by Sunniva Dee
Shit. Responsible, pick-up-slack Arria is back and preparing for the job I pay her to do. Quite the dream employee, she is. Joke’s on me.
I groan with disappointment, in desperate need of a quickie. Despite our differences, Arriane and I are similar, it appears. She enjoys causing pain too, and she’s succeeding with me right now, because my cock’s not a happy camper at the prospect of her getting away.
In a flare of mischief, I pocket her bra, but she just smirks at me. “Nice try, silly boy,” she says. Straightening her slacks, she pulls at the lacy band on top of the little thong I watched her put on this morning. She pops her feet into a tiny pair of sneakers and heads to her new lingerie drawer, ignoring me.
Reverse striptease is such a sad, sad thing.
No telling what’ll happen after the few months she has agreed to with me, but for now she’s mine. So I follow her. I bend one arm around her stomach from behind and efficiently draw her ass against my crotch.
Yes. This is good.
Arriane halts. Breathes out a short puff of air, I’m guessing at the sensation of my length sawing back and forth along her crack. Even with the fabric between us, it’s quite nice. Instead of moving away from me, she juts her delicious tushy out a bit more. I let go of her waist to find her boobs. Bite down on her shoulder and cause her to whimper.
“And so it is settled,” I whisper into her ear. “We’ll talk more about moving the brunt of your shit from your apartment in a minute—” With one palm, I slide down the swell of her stomach to her pelvis, pressing my girl closer to me. “—after I fuck you, baby.”
Arria’s body has no objections even if her brain still does. I can work with this. She’s melting. Ingela has shut the hell up downstairs too.
We’re making small, undulating movements against each other, quiet pants escaping Arria. This reminds me of make-outs with girls while in high school, only better; I have full access to her naked breasts.
“Oh, shoot!” Katsu’s startled voice reaches us from the doorway.
What the fuck?
I drop my hold on Arriane and spin to stare at my sister, but she has already retreated.
“Oh no, no, no…” Arria mumbles, mortified. Her fingers crumble random fabrics in the drawer, so I pull out the bra I stole and give it to her. Kiss her cheek and adjust myself before I head out to find my sister.
Kat is rummaging through a cabinet in the kitchen without grabbing anything. What’s with aimless rummaging when girls are nervous?
“Sis,” I say. “You came early? You were supposed to call me.”
She clears her throat uncomfortably, not turning. “Hey Bro. I called, but you didn’t pick up. Figured I’d surprise you when I got bumped up on an earlier flight.”
“You definitely surprised me,” I state the pretty damn obvious. The situation would have been hilarious with anyone other than my fucking sister. I erase the picture she must have ingrained on her brain: her brother dry-humping a half-naked girl he’s got bent over a bureau. Classic. “I wondered where my extra key had gone.”
“Yeah,” she lets out an embarrassed giggle. At the image in her head or from having kept my key, I’m not sure. “Found it in my purse after I returned to SF.”
I’m close enough to slant her face in my direction. “You okay?” I ask. Kat’s cheeks are rosy. “I’m sorry about that. I’d meant to introduce you to my girlfriend in a much different way.”
“No, it was my fault. I shouldn’t have barged in. I was going to drop my luggage off in the guestroom, and your door was open, so,” she rambles. “I should have called out or something. Wait—” Her gaze snaps to mine. “An actual girlfriend? As in you’re dating someone?”
Soft steps from the hallway alert us to Arriane approaching. She stops in the doorway, leaning her head onto the wood. Then, she wiggles her fingertips at my sister. “Hi, Kat.” She’s remarkably together. I know that about her, though, that she can pull off a good poker face.
Katsu’s, on the other hand, is expressive at the moment. She claps her hands in excitement. “I knew it! There was something going on between you guys the last time I was here. You liar!” She slaps me playfully.
Her eyes trail down to Arriane’s stomach, which looks healthy as all get-out under that black shirt. Her boobs have been threatening to pop buttons for a while, but today her belly’s in on the game too. I make a mental note to take her shopping.
I raise a hand, waving Arria to me, and she joins us by the kitchen island. When she’s at my side, I pull her in.
