There were a slew of gay bars I knew the owners of. I had some friends at The Hilton and the Westin William Penn. And there was always Oakland and the college bars—though I didn’t really want to serve that rather annoying clientele.
Even though I’d walked out on him, I was sure Teddy would give me a good reference.
But why the hell would he? I’d walked out. I’d fucked the acting manager on his goddamn desk…and shattered the glass of his family photograph. Where did I exactly see a glowing recommendation coming from?
I put down the half a sandwich I’d been working on. I’d taken three bites. Shit…at this rate I’d be Nadia thin in no time.
I already missed the gang at Frisky Kittens. Hell, the damn place was my home more than the apartment I was standing in.
But I was never going back. Ever. I’d sullied its memory too severely. It was ruined.
Someone started pounding on my front door. I stared through the hallway that led from the kitchen to the front room. I didn’t move a muscle; I was even holding my breath.
“Open up, Beverly.” Christ on a crutch, it was Quinn! “We’ve gotta talk!”
No we don’t, I thought, and grabbed up my abandoned sandwich and started to nosh. I told you, I eat when I’m nervous.
“I’m not leaving until you talk to me!” he hollered, and I heard my neighbor lady up stairs, Mrs. Scattergoods, move around. She could obviously hear him. She called the police and the landlord every time one of her neighbors disturbed her self-imposed silent convalescence.
“I mean it.” I heard him bang his head against my door; the thump of skull against wood a singular auditory sensation. “Beverly! Open up!”
I stood there, glued to the spot. He’d go away soon, right? I couldn’t even imagine why the hell he was at my door anyways. Maybe he’d lost his fool mind.
I know I had.
“I’m not leaving until you talk to me!”
I heard Mrs. Scattergoods’ reedy voice whine from up stairs, “I’m calling the police!”
“Fine…” I screamed like a mental patient making a break for it. “I’m here; I’m fine…now go away!”
Silence.
“I’m not going away.”
Liar…
“You said you’d go away if I talked to you.” I said, stepping closer to the door. I was still about fifty feet away. “I talked to you. Now be a good nut-job and leave.”
“Face to face, Beverly—”
“It’s Bev, you moron!” I was suddenly standing in front of the door, and my fist pounded the wood. “Only my mother calls me Beverly. I fucking hate it!”
He chuckled. The asshole actually chuckled.
“Go now or I’ll call the police myself.”
He said something so softly I had to strain to try and hear it.
“I can’t hear you,” I said and regretted it. I wasn’t supposed to even care what the bastard said.
“I said,” his voice low and sexy, “just don’t taser by balls and we’ll be just fine.”
My face burned with embarrassment. I would never live this down. Another great reason to never go back.
“Go away.” I sounded defeated, and I hated sounding that way.
“I’m staying, Bev…” he sounded as defeated as I did, but I could tell from his voice he wasn’t going to budge. Not even when the police finally came because of Mrs. Scattergoods’ complaints. “All I want to do is talk to you. That’s all. Just talk, okay?”
I liked the way he said my name…especially when he wasn’t calling me “Beverly.”
I reached up and slid the deadbolt back…and a few breaths later the second deadbolt. I was tempted to just open the door and talk through the slit the chain allotted, but I knew Mrs. Scattergoods was leaning out her apartment door, listening.
Nosey old bitch!
So I pulled back the chain and opened the door a crack. Then I turned and walked back to the kitchen and my waiting sandwich.
“Close the door behind you.”
I heard the squeak of my front door’s hinges, and then the click of the closing. And then multiple latches catching as he locked up the door fully.
Smartass...
Finally I heard his footsteps as he came into the kitchen.
Damn if he wasn’t just as fucking gorgeous as last night…and the night before.
I was about to ask if he was airbrushed, but caught myself. I’d heard that in a movie recently, and though it was a really good, really appropriate line right then, I had sworn off using movie dialogue in real life. Especially anything that was used in any romantic comedies. I’d just about earned myself a room in the desperate, pathetic loser ward regurgitating lines from Pretty Woman in high school.
