you told me after we had sex this afternoon,” I tell him as he snakes his arms around my waist. Not even meaning to, I let him. I want him. “You said I was ‘different.’ Not exactly post-sex words of affirmation.”
“A girl like you needs to be told how great she is?” he asks, looking at my lips as he talks.
I lick them without thinking. The only thing on my mind is him pressed up against me, taking me again.
“I don’t need compliments. But if we’re doing this again, I need to know I did okay the first time,” I tell him, feeling his hardness press against my core. My thighs quiver in excitement.
“Oh, girl,” he says, his mouth so close to mine. “You were fucking perfect.”
And then his lips are against me, and my arms wrap around his neck. I’m aching to get closer.
Aching to feel his skin again.
Fuck reality.
I want to fall down that rabbit hole.
Hell, I want to fly.
Chapter Seven
McQUEEN
This girl is going to be the end of me. And I never even saw it coming.
She asked for no strings attached, and that’s what this is, but there is something about her—the softer side of her I never expected, the way she looked when she spoke about her family. She seemed so small, so vulnerable. Like she needed a fucking man to take care of her.
When her lips press against mine, so tentative, so naive, all I want to do is teach her everything I know. Show her how to get the most out of our time together.
I pull away, needing to get her out of those little gym shorts, I need to see that sweet, soft pussy again, need her to know what sort of assets she has. Let her know how fucking hard she makes me when I get a glimpse of the space between her legs. The legs she’s never opened for any man but me.
I get on my knees before her, tug down those little shorts, and inhale her perfect mound. Oh, fuck, she is so sweetly trimmed, no fucking fancy Brazilian shit. JoJo is all woman; she’s not trying to be anything but herself and that fucking turns me on like no one ever has before.
“Oh, God, woman, you’re making me hard as rock.”
“I am?” she asks, running her hands through my hair.
I look up at her from where I kneel before her, and our eyes meet. In that moment, I feel something tug inside me, and it fucking scares me to death. Like maybe this heart I swore to God I’d never give anyone might be capable of belonging to someone else.
Shit, this woman is trouble, and yet ... I can’t stop myself. I need to be inside her again.
“Take off your top,” I tell her. “I want to see your tits when I look up. I need to see your skin.”
“Will someone walk in?” she asks, looking around the empty gym.
“It’s locked and, baby, I don’t fucking care. I want someone to see me licking your pussy until you come all over my face. I want someone to know how fucking lucky I am.”
She doesn’t hesitate, and I know she likes hearing how much I’m enjoying this. It turns me on, knowing she wants me to be in control. Oh, I’ll fucking take control.
Her arms pull her top over her head, and her sports bra along with it. Now that her tits are exposed, I run a hand along her flat stomach, reaching a palm over her soft breasts. Then I press my mouth against her slit, and my tongue weaves its way into her folds.
“Oh, McQueen, that’s, oh. Ohhh.” And then she stills her voice, unable to speak as I lick her up and down.
Wrapping my arm around her waist, I pull her to the floor, where a mat covers the ground. She’s completely naked, and flat on her back. I part her legs, wanting to suck her pretty little clit until she gushes for me.
“You’re gonna like this, baby,” I tell her, lowering my face to her spread legs.
My tongue knows right where it belongs, deep in her folds, and I flick hard and fast, knowing she loves it by the way her hands pull through my hair, the way her legs tighten up.
I push them back down, knowing she has no idea what she is in for. Slowly I begin at her hood, gently licking her, twirling my tongue around, gaining speed as her juice releases in my mouth. She tastes so good and sweet; I want to lick her pussy all night long.
“That’s too much, it’s too much,” she groans, not knowing that it’s just enough.
“It’s okay,” I whisper, blowing warm air into her, letting her squirm beneath me as I run my tongue over her delicate skin, so creamy, so untouched. I want to press my fingers in her, but don’t want to hurt her. She was already in pain earlier today. Right now, I’m just going to let her release until she’s come undone.
Until she’s come all over me.
My hands cup under her ass, holding her cheeks as my mouth devours her pussy. Faster, I flick her pulsing clit with my tongue. Her body tenses as I refuse to let up.
She starts coming, and her creamy release pours over me. I don’t stop, wan
ting to make her scream out, wanting to make her remember, for the rest of her fucking life, the first time a man ate her out. I don’t want her to ever forget how good I made her feel.
