“You're my daughter – my only family now that your mother's gone. And while I'd love for you to stay here with me forever, I know that it's selfish. You need a husband, a family of your own. Otherwise, when I'm gone, you'll be a middle-aged woman alone in the world.”
I nod, unsure of what to say. This is the most he's opened up to me in years. And there's something else, too. It's the first time he's ever acknowledged that I need a life of my own. Granted, he's not exactly giving me permission to move into an apartment downtown, but it's a start.
“I want you to have the right husband, though. Young people today, they don't care about the things that go into making a lasting marriage. It's not all about lust and passion. Marriage is more like a business partnership than folks like to admit, and to get the right partner, you have to be detached.”
“Were you detached when you married Mom? It wasn't passionate love?” I ask innocently. I know damn well he wasn't – after Mom died, I found some legal papers that my dad had left out on the counter. Their marriage license was among the pile, and that's when I found out I had been born six months after they married, not the year and a half that Mom always claimed. No wonder my dad could never remember how many years their anniversaries were.
“We got lucky, your mom and I,” he says. “Most people don't. That's why I'm...”
“Choosing a husband for me?”
“Helping you,” he says firmly. “You're not the most worldly girl...”
Yeah, and who's fault is that? I think.
“And the fact is, your options are... limited.”
“What do you mean?” I say, outraged. “Are you saying there's something wrong with me?”
“No, no,” he says quickly. “Not with you. With me. Some of my business affairs are, well...”
He's stumbling for the right word. Illegal? I think.
“Frowned upon,” he decides, “by some people. My work is down and dirty, and it's not like being a doctor or a judge or a lawyer.”
He gestures at the chair where Carl had been sitting. I remember what they had said about women working, and I suddenly see where this is going.
“So, what you're saying is this. I need a man with money to keep me in the lifestyle that I'm accustomed to, but none of them want to take me on because they don't like the way you do business.” I say. “So, why can't I marry someone who does what you do? There's clearly money in it.”
“Sweetheart, I don't want you to marry someone like me. Your mom and me, our lives weren't always easy. I want you to have everything that we never had. I want you to be respected in the community. I want folks to be falling over themselves to get invited to your parties. I want your babies to have more playdates than they can handle!”
I was shocked. Like most people, I'd never really seen my parents as anything but Mom and Dad. It had never occurred to me that they had struggled socially, but now I was starting to understand. They had too much money to be accepted by the working class communities they came from, but they were too grubby for the tastes of the traditionally wealthy. It broke my heart to think of them trying to fit in and being rejected.
“OK Daddy, I'll go out with Carl tomorrow,” I said.
He is visibly relieved. I get up, meaning to go to bed. But at the doorway, a thought occurs to me, and I turn around.
“Why now? Did you just wake up this morning and decide I need a husband?”
He sighs again, as if the weight of the world is on his shoulders.
“I wasn't going to tell you this,” he says slowly, “but I don't want you to dismiss Carl out of hand if you don't like the way he cuts his meat or whatever. There's been... a threat. It's nothing to worry about, so don't be getting upset. Just some business stuff. Some guys wanting to talk the big talk. Nothing will come of it, but it got me to thinking that if I wasn't here...”
“Don't be silly, Dad,” I say, my bright tone disguising the fear creeping though my veins, “You'll always be around!”
“I know, I know. Like I said, it's nothing to worry about. Now go on to bed, you need to get your beauty sleep for your big date tomorrow!”
~~~~~~~
We're walking through the doors of the restaurant, and I've yet to say anything to Carl that isn't 'yes', 'uh-huh', or 'that sounds great'. I feel like a one-woman cheering squad. When he arrived to collect me, he stood on the driveway with my dad, so that they could both admire his car. On the drive over, he talked incessantly, this time about the house he was planning to buy. Evidently, I was too female to be suitably impressed with his work feats – they were just for my father.
As we were seated by the maitre d', he was fretting about his precious car.
