Tug

by KJ Bell

  She removes my hand and nibbles her bottom lip. “Of course you are, but I can’t blame you. I know what I am.”

  I frown and lightly trail a fingertip down her arm. “I don’t think you do.”

  “I’m a hooker,” she says, her voice suddenly cold. “I know that, and I know what people think of me.”

  “Then why do you do it?” I ask, not to hurt her, but in an attempt to understand how she came into her profession when it so clearly bothers her.

  “I need the money.” Her clipped tone isn’t a surprise. I’m intentionally pushing emotional buttons.

  “For your grandfather?”

  It’s an assumption on my part, but, judging by her knitted brows, I’m correct. She shifts her gaze to the wall behind me. Her voice is quiet when she speaks.

  “The medical care in Tijuana is limited. I take him to a specialist in the States. It’s expensive. I go to school during the day. I tried waitressing at nights, but it didn’t cover my bills, let alone his medical care. And then there’s Javier. I can’t lose him.”

  Her tears are back, welling in her eyes. Something tells me her money problems extend further than taking care of her grandfather. There is deeply-rooted pain inside this girl. I know, because I see it every time I look in the mirror.

  I pull her against my chest, kiss the top of her head, and say, “You’re so much more than a hooker.”

  Minutes pass in silence. I refuse to let go of her. I want to take all of her pain away, but I haven’t even dealt with my own shit. How am I supposed to help her?

  “I think about my father,” she says tearfully.

  I loosen my grip on her. “What?”

  She peers up at me, tiny beads of tears sticking to her lashes. “When I’m with the men at the club, I think about my father.” I don’t say anything, hoping she’ll continue. “He left my mother when I was young. Then she got sick. He refused to take me, even after she died. I hate him, and when I’m with those men, I prefer to feel that hate, so I don’t have to feel shame.”

  I lift her chin. “Never be ashamed of surviving.”

  “That’s easy for you to say.” She glances around. “You have it easy.”

  I don’t bother to share my history. I have money, but that’s it. Nothing else in my life comes easily. “What about Javier’s father?”

  “He’s not around.”

  I figured as much. “Deadbeat?”

  “Something like that. Can we not talk about me anymore? It’s seriously depressing.”

  The pain in her eyes is so thick and so heavily guarded that I don’t know if she’ll ever be able to share it. Clearly, Javier’s father is responsible for the wrong turn in her life. I don’t want to pressure her about it, though.

  “I want to spend time with you.”

  She laughs at me, like my suggestion is hilarious. “What? Like dating?”

  I look directly into her eyes so she’ll understand I’m serious. “I don’t see a reason to label it. I like you, and I want to get to know you.”

  She pulls away from me and lies on her side again. I can tell the position is comforting to her. “That isn’t a great idea. Think about it. How are you going to take a hooker home to your mama?”

  I can’t help but laugh, and I do it loudly and from deep in my chest. She smiles. “Oh, sweet girl. I only wish I could. That would’ve gone over like a fart in church. Sheila would’ve went ballistic, like ape-shit crazy.”

  Her smile disappears, replaced by a horrified expression. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize she had passed. That was pretty rude of me.”

  I tap her nose to relax her. “Don’t apologize. Believe me, the woman doesn’t deserve your concern.”

  She doesn’t comment on my obvious disdain for my mother and asks, “What about your dad?”

  “He’s in prison.” As I say the words, I realize that perhaps I should let her run. I need to steer this conversation away from my crazy parents. “How do you know Brady?”

  She starts to say something and then stops, reconsidering what she wants to say. “He’s a friend.”

  “Where did you meet him?” She gives me a look, confirming they met at the club. “Oh.”

  “He was regular number four. I haven’t seen him in a long time. He was kind to me and helped me pay my rent a few times. I had a bit of a crush on him.”

  Of course she did. There’s not a woman alive who can resist my brother.

  “When was the last time you saw him?”

  Her mouth turns down, her sad frown an indicator that Maria is one of the many women Brady’s left in a trail of hopefuls that’s never recovered.