“That why you were sick?” Kat asks, maybe referring to their little bathroom pow-wow a few months ago.
Arriane shifts, uncomfortable. She turns into me like she’s trying hide. I get a rush from it. On some primal level, it makes me want to protect her. “Right, I was sick a lot during the first months.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Kat blurts out, narrowing her eyes my way. I do a quick scan of her expression: surprise, happiness—and yet she’s offended.
“Thank you, yes, we’re excited,” I reply, causing her to frown.
I’m not easy to read, but Kat gets my hint at what she should be concentrating on—the baby. “Ah, duh. Congratulations!”
This isn’t working.
Arriane moved back to her apartment after my sister caught us making out, and this—this? Is not fucking working!
Every fucking day Arriane comes in with her—my—big belly to work at four p.m., all because Kat is at my house. I don’t get to sleep next to her. I don’t get to feel her—the only time I have her around for me to touch, fucking even kiss, is when I shove her into my office, lock the door, and take her.
Not that there’s anything wrong with feeling women up, especially Arria at the moment—yanking her pants off and sinking my face into her when everyone else is right outside. Sure. Sure!
But guess what? There’s a moment when you just go, “Should I not be able to throw my girlfriend on the bed and fucking enjoy her as long as I want?” Why does she have to be so unobtainable!
I stare at my girl, across from me at the counter, a hundred yards away. I’m seething as she stands at her post in the patio bar, hips round and swaying deliciously to the music, with my baby beneath her heart. She’s serving a beer to someone and winking to the new girl, Rosa, over small talk she makes.
Unless it’s too cold outside, there’s no way I’m letting her work the main room with the roaring music and clients pushing in and all but bum-rushing her.
Fuck!
Me!
How did this happen? I don’t even know. Did the incident with Pandora back on New Year’s Eve unscrew some valve in my system? Even if that were the case, it’s one thing to freak the hell out on a single occasion for a few minutes, and a whole other to feel the heat rise in you on a daily basis, catch fire, and overpower you to the point of almost—almost—making your ice-front hiss away and not knowing when, or if, it’s going to end.
That’s what Arriane does to me right now.
Does she know?
As I think it, she brushes off an endless chunk of silky, black hair, the kind I violently tug away from her face so I can devour her when I have her in my office. Jason’s behind me, tapping my shoulder, and it takes all of my willpower to not swing around and land a series of double U-punches on both sides of his jaw.
“Boss, your sister wants you.” He hands me the phone I purposely left by the main room cash register. Are all my employees retarded?
“You’re supposed to be doing doors,” I snap, and by the way his pupils dilate, he’s actually sensing my agitation.
“Yeah, boss—just, Christian sent me,” he tattles.
I choke the growl in my throat as Arriane floats me a distant smile. One indicating how she’s in her baby world, maybe in her buddy time with Rosa and Ingela and not paying attention to me. They’re three bartenders on a weeknight in my tiny-as-shit patio bar. I lift a hand, and Rosa and Ingela zoom in on me immediately. Arria doesn’t.
I’m a control freak and proud of it. My control is what pulled me out of the quicksand my father dropped me into after Mom left.
Still, it’s what makes this situation so rough.
Five months ago, Arriane caught me and held my sanity together in the midst of the worst breakdown of my life. Slivers of my crazies whirl in my mind if I don’t block them out: Pandora leaving, me not being able to derail her decision, then worse—my bedroom window at six in the morning when I was seven and watched my mother leave us in her sky-blue car.
California Dreamin’ for Mom. California Dreamin’.
My ex broken-girl Iris is back in town, from God-cares-where. She’s slinking up against me on her way to the bar. Halts and lowers reddish lashes, pouting her lips how she knows I once liked them. Then, she purrs out her signature, “Hhhullo.” I fucking used to find that sexy.
My childhood owns me tonight, though, so I twist my mouth into a polite smile without answering.
Me crying my eyes out, teeth biting into the windowsill, waiting, waiting, sensing that my mother wouldn’t return. Dad barging in to kick the shit out of me for the first time.
