Giving Nick a nod to keep an eye, I step away from my station, needing to make sure Meghan is okay after the shitstorm last night. I’d driven by her apartment after I got off shift, hours after Dominick let her go home early, and I barely managed to keep from banging on her door.
But the single glowing light in the living room told me she was home, and I let that be enough to soothe the beast inside me. Besides, my hand was still pretty busted up, and it would have freaked her out to see my knuckles that way.
Backstage, I lean against the doorframe and watch for a second like the pervert that I am, enjoying the way she gently moves to the music pumping through her earphones as she touches up her makeup in front of the big light-up mirror. Her eyes meet mine in the glass, and she smiles, turning around to face me.
“Let me see it.”
For a heart-stuttering moment, my filthy mind thinks she wants to see my cock, and it instantly hardens, liking that idea a lot. But as she walks toward me, it’s not my crotch she grabs, it’s my hand, lifting it to see the bruises and scrapes along my knuckles.
“I’m fine, nothing that won’t heal in a day or two,” I reply softly. Thankfully, I patched up my hand last night—hydrogen peroxide to clean it out, and then NuSkin does a lot to cover the damage.
She runs a feather-light fingertip over the roughly crinkled skin, her voice soft. “You did this for me?”
In my pants, my cock surges again, and my compression shorts are not up to the job this time. Instead, I’m resisting the urge to take her hand and press it into the wall above her head before taking her mouth in a strong kiss. “Of course. Asshole had it coming. That’s no way to treat a lady, especially not you.”
She blushes a bit, her cheeks pink with pleasure. “Thank you. That’s sweet.”
Before I can reply, she bends down, laying little butterfly presses of her lips along my knuckles, like she can kiss my injuries away. “Meg—”
“I’m nothing special, just . . . me,” she says, looking up at me with emotion in her eyes that makes me want her all the more. “And no one has ever done anything like that for me before. Thank you.”
I growl, wrapping a hand around the back of her neck as I step closer to her, our bodies a mere whisper away from touching. “Don’t say that. You are beautiful. You can haunt a man’s dreams, his fantasies, filled with your laughter, your sighs . . . and your screaming his name in pleasure. You’re special, Meghan.”
A small whimper escapes her lips as she looks up at me, her lips parting, almost begging for me to take them in a kiss. I shouldn’t. I can’t . . . for so many reasons.
But she’s irresistible. I need to know what she tastes like. I have to experience the taste of her skin, whether it’s the sparkle vanilla cupcakes she makes me think of, all sugar and sweetness. Or if there’s the musky undertone that has haunted my dreams, the sexual essence of a woman that I sense burning just beneath the surface.
Instead of tasting her lips the way I want to, I trace my free hand down her arm, slowly and steadily to take hold of her hand. Bringing it up, I inspect her knuckles too, noting that they’re looking a little bruised even in the dim light of the hallway. “Are you okay? That was quite a punch you landed.”
She nods, her eyes so wide as I kiss her knuckles, one by one, letting my tongue slip out to lick at her as I caress her skin. She’s even more thrilling than I thought, electric vanilla fireworks that make my head spin.
As I heal her not-at-all-injured hand with my ministrations, I look up to meet her eyes. “Not sure any of us saw that coming from such a sweet, innocent thing.”
She smirks, a fire sparking deep in her eyes as she gathers herself for a sassy reply. “Who says I’m sweet and innocent?”
I chuckle, flipping her hand to kiss her fingertips and palm. They’re silky soft, and in my mind, I can imagine this hand holding my cock in front of her open mouth for me to fill. “Angel, everything about you says sweet and innocent. That’s what’s so fucking dangerous. You don’t know what you’re playing with. You make me want to dirty you up, shock you with the filthy things I want to do your body, and tease at that sweetness until I can drink up every drop of you like candy.”
My words galvanize Meghan’s body, leaving her panting, her breath smelling like sugar with a faint hint of coffee, making me want to sip the flavor from her lips. I don’t think she means to say it out loud, but a soft hiss escapes her pink lips unbidden anyway. “Yesss.”
