Yes

by RJ Lawrence

  YES

  By RJ Lawrence

  Copyright © 2012 by RJ Lawrence

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Chapter 1

  By the time his Mercedes pushed into the driveway, it was too late. The plans in her mind had cemented, and now there was just the goodbye. After all the lonely nights and gray, sugarless days, she'd finally made her choice. To hell with him and to hell with this two-dimensional, colorless life. The world called, and she would resist no more.

  His key sunk into the deadbolt and it gave way with a twist. She watched him enter, his tie loose, stomach bulging against his unkempt shirt. He dropped his keys on the table, the metal splashing audibly and adding a fresh abrasion to the varnished wood. On any other day, she'd have winced at the way he treated her mother's table. But, today, her thoughts were light and deliciously selfish.

  He looked up and grunted, his face slick with sweat.

  "Goddamit, Hannah, it's 100 degrees out there," he said. "Why in the hell is the thermostat set so high?"

  She put her sunglasses on and lifted her suitcase, her slight jaw as rigid as he had ever seen it. He straightened and took a step forward.

  "Oh, here we go," he said. "What's this about? You get your feelings hurt over something again?"

  Hannah took a step toward the massive man before her.

  "Get out of my way, Ronnie. I'm done with all this."

  He put his palm flat against the open door and pushed it shut.

  "No," he said. "That's not how it is at all, actually."

  He dusted his hands together and looked from side to side.

  "You go ahead and take that suitcase back to the bedroom and swallow a Valium or something. I'm tired as fuck, and I don't have the patience for all this dramatic female shit."

  She swallowed the void in her throat and took another step forward.

  "I'm not kidding, Ronnie. You can say whatever you want, but I've made up my mind."

  He smirked.

  "Alright, sweet lips, I'll play your little game," his face grew quizzical and he turned his palms up. "Where you gonna go? How are you gonna pay your way?"

  The suitcase handle bit into her fingers, and her shoulder began to burn.

  "I'll find a way. I don't want your help. I can get by on my own."

  He shook his head and chuckled.

  "Well, that's good, because you won't get anything from me," he said.

  He scratched his stomach and thought for a moment.

  "Honestly, Hannah, why do you want to go this route? Just take the Valium. Then you can go in the kitchen and cook something up. We'll sit down and talk about this at the dinner table after you get your senses together."

  She approached him, his gigantic figure seeming to grow larger with each step. He looked down at her, and she raised her chin to meet his gaze.

  "I'm leaving for good. That's it. You can kill me or let me go."

  He took a step back and leaned against the door, the entire thing disappearing behind his hulking frame.

  "Kill you or let you go," he said, as he tapped his finger against his chin. He studied the ground for a moment, his mind swimming in thought. She waited, her heart tapping against the inside of her chest, palms bleeding sweat. Finally, his eyes trickled upward and he grinned, as if truly amused by a thought his own.

  "You're going out to Vegas to live with that whore sister of yours, that it?"

  She said nothing while he studied her delicate facial features, his jaw muscles undulating, as he clenched back a growing rage.

  "I'll tell you what Hannah," he said as he moved away from the door, his body swelling before her, a shadow falling over her slight frame. "Killing you would be the nice thing to do." He put his massive hand on her arm, engulfing it whole. "I'm gonna do worse. I’m gonna let you go."

  He gave a hard squeeze and she nearly buckled from the pain. Then he released her and stood aside, arms crossed, his brutish facial features arranged in an expression of disgust.

  She took her opportunity without waste, opening the door and moving swiftly through past him. But before she could clear the threshold, he had her again, his thick, hairy fingers gathering a clump of her dress. She stopped and looked down as he pulled her back toward him. He moved closer and put his arm around her waist, positioning himself as if he meant to take her sexually in the bright open air for all to see. She felt his manhood underneath his slacks, growing against her buttocks through the thin cotton fabric of her dress. He leaned forward and put his wet mouth to her ear.

  "You remember Hannah," he whispered. "You will always be my little whore, no matter what."

  He pulled her backside flush against his fully-engorged member and gave a slow upward thrust. Then he released her and brought his hand hard against her backside, reddening it beneath the fabric, as slapping noises racketed through the neighborhood street. She stumbled forward and ran to her car. She opened the door and got inside, while he strolled down the driveway toward her.

  "I'll see you soon," he said, as she put the vehicle in reverse and wheeled out onto the road.

  She put the car in drive and brought her foot over the gas, stopping short to summon courage enough to speak. She lowered her window and looked at him, his face somewhat flummoxed, as if he couldn't believe she'd the gall to hesitate in her escape.

  "Ronnie," she said. "You will never see me again. I will cut my own wrists before I ever come back to you."

  His face went flat, and she thought she saw the makings of sadness take root somewhere within. But soon, she was too far away to tell anything, his figure growing tiny and faint in the rearview mirror, her heart warm and swelling like a balloon inside her chest, the horizon before her painted with colors and promising little more than the sweetness of change.

