by Zoey Parker
I couldn’t stop being a smart-ass, though. “Isn’t that what women are for?”
She shot me the dirtiest look I ever saw, which was saying a lot. “Obviously, no decent woman would bother spending more than five minutes here, so I can’t see how you could get one of them to stay.”
“Believe me,” I said with a smirk, “it takes a lot longer than five minutes. But you know that already.”
“Yeah, and you had to pay me to get me to stay the night. Again, I see how the place doesn’t get cleaned.”
I had to bite my tongue to keep from calling her a bitch, and worse than that. So I took her out to get cleaning stuff, and food, and clothes. That was another thing. She couldn’t walk around the house in a tight dress all the time, even though I kinda wanted to see what she would look like, scrubbing a floor with her ass in the air with that dress riding up.
She was right, though, and she picked out sweats and socks and underwear, plus a pair of running shoes. We must have looked ridiculous, her in a dress and heels, me in my leather kutte and jeans, at Walmart on a Saturday morning. I could see people making up stories in their heads. I thought it was funny.
She didn’t. I noticed the way she let her dark hair hide her face sometimes, especially when we stood in line at the register. “What, afraid to be seen with me?” I tried not to let the hurt into my voice. I wasn’t even hurt, I was pissed. She was so like all the other people in town, the ones who thought they were better than the MC. It didn’t usually bother me. I could laugh it off, maybe even fuck with them by standing too close or staring at them from across the aisle. I usually loved watching them turn pale and run off—even the bigger guys. For some reason it bothered the shit out of me when she did it.
When we got back to the house, she got to work. She went upstairs to change and when she came down it was like a totally different person was in the house with me. She had put her hair in a bun on top of her head, wiped off all her makeup, and changed into sweatpants and a t-shirt. She was even wearing a sports bra underneath—I could see the outline through the thin cotton. She really went over-the-top trying to unsex herself.
It didn’t matter. I wanted her more than ever. Without the makeup, she was still beautiful, maybe even gorgeous. She sort of glowed, like those girls in the soap commercials. I didn’t think people like her existed in real life. I never knew anybody like her. And she couldn’t hide that body underneath a pair of sweatpants. I knew what she had going on, and I couldn’t stop thinking about it. The little thong panties she bought, which of course I took a look at as she put them on the conveyor belt for the cashier, left the outline of her ass perfect in the pants she wore. I could have watched her walk away all day.
I sat on the couch with my feet on the coffee table and let her get to work. I couldn’t wait to see how long she held out before she got tired and gave up. I wouldn’t blame her if she did, but I would give her shit for it—if only to get her back for giving me shit over the way the house looked, which she mentioned every other minute or so.
She put on a pair of rubber gloves, which I thought was a little much but kept my mouth shut, and walked around with a giant trash bag. She emptied all the takeout containers and pizza boxes into it. Her head was turned to the side so she wouldn’t have to see what was inside the containers. Like she’d find a severed head or something.
I sighed loudly. “Jesus Christ, it’s not that bad.”
“It smells like a garbage dump in here. I can’t believe you don’t smell it.” She opened a window and fanned her arms dramatically up and down. I shook my head and bit back a smile.
I didn’t care. She was cleaning it up. I didn’t know I’d be getting maid service for my thirty grand.
She washed the insides of the windows, and I couldn’t keep myself from watching her. Her ass jiggled a little as her arm moved in circles on the glass. Every once in a while I’d see her tits from underneath her arm, and they’d move a little, too. I stared, breathing heavy, getting hard. She stopped once and looked back at me.
“What are you staring at?”
“What do you think?”
She rolled her eyes. “I didn’t know I was putting on a show.”
“You don’t have to do anything but what you’re doing. I’ll just watch.”
She turned to me with her fists on her hips. “You could help, you know. Instead of sitting there like some sort of sultan. It’s your house. Why don’t you take a little pride in it?”
“You know, I don’t let just everybody talk to me that way. You’re getting away with a lot right now.”
“I’m shaking in my boots.” We faced off for a minute. I had to give her credit, she stared me down. I looked away first.
“Do you want help?” I muttered.
“No. You’ll just make it take longer when I have to tell you what to do.” She opened the rest of the windows to air the place out.
I turned back to the TV. She left the room. I managed to wait until she was in the kitchen before I smiled. I knew she was good in bed, but I hadn’t known until that morning how tough she was. I liked her a little more all the time.
###
“Is there any actual food around here, or do you go to the corner store for everything?”
It was three hours since we got home from the store, and she was starting to wear on my nerves. I knew that was what she wanted, though, to see me lose my shit. So I smiled up at her from the couch. It was almost lunchtime—I knew she would ask sooner or later.
“Do you see food? I don’t have a hidden fridge anywhere, if that’s what you mean.”
“So, what? Can we order something? Or should I go out and get something?”
