by Lilah May
When I had sent myself to boarding school, I had erased everything nice about me, focusing on what I could do instead of pining for love. It wasn’t hard to become so rich in this new technological world. Look at Mark Zuckerberg. All from one website. Imagine if you had twenty.
I became a cold efficient machine, working on my programming skill, learning everything about coding, ignoring everything else. But that hatred of her husband, that frustration and anger of my powerlessness never disappeared.
And so, I played football, became star quarterback pretty quickly. No social life was essential to becoming the best, staying late after practice all by myself, training. But it still didn’t help that darkness.
So I kept getting into fights all the time in high school, walking around with scraped knuckles and sometimes a black eye the few times some kid got real lucky.
Once, I almost got expelled for knocking a kid out with one punch. But the kid’s father, instead of having me kicked out, forgave me in his kindness. And also because of the fact that I beat his son so easily who was training to be a professional boxer.
That man is Big Pop, my coach and trainer. He taught me that there’s a better way to harness that rage. And this was his gym. He passed a year or two later from a heart attack. The man loved his fried chicken.
But I bought the gym and carried on his tradition, giving free access to boys who couldn’t afford to train, to find a release for their anger, their frustration with their lot in life.
The word ALPHA is above the entrance in big blocky red letters, emphasizing the A. Big Pop always said “you gotta be the alpha dog.” And everyone who trains here trains to be the best.
But as soon as I walk through those doors, I know something is wrong. The normal sounds of the busy gym: fists pounding practice mitts, kicks slamming into heavy bags, the clattering of speed bags, grunts of effort and shouts of encouragement.
They’re all absent. Instead silence sits thick and tense in the air.
In the middle of the ring is Eli, the same kid years ago that I one-hit KO’d. I let him take over the gym and he’s a great leader, helping the younger kids stay motivated.
But right now, everyone is gathered around the center ring, watching closely as Eli circled his opponent, a man in a silver suit.
One or two yells let Eli know that he’s not alone, but the rest don’t say a word. Dead quiet. They’re not just nervous. They know that this man’s a threat and they know Eli needs all the concentration he can get.
I watch closely, hoping Eli’s doing better than the kids make it seem. But one punch and I know Eli’s shook. His long brown hair swings as wildly as his punch and the man casually leans back out of Eli’s range.
“You can’t take this gym!” Frustrated, Eli starts to rely on his words instead of focusing on his fighting. “This was my father’s and I’ll never let you destroy it.”
“It’s really not up to you. The wrecking ball will swing whether you’re inside or not.” The man in the suit calmly replies, his monotone belying the death threat he delivers just as casually.
It has the effect he wants though and Eli roars, charging at him recklessly. This man is playing Eli like a fiddle and it reminds me exactly how I got Eli to drop to the floor years ago.
I finally get a good look at the man in the suit, after he ducks and shifts his footing to circle around so smoothly as if he’s been in the ring all his life.
His white blonde hair is slicked back, not a single hair is ruffled even though he’s been ducking and weaving Eli’s attacks for minutes now. Strangely, not one drop of sweat can be seen as if he has ice flowing in his veins.
Everything about him is perfect, his sharp nose, his sharp chin, his sharp suit. And then, he looks at me, even while dodging another punch.
His eyes are like pale glaciers, unmoving and just as cold. They would make normal men shiver and shrivel. But I’m not even close to normal and I stare back, my own gaze able to make people crumble and burn.
He doesn’t yield an inch. And when he realizes he can’t win head on with me, he goes for Eli.
“Either way, you said if I can knock you out, I can take the gym. And it looks like you can’t even touch me. It’s quite sad, especially with all your friends watching.” His voice is dripping with venom, an obvious bait. If Eli’s cautious he could wrestle him, bring it to a standstill. But there’s a reason why Eli lost years back and it’s the same reason he’s about lose now.