  Chapter 2

  She arrived to open arms, her sister giggling and crying, sexy as sexy gets, fishnet stockings and pink lips, eyelashes thick and outstretched over wide sea green eyes.

  "I have to go," she said. "I'm so sorry, I have a show."

  She turned and snapped her purse from the kitchen counter top, pausing as a thought invaded her mind.

  "You should come!"

  Hannah shook her head.

  "I don't think I'd fit in at a burlesque show."

  Courtney took her by the arms and shook her head.

  "No, honey," it's not like that. "Everybody belongs."

  When they arrived, Courtney left her at the bar, a sweet sisterly kiss leaving a lipstick imprint against her cheek.

  "I'm so happy you're here," she said softly into her ear, and then she was gone, weaving through a crowd of well-dressed men, their necks whipping back toward her, as if towed by some exotic gravity.

  Hannah lured the bartender over and ordered a drink. When it came, she sipped from it lovingly, the alcohol sifting through her vasculature, warming her body. She saw a man in an expensive suit eying her from down the bar, his jaw square, a boyish smirk bleeding from the corner of his thick lips. She looked down and brushed her long blond hair to the side, a thrilling chill springing up within her chest. But before she could cast her eyes at him or offer any sort of smile her own, the lights winked out, and the place erupted in noise.

  Hannah turned her body with all the rest, as splashes of red light soaked the stage. The first performer strutted forward, the thumping speakers at pace with every step.

  The girl wore a black, strappy corset, her breasts like jiggling boulders spilling out over the to
p. The crowd gasped as she approached the chrome pole, which jutted upward from the stage floor alongside a perfect twin. In an instant, the girl scaled the thing and wrapped her legs around the cold metal. Her black hair spilled downward as she leaned backward, the line of her cleavage square to the crowd. Beautifully built, she was imperfectly perfect, with porcelain skin and broad hips to match her broad chest.

  Hannah watched the girl, her face contorted in awe like every other in the room. The girl traveled the pole with no effort whatsoever, with a practiced sexuality that seemed new and fresh and just for you. When it was over, the crowd applauded and Hannah ordered another drink.

  A train of performers followed, each more talented than the last, each costume more colorful, more revealing. As the girls played their roles, energy built and flowed through the room, the men driven to the brink by the brazen display of sexual confidence, some of the girls winking shyly, others flexing and stomping the floor.

  Finally, Courtney took the stage. Last and most anticipated, she drew a prolonged introduction from the announcer and a raucous from the crowd. As the lights flickered pink, she took the stage as if it was built just for her, drawing a girl forward by a leash attached to a vinyl neck collar. The room became feverous as she teased and tempted the young thing with tickles from a feather and sharp lashes from a leather flogging whip. Soon, she was rid of the younger girl, banishing her from the stage with a stern slap to the face. Then, she commanded everything: the stage, the men in the crowd, time.

  When it was over, the lights picked up a bit, and many of the guests filtered out. Hannah stood up on her high heels and wobbled a little, her mind swimming under the influence of several cocktails. A strong hand took her arm and steadied her.

  "You alright?" Said the man who'd been staring at her earlier, his height imposing, voice dripping with a Spanish accent.

  "Yes," Hannah said, as she stripped her arm away. "Thank you."

  "I'm sorry, I did not mean to offend you," he said unconvincingly, a wry, amused smirk on his lips. "What is your name?"

  She looked around.

  "It's Hannah."

  "Nice to meet you," he said. "My name is Dominic."

  He offered a handshake and she accepted it, her tiny fingers disappearing inside his large, enveloping hand.

  "Forgive me, but you don't look to belong here," he said.

  "I'm here to see my sister; she was the last performer."

  "Ah," he said. "I see the resemblance. Both beautiful and sexy, one brazen; one demure."

  She looked over his shoulder.

  "I have to go."

  "By all means," he said, as he stepped aside. "Perhaps we will meet again soon."

  She gave a polite smile and walked away, his stare burning a hot spot in her back as she crossed the room.

  As she approached the door that led backstage, a very thin man stepped forward to block her path.

  "Can I help you?"

  "I'm Hannah, Courtney's sister."

  He smiled and moved aside.

  "Go ahead."

  She opened the door and moved through a narrow hallway, as two beautiful young girls ran past, their hands cupping a pair of giggling mouths. She stopped and watched them exit for the bar, and then turned to walk the rest of the way. As she approached the back stage area, she heard a series of dull moans. Carefully, she peered around the corner and saw exactly what the two girls had been giggling about.

  A man was pinned square against the far wall, Courtney on her knees, sucking him off. Hannah looked behind her to ensure she was alone; then, she turned back to watch, as if compelled by some raw longing she'd suppressed for too long.

  As Courtney worked, the young man grimaced, his face noticeably handsome, jaw defined by a fine, dark stubble. He raised his chin and grunted as her head moved up and down, lovingly and thorough, her lips and tongue doing unseen things to his manhood, his hands gripping a set of metal water pipes that ran the ceiling overhead.

