No Reservations

by Natalia Banks

  I’d gone without a bra today because I don’t need one and frankly, they annoy me. And when his chest presses to mine I feel a whimper of pure pleasure leave my throat.

  “Fuck yes,” he growls, burying his face in my neck and sinking his teeth into me as my hips buck into him with a desperation that I’ve never experienced. I’ve never had this primal need for someone before. Sex has always been…boring. I mean, it feels okay, but I’ve never been so swept away I just couldn’t go without it.

  He rears back again and my leggings are around my ankles in a moment. Without regard, he wrenches my shoes off and my leggings follow. When I’m naked before him, I feel both terrified, vulnerable, and aching for more.

  My hands find his belt. “Off,” I tell him and his dark eyes meet mine, so deeply brown they almost look black, I feel like he’s looking right through me and into my very soul as his hands free his belt.

  My fingers wrestle at his button and zipper as his gaze strays to my tits and down my belly. Fuck, I need this.

  His pants fall and I finally feel a second of hesitation. “Protection,” I whisper. I’m not on the pill and I never, ever want to bring kids into this fucking evil, dark, cruel world. I swore long ago to never make someone suffer like I have.

  But he’s quick to grab a condom from the bedside table and roll it into place. With my thighs, I grab his hips and pull him in as he positions the tip of his cock to my entrance. My whole body is humming, excited and ready as he eases in with a groan.

  “Fuck, you’re tight,” he growls as he lowers on top of me. With his arms around me, his chest pinning me, his cheek pressed to mine, I feel surrounded, safe, and impatient with how slow he’s moving.

  “You’re not going to break me,” I grumble, my hips bucking into him. I want more; haven’t I made that clear?

  His head dips and he takes my nipple between his lips and suckles it deep in his mouth while my whole body lights up like every last nerve is firing at will. The pull of his lips sends jolts of pleasure straight to my core as his cock finally fills me wholly.

  It’s electric. Like we’re statically charged and sparking off one another as we both use each other’s bodies to get off.

  “Fuck me harder,” I whimper, loving how he’s grinding just so on my clit. His mouth leaves and I want to pull him back. But he merely switches sides and takes the other, leaving me gasping in pleasure.

  It’s almost too much. My whole body is rushing headlong toward release. It’s like he’s hitting all the right buttons in the right order; my body is firing off and going wild. My hips buck, keeping that pattern just right. My clit is throbbing, my pussy tightening. My belly coiling up so tight I can hardly breathe.

  His lips are hot on my skin, and the bolts of pleasure that are shooting right to my core are what shove me over the blinding edge into oblivion.

  “I’m…” I can’t say it. But the implosion within me can’t be missed. My pussy tightens around him in rippling pleasure, each spasm wringing a whimper from my lips.

  “Good girl,” he growls, his teeth scraping my neck as he nibbles on me. “My turn.”

  My heart pounds harder as he pushes home so hard I know he was holding back before. But he’s not holding back now. I cry out, my legs pulling him in harder as he shudders and my own rippling pleasure begins to finally slow and ease up just a bit.

  “Yes,” I whisper, pressing my lips to his as he finally rocks to a halt.

  The kiss is deep and I know both of us are suddenly seeing the repercussions of what we’ve just done clearly.

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  He pulls back and leaves the room. I’m quick to stand up and pull my shirt and sweater back on. Then my pants, then my socks and shoes. With any luck, he’ll pretend this never happened. It shouldn’t have happened.

  What the hell was I thinking?!

  I’m just another notch in this guy’s belt! Hell, he was likely just running a bet with himself to see if he could get this stupid girl who hated him into his bed.

  I’m such an idiot.

  Chapter 6

  Gavin

  When I come back out into the bedroom, she’s fully dressed, staring at the floor like she’s ashamed of what we’ve done.

  It fucking stings.

  But she lifts her chin, her eyes flashing as she dares me to say something. “I should be going,” she says, her voice strong and steady.