“You haven’t beaten me, yet!” He shouts like a battle cry, and just like a battle, he charges forward with no caution. With one little swivel, the man in the suit moves out of his path, and slams his knee into the stomach of the oncoming Eli, doubling the force of the impact. Instantly, Eli crumples to the ground.
Before he can get swarmed, the man jumps out of the ring and strolls his way up to me.
“Looks like this place is mine, now.” He smiles ever so slightly, a tiny curve at the corner of his lips. He’s taunting me just like he did Eli.
“Sorry, bub. It really wasn’t his place to give.” He knows that. He didn’t come here to pick a random fight. He came here for something else.
“Then, whose place is it to give?”
“Mine.”
“Oh, so you’re the infamous Bobby Carter?” This is what he wanted. This is the information he came here to get. But I don’t give a shit.
“What of it, huh? Who the fuck are you?” I’m a fighter. I face people head on.
“Doesn’t really matter.” He starts making his way to the door. He calls out over his shoulder, “You really should get your people under control.”
Without even knowing his name, I know that we’re polar opposites. He’s my enemy. Now, I just had to figure out what he wanted.
CHAPTER 6
LISA
There’s too many!
And they all look so mouth-watering, all those tasty treats lined up for me to purchase at my whim.
I never expected Patty to bring me here, of all places. She told me to dress appropriately, so of course I threw on my best dress, layered my face with makeup and strolled out of my house looking like the hungry slut I felt like being tonight.
There’s just one giant problem holding me back from getting what I want: choosing who I’m going to take home tonight.
How could I? There are so many options: chocolate ones, extra-large size, thick and creamy. All of them sitting there so smug, knowing I couldn’t pick and if I did, I would only be filled with regret. Or what if? Maybe, just maybe, I could have them all?
No, no. Three at most. Or could I stretch to fit five? Would it be too much for my nubile body to handle? Could I really deal with five of them at once or would I have to take them one at a time, slowly, delectably? I’ve never been this hungry in my life.
OK. I’ve decided.
I open the glass door and make my first choice: Cherry Garcia. It’s one of the originals! Then of course, Tonight Dough, because Jimmy Fallon’s super cute; Phish Food, because I went to their concert once; Chunky Monkey, because it’s classic sad food; and Half Baked, cause I’m baked.
Like really, really baked.
Can everyone tell? Paranoia overcomes me and I look around, my eyes flitting this way and that. But nobody’s there.
Good. Cause I’m like, super-duper high. I haven’t been high since college and now, I’m wondering why. Cause it feels pretty damn good.
I’m at a grocery store, dressed up in a ridiculous revealing red dress with a neckline that shows more than a slight hint of the lacey black bra underneath. Hair done, nails done, everything done, courtesy of the lovely Patty.
All for a munchies run. Cause why the hell not?
And why shouldn’t I feel good? Donald’s probably out with that little sorority slut, partying, drinking, acting like he didn’t just turn fifty last year. While I’m at a grocery store, buying five pints of Ben and Jerry’s.
Crap, he definitely won the break-up. God, why do I have no life?
We used to have no life together. I became comfortable with The Dick. But now I’m alone. Alone in my no-fun zone. What happened to me?
I want to have fun. I want to act like I’m 20 again. And buying a bunch of ice cream, super high, isn’t going to cut it.
All at once, I realize I put the ice cream into my bag and not a basket. Not that I have a basket. Oh well, I can use my bag till I get to the cashier.
Or, maybe…or maybe I can just take them. The thought sends a thrill through me. This is perfect! Isn’t this exactly what I wanted? To be young and dumb again?
I’ll steal them!
What could be more fun than walking out the store with a gallon of ice cream in your bag? I haven’t done anything risky in years. To be honest, I haven’t done anything risky in my life!
Always settling for the boring, the mundane. That’s how I ended up with Donald.
“No more.” I declare to myself. I’m gonna be a badass today. I’m going to be impulsive. I’m going to do whatever the hell I want. Just like Donald.
