I reach into my slacks and dig out my phone to review our text conversation from earlier. It once again showed another side to this girl who calls herself Grace. I’ve been wracking my mind trying to diagnose where this is heading.
The first text especially was an uncharacteristically bold move from Grace, who has at this point, been teetering between flirty and innocent, but never so forward. It’s difficult to get a precise read on this girl. Each and every day that passes—fuck, every second that ticks by—my suspicions are raised even further about her motives.
I need to be super careful tonight, need to make sure I don’t leave my drink unattended in case she tries to drop something in there. Need to make sure I keep my phone buried in my pocket in case she tries to gain access.
And you need to pound that cock inside her until she screams.
I take a long sip of scotch, and then look down to my phone as the screen lights up. There’s a text from Hank.
After digging into Grace’s financial records, it appears that she’s got some debt. In addition, there has been a recent deposit of 10K into her account, which was deposited around the beginning of the semester.
Which means it’s likely that she’s definitely playing me. Twenty-one year olds didn’t run into ten g’s every day and then start following a guy like me a couple weeks later.
I reach for my phone and force it back into my pocket. My gut clenches and I realize I’m disappointed. But that’s ridiculous. Must be something else. Whatever this feeling is, I don’t fucking like it.
All I know is that I should be happy. At least this is a devil I’m familiar with. I can now set my conscience aside and pit Grace as my enemy, but an enemy that I’m going to enjoy dancing with. Dance with until I have to destroy her, anyway.
She’s currently twirling around solo through my memories, racking around the insides of my head with picture-perfect clarity. All wide-eyed and sweet…
The perfect little actress. Now it’s time to see if she can stand the heat, because I’m about to put her to the test.
A cool draft from the door of the bar steals my attention as she steps into the bar with an air of authority wrapped around her that I’ve never seen her display before. She’s wearing a sleek, long black dress with her hair straightened and perfectly in place, highlighting all the finest features of her face.
She takes a seat beside me with a confident grin and pushes her hair behind her ear, exposing a pristine diamond in her lobe.
The bartender—Marcus—steps to the bar.
Grace turns to him with a smile. “I’ll take what he’s having.”
“Are you sure about that?” I question with a furrow of my brow.
“I’m sure.” She simply smiles at me before turning back to Marcus. “What he’s having.”
“You’re early,” I remark and watch her eyes as she gazes at me. “Not that I mind, of course. I’ve been very bored sitting here by myself.”
She points to my drink, a coy smile wrinkling across pink lips. “It looks like you’ve had some company.”
“Yeah,” I chuckle and palm one hand around the cold glass. “Scotch keeps me company.”
“Scotch?” Her eyes widen and she exhales sharply. “What have I gotten myself into?”
Marcus places a napkin on the bar and sets her drink atop it. She forces a smile as she offers him a polite nod and picks up the glass with one hand.
“Have you ever had it?”
“No.” She shakes her head and takes a quick sip. She tries to hide it, but her puckering lips betray her strong-ass, confident goddess act. “That’s good,” she says lowly as she sets the drink back onto the napkin, probably to never touch it again.
“So…” I begin, “you’re a fan of Titanic, huh?”
“What?”
“Your texts,” I point out and reach for my phone in case I need evidence, but I’m quickly reminded that whatever act she’s pulling tonight, she’s still the enemy. I let my palm rest on my pocket. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten already. You know, about Jack and Rose in the back of an antique car?”
“Right.” Her cheeks flush an impossible shade of red—back to the good girl act. For the life of me, I can’t figure out how she does it? Before, I thought she was skilled enough to win a Tony, but she just might be driving straight for an Emmy and Oscar too. “I love Jack Dawson, and I guess I’m a sucker for happy endings.”
I purse my lips and cock my head at her before taking a quick sip. “You know Titanic doesn’t have a happy ending, right?”
“Right.” She bows her head sheepishly before brushing her hair back behind her ear. “I tend to forget that part.”
“Do you?” I eye her knowingly and finish off my glass before slamming it against the bar. She flinches in place and I can’t help but to grin, knowing I’ve got her right where I want her. I flip a switch and join her down in the gutter of acting. I pretend as if I’m swallowing a nervous lump in my throat as I lean in real close to her. “If you were being serious, then so was I.”
“Oh yeah,” she says, swallowing an actual nervous lump in her throat before staring me down with the potency of an ice princess. “I meant every word.”
I reach across the short distance between us and place a palm on one pink cheek.
“Grace?”
“Yeah?” She chokes on her words, shifting her head deeper against my palm.
“You’ve got me right where you want me,” I growl under my breath and shift my stool closer to hers. “I’ve got you right where I want you.”
“Is that so?”
I drop my hand just a little lower to her neck. She doesn’t know it yet, but I’m measuring her pulse, trying to get a good read on if this part is an act too. The part where she seems like she’s never wanted anything as much as she wants me. The funny thing is that her heart is already racing, but she’s doing a damn good job currently hiding it on her face.
She continues to stare me down, her eyes unflinching while her cheeks light aflame, burning hot and red. “I’m not worried.” She shrugs as she takes another sip, this time pretending to tolerate the harsh alcohol slightly better than before. “In fact, I’m excited. But I can’t help but feel like you’re hiding something from me.” She bites into her lower lip. “Are you, Jack?”
