Begging for Bad Boys

by Willow Winters

  “I’m not getting into that. It’s her concern, not mine” Emma says with a hard edge. I didn’t expect that from her. And I don’t like it.

  “You knew what I did before you got in this car, Emma.” I look straight ahead. Across the barrier is a parking lot to another shopping strip. It’s mostly empty since it’s so late, and all the stores are closed. “I can promise you, it’ll never come back to you.” I can say that in good faith. She’s safe with me.

  Emma starts biting on her thumbnail, looking out of the window and thinking. I can practically see the wheels turning in her head. She’s so different from any other woman I’ve met.

  Usually, it’s the lifestyle they want. That’s what attracts them to me. And precisely why I’m not interested.

  She’s too good for me. I’ve always known that. I grip the leather steering wheel and clear my throat to get her attention.

  “I have other businesses, too.” I have seventeen, to be exact. And the only one that has me crossing over into the grey areas of the law is the dope.

  “You do?” Emma asks.

  “Yeah, like this restaurant.” I nod to my left.

  “You own this place?” she asks as she leans forward and looks out of the window. The warm yellow glow from the large bay windows out front spills onto the pure white snow falling around the building.

  “Only fifty-one percent. But yeah, it’s mine. I own a few of 'em.” Her sassy little mouth parts open slightly, and then closes shut. “Now you’re impressed?” I ask her with a cocked brow.

  She looks down at her hands in her lap and then back up at me. “Can you really blame me?” She’s smiling a little, which is a good sign. At least the shock is taking away from all that other shit.

  I huff a laugh at her disbelief and then shift in my seat to face her. “I’m not a bad guy. And I don’t do stupid shit.”

  She starts to say something at that last line, and I have to cut her off.

  “Not when I can help it.” She looks at me warily and then settles down.

  “I wanna be good for you though, Emma. I always have.”

  “I don’t know.” She swallows thickly, and I can tell she’s so close to letting it go.

  Don’t tell me no, sweetheart. Just give in.

  “Come on in with me,” I tell her, taking her small hand in mine. She lets me bring her hand to my lips, and I kiss her knuckles. That gets me a small smile at least. “I just wanna feed you.”

  Emma laughs gently, shaking her head and leaning the back of her head against the window but staring at me. “Don’t lie to me, Derek,” she says playfully.

  “Me? I’d never lie to you.” My heart stutters in my chest. I’d keep the truth from her. That’s for damn sure. But I’ll never lie to her outright.

  “You don’t just wanna feed me,” she says softly, biting her bottom lip.

  “Oh yeah,” I say and lean forward, resting my hand on her thigh while still holding her other hand. My thumb rubs soothing circles on her wrist. “And what is it I wanna do to you then?” I ask her. I lean closer to her, daring her to say something. My lips are only an inch away from hers.

  “You wanna fuck me,” she says in a breathy voice.

  My cock hardens instantly. She’s right about that.

  “Well, I wanna feed you first.” She smiles softly and then quickly gives me a peck before opening the door and sliding out, leaving me hard as fuck and wanting more.

  Chapter 7

  Emma

  I’ll give him just one chance. It’s only one night. I can handle this.

  As I climb out of the car, I pull my coat tighter around me. It’s so cold. He shuts the door behind me, still holding my hand and pulling me close to him.

  He wraps his arm around my waist, and I lean into him. I can feel his warmth through my jacket.

  I’m so fucked. Nothing he admits will ward me away. I already know it. Even as I asked him if he’d ever killed before, I was already making excuses for him. My heart stopped beating, and my body felt cold. I wanted him to deny it, even though I already knew the truth.

  I was ruined the day he took me home five years ago. That day changed me forever. I’ve never stopped wanting him, even knowing the person he truly is.

  “So this is your place?” I ask him in a whisper as we walk up the snow-dusted path.

  “I only own fifty-one percent, and I don’t really do the work. I’m more of a financial investor,” he answers as he opens the door. I’m instantly hit with a wave of warmth, the faint sounds of chatter surrounding us as the door closes and we’re finally inside.