Did anyone see me? I’m not about to get pinched on my first romp as a thief. I have to be slick. Like a smooth criminal. I look around, scanning the aisle and I see the coast is clear.
“Excuse me, ma’am.” The low rumble of a deep baritone voice rumbles through my body, enveloping me like rolling thunder, tickling me in all the right places.
Who was that? Or more like what was that? I whip around and standing across the aisle is a man. And when I say man, I mean MAN in big, bold uppercase letters.
As soon as I take one look at him, my breath catches in my throat, and my heart starts to race, slamming against my ribs. And I freeze.
It wasn’t just his incredible body, brimming with strength, barely contained by his immaculate black suit. It wasn’t just that his incredible size clearly could ravage my rapidly weakening body in an instant.
What made me freeze, like the ice stuck to the glass door behind me, is the searing intensity of his eyes.
Sitting above hollowed cheeks and razor sharp cheekbones, are his eyes, just sunken enough to throw a shade over his burning brown irises, turning them charcoal black. And out from under the shadow of his brows, a pair of dark roiling eyes glare straight at me.
Why is he staring at me? And why is he staring at me like that? Like he wants to devour me, swallow me whole. And why does it make me so hot?
His piercing stare penetrates me so thoroughly my body tingles on the inside and the outside, my skin prickling and dissolving under his scorching gaze.
With one look, he has me feel like I’m falling while still freezing me in place.
Who is he? I know he has me flustered beyond logic when I think he might be one of those loss-prevention agents in plain clothes spying on customers.
He’s anything but plain. In fact, he looks completely out of place in here as he did out there. He looks like he belongs in the boardroom of a Fortune 500 company or gracing the cover of Forbes magazine.
He’s definitely rich, that unmistakable haughty elegance exuding from every pore. That cool confidence, that arrogant self-assurance that everything in the world is his for the taking… including me.
Everything about him makes my knees weak as if my body’s telling me to submit at first sight. Without a word, he has me completely at his mercy, ready and willing to give myself up to him.
In two strides, he’s standing in front of me, towering over me, his designer suit looks as if it’s going to rip at the seams from his thick muscular shoulders and wide chest.
He’s huge! I squeeze my legs together, hoping that the growing wetness between them is just my imagination.
And like a horny teenage girl, all I wonder is if he’s huge everywhere.
I wouldn’t have even thought of it much less dare to sneak a peek as the old me, as Mrs. Howard the boring housewife. But earlier today when I got rid of Donald, I got rid of the old me. And now, this man is making me into someone new. Someone I didn’t recognize. Something about this man brings out a very different woman in me. A dirty woman. A bold woman.
And I don’t mind it at all. In fact, I want it. I want to change.
I can’t believe what I’m doing even while I’m doing it, my gaze drifting lower and lower. Past the suit jacket hanging open to reveal the valley between his rock-hard pecs. Past his stomach that’s so cut, I see the every ridge of his abs under his tight glossy black shirt. I squeeze my legs together, hoping that the growing wetness is just my imagination.
I keep going all the way down to his crotch, hoping for the tasty hint of his bulge. My eager eyes finally land on his package and he doesn’t let me down. His tight pants show a long thick rod snaking down the left leg and I almost fall over, if I wasn’t sitting down already. He’s not even hard but the immense girth of his cock strains against the material, fighting to be released.
I drink it in, the up close and very personal view, as my nipples tighten and twist into hard knots. I finally rip my gaze away and look up to find him scowling at me, his lips pursed in disapproval.
And that’s when I finally notice how young he is. He couldn’t be a day over twenty. Half my age! And yet somehow, he makes me feel like I’m the younger one, looking down at me almost dismissively, like I’m just a naughty little girl in his eyes.
But the way he’s built, I am just a little girl to him and with what he’s packing, he could rip me in two and I tremble at the thought. I almost spill over onto the linoleum floor, and I know if I did, I’d be sitting in a puddle of my own making.