“Long time, baby,” Iris chimes out.
“Sure, Iris.”
Already back then, my instincts told me I was to become my sister’s protector.
I stare at the phone in my fist, knowing I’ve got to return Kat’s call. She’s been at the hospital for eight hours straight. Since I’m not going, between her and what’s-her-name—the mistress—they take on all shifts now that our father’s on the verge of dying.
I couldn’t care less. I’d rather not have Kat deal with such a messed-up situation either, but she’s stubborn.
In the doorway from the main room, the crowd heats my back as I survey the patio. Jason must be letting in more patrons than usual, because they’re suddenly shoving to get outside three at a time. Iris has no problem being squeezed against me and makes no move to continue. Honestly, I don’t fucking care. Nothing will make today easier, especially when I know my girlfriend and soon-to-be baby will leave with Ingela instead of coming home with me for the fifth night in a row.
“Do you miss me, Leon?” Iris shouts into my ear over the music while my gaze remains on the bar. Arriane’s got an eye on me. Look at that. My girl’s stare slides to Iris and focuses fully. Now, she’s pushing past Ingela behind the counter. Who knew a pregnant woman could cross a crowded patio so fast?
Something settles in my chest. I relax, watching Arria barge toward us. With her chin lifted, she shoots violet lasers at Iris. I smirk as I recall Arriane’s description of what she’d seen me do to Iris in my office.
At ten yards away, Arriane’s step slows to a casual saunter, which is extra cute in her state. She’s sexy, mad, and… expectant. I sigh contentedly.
“Hi, baby,” she screams over the music.
Baby. I laugh inwardly.
The only nickname she’s ever used for me is “sweetie,” and yet here she is, “babying” me. Suits me fine. Due to the crowd pressing in from the main room, I only now realize that Iris’ fingertips rest on my chest.
“Who’s your friend?” Arria asks. My girl isn’t dawdling. She grabs Iris’ left hand while she waits for my answer and shakes so firmly it’s as if they’re in the ring. I wouldn’t be surprised if she punched her fists together and glared at Iris over imaginary boxing gloves.
“Iris! I didn’t recognize you, there. Back in town, huh?” Arriane knows her worth, her new position. I’m appreciating something different with her, something I haven’t sought in women before.
Arriane’s determined hands frees me of Iris’ touch altogether. “Nice of you to pass by real quick. Right, baby?” she asks.
“Indeed.” I try to disguise the upward curl of my lips. My girl shouldn’t work herself up, be stressed out in her state.
As far as I know, Arriane didn’t have a problem with Iris during the few months she was mine. I remember something flicker over Arriane’s expression every now and then when she watched my ex. Mostly I think it was pity.
Wretched, broken Iris. So up my alley. Good sex too. My dick twitches, not over Iris, but over the possessive way Arria steals into my side and glides her hands around my midsection. My new bouncer must have been covering doors alone; Jason doesn’t allow my broken-dolls in after we’re over. Now, I play with the idea of letting my exes swing by more often.
Iris’ self-esteem was never good, which was part of my attraction to her. Now, she crosses her arms in a telltale show of insecurity. She stares at Arriane’s stomach. “Wow, did she come that way, Leon?” she asks.
Toxic.
I hope Arriane doesn’t catch on to Iris’ allusion.
But of course she does. Judging by the lavender fire in her eyes, a catfight wouldn’t be out of order, and to be honest, the thought brightens my mood further. Hmm, how to interfere if things go awry?
Arriane’s small hand skates over my stomach and up my chest. It caresses my cheek before linking around my neck, lacing fingers tight so she’s flush against me. “No, Iris,” she tells the other girl. “I didn’t come this way. It was all Leon.”
Oh. Snap.
I’m grinning. Only minutes ago, I’d been tense, fucking angry as shit over a situation I can’t change without hurting my sister’s feelings.
When Iris stomps away, I ask, “Scaring off the competition?” while I bury my nose in her hair. “I blame the baby for making you feisty.”