“Right. I’ll let you go out and get something from the store. That’s a great idea.” I rolled my eyes. “You think I was born yesterday.”
“Listen.” She crouched down in front of me. I could smell her perfume, still in her hair and on her skin from the night before. “I’m here of my own free will. I came because I need the money. You’re not holding a gun to my head and I haven’t gotten the money yet, so it’s not like I’m going to run away. I don’t intend to go home without it.”
She was so close I could have reached out and pulled her onto the couch with me. I kept my hands to myself.
“I’m not satisfied with you yet.”
“I know. Which is why I’m here. There are a million other things I could be doing.”
“Such as?”
“Such as taking care of my dying mother, jerk.”
That shut me up. I turned away, back to the TV. She stood and went back to her work. I picked up the phone to order lunch.
I knew it wasn’t right to keep her the way I was, knowing that the money was for her dying mother, but I wanted her for myself. As soon as I let her go, I’d never see her again. There I was, when I bought her, thinking one night would be enough. It would never be enough. Even when she pissed me off and threw her temper around, I wanted her. I only wanted her more and more, really.
When lunch came, she ate alone at the kitchen table. I left her there. If she wanted to sulk, she could sulk. I’d binge watch a little TV and leave her to her bitchy attitude. Even so, I couldn’t help taking a look in the kitchen every minute or two just to see what she was doing.
###
By the end of the day, the house was cleaner than it was when I first came home. I was impressed, and I told her so. There was no sarcasm or snark in my voice. I meant it. I didn’t think she’d finish, but she proved me wrong.
She was too exhausted to care.
“I need a shower,” she said, getting up from the sofa, where she collapsed after telling me the house was finally clean.
“I don’t know if I have any clean towels,” I said as she walked away.
“I washed them already.” Her voice was flat, low. Like she couldn’t care less about anything. She felt like a slave. And she was desperate enough to take care of her mother than she would clean my entire house instead
of telling me to fuck off. That told me a lot about her.
I heard the water running upstairs and my cock stirred again. This time, I let it go, thinking about what she looked like in the shower. Naked, with the water running down over her body. I remembered the way her body felt under my hands, and imagined what it would feel like to touch her wet, slick skin.
I was straining so hard against the zipper of my jeans, I was sure I’d have an imprint of it on my cock. I couldn’t just pull it out, though. Instead, I stroked myself through my jeans, eyes closed, thinking about her. How I would soap her up. How I would run my hands over her tits, test their weight in my hands, stroke them until her nipples stood out. I pressed my lips together and breathed deeply through my nose.
Then I would suck them until she moaned my name while my hand slid between her legs and played with her mound. She would groan and beg for more, so I would push her up against the wall with my cock between her legs, listening to the way she moaned when my hands slid all over her and my cock pumped in and out. She would scream when she came, tight all around my length, and I would explode inside her.
“Ahem.”
I opened my eyes to see her standing in front of me with a towel wrapped around her body and a smirk on her face.
“Sorry to interrupt,” she said, “but your phone was buzzing like crazy. I could hear it from upstairs.” She held it out to me.
I looked her in the eye and took the phone from her. She was still dripping wet. It wouldn’t take anything to pull it off her and take her right there. She was mine. I paid for her.
“Thanks.” It was Slash who called. I didn’t feel much like talking, so I put the phone down. He could wait until later. I had bigger problems, like the goddess standing in front of me and the throbbing hard-on aching in my pants.
“I’m pretty tired,” she said, and it took everything to keep eye contact instead of watching water drip off her hair and run over her skin. I wanted to lick up every drop, then lick her from head to toe until she couldn’t stand it anymore. My cock throbbed. I was desperate to come.
“Yeah, me too,” I said.
“You haven’t done anything all day,” she pointed out, crossing her arms.
“I got tired watching you.” I grinned at her. “And it’s not easy getting hit with your little jabs all day long either. You kept me on my toes.
She smirked, tilting her head to the side. There was no sweet talking her. “Well, if you think going to bed means we’re going to do anything, you’re wrong.”
“That’s fine,” I shrugged. My cock deflated a little, disappointed, but I wasn’t surprised. Not with the way she was acting all day.
She arched an eyebrow. “Really?”
“Yeah, really. What, do you want me to force myself on you or something? Would that make you feel better?”
“No. I’m just surprised.” She chewed the side of her mouth, frowning. She had no idea what she was doing to me, making me look at her mouth.
“Thanks a lot.”
“You’re welcome.” I thought I saw a little smile, but it disappeared pretty fast.
I waited until she was in bed before I joined her. I took a shower while I waited, and took care of my raging hard-on while I was in there. I couldn’t go to bed wanting her the way I did. I would never sleep.
It was still hard to fall asleep, even after jerking off. She was right there beside me, but she might as well have been a mile away. She was on her side, with her back to me. She must have been sleeping right on the edge of the bed.