“Oh my God,” she cries, her hands buckling against my shoulders. “It’s so ... it’s too much ... it’s ohhh, yeah, yeah, yeah, yes.” And then she lets go of her hold on me. Her pussy walls are still pulsing against my mouth, and I softly run my tongue over her throbbing folds again, then again.
As she catches her breath, I run my tongue up from her pussy, across her stomach, over her tits, until I am above her. With my forearms resting on either side of her, I hover over her perfect body.
“You like that, JoJo?”
Her eyes close, as if she is thinking of the perfect word to use to describe her orgasm.
“It felt like I was suspended in air,” she says, her eyes open. I push her hair from her forehead and listen. “I was scared I’d crash and burn, but instead I flew.”
I kiss her again, her taste still on my mouth, but I can’t help it. The kiss is gentle, warm, filled with satisfaction.
My cock though, is still hard as a rock and needs to be stroked. She must feel it through my jeans, because her hands reach down, unbuttoning my pants. I kick them off, wanting my skin against hers so badly. She pulls off my shirt, and our chests press together.
“Are you sure?” I ask.
“No strings?”
“None.”
“Then yes,” she says. “Yes, please.”
I grab a condom and roll it onto my bulging cock. She watches me silently from the floor, and in a moment I return to her.
“Fill me up,” she says in whisper.
I nod, ever so slightly, and slide into her wet pussy. It’s still so tight, so narrow, so new.
“Is it okay?” I ask.
“Yeah, it’s just so tight.” Her eyes squeeze shut in pain, and I feel like shit for hurting her. “Just go in all the way. It’s okay.”
I do my best to ease myself into her as gently as possible.
“Are all guys like this?” she asks. “So ... big?”
I smile. “No one else is like this.”
She laughs, and that helps distract her as I make my way inside her.
“Ohhhh,” she moans. “It’s better when you’re all the way in.”
“Girl, I’m not all the way in.”
“Really?”
“Really. But it’s enough for now.” I rock against her, wanting to watch her every expression as my cock penetrates her deeply, in a different way than when she rode me in the locker room today. I can tell she likes it, me on top of her, my cock filling her to her core.
Her tits move up and down as I thrust tenderly. Her red locks fall over them and I brush her hair aside, wanting to see her tight little nipples.
“Oh, girl, I’m gonna come in you.” I plunge deeper and she moans in pleasure, so I move again, and again, that way, with a hard ending, until she can’t say a word, until all that is left is her heavy pants as she comes again.
And I do, too. I swear I come so good and long it’s like I haven’t fucked in a week, but it is just the build-up of one afternoon. This girl has worked me over, head to toe.
“When you say no strings … does that mean tomorrow is off limits?” I ask. “Because damn it, JoJo, I need to teach you to suck my cock. I’ve never come like that in my life.”
She blushes, her fair skin filled with color, and she covers her face with her hands.
“McQueen, you’re too much.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, baby. There’s never too much when it comes to me.”
JoJo
We’re lying side by side, and my eyes look up to the clock overhead.
“Crap, it’s already eleven?
“Yeah, you got a curfew or something?” he asks.
“I do, actually. Midnight.”
“No wonder you’re a twenty-three-year-old virgin. You still live at home? You said your family was involved in your life, but maybe you should get a place of your own?”
I don’t want to talk to McQueen about where I live and why, because it would kill the mood.
And the mood is still hot. When he said he wanted me to suck his cock ... it’s all I can imagine. Getting on my knees, tasting him the way he tasted me.
Okay. Get a grip.
I take a deep breath.
“I don’t mind the curfew. It’s for my own good, anyway. There’s some shady stuff in Vegas.”
“Shit, I know.” McQueen shakes his head. “There’s some seriously fucked-up gangsters in this town. I had no idea when I moved here. I was so naive. Then everything that went down with Emmy’s sister a few months back, it really opened my eyes.”
“Emmy is Ace Royalle’s wife, right?”
“Yeah. Her sister got all caught up in this drug cartel; there was a car crash and she ended up dead. I had no clue that shit was happening. I was just dancing for ladies at the bachelorette parties, totally clueless.”
