“Not you. What’s your name?” he almost barks at her.
Jade opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. Jesus, I hope she’s not going to faint.
“Her name is Jade.” I tilt my chin up, grabbing her hand in mine once again. I’m not going to let him intimidate my best friend. In a lot of ways, Jade is the only person I really talk to; it’s certainly not Annabelle I turn to when shit goes south.
“Right, Jade.” He scans her like she’s a piece of trash he needs to take out. I’m pretty sure he is going to forget her name before the night is over. “Well, Jade, I’m not your dad and it’s not my job to discipline you. A cab will be waiting for you outside, free of charge. Don’t worry, I’ll call your parents tomorrow to fill them in on your little adventure. Carter, Rome,”—he jerks his chin toward my friend— “make sure she gets home safely and take the driver’s number and license plate. Dahlia, in my office, now.”
I hug Jade quickly, mouthing “sorry” and feeling our hearts clashing together, fast and furious. Then I wipe my sweaty palms over my mini dress as I stagger into Graham’s office. I’ve never been there before—never been to this club, actually—and for some reason coming in here makes me feel alarmingly excited.
I close the door behind me and scan his office, all brown leather and deep oak furniture. It looks like it was decorated by a caveman. Then again, Graham is a bit of a beast. One in a special-made suit, at least. His Irish accent is soft but his voice is threatening when he leans against his desk, his palms flat over the surface, still standing up.
“You should be ashamed of yourself.”
“Really? I wasn’t the one whose club was playing Ghost Town. You should fire the DJ and burn down his station before you hire someone else.”
I swear this stupid shit just slips out from my mouth without even meaning to, and I think Graham is biting down a smile but I can’t know for sure, because believe it or not, I’ve never actually seen him smile. It’s a depressive thought, but luckily I have no time to dwell on it.
He shakes his head. “Take a seat.”
I take a seat on the chair next to his rich-wood desk, exhaling sharply.
Then I fold my hands over my thighs and look down, playing my part as the chastised child. I’m not scared of my mom. She hardly ever tells me what to do, and she sure as hell doesn’t give a damn. But Graham…Graham is someone I don’t want to cross. I’m not even sure why, he’s never been mean to me. He’s never been anything to me, to be honest. Mostly he just ignores me. But I know that he’s a very capable man. Capable of ruining me, among other things.
“Care to explain what the fuck you’re doing in my club?” He leans on his desk, looking casual yet somehow frightening. His eyes, green like lime, shine with a hint of danger in them, and his lips purse.
“I wanted to…I dunno, to unwind. Have some fun.” I shrug, looking down.
“Be specific,” he orders.
“I wanted to drink and dance,” I admit through gritted teeth, feeling myself blushing again and hating myself for it. “And Jersey is small and I didn’t want to bump into my usual high school crowd. All the seniors are going to stupid house parties, which I don’t like. I knew I could probably sneak into this place because it’s so…”
Full of underage bimbos, I’m tempted to add, but I don’t.
“It’s New York.” I heave a sigh, shrugging with one shoulder. “I knew we’d eventually get in somewhere.”
“Drink and dance?” he repeats coldly. I doubt Graham has ever danced. I know he drinks but he seems to be too icy and calculated to do something as fun as dancing. I offer a little nod, feeling a tad less scared but a lot more intrigued. He turns to the wall behind his desk There are long shelves full of expensive liquor behind his desk. They cover up the whole goddamn wall, to be exact. With his hands knotted behind his back, he examines the liquor like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world before plucking one full bottle of scotch. He takes out four shot glasses from the drawer in his desk and places them in a straight line. After which he unscrews the cap and pours the alcohol into all of them with the skill of a bartender. I flinch. Is he going to get drunk in front of me just to show me that he can and I can’t? What a douche.
A hot douche, my brain corrects, quite unnecessarily. He is my step-dad. I shouldn’t even think about it.
“What song did you say was playing? The one I should have my DJ fired for?”
