Caged
Page 12
“Okay, I promise,” her half-hearted tone was not lost on him.
“I don’t want you to be scared of me, but I would actually like it if you developed at least a little bit of a healthy fear.”
“And why’s that?”
With him and Bethany in the back of the SUV and some bullshit hip hop music blasting up front, he felt confident to tell her his true feelings without anyone over hearing. “Because I’m worried you aren’t taking me serious. That you and your friends are going to run amuck once we get in there, but this is my world, not some cheesy, fun-loving dance club. I need you to trust I know what’s best for you.”
“I do trust you.”
“Good. Then when we get in there, you’re mine. You’ll do whatever I tell you. No questions asked. And I swear to God, if I find another guy touching you, I will fucking kill him.” He moved her hand up his leg and to his side so she could feel the cold metal of a gun resting against him. “I’m not a nice guy B and I’m not your fucking prince charming. I’m the Devil, and tonight, you’re going to understand what that means. If you’re not ready, then let’s not go.”
God he was so hot when he talked liked that. A sick twisted part of her actually wanted to see what his devilish side would be like, as long as it wasn’t directed toward her. She wasn’t looking for a prince charming. Quite the opposite. She was looking for exactly what he was offering. Her only worry being what he would do if he ever found out the truth about her. “Should I be scared of you Brax?”
He didn’t even think before answering. “Yes.”
“Would you ever hurt me? What if I fuck up? What if I did something bad.”
He ran a gentle hand through her hair and gave an audible sigh. “I would never hurt you. There’s nothing you could do that would make me hurt you. Ever. Or at least not physically. I don’t want you to be scared of me like that. I just want you to be aware of what I’m capable of, what I’ll do if I need to.”
His explanation eluded her, but he said what she needed to hear. “Okay. Then I’m ready.”
They walked in through a back entry door of what looked to be a Chinese restaurant and down a set of stairs just off of a back hallway. The stairwell led to a floor filled with restaurant supplies and a glassed in office with papers haphazardly upon the desk surrounding a computer monitor from the 90s.
Rounding another corner, they came to a back hidden door. Brax banged his fist twice against the thick metal and a window slid open, a pair of eyes checking them out. The door swung forward without the man behind saying a word. Brax, hand in hand with Annie, led them down another set of stairs and the beat of the music was suddenly audible, or more accurate, palpable. The base rattled the walls as if an earthquake were taking place. Pushing open one more metal door, the loud club noise washed over them.
Strolling through the club, all eyes were glued on them. Brax turned toward a roped off VIP section and the linebacker-sized bouncer, guarding the private area, moved the rope aside without question or introductions.
They walked past each table with silence following in their wake and Annie wondered what her friends were making of the situation. At the end of the long secluded section was a red, wraparound, suede couch and the people casually strewed upon it picked up their drinks with haste and walked away, leaving it open for them. Brax sat down casually as if this odd behavior were completely normal to him. He pulled Annie down next to him and Trevor, Mandy and Sara filled in the leftover spots.
“Why is everyone staring?” Trevor leaned in and yelled over the music. “Is it that obvious we’re newbies?”
The answer to the question was an astounding yes. They had nothing on the skimpily clad females and gang-banger men with chains around their necks and glocks tucked in the back of their pants, but before anyone could answer a waitress interrupted for their drink order.
“Been a long time Braxton. What can I get you?”
There was so much sexuality laced in the question it made Annie wonder if she was asking for his drink order or something else.
“Grey Goose.” He didn’t ask what anyone in the group wanted, but they didn’t object either. Vodka would work just fine. Hell it was more than fine. A bottle of Grey Goose was something Annie only splurged on during a bachelorette party or when there were ten or more people pitching in.
The waitress stared at Brax in bewilderment. It was awkward. He felt it too. Unclasping her hand, he moved to her inner thigh, deliberately rubbing his palm dangerously high. He squeezed rough at her sensitive skin, almost hard enough for her to want to push him away, but she didn’t, remembering what he said in the car.
Breaking eye contact with the waitress he pulled Annie into an aggressive kiss, showing her who he really wanted; his tongue down her throat and his hand traveling higher up her thigh than it was before. When he pulled back he took a part of her lip with him, lightly clenched between his teeth. After a beat she opened her eyes, watching as the waitress scurried off with half her cheeks hanging out the back of her tight sequined shorts.
Shortly after, the waitress returned with a bottle and a tray lined with mixers, ice and empty glasses. She set the tray on the table, business like, asked if they needed anything else and walked away. It would seem as if Brax’s scene set her straight on how the night would go.
Each mixing themselves a drink, they sat back and relaxed while the alcohol calmed their nerves. Brax’s high-strung attitude slowly faded, Annie relaxed more in his embrace, and Trevor, Sara and Mandy no longer seemed intimidated by the large dance floor that could be seen through the glass window in front of them.
“You guys should go dance. We’ll watch from here.”
Annie knew Brax wasn’t up for dancing and to be honest she wasn’t either. She was counting down the minutes until she could continue their conversation from the prior day. Her three friends needed no more encouragement and walked away, drinks in hand and eventually disappeared into the crowd.