Her chest heaves and sinks in a snort. “Bah—she had it coming. She’s rude, Leon, did you hear? ‘Did she come like that?’” she mimics in the caricature version of my ex’s voice.
My phone buzzes, and Arriane watches the screen light up between my digits. “Katsu?” she guesses, and I nod out a “yes.”
I’m in my office, door closed against the booming music from the party on the other side. The sensation of wellbeing Arria’s reaction instilled minutes ago dissipates with Katsu’s words. I concentrate hard for the room not to spin.
She’s still at the hospital, her imploring tone reaching me over the line. “No, Shishi—I’m not joking. Dad’s literally begging to see you. Please.”
“Kat!” Since she arrived, it’s been the same every day. She thinks she knows what’s best for me—insists I make amends, talk it out, etcetera with my father, but why should I? All I feel is hate when I think of him. “He lost the right to ask anything of me long ago—I’d say around the time he kidnapped you as an infant. Bet you wouldn’t have pitied him either if you remembered that.”
“He what? No one ever told me.”
“Right, maybe because you didn’t need that kind of bedtime story? ‘There once was an itty-bitty princess…’ Anyways, Dad was drunk and furious with Mom. He knew what would hurt her the most—to take off with you—so he did. I watched her panic for days before you guys came back home.”
A small sound comes from Kat’s throat. I don’t need a visual to know she’s tearing up, so I cut the rest short. “I wasn’t old enough to grasp the details, but you’d been staying at a hotel. You stopped crying as soon as Mom took you in her arms.”
The way she squeezed you, Sis, as if she’d never let go? I don’t understand how she dumped us and ran off only ten months later. Kat doesn’t need to hear this. Mom has done everything in her power to make up for lost time since I sent Kat to SF.
I’m frustrated. I don’t need to think of this shit either. “Ah, fuck, Kat. Just—he doesn’t deserve your pity. Get your ass back here, okay? Arria is working, and Ingela too; we’re partying down at the club.”
Someone mumbles behind her. I catch “It fine… Understand.” The words are slurred out in the gravelly pitch our father uses.
My thumb and forefinger fly to the bridge of my nose and press down. “Kat. You’re calling me from his room, aren’t you?”
Even if I don�
��t visit, I can’t fucking get away from him these days. Dad and I have been in the same town all our lives, but since I was sixteen, our paths have hardly crossed. After sending Kat off, I spent weeks on different karate buddies’ couches. Then, when I finally fessed up about my home life to Uncle Hank, he took me in.
“Yeah. Dad says he understands if you don’t want to come visit, but really, I—”
“No. No, no, no. You’re not trying to coerce me into visiting the monster who destroyed our childhood while he’s listening.” I’m pacing. Slam a fist into the brick wall. The pain is nonexistent.
On the other end, a door clicks closed. “I’m outside now, Shishi. Calm down. Listen—he’s different. Not at all the way he used to be. Did I tell you he stopped drinking?”
“Yeah, you did, although he was back on the booze after he was released from the hospital, right? So he must have been sober for a whopping two weeks,” I mock. “How old is he?”
“Sixty-nine.”
“Yep, good job, old man, although pity he’s wasting time. Tell him to pick up the bottle again and down enough in one sitting to fucking drown!”
She’s quiet, getting the message loud and clear. Kat isn’t surprised, of course. I can’t imagine her being sad on the monster’s behalf either. She’s regrouping. My sister’s got a steel will underneath her porcelain façade. So much like him in that essence; Katsu doesn’t fucking give up, and it’s exasperating.
“I crossed paths with the mistress tonight,” she tells me out of nowhere.
“Did I ask for more information?” I bark but don’t hang up.
“Daisy’s her name, and she’s really sweet,” my sister continues, ignoring me. “God knows how the sperm donor hooked her. She’s been taking care of him at home since after the last hospital visit. The woman is in charge of all his physical rehab stuff. By the sound of things, if it weren’t for her… Well, he’s able to speak pretty clearly again thanks to Daisy’s efforts; I understand almost every word he says.”
“Who cares, Kat? Does she have a black eye or two? A broken nose?” I ask, smirking for some reason. The devil knows why that’s funny.