  “He used to come in a lot and pay to talk, but a while back, he came in wanting more. He had a fight with his girl and was upset. I haven’t seen him since.”

  My desire to get to know her flees. The time she’s referring to is the first time Tori and I dated. Brady breezed back into town shortly after our first kiss, and swept Tori off her feet again and out of my life. Maria clearly has strong feelings for him, and I can’t get close to another girl stuck on my brother.

  “I need to sleep,” I say coldly, and turn on my side, facing away from her. “I have a wedding to attend tomorrow.”

  “Do you still want to get to know me?”

  Her small voice makes my chest ache.

  “Yes,” I answer, not sure if it’s a lie or not.

  I wake to an empty bed and find Maria on the balcony. She sits in a chair, holding her knees to her chest. The solemn expression on her face as she stares out into the city is sad, but breathtakingly beautiful, too. I clench my jaw and remember my mission this morning. I can’t and won’t have feelings for this girl. She’s been with Brady, and I will not make the mistake again of being with a girl I hope will eventually get over him, regardless of how she affects me.

  She turns her head and smiles. I walk out to the balcony, and she stands up.

  “Your view is beautiful.”

  “Yes, it is,” I say, not speaking of the city or the ocean in the distance. “I’m going to shower, and then I’ll take you home.”

  As Ryan walks away from me, I realize I like him, and I do want to get to know him. I’m afraid I’ll never see him again. He was cold last night, and I don’t understand why. But this morning, the sexual spark between us still burns like a raging fire. He can’t deny that, and using that flame is the only way I know to convince him I’d like to accept his offer to spend time with him. Men are simple creatures, ruled by their anatomy. And, as a woman in my profession, I’m skilled at knowing exactly how to use a man’s desire to my advantage. Whether or not that’s wrong is a question of morality, and I’m afraid when it comes to doing what is ethically correct, I failed a long time ago. Despite my best intentions, I’m a lifelong passenger on the fast train to Hell.

  I strip my clothes and quietly enter the steamy bathroom. Through the fogged glass, I see his naked form facing the shower head, one arm flat against the tile in front of him. I want to run my hands over his lean, fit body, and feel his skin against mine and listen to him make me promises he can never keep. I clearly enjoy self-inflicted torture, but this feels right.

  Slipping in behind him, I inhale a breath for courage. The muscles in his back flex, but he doesn’t turn around. There’s a moment of admiration where I stare at his incredibly tight ass before the powerful urge to feel him inside me, and me gripping him, takes over. I wind my arms around his waist and press my palms against his firm chest, sliding them over his defined pectorals.

  “I like you, too,” I whisper, and lick a drop of warm water from his shoulder.

  He spins and grabs my jaw with both hands, applying pressure and holding my head completely still. A primal anger flashes in his eyes, sending heat low in my belly. His jaw ticks as his eyes move back and forth across mine. One hand leaves my face and comes up behind me, his fingers clutching a wad of hair. He pulls hard. I suck in a ragged breath and feel my nipples tighten. My tongue peeks out to lick a f
ew drops of water from my lips. That’s when his eyes grow intensely fierce. His hips push forward, his erect cock flush with my belly just above my sex.

  “I’m going to kiss you,” he growls.

  I nod faintly.

  I’m entranced the moment his soft, wet lips glide over mine. He’s going to rip my heart out, but I don’t put a stop to things. Trouble or not, I don’t want to think about it. I just want to feel him deep inside me as all of my problems melt away and the world around me disappears.

  I part my lips and close my eyes. His tongue dips into my mouth, and he kisses me ferociously and dominantly, the force slightly painful. His hands push into my back, drawing our bodies close together. Water pools where my breasts meet his chest and spills over. With a long suck on my bottom lip, Ryan releases the kiss. His eyes, dark as midnight, bore into mine. His palms flatten against the tile behind me, caging me in. My eyes follow a drop of water that trickles through the stubble on his cheek. My heart beats furiously and so loud, I’m positive he can hear it over the running water. Our eyes meet again, his with uncertainty.