He caught me sneaking a peek. And now, he looks like he wants to punish me for it and I want him. For being such a naughty girl, he should teach me how I should behave.
Wait, what the hell am I thinking? I’ve never felt this way before, this dirty. Yet for some reason, his withering stare doesn’t make me wilt, instead he makes me blossom. Or more specifically, he makes my pussy blossom.
What could he want from me? What could I possibly have that he wants, that he doesn’t already own? Could he want me? Could he want to own me? The thought sends a shiver up my spine.
My head is filled with fantasies of him taking me to some dark corner and having his way with me. He makes it impossible for me to deny that I want him.
The only thing is: how do I flirt with a cute guy again? Scratch that. How do I flirt with a drop dead gorgeous specimen of a man who literally almost made me drop dead with just a look?
What do I say? Do you like ice cream? Ben and Jerry’s is the best? What’s your favorite flavor? My stomach starts to fill with the light fluttering of butterflies and I wipe my sweaty palms on my dress.
God, he’s got me all flustered like a nervous teenager. How does he make me feel like I’m 18 again when he couldn’t be more than 21? And more importantly, why does it feel so good to have my tongue-tied like I’m on a first date?
I realize I haven’t said a word this whole time and all I can manage is “Can I help you?” like I’m a store employee. I want to disappear after that line.
“Yes, actually you can.” With those words of his, my heart leaps into my throat and I can’t believe that he wants me back.
I’m not going to miss this opportunity. Without even realizing, I thrust my breasts out and hike my skirt up to reveal more of my creamy white thighs. I’m definitely a hungry slut tonight, just not for ice cream.
“I’ll do anything for you.” I smile coquettishly, fluttering my eyes praying I don’t look like I’m just having a seizure.
“If you’ll do whatever I want,” he begins. What would he have me do? Not that it matters. I would do anything to get him to rip off my dress even if it had to be amongst boxes of Totino’s Pizza Rolls and Eggo Waffles, “could you return the ice cream you stole?”
For the third time today, I groan out loud.
CHAPTER 7
LISA
My soaring heart drops, sinking all the way to the floor.
God damn it! I knew I should never
have listened to Patty.
Why the hell did I think this would be a good idea? Get high, get dolled up, and go to a grocery store? Then, decide to seduce a man way out of my league, in the frozen food section of all places.
All the facts were there. I just chose to blatantly ignore them.
He was looking at me because he saw me steal the ice cream. And he only came up to me to ask me to put the ice cream back. Not to mention, the fact that this sexy beast of a man would have no interest in a 40 year old mom. Or the fact that we were in a grocery store, the least sexy place in the world, barring a Chuck E Cheese’s.
I want to start crying, like the foolish little girl that I had been acting like all night long.
My head’s spinning and paranoia starts to consume me as the questions come flooding.
Does he really work here? No, not with that kind of suit. Could he be FBI? Am I going to get arrested? I have to plead the fourth. Or was it the fifth? Either way, I have to deny, deny, deny.
“You’ve made a mistake.” I lie. My heart’s racing, not in that titillating thrilling way, but in that sickening sinking way.
“I never make mistakes.” His matter of fact statement doesn’t irritate me as it should, instead his cool confidence crashes against me and I shiver in response.
Is he really going to send me to jail for ice cream? They can’t search me without a warrant. Or can they? If they have probable cause? What am I saying? I don’t know anything about the law bar the few facts I’ve gleaned from the Law and Order marathons I’ve binged on, however reliable they were.
“Well, I didn’t steal anything.” Don’t confess. That’s all I know. Every idiot on every episode always confesses. Even when there’s no evidence. Hold on...the evidence was in my goddamn bag! I’m so getting nailed for this.
“What’s that in your bag?” Is he serious? Why is he bothering me for a bit of ice cream? OK., maybe it’s a lot of ice cream. But still. This is a little ridiculous. Who the hell is he? He didn’t work here, he wasn’t a cop...did he own the store?