“Glad I finally have you alone.” He kissed her bare shoulder, grazing it with his teeth.
“Is that so Mr. Cage? What do you plan on doing with me now that we’re alone?” She tickled up his chest with the pads of her fingers and could tell he was holding himself back, from what she wasn’t quite sure. Probably from throwing her down on the couch and trying to have his way with her.
“You’re so lucky I meant it when I said I would make you beg for it. Otherwise I would have you bent over this couch by now with my cock and fingers filling you everywhere.”
His words without a drop of sarcasm, her hand stilled on his chest.
“I’m an impulsive asshole and I would do it. Don’t test my restraint.”
“Okay, point taken,” she put up both hands in defense. “I’ll stop with the name thing.”
“You don’t have to stop. I’m just warning you what will happen if you don’t.”
“Well I appreciate your warning. I don’t think I’m ready for that though so I’ll stop. For now.” She wasn’t ready, wouldn’t ever be ready, especially not in a crowded club, but at the same time, there was something intriguing about the idea. Having him man-handle her; not giving her a choice while everyone could potentially watch. The idea went against every feminist bone in her body, but she couldn’t deny it’s what a part of her wanted. Ever since she met Brax it was as if he were encouraging the darkness in her mind, which she spent so much time hiding, to come back to the surface. He never pressured her though, was subtle in pulling it out, making it easy to succumb.
“I figured as much. Always trying to be the good girl. Let’s talk about something else. Tell me about your parents.”
“My parents? That’s a little left field. Why do you want to know about them?”
“Because I’m nursing a serious case of blue balls right now and you’re going to help me get rid of it one way or another.”
Her smile reached her eyes. “Okay, well my mom works for Bank of America in the mortgage department and my dad is an engineer for
Boeing. He builds helicopters.”
“Nice, helicopters. That’s cool. And what about you? What do you do? I feel like I don’t know anything about you.”
“I’m a teacher.”
“Really? I wouldn’t have guessed. What grade?”
“College. Michigan State.” Half-lie, but she couldn’t tell him the truth now, he’d want to know what else she lied about. After the trial, her parents sent her to live with her aunt in Lansing where she stayed all summer and visited the campus more times than she could count. It’s where she spent hours after hours in the library stacks researching what she came to refer to as, her condition, her impulsive desire to hurt him after he hurt her.
“Are you shitting me? What do you teach?”
She knew this question was coming, debated on telling another lie. “Psychology.”
“So you teach people how to be a shrink?”
“I teach students, freshmen mostly, the fundamentals, not actually to be a psychologist,” she hated the word shrink, “but to explore the different types of psychology available.”
“Guess that explains why I didn’t scare you off. You’ve probably studied about guys worse than me.”
She had, but it still didn’t explain why he didn’t scare her. He should have. Instead, she was drawn to him, like two halves of a whole finally coming together.
“You’re so young. How are you a professor already?”
“I’m thirty Brax, not that young, and I don’t know, I guess I’ve just always been a book nerd. I was the perfect student in high school and then after Dillon went to prison you could say I became a little obsessed, wanting to find a reason for my actions. Something to absolve me. Clear my conscious, you know?”
“And did you? Find anything?”
“No. Not really.” Not until I met you was what she should have said. Hearing him defend her actions gave her more answers and absolving then the past fourteen years she spent searching through textbooks. “You know the really sad thing? I lost seven years of my life just like him. I might not have been locked up physically, but mentally, that’s another story.”
He pulled her tight to him, kissing the top of her head. She let him hold her, feeling safe in his strong embrace, like he could make everything better.
“Before everything happened I used to want to be a writer. It was silly really.”
“What kind of writer? Why is that silly?”
“Fiction mostly. Girly-type romance books. I used to love reading these Sweet Valley High books. I always thought I would grow up to write a series just like it.”
“So why don’t you?”
“I don’t know. I’m not really a part of the whole teen-angst, young adult love scene anymore. I’ve actually tried a couple times, but they never go where I want them to. They always turn into some fucked up version of a teen novel that mothers would never let their daughters read.”
“So what? Maybe your audience isn’t teens. I want to read one.”
Her dubious expression let him know he was never getting close to one of her books.
“Come on. Let me read one. What kind of fucked up are we talking about? I could probably give you some ideas.” He ran his fingers down her stomach and snuck two digits just under the waistband of her shorts.
“Oh god,” she rolled her eyes and laughed, removing his hand and interlocking their fingers. I’m sure you could. Her recent sullen attitude diminishing as he continued to make light of the situation.
“A sexy professor and a fucked up romance novelist? Your male students must love that. Bet they have a bet going in the locker room over who can nail you first.”
“Shut it,” she pushed him on the shoulder, but he didn’t listen.
“They’re probably hoping you’re going to write them something fucked up on their homework one day.” He switched his voice to imitate her. “Good job Billy. I love giving out good jobs. Wish I could give one to you in person,” he winked, trying to mimic her napkin verbiage.
“Stop!” she giggled in protest, but he continued egging her on, this time imitating a man.
“Maybe I could teach you a thing or two Professor—wait, what’s your last name?”