I cup her jaw in both hands, forcing her eyes to meet mine and lock. The next words are the hardest words I’ve ever spoken, tearing from the depths of my stomach like coughing up nails. “But we can’t. You know the rules. Dominick would kill me. Literally, most likely. And you deserve better than me. You see me as a dangerous thrill, but I’d ruin you. A night with me would leave your pretty pink pussy in tatters from fucking you so rough because I’m not a gentle lover. I’d take you hard, wringing your orgasms out of you until you passed out in exhaustion. I’d give you so much cum, your pussy couldn’t even hold it all and it would run down your legs.”
Her eyes are dilated, wide and soft as if I’m whispering sweet nothings in her ear. I thought she’d be shocked, maybe even offended by my crude words. Some of me hoped she would be, that she’d be repelled and maybe we could end this dance between us. But it seems this angel has a bit more devil in her body than I thought.
Every bit of me wants to make good on my words, toss her on the chair in the corner and earn the first cries of her orgasm with my tongue between her legs. With the way her skin tasted, death by Dominick’s hand might be worth it.
As much as I don’t want to, I have to tell her the rest, leaning in to smell her hair before whispering in her ear. “As much as that excites you—and yes, my cock is throbbing at the idea too—I’ll break your heart, Angel. I’ll take what I need, make you a dirty mess, and leave. It’s what I do. I’m a bastard, a motherfucker who only hurts those who let me in. You deserve better than me.”
I pull back from her ear, letting her see the truth of my words in my eyes, on my face, knowing that even if I wanted to, I can’t keep her. That’s not who I am. It’s . . . impossible.
The spell is broken, my words sinking into her head, her heart. I can see the moment her desire and arousal turn to hurt, then anger. She pulls back, putting space between us, and I hate it instantly, missing the feel of her so close.
“I see,” she says, turning on a heel and heading toward the lockers. I want to chase her, push her to the ground, and take her like the predator I am. I want to bury myself inside her, feel her spasm as I stake my claim on her body, mind, and soul. Mine.
But this is the right thing to do. Let her push me away for her own sanity and safety. I can take it, even if it hurts. And right now, it does hurt, both in my gut and in my balls.
Just before reaching the curtain to the changing area, Meghan turns back, her eyes flashing dangerously. “You say I deserve more. That’s for me to decide. Don’t act like you get to make decisions for me. Is this just a game to you? Get me all riled up and then squash me with some lame justification that sounds more like a carrot on a stick enticement than a real warning? Well, fu–forget you.”
She pushes the curtain aside, and I feel like I just got punched in the gut. She almost cursed at me. If I needed any more proof, that tells me how hurt she really is. Fucking hell. That was the last thing I wanted to do. I just couldn’t help myself. She calls to me without even meaning to, and I’m barely holding back, for her sake.
She leaves the curtain open, stomping her little body over to her locker and ripping her scrap of a miniskirt out. She glares at me over her shoulder and then pulls it on over her sweats, only dropping them once she has the scrap in place.
I don’t bother telling her that when she bends over to grab the sweats from the floor, I can see the bottom of her ass cheeks, so grabbable and biteable. And the peek of her good girl panties, white with lace trim against her tan flesh, does more for my fantasie
s than any fancy lingerie ever has.
She snatches her black lace bustier off the hook, holding it to her front like a shield even though she still has her tank top on.
She makes a shooing motion with her hand, swatting the air at me like I’m an annoyance. “Weren’t you just saying you would leave me? Well, go ahead. I’ve got to get ready for my shift.”
I should, I absolutely should. But I can’t walk away when she’s so mad at me. Instead, I assume my security guard stance, my feet planted firmly on the floor with my arms crossed over my chest, eyes daring her to test me. With a huff, she turns back to face her locker and rips her tank over her head.
The expanse of her back beckons me, and I want to trace the line of her spine with my tongue, make her arch beneath me as I fuck her from behind. She quickly fastens the bustier, not needing any help, and then leans forward, shimmying slightly and doing something to her tits, but my eyes are fastened on the flash of her ass again.