I offer her a nod, giving her the slightest credence that perhaps she’s right, and just enough to continue stringing her along. I’m secretly marveling at the balls she has bringing it up.
“Everyone’s hiding something,” I muse out loud, biting my tongue when I realize that perhaps I’ve said too much. Still, I’m interested in how she manages to route around my suggestion.
“Speaking of which.” She places her glass onto the bar as her fingers on her opposite hand flirt with the lobe of her ear. “It seems that you engage in some curious nighttime activities of your own.”
Not going to work, Princess.
I pull away from her and stare her down for a split second. “You’re right,” I say shortly and offer her a wicked grin that soon folds into something sinister. “There are things that I do that aren’t very professorly.”
She eyes me cautiously as I just lean back on my stool, waiting to see if she takes the bait.
“Like what?” she asks softly.
“I could tell you, Grace…but then I’d have to fuck you.”
11
Grace
I try to contain my excitement—easier, I’d imagine, than trying to hide my nerves since I first arrived at the Leslie bar, which is a high-end establishment I never thought I’d step foot in. It’s where power players and the rich come to play, and it’s a world I’m nowhere near ready to step into.
But here I am, sitting here. Actually sitting here, with my professor of all people, on the verge of perhaps finally learning the truth. The idea that I might wake up tomorrow totally satisfied—knowing who he really was and having had him inside me? Has me giddy with anticipation.
“Fair enough,” I manage to squeak o
ut. “So… what is it?” I question, leaning in slightly. After all, if he’s about to spill some dark secrets, nobody else needs to know. “Are you a spy?”
His lips wrinkle into a smirk before he shakes his head, taps his fingers rhythmically along the bar. I can’t help but to affix my eyes to his fingers as he drums some silent, enchanting tune.
“Why don’t I show you?” He scrubs a hand over his jaw and eyes me, his gaze on fire. “Finish your drink and come with me.”
My throat dries up and it’s hard to swallow. But when he rises to his feet, his body and shadow towering over mine, I can’t help but to do exactly as he instructed me to do. I reach for my drink and aim to finish it in one go. Cold ice presses against my lips as the scotch burns against the back of my throat.
I’ve never been much of a drinker besides a few glasses of wine or beer, not in high school and not in college. Just when I think I’m about to throw up, I finish off the glass and slam it down onto the counter. Before I turn back to him, I wipe the traces of liquor from my lips and straighten myself out.
When we’re face to face, I offer him a smile. He nods back at me before dropping a fifty-dollar bill onto the counter and leading the way down the narrow width of the bar. When I’m sure he can no longer see me, I drop one palm against my stomach to try and quell the burning from within.
Liquid courage.
He pushes through the front door of the bar and then holds it open for me as if he’s the perfect gentleman—a characteristic which doesn’t go hand in hand with the dark secrets that seem locked within those haunting eyes of his.
But he watches me intently as I exit briskly through the open door. I avert my gaze away from his, exhale silently and push my ass out just enough to give him no other choice but to stare.
We walk side-by-side and I slow next to his car, a slick black BMW that I could easily imagine getting frisky in the back seat of.
Who the hell am I? And who the hell am I becoming?
I think about his hot body on top of mine. His shirt peeling off and then his pants. I think of the sweat rolling down his back as his eyes bore into mine, turning me inside out. I think about the fog on the windows.
“No,” he says, his voice tearing through my thoughts. “We’re not getting in my car.”
“Oh.” I force a smile. “Then where are we going?”
“This way.” He points around the corner just up ahead.
He begins to walk faster as I pace behind him. I’m not used to wearing heels, so I’m a little more clumsy and slow than I’d like to be, especially as his pace quickens. It’s almost as if he wants to get to his destination as quickly as possible without being seen.
He stops outside a brick building with a steel door, and looks both ways before opening the massive door and ushering me inside.
My sixth sense kicks into gear when the door slams shut behind me. The cool draft is instantly cut off, but a shiver still runs up my spine. There’s a barely lit stairwell with a pale yellow light at the top of the landing.
Jack begins to ascend the steps before me, but reaches out to take my hand as I follow behind. His shadow hangs over me with each step we take up the narrow staircase, a sinister feeling creeping into my gut once we’ve ascended the top of the stairs.
There’s nowhere to go but immediately right, where a lone elevator stands parked at a dead-end. Jack reaches forward and presses the white button, turning it yellow as gears can be heard grinding from above.
I take a nervous look at him, he’s as cool as a cucumber waiting patiently for the elevator shaft to open. And here I am about to pee my pants. My mind races thinking of all the ways this could go wrong, thinking of all the ways I might just be about to find out something I would have been better off not knowing.
The elevator doors ding open and we make our way inside. It’s brighter inside, and I can easily make out every feature of his chiseled face as the doors come to a close. He presses his finger against the top button, one that reads ‘3’.
I close my eyes and force myself to breathe, force myself to count backwards from ten. And when I’m finished, I find that I’ve calmed myself somewhat until I open my eyes to catch him passing me a strange look.