  I kind of admire her. She’s not pulling that bullshit I’m used to women doing; she’s not naked in my bed begging me to tell her my mind or asking what we’re going to do now.

  Nope, she’s fully dressed and telling me she’s ready to go. It’s a weird turnaround from what I’m used to. Then again, I don’t think there’s anything about Cindy Handberg that isn’t fascinating and totally out of the ordinary.

  “I could take you home, I say, grabbing my boxers and pants under her scrutiny. I hadn’t quite been prepared for this. I expected to come out and climb back into bed with her. Which is odd for me because I’m generally the one trying to get them out of the house. She’s got my head on backward and I’m not sure why.

  Sure, the sex was fucking electric.

  She’s passionate and responsive and so god damned sexy.

  But that’s no reason for me to be so comfortable keeping her here. It’s better if she goes. I pull on my pants and catch her glance. Her cheeks go pink and she looks toward the door as if considering escape now rather than waiting.

  And I begin to think of excuses. I’m not quite ready for things to end yet. I’d like to drive her home, to let her know that I’ll looking into things, that this changes nothing. I’m not going to treat this any differently than I would have if we didn’t sleep together.

  “I, uh,” she says and I grab a clean sweater from the dresser and pull it over my head while interrupting her.

  “One second.” My head pops free of the collar and she’s watching me, as if wondering what I’m about to say. I sit on the edge of the bed and pull on my socks and shoes, my mind working a million miles a minute. “Just because we did that,” I jerk my head toward the bed, wondering why I’m not just referring to it the same way I do with other women—fucking—“doesn’t mean I’m going to take this any more seriously.”

  Her eyes narrow and I sense fury.

  “Excuse me?” She says so very quietly.

  I tie my shoes and stand up, adjusting my shirt as I study her like one might study a wild, starving animal staring at them like they’re dinner. “I’m going to look into the claims you made about your father,” I say, adjusting the collar where it’s twisted. “But that’s not going to make me take extra measures to try to remedy the situation.”

  Her hands find her hips and she squares her shoulders, her eyes fucking Arctic as she lets out a little laugh of disbelief. “You think I fucked you to get special treatment?” she says so flatly I feel a stab of respect for her and wonder if I’m seeing this all wrong.

  “You didn’t?” I ask, feeling a tiny bit at a loss. Why else would someone sleep with me like that right after asking for a favor if not to leverage the whole situation? Everyone in my life does things like this in a calculated manner; usually to push me to do what they want.

  Fully expecting the blowback of her total anger, I brace myself. But she’s not done surprising me yet.

  I see her anger cool a bit and even her aggressive posture eases a little as she relaxes back on her heels from her toes. Her arms loosen from where they’re crossing her chest and she seems to take a deep, calming breath before speaking to me again. “You need better acquaintances,” she says and I feel like I’ve been kicked in the balls.

  Someone before me who obviously has nothing just told me that I’m the one with nothing.

  It’s a bit of a kick in the teeth. But she’s right. I’m not such an asshole that I can’t accept the truth in the matter. And the fact that she’s willing to say it leaves me feeling more respect for her. People so rarely speak so candidly to me. One c
urse of money is that people kiss your ass forever once you have it.

  “Thank you for dinner,” she says, looking away as if shy again before her attention weeps back my direction. I pull on my socks and shoes as she rocks a bit, her arms wrapped around herself.

  The silence between us feels awkward, but I’m not feeling like fixing it. Better we part terms this way. I’ll still do what I said and look into this thing with her father. But it might be better if she has a reason to stay out from underfoot.

  I lead the way out of my room, very aware of her behind me as I walk. She’s rushing to keep up and I slow my steps a bit to make it easier for her. At the door, I open the closet and grab a heavy jacket and whisk it around her shoulder before she can protest.

  But her eyes tell me I’ve made a bad move.

  “It’s cold,” I growl, unlocking the front door.