  While she sucked, her hands traveled upward, exploring his bare stomach and chest, the fingernails raking against his tanned skin, leaving visible red lines that were certain to remain for at least a week thereafter. With each stroke of her mouth, the man tugged the pipes, sending an aching rattle down the line.

  Her right hand danced upward upon delicate fingers that seemed practiced, finally settling on one of his nipples. He groaned as she took it between her thumb and finger, pinching and twisting it, his body working away, trying to escape the pain without success. Soon his right hand had found its way to the back of her head, but it wasn't pushing; it was pulling her away by the hair.

  "Slow down," he begged, but she only sped her pace, consuming him near whole with every gulp, her lips tight, cheeks sucking in and bulging out against the size of his erection. Within seconds, he was at his end, an easy groan pouring out his open mouth as his body hardened and fell backward against the brick wall.

  She wiped her mouth and stood, surveying her handiwork: the crisscrossed fingernail markings ruining his once perfect chest and stomach, his penis still hard, his balls held tight within her left hand. She leaned in and kissed his lips hard and without apology, his taste still fresh on her thick, red lips.

  Hannah's hand lost its grip against the edge of the wall, and the noise drew both their eyes. A bright flush of red spoiled her pretty face, and she turned and scampered out, her shoulder clipping another girl's elbow as she exited the backstage door.

  She skipped to the bar and took a seat, the bartender approaching as if drawn by the sound of her thumping heart.

  "You need another?" He said, a wry little smile on his face, as if he'd read everything from her expression.

  She nodded silently, and he poured her a drink and placed it under her nose; but, before she could get her hands around the glass, she felt a hand against her back. She turned to see Courtney smiling brilliantly, her face looking more beautiful than ever.

  "I'm so sorry, Court," she whispered.

  Courtney pushed the thought away and giggled.

  "Don't be silly," she said. "I'm not ashamed."

  She ordered her own drink and the two sat together for a while, watching a second wave of customers fill in around them.

  "Have you caught any of these guys’ attention?"

  Hannah smiled and looked over her shoulder at Dominic, who now sat with a large table of well-dressed men and women.

  "Him," she said.

  Courtney looked over her shoulder and frowned.

  "No, dear," she said. "He's not for you."

  Hannah furrowed her brows.

  "Why?"

  Courtney shook her head.

  "He's into some shady business is all. I don't know the details."

  Hannah leaned over and assessed Dominic anew, her eyes pinched together, as if to exact his true essence. But she could not see past his superficial characteristics: the square jaw, thick lips, dark features and tall, muscular frame. After a few moments, Courtney took her fingers and snapped them before her face.

  "Come back, hun. There are plenty of hot, rich guys roaming this city. No need to take the first one that comes by."

  But that night, while Hannah tossed restlessly about in her sister's guest bed, Dominic's image infiltrated her dreams; his large, strong hands caressing her naked body; her waking hand drifting down her stomach and falling between her legs. Within that foggy world, he ravaged her in ways she had never experienced in conscious life; and when her eyes finally opened, she knew she would seek him no matter the consequences.

  Chapter 3

  In the days that followed, Hannah found work tending bar at a casino, the skills she'd developed during her college years coming back as if she'd taken no time off at all. At this place, the girls wore tiny little black half-shirts and short shorts that showed just about everything; and, each night, the customers ogled her full breasts and long tanned legs without showing any pretense to the contrary.

  Courtney said Dominic had asked about her the
night they'd met, but Hannah never got a call; and, over a period of weeks, she let go the image of him she'd once held so firmly within her mind.

  Then, on a night like any other, he walked through the door. The moment she saw him, her head went dizzy and her chest warmed. She froze her actions behind the bar and watched him move across the room, a serious look on his tanned face, his handsome features much more rugged than she'd remembered. Two large men accompanied him, but they quickly dispersed under his direction, leaving him alone to survey the bar.

  His eyes sifted through the crowd and the staff, as if they searched for something in particular. Hannah watched him, half hoping he'd notice her without remembering, half terrified he would. Finally, their eyes met, and he grinned.

  "There you are," he said, as he approached the bar. "I'd heard I could find you here."

  Hannah felt her face grow flush despite her best efforts.

  "You've been looking for me?"

  "Of course," he said, while taking a seat. "You are not so easy to forget."

  She shook her head.

  "If you sit here, you have to order something."

  He smiled.

  "I'll have the Macallan 25, neat."

  She poured it and placed the glass under his nose.

  "That's $36," she said.

  He removed a 50 dollar bill and placed it flat on the bar.

  "Please keep the change," he said, as he sipped his scotch.

  She put the money away and turned her attention to all the orders which had piled up during her momentary trance. Several minutes passed as she prepared drink after drink, the waitresses distressed by her lagging, their faces expressionless and cold. Finally, things settled, and she returned to find his chair empty, the glass abandoned and dry.

  She looked around but saw only a mob of nameless faces, no sign of Dominic in any direction. She searched her mind for relief but found only disappointment instead. A sinking exasperation developed within her chest, and for a moment, she thought she might abandon the bar, run outside and yell for him, beg him to return. But then a voice called to her, and she turned to see one of his associates.