Oh, shit. He is definitely smirking. And hot damn, he has a dimple. Just the one, on his left cheek. He is so perfectly imperfect. This is not looking good for me. I’ve lived with this man for three years and I’ve only just noticed that he has one dimple. I love dimples, goddammit.
“My Boo by Ghost Town.” I swallow. I actually really like that song, but it’s so nineties. Graham plops down on his executive chair and rolls himself toward the giant Apple screen. He taps his keyboard a few times before the familiar song starts blasting through his speakers.
Then, he leans back on his chair and stares at me closely.
“What?” I ask, knowing that my eyes are wide and that I look, in all probability, like a deer caught in headlights.
“Dance. Drink.” He moves one of the full shot glasses across the desk and in my direction, some of the liquid spilling over the expensive oak. “That’s what you’re here for, no?”
“You’re going to let me drink? I’m not even eighteen.” I know in Europe they start drinking at eighteen, but…this is America. Surely he will not risk his ass and…oh, right, I forgot who I was talking with.
“My old man let me have my first drink when I was thirteen,” he informs me, looking relaxed and bored with the conversation. I lick my lips and glance at his every time I think I can get away with it.
“Yeah, but that’s in Ireland. You guys are serious about getting drunk.”
There it is again that almost smile. God, he is hot. In a dark, brooding, don’t-fuck-with-me way. No wonder my mom tried to get in his pants after they got married.
Dahl! Shut up. Stop thinking about your step-dad that way.
Though he and I both know that he is way too young to play daddy to me.
“It’s not fun without having other people around.” I shift in my chair uncomfortably.
“Oh?” He cocks up one eyebrow, playing innocent but looking like the very thing I’d like to corrupt me.
“I’m around. That should be enough. Drink.” He motions with his head to the shot.
I hesitate for just a moment before downing the whole thing and smacking the shot glass on the table. Fuck it. I need a drink to loosen up. My step-dad is playing mind games with me and I have no idea where it’s going. I don’t even have time to get over the sharp sting in my throat before he pushes the second shot in my direction.
“More.”
I down the second drink, swallowing the burn in my throat.
“Third time’s a charm,” he says the second my empty shot glass hits his desk. Even though his voice is low and the loud music in the background is screaming at me to have fun with my boo, I can still hear him clearly. I drink once again, and feel the familiar, comfortable buzz alcohol gives you.
I smile. “Give me the fourth one.” I reach for it. His warm, rough hand touches mine and stops me, and our eyes meet. The electricity between us makes me clutch my thighs together and I’m startled because what the fuck? This is not supposed to be this way. But my nipples tend to disagree and they’re pointing right at him. The worst part is that I know that he can probably see it since the dress is so tight and I didn’t want to wear a bra. Thankfully, his eyes remain on mine. I say I’m grateful, but actually, he might as well examine my vagina with a magnifying glass because he can undress a woman with his eyes like nobody’s business.
“That’s for me, sweetheart. Now start dancing.”
“Here? Alone?” I blink.
“Again.” He looks into his full shot thoughtfully, and hot-damn, his cheekbone situation is intense. He could be a movie
star were it not for a semi-vicious scar adorning the left side of his face. Although even that’s kind of hot because I bet there’s a good story behind it.
“You’re not alone, Dahlia. I’m here, and I wanna see you dance and have fun.”
“Dancing here in front of you is not going to be fun,” I mumble, confused.
His eyes shoot up from his drink and he tsks.
“Oh, sweetheart, that’s where you’re wrong.”
He turns the music so that it’s louder and plays the song on repeat. Reluctantly, I get up and start swaying my hips from side to side. It’s actually not that bad, considering the fact that I’m kind of drunk. I had a lot of alcohol in a very short period of time and my body is still absorbing it, but with every single minute that passes, I become looser, happier. A smile makes its way to my lips and I lift my hands to touch my middle as I move, caressing the outline of my boobs as I do when I dance.
“Yeah, I can see it’s a real fucking torture for you. Come closer,” he commands and pats his thigh, still leaning back and looking at me lazily.