Instead I took another bite of my sandwich and opened a cabinet to look for some chips or pretzels to go with it.
Ah…there were some Rolled Gold pretzels on the top shelf. I popped up on my toes and stretched to try and snag them. How the hell did I get them up there when I couldn’t reach them now?
I’d probably been wearing heels…
Suddenly Quinn’s hand brushed past mine and pulled the bag from the shelf for me.
The feel of heat coming off his body was intoxicating…as was his smell. That lovely, mouthwatering mix of leather and silk—how many of those shirts did the man own? And that little something extra: clean and oh so masculine.
He settled back and opened the bag of pretzels, and then up ended a bunch onto the plate still holding the untouched second half of my sandwich.
He eyed it, eyebrow raised, and we both lunged for it. He got there first and snagged it away from under my fingertips.
I growled my displeasure. Quinn just smiled and popped a pretzel in his mouth, and then took a big bite out of the sandwich, showing me his straight white teeth.
I reached out and took a pretzel, taking a small bite to have something to chew angrily on.
“Talk.”
He smiled and pointed to his full mouth.
I stared and wished he’d burst into flames. I’d pour some water on him when he was a charcoal briquette.
His grin widened. He must have known what I was thinking.
Finally he swallowed and went about fishing for more sandwich in his teeth with his tongue…
That tongue…
I felt the oh-so-real sensation of that tongue lapping up between my legs, probing…
He reached out and took my drink in hand, bringing it to his lips. But he stopped, gave it a sniff, and then set it down again.
“You got anything non-old lady to drink around here?” he said, turning to open my fridge and pawing through its contents. He came out with a beer and popped in one-handed, never letting go of my stolen sandwich.
“Say your peace, or I’ll go get my stun gun again.”
I saw him jerk. It was one of those involuntary things. Something he couldn’t control.
I could tell he hated it.
So I freaking loved it.
I turned to walk into the living room, and he finally started talking.
“You have to come back.”
I smirked and turned around again. “No.”
He gulped and rolled his eyes. “You have to. If it’s money, I’m authorized to give you a twenty five percent raise—”
“What?” I had gotten only a quarter raise once a year. Since I made hellishly good tips, I’d never really thought over if I was being underpaid wage-wise. I guess I had.
“Teddy authorized me to offer you a twenty five percent raise to get you to come back.”
Wow…that would be like twelve bucks an hour, plus tips.
I shook my head. “No way. I’m done. Now go away.”
I turned and headed to the door. I heard him following me, but when I reached the door I felt that heat radiating off him again.
Damn, damn, double damn…
I reached for the door and his hand shot out and held it shut.
“You have to come back.” His voice
was flat and raspy, like he really cared.
“I don’t have to do anything. I’m a free woman, and neither Teddy nor you can tell me to do anything.” I turned and looked up at him, into those dark, piercing eyes of his. “Now go away.”
He was so close…and he smelled to fucking good…but I wasn’t going to bend. It was too late and I just wanted to start over again, somewhere else. Maybe I would move away? I heard Florida was great this time of year.
He let out the breath he was holding and licked his lips, leaning back away from me.
“I have to bring you back to the club.”
“No you don’t,” I said incredulously.
“Yeah, I really do.” He leaned back against my door and bit his lower lip. I so yearned to lean in and do the same. That thick, soft lip looked so delicious. “Teddy said he’d have my sister kill me if I didn’t get you to come back to the club.”
“Pussy…” I scoffed, “Who’s your sister?”
“Teddy’s wife.”
My jaw dropped, and then a low whistle came when I exhaled. Teresa Slater was a scary, formidable woman. That’s how she knew without a doubt that her husband, even surrounded by beautiful women all day long, never strayed. She was Italian, from an old Italian family, and they believed in family first, god second, and revenge at all fucking costs.
You didn’t mess with Teddy’s wife.