I sit up, knowing I need to dress and get home, not at all interested in the direction of this conversation. I know plenty about that accident, and don’t want to go there with McQueen. What he doesn’t know will only protect him.
I pull on my shorts and tank top. He dresses, too, and soon enough we’re assembled. Though I need a shower desperately.
“Well, thanks,” I say, offering him a fist bump.
He shakes his head, grinning, running his hand over his jaw. “Girl, you are seriously fucking with my head.”
“Why?”
He shrugs. “I’ve never been fist-bumped post-coitus before is all. Most girls want my digits. Or social security number.”
“I’m not most girls.”
“I know,” he says quickly. “You’re different.”
He raises an eyebrow, and I can’t help but smile at his lines. They’re damn good.
“Well, you can walk me to my car, if you want?” I grab my gym bag and sling it over my shoulder.
“Let me carry that, then,” he says, taking it from me.
We leave the gym, making sure the lights are off and the door is locked behind us, and I pull my keys from my purse. Clicking the key fob toward my Mercedes, I turn to him. “Well, here we are.” I open the passenger door and he sets the bag on the seat.
“Nice ride.” His eyebrows raise, impressed. I know he can’t figure me out, and that’s perfectly all right.
I’m suddenly nervous, feeling like this is a date or something, unsure how the night will end.
“So,” he starts. “I’ll see you around.”
“Sounds good.” I tell him, knowing I can’t give in to a kiss with him out here, in public.
“Hey, what’s that,” he asks, reaching to the windshield wiper where an envelope is tucked safely under it.
“No idea.” I take it from him. My name is on the front: Josephine O’Malley.
“O’Malley?” he asks, as if trying to remember something.
I don’t answer; I just tear open the seal.
Inside is a single photograph.
My stomach drops. My heart falls.
I let out a gasp, and the photograph falls from my trembling fingers.
“What is it?” McQueen picks it up from the sidewalk. “Holy shit, who took this?” He looks around the empty street, the dark night.
“I don’t know.” My eyes fill with tears born from terror.
The photograph is of me this afternoon.
Naked.
In the locker room.
On top of McQueen.
Chapter Eight
McQUEEN
The picture captures JoJo and me in a way that leaves nothing to the imagination. What the actual fuck?
I look at JoJo. Her whole body is trembling. This girl is terrified, and all I want to do is wrap her in my arms and keep her safe.
I don’t know what’s fucking happening to me, but it’s like some caveman instincts are kicking in. I gotta protect my woman.
&
nbsp; I swallow the thoughts. My woman? What the hell? Somewhere between taking this girl’s virginity and a late night hook-up, I’m completely captivated.
She is something to value, to treasure, something I’d be a fool to let fall through my fingers.
“Who would do this?” I ask, pulling her close to my chest. As I do, I look down the street. I wanna find this fucker and make him pay.
She pulls away, looking furtively around the dark streets. “No, McQueen, we can’t be together. They could be here—anywhere. Watching us.”
“Who could be here? Who’s they?”
She squeezes her eyes shut, as if she can’t bear to face the facts. Someone is blackmailing her, or threatening her—doing some seriously fucked-up shit to her.
“You have to tell me,” I say again. My face fills the photograph as much as her naked ass does, as much as her creamy skin, her bright red hair. The photo shows her riding me in the locker room, and you can’t see her face … but shit, mine is pretty damn easy to ID.
“I’m sorry, McQueen. I just—I can’t talk about it here. I don’t even want to be out here. It feels dangerous.”
“I’m not letting you go anywhere alone.”
Her eyes are full of tears. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”
“Can you go home? Do you feel safe there?”
She wipes the tears away, speaks so quietly I almost miss her words. “I’m scared that my dad might have been sent the same picture. If he was, he’ll kill me. I need to know who took this … or who they work for.”
I scan this girl’s face, trying to understand what mess she’s wrapped up in, what mess her family is wrapped up in. Earlier, I got the feeling there was some sketchy stuff in her home.
Shit, she’s a grown-ass woman, and yet she can’t live on her own. She’s gotta do what her daddy says, can’t tell them about her plans for fighting. But this—the complete terror in her face—is something else.
“Come to my place tonight. I’ll make sure you’re safe,” I tell her.
She hesitates. “I don’t know. Your face is in that photo, too … neither of us are safe.”