“Do you think it will be OK, with the valet?”
He was speaking to me, but the waiter was in full ear-shot.
“I mean,” he continued, “I doubt a man like that knows how to handle a performance car. It cost more than he'll earn in ten years...”
I was so embarrassed.
“I'm sure it will be fine,” I said. “He looked like he knew what he was doing.”
I hope that will be enough to keep the worst of the spit out of my food.
Things don't get much better once we sit down. Carl huffs and puffs as he looks through the menu. As far as I can tell, he's upset that the food isn't expensive enough, which I think is ridiculous. He can't possibly know what the quality of the food is like, since the place only just opened, so how on earth does he know how much it should cost?
He barks our order at the server – apparently, I'm having what he's having – and she flees.
“Look at this place,” he grumbles. “I thought it was meant to be exclusive.”
“I think it's very nice,” I venture. It is nice. It's beautifully decorated and the service is excellent, despite Carl's appalling attitude towards them.
“Nice? That's not what exclusive means,” he says contemptuously. “Exclusive means excluding people – the wrong sort of people. Anyone can come here, it's like a fucking steakhouse. I mean, look at them.”
His voice is loud, and carries easily across the restaurant, reaching the elderly couple and their son who are seated at the other end of the room. The son has his back to us, but he slowly gets to his feet. He's tall, and broad. Oh god, this means trouble. It feels as if the entire room holds their breath, but the old man grabs his son's wrist, whispering urgently, clearly trying to talk him down. The son raises his hands in placation, and settles for turning round to glare at us before he re-takes his seat. Even before his cold blue eyes have swept from Carl to me, I am cringing in my seat.
The offended man is Dragon.
Our eyes lock for a moment, and I know he recognizes me. As he should, after all he was inside me less than twenty four hours ago. He looks back at Carl, who is wisely not making eye-contact, and sneers.
I want to cry out. I'm not with this rude snob! But of course, I am with him. I drop my gaze, feeling my cheeks burn red.
The only good thing is that Carl has learned to keep his voice down, although the altercation makes him even more vile. He launches into a diatribe about the working class, and how 'jumped-up' they're becoming. Like me? I think but don't say. I may have grown up with money, but my parents came from nothing, and my father is the very embodiment of the jumped-up working class man. Yet Carl fawns over him at every opportunity.
During our main course, I risk a glance across the room. It has been a struggle to keep my eyes forward. Dragon's presence is like a magnet, but I don't want Carl to see me staring at the back of his head. I'm startled to discover that Dragon and the old man – too old to be his father, maybe his grandfather – have switched seats, and Dragon is now facing me. And not just facing me, staring directly at me, his face unreadable.
I flick back to Carl nervously.
“Are you listening to me?” he snaps.
“Yes, of course,” I stammer. “I just need to go to the...”
“Yes, yes, off you go,” he says, grantin
g the permission that I hadn't actually been asking for.
This has backfired on me. Dragon's table is near the bathrooms. Now, I have to stand up and walk across the room, right past him. I feel as if a spotlight is shining on me. Don't look at him! If you look at him, he'll think you're coming over to talk to him! The very last thing in the world that I need is for Carl to realize that I've met Dragon before, and how exactly we spent the time...
Eyes forward, one foot in front of the other, I make it to the sanctity of the ladies room. Thankfully, there's no attendant, and I have the place to myself.
Not actually needing to use the facilities, I move over to the full-length mirror that covers the far wall, pressing my forehead against the cool glass. Will this awful night never end? But even when it does, there will be hundreds more to come. I get the impression that I'm not going to shake off Carl too easily. My father's 'marriage-as-business' attitude means that he'll dismiss my dislike of Carl, and if my father wants this relationship to happen, well, sooner or later, Daddy always gets his way.
I jump away from the mirror as I hear the outer door opening. Luckily, I've brought my purse, so I pull out some powder and start fixing my face. The inner door swings open, and reflexively I glance at the newcomer in the reflection. Part of me isn't even surprised to see him standing there.