  His restaurant is beautiful. I’ve never been here before, and it’s definitely new. I love carbs and every Italian dish I’ve ever met. I want to ask him how this all happened, when it was built. But I don’t want to question him if it means prying into…the other business. I grip my wristlet and gently clear my throat, taking in the luxurious atmosphere.

  The deep mahogany floors and matching trim contrast with the cream-colored walls. Round café style tables fill the center of the room that’s bordered by booths. The tables are all covered with deep red linen tablecloths, with a candle and one white rose in the center of each. Ornate wrought iron chandeliers hang from the exposed beam ceiling.

  It looks so much bigger inside than it did from the outside.

  He nods at the maître d', who obviously recognizes Derek, and then continues to lead me back, not stopping for a moment. His hand is splayed on my lower back as he walks us to a corner booth in the rear of the restaurant, away from everyone else.

  I’m trying to calm down, but it suddenly hits me that this is more intimate, more serious than anything we’ve ever done.

  This is a date. Like a real live date. My skin pricks, and anxiety flows through my blood as if just realizing what this is.

  A public date. Not a secret. My heart beats a little faster as I peek up at him from the corner of my eye, a violent blush lighting my cheeks on fire.

  Derek Wade is…taking me on a first date. My heart flips, and I nervously tuck a bit of hair behind my ear, turning away from him.

  “It’s quiet back here,” I say timidly as he slides into the middle of the curved booth, facing the crowd. I sit down at the end of the black leather bench, but he motions for me to sit next to him, not across from him.

  “I won’t bite.”

  Somehow my cheeks flame even hotter, and I do as he says. I slide around the circular table, and he pulls me in close. I stare at my hands in my lap, my fingers twisting around each other. I just need to calm down.

  Soft classical music spills from the speakers above us and being so far in the back, it’s slightly darker here, cozier.

  He only wants to feed me.

  The thought makes me roll my eyes, but at least it puts me at ease.

  “I like the privacy,” Derek says, breaking the silence. I don’t have a moment to respond.

  “Good evening Mr. Wade, my name is Peter and I’ll be your waiter for the evening,” a young man says as he approaches the table. He gives me a small, polite smile as he places a bread basket in front of us before turning his attention to Derek.

  The waiter has a bit of an accent, and it takes me a moment to realize he called Derek, “Mr. Wade.” He can’t be any older than twenty. I’d be shocked if he is. He pulls out his pad and a pen to take our orders. His stubble is spotty. He’s definitely still just a kid.

  “Could you bring us a bottle of Montoya Cabernet? Scampi for our appetizer, but don’t wait on our entrees to bring it out. And we’ll split the penne and the risotto.” Derek looks across the table at me, handing the menus on the table to the young waiter. “You’re gonna love it.” He smiles a sweet, reassuring grin as he adds, “Trust me.”

  God help me, I do trust him.

  “Of course, Mr. Wade. I’ll be right back with your wine,” Peter says as he bows his head and turns toward the kitchen.

  I finally look up at Derek, and I’m shaken up by how at ease he seems.
I still can’t get over the fact that he owns this place. That he took me here. I didn’t expect this. Ever. No man has ever held a candle to Derek, but I hadn’t ever pictured him back in my life. Now I don’t know how to handle this.

  If only he’d stop being a dumbass and quit dealing. I grab my white cloth napkin and shake it out, laying it on my lap. It pisses me off.

  I don’t understand why he’d settle on something like dealing when he has legitimate businesses like this. I wish he’d just stop. I would cave to him the moment he did. I’d be his in a fucking heartbeat.

  “Tell me why,” I say once the waiter is out of earshot.

  “Why what?” he asks, grabbing a small slice of bread from the basket the waiter left on the table. He rips it off rather than cutting it all the way through.

  Before I can answer him, Peter returns with our wine, setting the wine glasses down gently and pouring the dark red liquid into the glasses easily. Derek has him pour some wine in each of our glasses, the rich aroma filling the private space between us.