“Are you ready, Grace?”
“Yeah.” I force a smile and lie right through my teeth. “Totally. Why do you ask?”
“Because you’re about to step into another world.”
What the hell did that mean? Were we headed to Narnia? Or Oz? Maybe the belly of a meth lab or something?
Shit.
But before I can tell him I’ve changed my mind, the elevator doors slink open and my eyes slink to the dark, narrow passage outside. Sensual, sultry music echoes down the long corridor as a sea of bodies, many palming drinks in their hands, navigate the hallway, carrying on conversations in some instances. Others press their bodies, in various stages of undress, devouring each other. The tasteful sign on the bar reads Club Magari.
A sex club.
My ears start to buzz as I try to get my bearings. I don’t know what I had expected but it wasn’t this.
Jack steps out first, but he doesn’t take my hand. He simply expects me to follow, which I have no problem doing. I stay right on his tail, making sure I don’t lose him in the crowd of strangers. This is the last place I’d ever want to find myself alone.
At the end of the hall, he makes a sharp turn into a connecting corridor, one that’s left crowded with strangers, but also darker. A tall, tanned man walks past me wearing a leather harness over his impressively built chest. His eye catches mine and he smiles from ear-to-ear.
I reach forward and latch on to Jack’s hand, just so the other man doesn’t get any ideas.
Jack cranes his head over his shoulder, his lips flat and non-expressive before turning back around to palm his hand over a doorknob. As he pulls it open, I’m drowned in bright white light.
I follow him inside to find two black chairs sitting side by side and a long window that stretches from one wall to another with a black curtain strung along blocking the view. The entirety of the room, besides the curtain and chairs, is stark white, almost blinding.
Jack points to the chair closest to the door. “Sit,” he commands as he paces to the corner of the room and pulls the curtains back.
My eyes drift to the scene before me. On the other side of the glass is what looks like a film set—a doctor’s office to be exact. There’s a woman in a hospital gown sprawled out on a bed, a bright light holstered above her face while a man dressed as a doctor sits on a stool between her legs.
The door behind me opens as a server wearing a blank expression enters into the room and places a bottle of scotch and two empty glasses on an end table on the opposite end of Jack.
“Thank you,” Jack says lowly and immediately pours himself a drink. “Do you want one, Grace?”
“No.” I shake my head. “I’m good.”
But I’m so not. And I’m also not about to tell him how I’m sweating underneath the fabric of my dress, about how it’s taking every bit of willpower I have to remain sitting here without fainting. Trying not to freak the hell out and escape this place as soon as possible. From the time I first approached Jack, I thought I was in way over my head.
Now, I know that I’m way over my head for sure.
Jack leans back coolly in his chair and sips at the glass of scotch, his eyes transfixed on the scene playing out before us.
I’m literally lost for words, lost as to what I should do. All I can do is watch the scene too.
The woman leans upwards on the bed and stares the doctor down with a pout on her lips. “I’m feeling stressed, achy, and nervous all the time.” She bites into her lower lip. “I just can’t seem to shake the symptoms.”
“Hmmm…” The man pretends to contemplate what could be causing her symptoms, but he’s not nearly as good of an actor as she is. “Why don’t you disrobe for me and we’ll get to the root of your problems.”
“O
kay, doctor.” She nods as she kicks her feet off one end of the bed before reaching behind her back and dropping the gown down her shoulders, exposing a pair of full, golden breasts. The gown pools on the floor as the woman’s eyes stare down at the floor.
“Lie down,” the man commands her, and she does as told. She lies on her back, her face back under the harsh light above her. The doctor rolls in his chair until he’s face to face with his patient. “I’m going to do a full examination now.”
I draw a finger to my lip and hold it there. I can’t look away. I’m fascinated by the display in front of me, not because I choose to be but because my body won’t let me pretend otherwise. I’m horrified. I’m turned on. I’m torn between a thousand different feelings, and I’m overloaded with them all.
I can’t imagine what my face must look like, but I can get a slight glimpse in the mirrored glass before me. My cheeks are flushed an impossible shade of fiery red, but I can’t think about that. I can only think about holding myself together.
The doctor caresses the woman’s breasts first, and then trails one strong hand down the woman’s abdomen until he circles around her inner thigh. He rolls backwards in his chair until he’s seated back between her legs, where he quickly places her feet into a pair of metal stirrups.
The woman’s pupils dilate, and she begins to tremble. Even though I know it’s all an act—or at least, I think I know it’s all an act—I can’t help but to feel slightly uncomfortable.
The man clears his throat, and then shifts his eyes for a split second right towards Jack and I. He’s breaking down the fourth wall and immediately moves to correct himself, his eyes narrowing back in on the redheaded woman before him.
“I think I know what the problem is. I’ve seen it before.”
The woman shifts up to rest on her elbows, looking intently at her doctor with her eyes mixed with uncertainty and passion.
I see myself in her. I feel what she’s feeling, and I quickly realize that Jack’s thigh is tense and pressed against mine. I look down and swallow a gulp in my throat before turning my attention back to the couple on the opposite side of the glass.
Saving Grace: A bad-boy virgin romance Page 8