I do. I take a step in his direction; he is still sitting down, looking at me like he’d just bought a lap dance with a Happy Ending, but he stops me after just one step. “Stay there.”
I’m getting bolder. I’m dancing wildly and it’s fun. I feel a little bad for Jade. She’s going to faint when she hears what went down here without her.
“Closer.” Graham’s throat bobs with a swallow and I take just one step closer and continue dancing. It’s a tease. I can feel it. He is getting hot for me and hell, I’m already that way for him. He’s not really with my mom, they’re together for the papers and the money, and I keep reminding myself that every time I feel like I should stop dancing, which is not very often.
I love this foreplay. It’s not subtle, but it’s ours, and I knew Graham Savage is the kind of guy who knows what he wants. He owns me, tells me what to do, and I just do it.
“Fuck it! Come the fuck here,” he commands eventually, downing his full shot and throwing the glass on his desk.
I sway toward him, a little faster than I would have if he were Theo James. What in the actual fuck am I doing? Seducing my step-dad?
When my thigh brushes his knee, I stop. His body feels hard and hot and I want nothing more than to climb over my daddy and do filthy things to him, because he is not my daddy. My real one’s in prison, and he hasn’t done half the things Graham has done to make sure that I’m taken care of and safe.
I clasp his knee between my thighs and squeeze hard, hovering over him, but his hand reaches my waist and steadies me. He keeps the distance between us, and I hate it.
“This doesn’t feel like discipline, daddy,” I drawl, staring at him through heavy-lidded eyes. Fuck, he is sexy. His strong, wide chest is moving up and down and I know that he feels it too. His breaths are shallow underneath that crisp, iron dress shirt and I don’t even want to know what’s hiding behind those dark gray dress pants. I’m afraid to look down because I have a feeling I’m dealing with something a lot more intimidating than the standard six-inch cock of a high school kid, who comes after you jerk him off for ten seconds.
“What does it feel like?” His voice is extra dark when he asks it.
“It feels like seduction.” I bite my lower lip.
Graham gets up from his chair slowly and closes the little distance between us. His eyes are on mine, and my knees buckle with need. And shame. I’m lusting after my step-dad. Holy cow.
He moves his hand across my cheek, letting it disappear behind my neck, into my long honey-blonde hair, and lowers his face to meet mine. I see the pulse in his neck; I feel mine in my toes. It’s all happening too fast but there’s no denying the attraction now. My panties are soaked and if he’d ask me to sit back down, my need for him is going to be smeared all over the leather chair across from him.
“Next time you want to drink and dance, you do it in your room, understand? If you want company, you ask for me to come watch you do it. You do not get out of Jersey. Hell, you do not get out of the fucking house. Oh, and word of advice—next time I find you flirting with guys who can be your real daddy,” he enunciates, and I swallow hard, my confidence faltering. “There’ll be nothing left of them. Nothing, Dahlia. And it will be your fucking fault, on your conscience. Now, excuse me, I’ve got work to do.” He leaves my personal space at once while I’m hot and bothered, just like the name of his club.
When I hear the door shutting behind me, his voice still echoes in the room.
“Nice moves, by the way.”
It’s been a week since the club incident, and in that time, I’ve made myself scarce and avoided Graham like the plague.
He must not have mentioned it to my mom, because she hasn’t said a word about it. I doubt they talk very often, and I sometimes wonder why he even bothers living under the same roof with us. No one talks to anyone in this house. We’re three strangers who bump into each other in the hallway on occasions.
What strikes me as odd is knowing that if Annabelle was privy to my weekend’s whereabouts, she wouldn’t have been mad, anyway. Hell, she’d have probably hi-fived my ass and wished me good luck.
This, of course, doesn’t make the guilt swirling in my gut shrink, not even an inch. Why the hell did I think it was a good idea to basically molest my step-dad? And why did he seem so into it? I’m blaming my lapse in judgment on the alcohol. The alcohol that he fed me.