  She takes it by the collar and slides it off her shoulders before holding it out to me like it’s so disgusting she doesn’t dare hold it by more than four fingers. “I’m fine.” The force in her words is admirable. And obnoxious.

  “It’s a nice gesture,” I say, hearing the bitter edge to my voice. Why can’t she just go along with this?

  Her smile is all daggers aimed for my heart. “I don’t need your charity, Mr. Rossi.”

  Maddening woman. “I didn’t say you needed it, merely that I mean it kindly.”

  She straightens her shoulders, icy sparks flashing in her eyes.

  We stare each other down for a moment before I open the closet and throw the jacket in. Without another word—but plenty of thoughts about how infuriating this woman is—I head out the door toward the car.

  When she gets in beside me, I can see she’s shivering once again, but I get no pleasure from being right.

  I fucking tried to help.

  It’s been three days.

  Three days since Cindy stepped in front of my car.

  Three days since I had mind blowing sex with her.

  Three days since I had a decent night’s sleep.

  So here I am at four am with hand tools, a pile of gravel, wooden beams of varying lengths, and a bunch of other things I’ll need. The kitchen is quiet, as I would expect at three am. Even the road sees little traffic as I sit out here with floodlights chasing away the darkness.

  I lay out wooden beams in long rectangles, my mind straying to Cindy. I’ve learned much about her since I started digging into her life. Of course, I’ve mostly checked in on her father, but she’s been on my mind and I’m not an idiot.

  I had to make sure she is who she says she is. That she and her father don’t pull cons for a living or anything. I’m not a trusting soul; I learned long ago that everyone is out for themselves. So she’s got her own interests at heart and those might not align with mine.

  I use my foot to tap a beam into line before checking it with a laser sight to make sure it’s even. As everything falls into place on the ground, I only wish my mind would do the same. Everything I’ve found on Mr. Handberg and his daughter seem at odds with what I saw on the security tapes.

  It’s frustrating, really. Because I know Cindy is certain that her father is a good guy. And her arguments about a one time pay out versus a job that pays a stable income also makes sense given that I know he’s not a druggie.

  Taking the hoe, I mark the ground around the beams. With that done, I grab the screws and the cordless drill I’d brought. As the drill whirrs and sets the screws in place, I wonder how the hell I managed to get myself into this mess. Cindy has managed to work her way under my skin and she hasn’t even done anything.

  Chapter 7

  Cindy

  Today is total shit. My day job as a waitress went swimmingly.

  I got groped by a trucker who I told not to touch me. He’d then told me not to flatter myself; I’m a bag of bones and not his type. Charming.

  I walked in on a co-worker who decided to run cold water in a coffee pot; shattering it before telling the boss who happened to walk in that it was my idea. Bitch.

  And a woman who moonlights in the same kitchen dad worked in is whispering that I’m the daughter of a thief and that the apple never falls far from the tree. I should have told her to shut her god damned mouth. The only reason I didn’t is because I can not get fired.

  As much as I don’t want to tempt fate, I’m over here ready to ask if anything else can fucking go wrong today.

  It almost sounds like the happy Christmas music is just mocking me. I am just not feeling the holiday spirit. Not even a little bit.

  Going home feels like a blessing and I stare at the ground and grumble about the shitty things in my life the whole way.

  When I step in the front door to my home, I close it and lean on it for a few moments, taking deep breaths. The strand of hair that escaped my pony tail flies up and settles back on my face with every sigh.

  The deep breaths don’t help.

  With an aggravated sigh, I walk to my room and toss my worn purse on the bed. Throwing myself back on the comforter, I stare up at the ceiling. And like he has for the last several days, Rossi’s face comes to mind.

  What the hell had gotten into him? He’d been so hot and cold. But mostly cold. Still, it felt like he’d been unsure of me, of himself, of the whole situation. I feel that my getting up and getting dressed surprised him. Like he was expecting us to cuddle and gaze into one another’s eyes like some love struck teenagers.