  “Your meals will be out shortly, sir,” Peter says before heading back down the row of tables.

  I turn to face Derek with my shoulders squared. My knee hits his by accident, but that gets his attention. “Tell me why you do it.”

  He puts his glass down after taking a long sip, and sighs, looking away from me. I can tell he’s not happy I’m asking, but I need to know. His brow is pinched, and he taps his knuckles on the table a few times before looking back at me.

  “Emma, you need to stop,” he says forcefully. The stern look he gives me would have scared me if it were anyone else. I’m not going to give up though. He should know me better than that.

  "Just answer me first, please. I need to understand," I plead softly. I hold his piercing gaze, ignoring the chill in his eyes.

  He sighs again, tossing his white cloth napkin on the table in front of him and setting his elbows on the table. He steeples his fingers and leans his forehead against them. My heart thuds in my chest. I don’t want to lose him. I don’t. But I can’t say yes.

  Finally, he looks at me. “I don’t know what you want me to tell you, Emma. I made a choice when I was a kid.” He leans back, his lips set in a firm line. “I got involved with men who held it over me. They threatened me, so I stayed in line," he answers, exasperated.

  "D-do they still?" I ask, afraid to hear the answer. My blood heats with anxiety.

  “They’re dead.” His words are soft, but they fall hard. “Where they belong," he adds and waits for my reaction. His eyes have never looked so cold. So empty. Devoid of the other side of him that I know so well.

  My body turns to ice as it did in the car. It scares the shit out of me.

  Before I can find my voice to respond to him, he adds quietly, "I’m not in that business anymore."

  That business? What is that business? I grit my teeth. I fucking hate these secrets. I don’t like not knowing and turning a blind eye. "What do you mean?" I ask uncertainly. I feel meek. Only because I don’t know what he’s talking about, and I’m on the cusp of letting myself fall for a man who has another life I know nothing about. A life I don’t want to be a part of.

  Seeing the anxiety clearly present on my face, Derek answers, “Sweetheart, please stop asking questions. I’ll tell you everything you need to know."

  He reaches out and takes my hand, but the second he does the scampi comes, interrupting us and keeping his touch from calming me.

  Need to know. I repeat the words in my head as the waiter sets the plate on the table.

  It smells delicious, with lots of butter, and I’m starving; I haven’t eaten all day. I’ve been too nervous knowing I was going to see Derek again. But I’m not hungry at the thought of him doing whatever the hell it is that he does. My mind is going wild with speculations of what that “business” is.

  “You know why I was drawn to you?” Derek breaks my thoughts as the waiter leaves us alone again.

  “You had this sweetness about you. You didn’t let others ruin it.” His words take me back. My heart seemingly beating slower, and my body heating in the best of ways.

  “I remember seeing that chick. She was a bitch.” He makes a face like he’s trying to remember her name, but it doesn’t come to him. “Some preppy bitch at school made fun of you because you had a knockoff purse.” I instantly know who he’s talking about. Scarlett Dubet, and it was a fake Dooney and Bourke my aunt had given me. And yeah, she was a bitch with a capital “B”.

  “You just ignored her, but I knew it hurt you. Then a few weeks later, she dropped her purse in the parking lot as she was getting out of her car. All her shit went everywhere,” Derek says and gestures with his hands. “You didn't even hesitate to go over and help her pick her things up. All I could think was I need to meet that girl, because who wouldn't want someone that sweet in their life?" he tells me as he grabs my hand softly, moving it to the bit of space between us on the bench and staring into my eyes.

  The air between us is so intense, I have to look away.

  I can't believe he remembers that. I haven't thought about her in years, but yeah, I remember helping that bitch pick her books up. I hated how mean she always was. I know her clique talked about me behind my back too. I didn’t run in their circle, and I was okay with that, but all her stuff was getting soaked. There were still puddles all over from the morning rain. So yeah, I helped. I think anyone would have.