  “Maria,” he says, his voice tinged with anger, like he’s sending me a warning to run. He’s seeking escape.

  If I reply in the least bit timidly, he’ll back out. I know he will. Whatever happened last night still weighs heavily on his mind. My guess is, it’s someone he’s trying to forget, and I want to be the one to make him.

  “Ryan, I want you to fuck me harder than you’ve ever fucked anyone before.”

  His groan is tortured, a combination of pleasure and pain, a failure of will, which is my desired response.

  “My heads fucked up right now. I can’t promise you anything except that I’ll probably end up hurting you.”

  “I don’t care. Just. Fuck. Me.”

  His forehead touches mine and he sighs. “You can’t say things like that.”

  Oh, I can say much more than that. I reach down and grip his cock in my hand. He’s big, long, and ready to give me what I crave from him. “Fuck me, Ryan. Mark me. Fill me with your cock and make me cry.”

  This time his groan comes so desperately, I know I have him.

  His lips skim my jaw, slow and deliberate, as though he’s giving himself a final minute to change his mind. I squeeze the thickness of his shaft, my thumb circling the tip, and let my head fall back. My eyes open when he squeezes my ass and lifts me up into his arms. Victory! I scream in my mind, wrapping my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck. He pushes me up against the wall forcefully and slams into me without warning. The way he completely fills me causes me to cry out loudly, and I squeeze my eyes shut again.

  “Is this what you want?” he asks in a strangled voice.

  “Yes, oh, God, yes.”

  “Say it again!” he orders.

  “Fuck me, Ryan. Fuck me hard.”

  His breath hisses, his grip on me tightening, before he slowly withdraws and surges forward convincingly, slamming me back into the shower wall. With every thrust, he hits just the right spot inside me, pushing me closer to ecstasy.

  I rarely orgasm with clients — I assume because there’s no emotional connection. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt the slow buildup of pressure and the ache of impending euphoria from deep within. I wrench my legs tighter around Ryan’s waist and struggle to stay up. The steady stream of the shower beats against the side of my cheek.

  Ryan increases his pace and I moan repeatedly, screaming out his name and pulling roughly on his hair. For Ryan, this moment is a raw and aggressive show of control, erotic, indulgent, and possibly dangerous. There’s a carnality in him that’s insatiable. He’s a man of secular leanings, who commands power, and his reasons stem from whoever it is that made him feel helpless. He fucks like he’s letting me know he’s stronger than me, not only physically, but emotionally. Each time he pushes forward, he does so with a purpose. He’s making a point. I won’t walk away from this unscathed. I won’t be able to forget him. Ryan groans loudly in my ear, and his body goes rigid. He’s close, and so am I.

  As I race toward climax, Ryan suddenly pulls out and sets me down. He grips his swollen cock in his hand and strokes himself fast and rough. “Oh, fuck … fuck … What am I’m doing?”

  A second later, his back arches, and he releases onto my leg. His fingers glide over my skin through his cum, smearing it up my leg and over my public hair, his expression one of pure disgust, although I can’t decide if it’s with me or himself. Using his index finger, he draws a heart under my navel. Holy fuck. What the hell is that about? His head really is fucked up.

  My heart pounds painfully as the realization of my failure sinks in. He runs his hand under the water to wash away the remnants of our moment and steps out of the shower without a word. I sink to the bottom of the tub, confused, unsatisfied, and empty. I’m nothing more than a hooker and an idiot. Did I honestly think I could seduce him into wanting me for a girlfriend? How narcissistic of me, like I would be the best he ever had and he would be mine forever—a white picket fence and a fucking mini-van. I have nothing to offer this guy, absolutely nothing. I’m trash, and he’s gotten exactly what he wanted from me since the moment we met.

  Covered with a towel, I exit the bathroom and find my clothes. Ryan is on the bed, dressed, with his elbows resting on his knees. His head is low, and he doesn’t turn to look at me. I don’t understand what went wrong. Last night, he wanted me and when I finally give in, he treats me like he’s repulsed by me.

  I get dressed and stare at him, waiting for him to say something.