It’s delectable, just enough that I could massage, knead . . . and spank it until it’s bright red. It’s taut, perfect, the type of ass that could grip my cock until we’re both crying out. That peek is going to taunt me all night and for a long time to come. After slipping her heels and apron on, Meghan struts toward me looking like a fucking Valkyrie in petite-fairy form.
I hold my position, expecting her to either stop in front of me for another scathing dismissal or maybe push me out of her way. But she does neither.
Instead, she turns her body to step around me, not even brushing me with a faint touch of her skin. That stabs my heart more than anger or violence somehow. It’s a dismissal. It’s her saying that she understands and isn’t going to waste her time on me any longer.
The scent of her lingers in her wake, and with a deep breath, I draw it in, knowing it might be my last chance to savor it. I let it sear its way into my brain for the upcoming lonely nights and empty beds, when the weaker side of me gnaws at my mind and tells me I could have had the most beautiful, flawless woman I’ve ever seen next to me. Even if only for a moment.
It takes me a while to settle my nerves, and I wipe at my cheeks and forehead, dismissing the moisture on my fingers as just sweat from the heat back here.
It’s gonna be a long fucking night.
Chapter 9
Maggie
How dare he? I fume to myself as I move around the tables, catching as many orders as I can. That arrogant son of a biscuit!
Shane had me all fired up and ready to break the rules. He talked about Dominick, but I know that rule too.
The first day I worked here, before I’d even met Shane, Dominick had gone over his employee rules. Number one of which, and the one that seems the most pertinent right now, considering my wet panties, was no fraternizing between staff.
Considering what I now know about the way his eyes follow Allie’s every move, it seems a bit hypocritical. But he’s the boss, and if he wants to break his own rules, I guess he’s allowed. Although, maybe he really does just watch her from afar. Allie has never said otherwise.
At the time of my sit-down with Dominick, I’d just been concerned about getting the undercover job without his being suspicious, and the rule seemed reasonable. I totally understood, but now I’m frustrated. Shane has me so . . . darn it, all I can do is try and avoid him. But he’s a dang moving target all night, working the door, working the floor, and with those dark clothes of his, he’s like a ninja when he wants to be.
At one point, he settled into a position on the far wall, so I asked Sarah to switch sections with me, and she did, albeit with a questioning look.
I had a few moments of glee at getting away until Shane switched stations too, glaring at me as he took up his new perch. Ugh, fine. Play your games, but I’m not playing.
Even as I tell myself that, I know it’s not true. I’m pissed, I’m disappointed, but if he told me right now ‘one-time ride . . . get on’, I’d hop on his dick so fast he would see stars.
I sigh, shaking my head. Why do bad boys have to be so hot?
How is that even fair to us mere mortal girls? I mean, I know that I shouldn’t be looking at guys like Shane.
I should try to find a nice guy. One who’ll take care of himself and his family, who might not be perfect but will love me and any children we have. I need a guy who wants that too, a simple, happy life. That’s what good girls are supposed to do.
But with Shane, I feel such a connection. And I’m no fool. Chemistry like that is rare, and if once was all I got, I’d go for it and pay the emotional price later.
So I spend the night alternating between ignoring him and glaring daggers at him.
Marco doesn’t slow down, though. He’s got drinks to get ready and customers to serve. Still, he’s not heartless. “Hey, Meghan, here’s your pitcher for table forty-five, but what’s up with you tonight? You okay?”
I huff, trying to make my voice light and bubbly but failing miserably. Still, I gotta try. “Yeah, I’m fine. You?”
Marco laughs, shaking his head. Good bartenders are half-baked shrinks, and Marco’s no different. “Nice try, sweetheart. Last night hit you harder than you thought?”
“No, it’s not that,” I reply, hoping he doesn’t push the issue. What Shane and I did in the back was probably close enough to being over the line, and as pissed as I am at Shane and his sexy bad self, I don’t want him to get in trouble. “Just one of those nights, I guess.”