I told myself to end the torture and go downstairs to sleep on the couch instead. But I couldn’t let her win. I had to show her she could trust me—that I wasn’t some psycho—and that I didn’t want her as much as she thought I did.
Chapter Twelve
Michelle
What a day it was, the first full day I spent with Eric. A nightmare, more like.
I texted Mackenzie from the car on the way back to his house, telling her I wouldn’t be home the next day and that I would explain it all later. She told me not to worry about it, that she and Mom were having a good time and that Mom was in good spirits. Maybe she needs a break from me, I thought, and I felt guilty. Did she think I was smothering her? Was that what I was doing? I only cared about her. She was the center of my world.
Still, I couldn’t help admitting that it would be nice to have a night when I didn’t have to worry about getting up in the middle of it to give Mom her pills, or make sure she had everything she needed. After so many months of taking care of her, it was almost a treat to sleep through the night.
I stubbornly insisted on sleeping in my clothes when we went to bed, and I regretted it when I woke up time and again with the dress all bunched up around me. I kept having to adjust myself, struggling to get comfortable. So much for sleeping through the night, I thought bitterly. But I would rather have woken up every ten minutes to fix my dress than take it off. Pride went before the fall.
Eric kept to his side of the bed and appeared to be sleeping soundly. I wanted to hit him with a pillow to wake him. The bastard. He thought he could play with me and still have a good night’s sleep? The bastard.
That was when I decided early to make his life as miserable as possible. He wasn’t going to get off easy, holding me the way he was, dangling the money in front of my face like I was someone he could play with. He wouldn’t get away with it, I vowed. He’d wish before long that he’d given me the money and sent me home.
So I raised a big fuss, complaining about how nasty his house was. I wasn’t lying. I had intended to go around picking up, reminding him what a mess he was and how disgusted I was by him. Only I couldn’t, because there were no trash bags and no cleaning supplies. He was a mystery to me. Who didn’t have cleaning supplies in their house?
At least going out gave me the chance to buy clothes to wear around the house, but I wasn’t exactly keen on being seen with him. Especially since he insisted on wearing the vest with his club’s patch on the back. Everybody in town knew who the Lightning Bolts were thanks to their less-than-stellar reputation. I walked into a trap of my own making when I walked into the store with him, but it was my own fault. I couldn’t possibly live in a dress and heels another minute more.
I was sure I’d never had such an uncomfortable shopping experience as I did when we were together that morning. I felt like a hooker, or a biker chick, and I looked like one with the outfit I was wearing. It didn’t help that Eric insisted on being solicitous and affectionate with me throughout the trip.
“Can you please keep your hands off me?” I hissed, pushing him away when nobody was watching.
“My hands aren’t on you. I had my arm around your waist,” he corrected. His face was solemn, but I saw light and laughter behind his eyes. I wanted to claw them out. He thought it was so much fun making a fool out of me.
“Fine. Keep your arm off me. All right? Just because you bought a night with me doesn’t mean you get to treat me as your property.”
“Actually, I think that’s exactly what it means.” He smirked.
“You’re wrong. It means you got me into bed. That’s all. You don’t get to act like my boyfriend.” I walked away, heading for the cleaning products several aisles down.
“Who said anything about a boyfriend?” he called out. My skin burned with embarrassment, and all I could do as I scampered into an aisle to hide was be grateful we weren’t in my usual store. I didn’t think I knew anybody there. Still, I could have killed him just the same for humiliating me. I didn’t think thirty grand was worth the humiliation, even if it meant taking care of Mom.
###
It only occurred to me around halfway through the process of cleaning his house that I was cleaning his house. I had started it as a way to shame him, but he didn’t seem to care. He didn’t have any shame at all. I couldn’t stop halfway through—I didn’t want him to think I gave up so easily. It was a battle of wills, and I intended to win. So I held back the gagging
that ensued when I opened his refrigerator and saw some of the things that were growing in there, threw everything out and moved on.
He didn’t even care when I walked into the living room after showering and found him stroking his dick. Sure, his fly was zipped, but he was still getting himself off. And I had a feeling I knew what he was thinking about. The pig.
Being in bed with him was a challenge. I stayed very still and breathed evenly, slowly. I needed him to think I was asleep. Even so, I was too keyed up to actually sleep. I wasn’t sure that he wouldn’t try something with me in the middle of the night, even though he said he wouldn’t. I couldn’t trust him.
It seemed like the two of us were waiting each other out, and it felt ridiculous. We had gotten along so well in bed before, the first time, when we…did what we did. My cheeks burned with shame at the memory of how far we’d gone. And we’d talked, and it felt good to talk. It felt good to be with him—then, at least. One day later and we slept on opposites sides of the bed, with me practically hanging off just to stay away from him.