“You not going to introduce me to your boyfriend?” Dragon says.
“He's not my boyfriend,” I mutter. “You shouldn't even be in here.”
“So I hear. But it seems that they'll let any trash in,” he says coldly.
“What? No, I don't mean that... I mean in the bathroom.” I say. I'm still talking to his reflection, because I can't bring myself to turn around and face him. His presence seems to fill the small room.
“Relax, I know what you meant. I saw the expression on your face when your boyfriend started shooting his mouth off.” His tone is warmer, and he's smirking now.
“What the fuck do you see in that guy, apart from the size of his wallet?”
His presumption annoys me. “I already told you, he's not my boyfriend. And I don't see anything in him. He's obnoxious.” I snap.
“You are here on a date with him, though?”
“The one and only date we'll ever have,” I say, wishing it were true. “I only agreed to it to keep my father happy.”
Dragon moves closer to me, close enough to touch. I can feel his breath on my shoulders.
“Have you fucked him?” he says casually.
“What? I... I can't believe you've just asked me that!” I splutter.
“Why not?” he says. “You've fucked me...”
I open my mouth, ready to tell him to piss off, ready to turn on my heel and storm out of the bathroom. Maybe Carl is right – Dragon is trash.
But before I can speak, he starts to trace a circle on my shoulder, so lightly that if I couldn't see it in the mirror, I wouldn't even be sure it was happening. A shiver runs down my spine – a delicious shiver.
“I haven't fucked him,” I find myself saying.
I watch our reflections, mesmerized, as the finger strokes along the length of my bare arm.
“Are you going to fuck him?” he says. His tone is still casual, but I can hear a tightness underneath.
“No,” I say.
He bends his head, and his lips brush lightly against my skin. He looks up at my reflection.
“Are you going to fuck me?” he says, his voice low. “Right here, right now?”
No. No, Dragon, I'm not going to fuck you in a public restroom. The words stick in my throat, and my traitorous hand reaches behind me. His cock is like an iron bar in his pants, and any resolve I had left disintegrates.
“Yes,” I say. I turn to face him, but he stops me, his hands on my shoulders.
“No,” he says. “Like this.”
He turns me back towards the mirror, placing my hands on the glass. My face is flushed, my pupils dilated with lust and the fear of getting caught. I can't look at myself, so instead I look at him, towering over me. I hear a zipper, and then his strong hands run up my sides, bunching my dress up over my hips.
“Don't tear my panties off!” I hiss, remembering the last time.
He pushes them down over my thighs, grinning knowingly, and my bare ass is exposed. I gasp as I feel his fingers on my soaking wet pussy.
“Quickly,” I urge, partly because I'm terrified of being found like this, but mostly because I want him inside me, right now. I can't think straight.
I watch his face as I feel the head of his cock press against me, and then slowly slide in. His eyes widen, and he looks somehow softer, less fearsome. He's moving slowly, savoring the moment, but I have no patience. I thrust my hips, pressing myself back along his thick length, and moan as I am filled completely. I need him to go faster.
“So fuck me, then,” I say, and I see him grin.
“Just remember, you asked for it,” he says wickedly, and then it begins.
He grips my hips, holding me still, and starts slamming his cock into me. It's relentless. I can't breathe. It's exquisite. I press my mouth against the back of my hand, trying to muffle my cries of pleasure. I can feel the orgasm coming, and I actually bite down, desperate to keep quiet but unable to do so. My eyes are squeezed shut as I shudder and shake, but I can feel his cock spasming inside me. He's coming too. He lets out a long, low groan as he fills me with his seed.
He pulls out as my orgasm wears off, and suddenly reality sets in – fast. I'm standing in a public restroom where anyone could walk in. I have my panties around my ankles, my dress around my waist, and a man who is most definitely not my date. Shit! My heart is pounding so hard that they can probably hear it in the dining room.