“I can dig that,” Marco says with a chuckle. “We all get them. By the way, I heard you put the smackdown on Mr. Creepazoid last night. That right?”
I grin a little, showing Marco my knuckles. “Yeah, I got one good punch in before Dominick sent me home.”
Marco takes my hand and looks it over, giving a small whistle. “Sweet. Glad that Shane and Dom took care of the rest though. You mad at that?”
He looks at me questioningly, and I know that he’s giving me an evaluating question, one that might have multiple layers to it. But regardless of the legality of the beating, my reply is quick and honest. “Oh, heck no, definitely not mad at that. I appreciate their having my back. Tonight’s just a weird night.”
Before I can stop it, I glance over my shoulder at Shane, who is watching my exchange with Marco with eagle eyes, even from across the room.
Marco follows my eyes and sees Shane looking our way. “Hmm, not really my business to get involved in. But Meghan?” He waits for me to look back at him before continuing, “Don’t go barking up that tree. He might’ve saved you a couple of times, but he’s no Prince Charming. And you know the rules.”
Marco’s eyes pointedly flick up to the camera at the corner of the bar. I understand. Dominick’s always watching. You just never know when. “Best to stay in your own lane, especially around here. I wouldn’t rat you to Dom, but I’m also not going to lie to the man if he asks.”
I sigh, nodding. “I would never ask you to. Not trying to court trouble. Just . . . a weird night.”
I know I’m repeating myself, but I don’t want to take the risk of exposing what happened backstage. At least I can be assured that Dom didn’t see that. He’s never put a camera back there to give the girls some privacy. Or that’s what we’ve been told. “Okay,” Marco says, giving me a shrug. “Just be careful.”
“I will, thanks. Thanks for listening,” I reply. “Anyway, back to work.”
I grab the pitcher Marco poured for me and deliver it to table of what looks like personal trainers, who seem to be out for more work talk than to watch the performances on stage. At least, while they remark on Tina’s dance on stage, they’re peppering their comments with remarks about her ‘intercostals’ and ‘core stability’ as much as her boobies.
After another hour, I’ve managed to push Shane from my mind, too busy slinging drinks to see if his eyes are still following my every move.
At least he’s not positioned in my section anymore, the security team’s rotation putting him on the other side of the room now. T
hank goodness for small favors. Besides, I’m nearing the end of my shift, and I can’t wait to go home, slam a Nytol to put me out quick, and dream of a tomorrow without a certain bad boy both frustrating and arousing me.
I come back around, checking on one of my loner tables, a single guy. He’s my age, maybe, but his eyes look wiser than my twenty-five years and his suit easily costs more than my car. He has a worldliness to him, watching the performances almost as though they are artistic displays, not tawdry fantasies of the flesh.
As I come nearer, he raises a manicured hand. “Can I get another Macallan, miss? Actually, I’m headed back for a private dance with Allie. Can you bring the bottle back, Rare Cask Single Malt?”
I nod, surprised. Allie’s very particular about her private dances, and her rates are pretty exorbitant. “Of course, sir. I’ll keep your table reserved for after?”
He dips his head, rising to stride confidently to the back, and I head back to Marco to order the bottle service. With the bottle and a fresh glass on my tray, I head back to Allie’s usual private dance room, the one closest to Dominick. It’s the best room in the back too, mirrored and with a pole, but with a luxury feel to the supple leather seating and soft lighting.
I give one sharp rap as warning and then slowly and invisibly enter, pouring the scotch for the customer as Allie selects her music from the playlist in the corner. I give her a wink as I turn to leave, and she winks back. Considering that he just ordered a three-hundred-dollar bottle of scotch, it’s gonna rain in here.
As I head down the hallway, I see a large guy striding toward me. He’s wide, and the black of his jeans and T-shirt blend with the dimness of the hallway, although the moving laser lights bounce off him. He looks cold and calculating to a degree that seems to almost chill the very air around him. Our security guys are pretty badass themselves, but there’s something raw about this guy, a missing element to his soul.
Dirty Deeds Page 8