And she was Quinn’s sister?
Okay, so he looked Italian. But he didn’t look a damn thing like Teresa.
“I don’t believe you,” I said, but deep down I did believe him. The fear in his eyes could only be familiar. I’d seen it my entire life. And I’d seen the same fear on Teddy’s face whenever a new girl at the bar decided she could cement her position at the club by coming onto the boss.
“Okay, I do believe you,” I said. “But I’m still not coming back.”
“And the girls threatened to strike if you don’t come back.”
I took a breath to counter, feeling a little spark of warmth spark in my chest from that morsel of information.
But then he said, “Shep promised to take my balls off and serve them as the special if I didn’t get you back, and tonight.”
I laughed. I couldn’t help it. The thought of Shep with his meat cleaver and sharp, sharp knives, chasing Quinn around the strip club was just too funny.
“It’s not funny!” he growled, but his sweet mouth was starting to tug on one side into a smile.
I felt a blossom of scalding heat shoot up through me and I rushed toward him and threw myself into kissing him, hugging my arms around his muscular neck and feasting on his delectable lips.
He fell backwards a step, but then rallied by grabbing hold of my ass with both hands and squeezing until I saw stars.
Hot damn…
But that nasty little voice in my head taunted, He’s just going to use you and throw you away. Doesn’t give two shits if you live or die.
God help me that voice made a lot of sense.
I pulled away as I felt his hard, bulging manhood against my thigh. Even through the denim of his jeans it was tremendous.
“I don’t have any condoms here,” I lied. There was a box in my kitchen, behind the cookie jar.
He reached in the back pocket of his jeans—my god, I’d love to be in his back pocket!—and pulled out three foil wrapped extra large condoms. They were even lubricated.
He does care! My inner voice screamed at the mean little bitch voice.
I grabbed his hand and pulled him after me as I power walked to my bedroom. This was the last time I’d ever sleep with the man…but I wanted to enjoy it to the fullest. And that meant taking my time this time, and the use of a bed.
I also wanted to be able to slowly explore his magnificent naked body. I couldn’t wait to see his tattoos.
*****
I hadn’t made my bed…
I stood there for a moment and mentally berated myself for not having made my bed. I know I’d been depressed and hung over, but really…
And now Quinn got to see an eyeful of my sloth.
But he must not have minded because he came up behind me and pressed his hard, very ready for more body against my backside, wrapping his strong, muscular arms around me to fondle my front. Oh god, I was tingly all over. And every stroke of his body against mine, of his hands touching and squeezing another part of me, made the tingling get worse. Things down low inside me tightened, warming until I had a well of burning hot need boiling in my belly, making my sex pulsate, and I felt myself getting wet.
Quinn’s hands found their way up inside my t-shirt, and he had my bra clad boobs in his hands, crushing them in his palms. My back arched, and my ass pushed back against him, feeling the thick hardness of his erection. His hands moved to unclasp my bra—another front loader. Truth be told, I didn’t own any other kind. I was a simple girl.
“Whoa, buddy!” I shrank away from him and out of his grasp. I stepped over to the bedside table and turned on the lamp, even though it was daylight outside, my bedroom was always shady until late afternoon—western exposures are great for sleeping in.
I turned and leaned against the cool plaster of my bedroom wall. Quinn had a querying expression on his handsome mug, and he crossed his arms over his chest, one eye brow raised, waiting.
I had to start practicing that eye brow thing in the mirror. It was such a great effect.
We stood there for nearly a minute. He was waiting me out. I wasn’t about to talk first. Very mature on both our parts…but I didn’t feel mature, not a bit.
“Well shit,” Quinn spat, finally giving in. “What?”
I grinned. “I want you to take your clothes off…so I can get a real good look at you.” There was so much of him I hadn’t seen. So many places he could have gotten inked. And truth be told, he was just so dreamy gorgeous, I wanted to see him completely naked. Bare assed, birthday suit, all natural naked!