In one motion I bend down, pulling up my panties and smoothing down the dress at the same time. I want to say something, but I have literally no idea what. Instead, I push past Dragon and out of the bathroom, half-running back to my table before I get caught.
“You took your time,” Carl says sulkily. “No! I don't want to know...”
Well, that's OK, because I certainly wasn't going to tell him. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Dragon return to the old couple. They both get up – they're leaving. Thank god. It was bad enough before. I don't think I could sit through the rest of this dinner with Dragon watching me.
“What happened to your hand?” Carl says.
I look down. There's a red mark where I bit it, but luckily there's no actual tooth marks.
“I caught it in the hand dryer,” I say, and I'm surprised. The lie doesn't make me afraid, like it normally would. Instead, it makes me feel a little bit more confident. I fucked someone in the bathroom and got away with it.
“This place really is a shithole,” he says.
~~~~~~~
When we get home, my father is waiting on the driveway to meet us. I'm relieved – I've been dreading having to deal with Carl if he expects to get anything more than a kiss on the cheek and a polite thank you. The man thoroughly repulses me.
“Here are the two lovebirds!” my dad beams. “Carl – I'd ask you in for a drink, but I'm in the middle of something here. I'm sure you understand.”
“Of course,” he says politely. “Would you like to play golf tomorrow?”
I'm about to say no, and then I realize he's not talking to me.
“Sure, son,” my father says. “I'll see you there.”
“What are you in the middle of?” I say, as Carl drives away. Good riddance, too.
My father runs a hand through his hair. He looks stressed.
“Just some business stuff. The...”
He hesitates, and looks around warily. Is he afraid?
“Come inside, let's have a drink,” he says.
He pours me a modest glass of wine, but a huge slug of brandy for himself.
“Is this the threats?” I say. “The threats that you said were nothing to worry about?”
“They are still nothing to worry about,” he says firm
ly, “but it doesn't hurt to be cautious. Now, how did your date go?”
I want to tell him about how awful Carl is, and how I never want to see him again. But I look at my father's anxious face, and I can't bring myself to add to his misery. The high of lying to Carl is turning into the familiar guilt about deceiving my father.
“It was great,” I say brightly. I remember that my dad is seeing Carl tomorrow at the golf club, and will no doubt get an account from him. “The restaurant wasn't very nice, really, but Carl was lovely. I can't wait to see him again.”
The relief on his face is worth the pain of having to say nice things about Carl. And really, I tell myself, will it kill you to go on a couple more dates with him? With a bit of luck, he'll get bored of me, and then I'll be free. Free of Carl, anyway.
“I'm so pleased, sweetheart,” he says. “But...”
He looks over at the door to his office, which is ajar.
“But what? What are you looking at?”
“But until you and Carl are more settled, I want someone to keep an eye on you. Just until this threat business is taken care of.”
“You mean like a bodyguard?” I gasp. Things must be a lot more serious than he's saying. I know he has protection when he's working, but we've never had anyone at home.
“A companion,” he says soothingly, like I'm an elderly woman who needs someone to play bingo with. “Somebody to drive you about, take you shopping, that kind of thing. He'll be staying here for a little while.”
I'm not completely stupid, despite what everyone seems to think. If my father is ordering this level of protection, it only means one thing. The threats have included me, personally. He's been telling me not to be afraid, but I am.
“Come in,” he calls out. His office door swings open, and a man steps into the room.
“This is my daughter, Honey,” Dad says. “Honey, this is Dragon. He's going to be keeping his eye on you night and day, so don't worry about a single thing.”
Goddammit.
Chapter Three - Dragon
I can hardly believe my eyes. It's her. The girl from the dressing room, the girl from the restaurant, the girl that's been on my mind almost constantly for the last twenty four hours – she's Tony Freeman's precious daughter. Honey. But now I think about it, I never did catch her name. If I had, I'd have known. Or would I?
Dragon: A Bad Boy Romance Page 3