“I’m not telling you. Not if you’re just going to keep teasing me.”
“Oh you’ll tell me.” Crawling on her lap he straddled her and held her arms over her head. “Trust me, I’ll get it out of you.”
He leaned down and kissed her neck, moving up toward her ear and over to her mouth. She let out a groan while he sucked on her bottom lip and then dipped in his tongue. Letting go of one of her hands to explore her breast, he slid the fabric to the side and cupped it bare, his thumb dancing across her nipple while she panted for breath.
“Tell me what I want to know B. Tell me and I’ll stop. Or I won’t stop. Whatever you want.” His hand moved down from her breast to her shorts and made quick work of unbuttoning them.
She tried to push him away with her one free hand, but he wouldn’t budge. He was a man on a mission and his strength was no match for her flimsy declining act. She finally gave in and admitted the name. “Andrews. My last name’s Andrews.” In theory, not a lie.
“Professor Andrews,” he pushed his hand down lower, “I really want to fuck you right now.”
“Me too.” The words she spoke surprised her. She didn’t mean to say them, at least not out loud.
“Come home with me.” He leaned forward and kissed her once more. Her reservations caught in her throat until she almost didn’t remember having any.
“I can’t. What would my friends think?” she mumbled against his lips and he pulled back abrupt.
“Who the fuck cares what they think? Your slut friend Sara went home with someone last night, didn’t she?”
“She did, but that’s what she does. That’s not me. I’m the good girl Brax, or at least they think I am. I’m not ready to change that perception yet.”
Nodding in understanding, or at least trying to, he climbed off to sit back down on the couch and pulled one of her legs over his.
Just because she told him no, didn’t mean his touch hadn’t affected her. Her body, hot, sweaty and needy, was cursing her words. “Now I need the distraction,” she buttoned her pants back up and looked over at him. “Tell me about your parents.”
Silence. He didn’t answer her and from his expression it didn’t look like he was going to, even after he started speaking. “There’s not much to tell. I never knew my real dad and my mom died when I was eleven.”
Understanding the cause of his lull, she squeezed his hand to encourage him on.
“We didn’t live like I do now, pretty much the exact opposite. She was mugged and refused to give the man a dime so he shot her. I was put in foster care and bounced around from home to home until I made the worst or best mistake of my life, depending on how you look at it.”
Braxton stared out at the dance floor, deep in thought. Could he tell her everything? Could he trust she wouldn’t repeat anything they ever talked about? He already fucked up by telling her so much last night, but now he was considering giving her details; specific, incriminating details that could ruin him. He only knew her a couple days. He shouldn’t be thinking about telling her. Some of the guys he ran with for years didn’t know these details. “Can I trust you B? If I tell you more, can I trust you’ll never say anything? Not to your fucking friends or your family or anyone else? No matter what.”
“You can trust me Brax. I promise. I would never say a word.”
“Swear to me then on everything. Everything in the world you care about, that I can trust you.” He held a hand over her mouth to stop her from speaking right away. “Think about it. Don’t just say the words. Understand what they mean. And if it’s not something you can swear to then that’s okay, we can talk about something else. I wouldn’t judge you for saying no. If the roles were reversed, I might not swear to it either.” He pulled his hand away from her mouth, letting it drop to rest on her thigh.
The waitress, some blonde he fucked once back in the day, came over to make sure they were doing okay and he waved her off with the flick of a hand. All he wanted to focus on was Bethany. She just swore her trust to him. He could trust her. It was a truth that did not sit light with him. It was the first time in his life he felt like he could fully trust someone. Even Cole, who was like a father figure, would turn his back on him without a second thought if it ever came to that.
Leaning over he kissed her. Kissed her with everything he had. Letting all his emotions run. This wasn’t a passion frenzied kiss, it wasn’t overflowing with lust, it was a sigh of relief kiss. Similar to how people kiss their loved ones after surviving something tragic. He waited forever for her without realizing that’s what he was doing, and now he had her and never wanted to let her go. His hard exterior had cracked, not by much, but enough to let her in. He pulled her up on his lap, wrapped his arms around her and began the story of how it all started.
“I was thirteen and in foster care. The kids on my South Brooklyn street weren’t the best influence. We were young, but thought we were invincible. My friend Ben found a gun hidden in his dad’s closet, the bullets were somewhere else, but we thought we were cool just walking around with an empty barrel of metal. We first used it to hold up liquor stores, just wanting a bottle at our young age. Then we noticed the older guys across the street, they were always packing, and unlike us, their guns were fully loaded. Ben got the idea one night to break into their house. They had just left and if it were anything like usual, wouldn’t be back for hours. Breaking in to their place would get us a ton of street cred, as the kids who weren’t afraid of the gangster looking guys across the street, and out of stupidity I agreed.
“The back door was unlocked so we didn’t have to put too much effort into breaking in. We trashed the place looking for guns and money, mostly guns though, and didn’t find any until I had one pointed right in my face. Ben heard my lack of noise and came out from a back bedroom to see what I had found and was keeping to myself. Fucking pussy saw what was happening and ran.