He smiled. “Is that all?” He pulled off his leather jacket and tossed it in a wicker chair I had in the corner. He reached up and I could tell he was just about to pull the shirt off over his head—it would be the quickest way…but I didn’t want quick.
“Slowly,” I drawled.
His eyes narrowed, but his smile widened. “So you want a little strip show, huh?”
My head jerked back at the thought. That’s what I wanted. I wanted him to strip for me. “Yeah, sure…just don’t try and dance.”
He grinned wolfishly as he pulled the first button of his silk shirt open. “You’d love my sexy dance.”
I gulped but waved the comment away. “Just do it nice and slow…and I’ll give you a generous tip.” Okay…where had that come from?
“Tip?” he said as he pulled another button open, exposing a little more of his lovely flesh to me.
“You’ll like it…I promise.” I searched the insides of my skull for what the hell I was going to “tip” him with. Maybe he’d like one of my signed Anne Rice first editions? Nope, I wasn’t going to give any of those up, even if she had gone around the bend. They were still damn good books, and I’d waited in line for three hours, all the way up in New York City just to get her to sign them. My back was never the same after lugging twenty hardback novels around the city.
And then it hit me. One thing all men loved, and the one thing we hadn’t done on Teddy’s desk—groan—that I was more than willing to do. Actually, I think I’d enjoy it as much as he was going to.
Quinn slowly shrugged his silk dress shirt off over his brawny shoulders. My god the man must work out every day, or just have one of those rare, naturally fit bodies. I had my money on a gym membership.
Then I realized what my eyes weren’t seeing. He didn’t have any tattoos on his arms or shoulders. “Turn around please,” I said in a whisper.
He obliged. Part of me was drooling over his broad, V shaped back, and the beautiful curve of his spine leading down to his tight, tight buns. But the other part of me was just at a loss for words.
Not a blemish, not a scar, and no tattoos anywhere.
Just the slowly fading red welt on his chest from where I’d shot him with ten thousand volts of electricity.
A bad boy without any ink? It just didn’t seem right.
But there were the pants to go still.
“Okay, now lose the jeans.”
He stayed turned around as he kicked off his boots—black leather with some scuffing—pulled his fly open and then pushed his jeans down around his ankles.
He’d gone commando. Oh my…
I gasped at the wondrous sight. Never had I seen a better ass. It was tight and firm, but jiggled as he pulled his jeans off over his feet. He had the most delicious looking tan lines, and there were dimples not only on the orbs of his bottom, but up above them, where his lower back connected with his ass.
God almighty, he was stunning.
And he didn’t have any tattoos down there either…
I just couldn’t get it to add up in my head. I don’t think I’d ever slept with a guy that who didn’t have a tattoo. I hadn’t really though that I had a type, but I guess tattoos were my thing.
I was about to suggest he pull his clothes back on and get out when he turned and I got another eyeful of his mammoth endowment. It was long and hard, and thick, and so muscular looking it matched his other delightful appendages.
It jerked and actually lengthened as my eyes caressed it.
I was just suddenly standing before him, and he hissed and gasped, his head rolling back in pleasure as I took him in my hands. I squeezed the long length of him, and he pulsed in my hands. Then I stroked him and his eyes rolled back in his head.
He had the dreamiest look on his face—like he was listening to the most beautiful music in the world.
I fell to my knees—not the easiest thing for a girl with curves like mine to do—and took him into my mouth. It had been a while, and I had to fight my gag reflex, but I got most of him past my lips in one gulp.
Quinn’s hips bucked forward, helping to shove his girth down the back of my throat, and he whimpered…actually whimpered like a puppy dog.
He tasted so damn good. I know a lot of women don’t really enjoy sucking cock, but I’m not one of them. I’m a very oral girl, and love eating many different things—especially the long, hard erection of a really hot fella. I even start getting sexually revved up as I suck, as if the cock in my mouth is actually filling up my lower regions instead.
Big Girls on Top (Erotic Romance) Book 1 Page 3