All week, I’ve been in a Graham-induced fog. Mom hasn’t noticed, but I don’t think she’d notice if her ass was on fire. Graham, on the other hand, has definitely noticed. Something has shifted between us and we can both feel it, but I have a feeling he’s letting me hide… for now.
Jade knows something’s up with me, but I haven’t said a word about what really went down after she left. As far as she knows, I got a stern talking-to and sent home.
Graham never contacted her parents like he said he would. Probably because he’s not a snitch, but mostly because he doesn’t give a damn.
I know Jade wouldn’t judge me—actually, she’d be jealous of me—but telling her would mean admitting to myself that it happened.
Dahlia is my name and denial is my game.
Even now, when I sit at the high school cafeteria, surrounded by the cheerleaders and ballers crowd, staring at my salad like it tried to rape me, I can’t think about anything but my stupid step-dad.
“Don’t you think so, Dahl?” I snap out of my thoughts of self-loathing to find Jade looking at me expectantly from the other side of the table.
“Um, yeah, totally.” I have no idea what she just said. I hope she didn’t ask me if I’m into bestiality.
“You literally have no idea what I just said, do you?” She lifts one eyebrow, scanning my face, looking for clues to whatever’s going on with me. Dammit. She knows me too well.
“I just asked if you thought I could make socks with sandals look good. Good to know you think I should go for it.”
I roll my eyes, puffing a lock of blonde hair from my face. At least it’s not sheep fucking, right?
“Sorry, I’m just distracted today,” I apologize while we get up and collect our stuff. She does the same, and I swing an arm around her shoulder as we walk out of the cafeteria, and thank God, out of school. Fridays are half days for us, so we don’t have any classes after lunch.
“Yeah, I would be too if I had a daddy like Graham.” She teases again, pinching my waist. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you’ve been distracted since that night at Hot N’ Bothered.”
See? Too well. I try to play it off anyway.
“Uh, no, not all of us are as pervy as you are. See you tomorrow, slore,” I tell her as I smack her ass and head to my car.
“Later, skankapotamus.”
As I enter Graham’s house—our house, I remind myself. It’s still hard to think of this place as my own, even after three years—I notice my mom and Julio slip out the back door, giggling all the way to
the pool house, oblivious of my presence. Whether she thinks she’s being sneaky, or just doesn’t care, I have no idea. But, I can’t help but resent her for it. Graham is a hard ass, and not the easiest person to get along with, but he’s been nothing but good to us. He’s given us a roof over our heads, food on our table and I’m sure he fucks around but when he does, it’s not here on the premises.
Fooling around right under his nose, on his property, is beyond disrespectful.
I walk up the stairs and down the hall, to the best part of the house, my bedroom. If—no, when Annabelle fucks up our arrangement with Graham, it will be the one thing I miss about living here. The massive bed with all white bedding is bigger than my entire room at our old apartment. The ceilings are high, the walls a lavender pink and my closet is as big as Jade’s living room. Plus, I have my own bathroom. It’s a good thing I don’t have a fridge in here or I’d never leave.
I am glad to have an empty house, though, because the night Graham had me dance for him has given me more than enough to fill my spank bank quota for the entire year. Or century. I’ve been masturbating like crazy this week.
I know it’s wrong. I shouldn’t have these feelings for him. But they’re just fantasies. No harm in fantasizing, right?
That’s what I tell myself, anyway, as I lie down on my bed, flip up my navy skirt, which is a part of my school uniform, and grab the toy out of my nightstand that Jade gave me as a gag gift for my birthday last year.
Apparently, she thinks I need to get laid. She’s right to some extent, because despite my sass and bold statements, I’m sadly still a virgin. So far I don’t feel like I’ve missed out on too much. I’ve made out with boys and let them clumsily poke around with their fingers. Nothing compares to DYI though so that’s exactly what I’m sticking to nowadays—pardon the pun.
Savage Savior (Savage People Book 3) Page 11