  “I should have used a condom.”

  Is that why he’s so upset? “I’m on the pill.”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Oh. Of course. I’m a hooker,” I say with contempt, knowing his concern is with his health, but furious all the same. “I’m clean.”

  “That’s not the point.”

  “What is the point?”

  Without another word, he grabs his keys off the dresser and walks out of the bedroom. Feeling tiny, I follow him to the front door. He holds it open, and I walk through. My lip quivers as we ride the elevator to the parking garage, but I refuse to cry. I’m angry at myself, and I don’t want the tears to come and let him know he hurt me.

  We exit the freeway on Garnet Avenue, and although I’m confused, I don’t ask where we are going. After a few turns, he pulls into the parking lot for the Catamaran Hotel, and I finally ask, “What are we doing here?”

  “Come in for a moment with me. I need to see someone.” His disinterested and flat tone hurts more than it should. After all, he’s just a customer. He paid for our time together. I know the routine, but at least at the club, I can escape when time is up.

  I want to tell him to take me home, but my emotions are so jumbled. If I speak, I’ll only end up in tears. We get out of the car and enter the lobby of the hotel. My eyes find the source of the water invading my ears, an expansive stone waterfall, covered in tropical foliage. Hundreds of Birds of Paradise peek out among the plants, adding orange and yellow to the stark green canvas.

  Ryan ignores me and talks to the desk clerk. He then takes off down a hall. I follow him to a door, and he knocks. The door opens, and a beautiful girl with long, shiny dark hair opens the door. She’s dressed in bright pink sweats that have the word pink printed down the right thigh. Her lipstick matches her pants. It’s a cheerful color that clashes with the irate look on her face. Ryan walks through, and I stupidly follow him.

  “What are you doing here, Tug?” the girl asks, sounding as furious as I expected.

  I suddenly can’t breathe and clutch my throat with my hands. Tug. Tug is Brady’s little brother. He used to talk about him all the time. Why did he lie about who he is?

  “Not now, sis.” Tug holds up his hand. “Where’s Tori? I need to see her.”

  The girl moves in front of him, blocking his way. “I don’t think this is a good time.”

  He puts his hand on her arm and gently sh
oves her out of the way. “Liv, don’t try to stop me. I have to see her. She needs to know the truth.”

  Liv is Brady’s sister. He used to talk about her, too. What in the hell is going on?

  “I don’t know what you’re up to, but today is Brady and Tori’s day. Don’t pull any shit!” Liv yells.

  My gaze travels around the room. A wedding dress hangs on a hook on the wall. Oh, my God! This is Brady’s wedding. Ryan/Tug shut down last night after I spoke about Brady. I try to remember what I said. Is he pissed about Brady? I stand there, stupidly still, saying nothing to stop him from crashing his brother’s wedding.

  A blonde comes through a door in a white silky robe. She’s gorgeous with the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. Her pale hair is pulled up with strings of pearls wrapping around her bun. “Tug, what are you doing here?”

  “I need to talk to you.”

  The desperation in his voice makes me sad, but the expression on his face crushes me. He loves this girl his brother is about to marry.

  “Okay. What is it?” she asks him. “You’re freaking me out.”

  “Do you remember when Brady disappeared on you the first time?”

  She nods.

  “And I was there for you until he got back.”

  “Yes. What’s the point of all of this? That was a long time ago.”

  “Yeah, well, while you were crying your eyes out” — Tug grabs my arm roughly and yanks me in front of Tori — “He was fucking her. Tell her, Maria. Tell her how Brady came to see you, how it was you he was fucking when he left Tori with a broken heart.”

  Tori’s eyes widen. Her body goes still. She stares at Tug with something close to hatred but says nothing.

  Thick tears well in my eyes. I don’t want to blink, because then they will fall and remind me what a naïve, foolish girl I am. I rip my arm from his grasp and rub the spot that I know will bruise later, leaving me with a reminder of Tug.

  “You fucking asshole!” Liv yells, and pushes her palms into Tug’s arm. He doesn’t budge. “Get out of here now.”