  I’m not some love struck teenager.

  I’m a grown ass woman who knows better than to think sex means love in any man’s mind. It was fun. I enjoyed myself. I might have been a smidge mad at myself for seeming weak. But I was more surprised about how he expected me to use it as some bargaining chip to get what I wanted.

  And when I told him he needs to keep better company, he’d looked like I just dropkicked his puppy into a volcano. That was gut wrenching, and there was no denial. No, a quiet acceptance like he was thinking yeah, I need less shitty people in my life.

  What kind of life is that to lead?

  And what the hell was he doing with the coat? Even now, anger washes through my being at the memory. Was he really just trying to buy my silence or something? Thanks for the sex, here’s something to repay your poor ass. Oh, and don’t tell nobody.

  Still, it felt like a kind gesture; never mind the fact that he’d tried to convince me he was being nice. I stand up and run my fingers through my hair, getting ready for my shift at the soup kitchen, my mind still on Rossi.

  He’d been so quiet on the ride back. I hadn’t wanted to tell him where I lived, but then I decided I didn’t care if this rich guy judged me. He’s never had to work for a damn thing in his whole life. It’s not like he has any place to judge me. I work my ass off. So does my dad. We’re just stuck in a shitty place where, no matter how much we work, our bill amount is almost exactly what we make in any given month.

  Sure, we could move. Without a down payment for a new place, without first and last month’s rent, without utility down payments.

  We could work harder. There are at least six hours a night that I do nothing that I could work. Sleep is for the weak anyway.

  No, I know the only way out of this hole is to work really hard until I can finally die and have some damned peace.

  No, Rossi has no fucking right to judge me.

  But he didn’t.

  I told him where I lived. And he’d taken me there, quiet still, as if seething over the stupid coat thing. He’d stopped at the curb and I’d gotten out, expecting him to speed away.

  But he didn’t.

  He got out of the car and moved around it in an easy stride while he straightened the neck of his sweater. I’d frozen in place, unsure what he was doing walking up to my house.

  “What are you doing?” I’d asked, my breath ending the words on a hiss like I was depressurizing all the stress he was bringing out in me.

  “Making sure you get in safe.” He’d flashed a grin at me. A devilishly c
harming grin that was disarming because he was insinuating I lived in a criminal neighbourhood—I do—and that he wanted me to be safe.

  “Thank you,” I’d said, walking toward the door. On the front stoop, I’d stopped and turned to him.

  I expected to have to make excuses, to figure out a way to tell him I couldn’t invite him in for coffee or anything. But he’d merely leaned in and made every nerve in my body scream like an excited school girl and planted a chaste kiss on my cheek.

  When he’d pulled back, he seemed suddenly in control, as if he knew on a primal level the effect he’d had on me. “Have a good night,” he’d said, his voice a growl that made my heart beat double and my body yearn to invite him in after all.

  And he’d left.

  Studying my face in the mirror, I sigh. I’m pretty, I guess, in a weird way. Strong cheekbones. Wide jaw, a straight nose and big blue eyes. But I’m too skinny. I wish I could put on a few pounds to kind of round out my figure. I’ve always seen these curvy women and thought they know what’s up. I’d love a bit of curve to my body instead of so many angles.

  Might as well wish for the moon. Now is not the time to start eating more. As it is, we’re sinking without dad’s income. You know you’re poor when you’re wondering if you should buy food or save the money to keep the heat and lights on.

  I could always eat at the kitchen. But I’ve never worked a night and felt like I could take from the kitchen’s resources and sleep well. There are so many people worse off than I am.

  Knowing it’s about time, I head out the door, dropping a kiss on dads sleeping head. He’s been sleeping more; but I’m not sure if that’s a good or bad thing. Is he catching up on missed hours or sinking into depression?

  With the weight of the world on my shoulders, I walk to work in the swirling snow, hearing the Christmas music in houses, wishing I could feel the Christmas spirit.