  I swallow the lump growing in my throat. That was a few weeks before we first talked.

  I also remember turning around to see him staring at my ass. Needing to lighten the mood, I call him on it.

  "Oh really, is that what you were thinking? As I recall,” I pause to pull my hand away from his and grab my glass of wine, playing with the stem a bit before picking it up. “You were staring at my ass as I was bent over helping her," I say confidently before taking a sip of the sweet wine.

  Derek laughs. God, I love the sound of his laugh. It’s rougher than it should be. Deeper and all man. I could listen to him laugh all day.

  "Wow,” he says, shaking his head and picking up his own glass. “Here I am, being all romantic and sweet for you, and you have to go and ruin it," he says, pretending to be offended. I love this playful side of him. This is the man I want. The side of him I looked forward to all those years ago.

  "Yeah, yeah. You just want to get a piece, just like you did back then," I say with a flirtatious grin.

  “I can't believe you said that. You need to be punished for that smart mouth of yours.” His voice gets harder, carrying more than a hint of reprimand and my heart stammers. “Get underneath the table," he commands, his eyes piercing into me.

  "What?" I ask, not believing what he just said. I can’t even breathe as he holds my gaze without blinking. He’s gotta be fucking kidding.

  “Do it," he commands again.

  “Are you out of your fucking mind?” I practically hiss. I am not getting under the table. But my thighs involuntarily clench at the thought of him punishing me. I hide my face behind my hand and try not to be turned on by the image of going down on him right now. What the fuck is wrong with me?

  "Not now, the waiter’s coming," he says in a more lighthearted tone, smirking at me.

  I look up at him, face flushed with my heart racing, and my clit throbbing with need.

  He smiles broadly. “You were really thinking of doing it?” he asks with disbelief.

  Oh, you fucker. I bite down on my lip, feeling a bit of outrage stirring inside me, but mostly relief.

  He starts laughing, and I can’t help but swat him on his arm. It feels good to be this relaxed with him.

  He shrugs and says, "I just wanted to see how you’d react.” I smack him again playfully and settle into the leather-lined booth.

  "You didn’t seem to mind me going down on you the other night," he says after the waiter sets down our plates and refills our wine glasses, then leaves.

  “I was high.” I say the words
a little louder than I should, and I instantly cover my mouth.

  "And you liked it," he says with a wink.

  I feel the blood rushing to my face, making my cheeks burn. Who wouldn’t? He can’t hold that against me.

  “Come on sweetheart, you know I’ll take care of you after," he goads.

  “Shut up,” I say playfully, sneaking a glance at him as I spear my fork into the risotto. I close my eyes, savoring the delicious flavor, but they pop open just as quickly as they closed at the sound of breaking glass.

  “You stupid bitch!” echoes throughout the restaurant, and the place goes silent. The only sound is the scraping of wooden chair legs across the tiled floor as a man in a grey suit with a crisp white shirt pushes back from his seat and stands up. He’s wiping furiously down his shirt with his white cloth napkin and cursing as he does.

  Everyone turns to see what's happening. Across from him is another man who’s not doing a damn thing to stop the shit-show this guy is putting on.

  “I’m so-” a waitress is standing next to the man, mortified and clearly upset. She’s bent over the table, picking up the wine bottle and a glass that’s fallen onto the floor and shattered.

  “Sorry! Do you know how much this suit cost?” the man screams at her.

  That poor waitress! My heartbeat quickens watching him stare her down as she picks up the plates with the spilled wine.

  “Sir, I do apologize,” the maître d' begins as he walks up to the pissed off patron, but the customer takes a step forward and gets right in the guy’s face.

  Oh shit. My body heats as I watch this guy freak the fuck out.

  “It’s all on the house,” the waitress says shakily.

  What a fucking prick!

  I glance at Derek, and the look on his face is murderous. His pale eyes are smoldering, and his strong jaw is tightly clenched.

  “Derek,” I say but I barely get his name out before he climbs out of the booth, my hand on his arm does nothing to stop him.