Intense 2

by Hebert, Cambria

  But maybe she just hated me.

  She paled. “Cuba, you’re killing me. I’m not going to be lured in by you, so yeah, I don’t want to hang out and reminisce with you about our past. If you’re bored, you should call Emma. She’s your life now.”

  Fuck. That hurt.

  And right then I wanted to pound on the damn table and tell her that I didn’t want Emma. That I was not the father of her baby. That I wanted her. I’d never stopped.

  But, I reeled myself back because her love for me was gone.

  She gathered her purse up and turned to leave.

  My stomach got in knots. “Dovey, if you need anything, will you let me know? Please.”

  Her lips tightened. “I’m fine.”

  I knew fine meant you were so not okay, but I let it go. I deserved her mistrust and all the shit that came with it.

  And so, I walked her out and watched as she drove away. She had her life and I had mine.

  I’d made sure of that.

  “I wasn’t afraid of anything except my father.”

  –Dovey

  MY PHONE PINGED with a message during dinner with Sarah. Claiming a headache, I rushed up to my room to read it. I’d been waiting for this all day.

  Warehouse tonight at midnight it said. Of course I knew who it was from.

  By eleven-thirty that evening, Sarah was in bed, and I was in my car headed to Big Daddy’s Pawn.

  Somehow, I had to convince him to wait for the sale of the house.

  And if he didn’t agree, then I had another idea. A desperate one.

  I knocked on the warehouse door and Blondie let me in, his face hard. No empathy there.

  “He’s waiting in the back office,” he said, shooing me past men working on cars.

  Head down and eyes averted, I made it to the office door, carrying the duffle. A bead of sweat popped out over my lips and I hurriedly licked it off.

  The bodyguard who stood outside the door let me in. I walked inside, the snick of the door behind me sounding final. I could die tonight. Right here in this office.

  My gaze found Alexander’s. Once again, he sat behind his desk, looking handsome wearing a brown tailored suit. It seemed the seedy underworld hadn’t taken its toll on his outward appearance.

  “Katerina,” he said, rising from his seat and coming around to meet me. “You came.”

  “Didn’t want to die,” I said, entering and taking a seat. He sat back on the edge of his desk, and I estimated there was at least three feet between us. I wanted a continent.

  My shoulders felt tight and I rolled them.

  He crossed his hands, resting them against his thigh, seeming normal and sane. But I knew he wasn’t. “I hope you have good news for me, yes? Did you find new buyers at your fancy school?”

  I wiped my clammy hands on my pants. “No one wanted the eight-balls.”

  A moue of disappointment settled on his lips. “That is unfortunate. And hard to believe.” He picked at his manicured nails. “It saddens me to have to do what needs to be done, but you’ve left me no option. Whatever happens is because you allowed it. Not me. I am not an unreasonable man. Remember that.” He smiled. “Did you know that every Monday at nine, Sarah and her friend…Heather-Lynn I believe…walk to the coffee shop on Palmer Street for a book club meeting. They stay for an hour usually. It’s five blocks from your house. Anything could happen to them on the way home. They could be mugged or raped or worse.”

  “Yes,” I whispered, imagining them laughing as they made their weekly run. Only this time they’re followed by Blondie and Red.

  “That’s tomorrow, and I assure you, one of them will not return home. Because of you. Because you can’t find one of your filthy rich friends to buy product. You don’t love your family very much, do you?” He shot me a look loaded with disdain. “You didn’t love your mother either.”

  Panic. The room spun, corkscrewing like a top. I leaned over the bag and put my head between my legs, breathing, breathing, taking in air because it was all emptied from the room by his presence. I closed my eyes and concentrated, hating to be weak in from of him. And the guilt hit. I hadn’t protected mama. I’d been paralyzed with fear, afraid he’d turn on me, make me his punching bag or worse.

  “Sit up, please. You’re annoying me,” he bit out, his voice like sharp like a knife. “Where is the tough girl I raised?”

  I sat up, nostrils flaring. “You didn’t raise me. Never.”

  “Ah, there she is. Much better,” he said, walking toward me.

  I clenched my fists and drew up, waiting for him to hit me or something, but he walked past me to the door, the swish of his expensive slacks loud in my ears. “Leave the product on the desk, please,” he said, opening the door.

  This was too easy.

  I swallowed. “Wait, please. Maybe I can try again. Maybe—”

  He slapped his hand against the door, and I jerked in my seat. “There are no second chances. You’ll face the consequences like everyone else.”

  I stuttered, “I—I have another way to get you your money.”

  He leaned his broad shoulder against the door and waved his hand at me. “Keep talking.”

  “I can’t sell drugs.” I fought back nausea. “But, I—I can sell myself.”

  I don’t think many people surprise my father, but those words did.

  His eyes flared. Straightening up from the door, he came at me fast, making me jump at the suddenness. He grabbed my wrist and yanked me up out of my seat and toward him, until we touched, hip to hip. Revulsion swept over me because he had a hard-on.

  “Is my daughter a whore?” he said in a low tone, a gleam in his eyes that tripled my fear.

  I shook my head furiously, fighting down the urge to scream.

  “Why then?” he asked, eyes narrowed, hands tightening on my wrists.

  I licked my lips. “At least with my body, it’s mine. My decision. And I’m not hurting anyone else. And if I get caught, the prison time is less than selling drugs.”

  “Ah, how very naïve you are. There are much worse things than jail.” He ran his nose up my neck. “And your heart is flying, little Katerina. Like a little bird. I don’t think you quite have what it takes to be a whore.”

  “Not everyone wants a girl on the corner,” I managed to say.

  He considered this. “True. I have clients who require unique things. They have…how do you say….proclivities?”

  I couldn’t stop the shudder that racked my body.

  “Are you still a virgin?” he asked, interest flaring.

  I met his gaze head-on. “Yes, I—”

  “Don’t lie,” he said, placing his hands around my neck with enough pressure my eyes bulged. Blood rushed to my face, and my mouth opened to suck in more air. Seconds passed and black dots danced in from of my eyes.

  “Are you a virgin?”

  I couldn’t speak, but I nodded, my mouth gasping for what little oxygen he allowed. The room spun again and darkened this time. I estimated I had less than a minute of staying conscious.

  “If I wanted a taste would you give it to me?” He backed me up against the wall, hands still firm around my neck, pinning me like a butterfly. “Maybe you’d like that? I could show you things. Teach you how to make men happy.”

  I hated him. I did. And that emotion gave me a glimmer of strength, and I clawed at his hands, my nails digging into his flesh, trying to pull them away. He slapped me, my head slamming against the wall. Lights went off and on, and I slumped to the side, still gasping, gasping for air.

  He jerked me up straight and pressed his lips against mine, and I fought to turn my head, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t. Yet, it wasn’t a kiss. Not at all. It was a promise of retribution.

  I struggled against his chest weakly, every nasty thought I’d ever had about him rising up in my head. I screamed inside at the perverseness of him.

  He released me and I fell straight to his feet. Like I’d been spit from the bowels of the sea, I gulped i
n air, my hands trembling as I clutched my stomach, holding myself together.

  I tracked him as he moved back to the chair behind his desk. He feathered elegant, ringed fingers through his hair, straightening his disheveled appearance.

  With my hands pressed against my swollen mouth, I lay there for at least two minutes, filling up my lungs, testing my limbs and gathering myself. As soon as I had the strength, I crawled to the door and pulled myself up, body shaking. He’d done much worse to others. I’d gotten off easy.

  He glanced up at me. “Did you get new tires, Katerina?”

  I sucked in a sharp breath. Of course it had been him because he was watching me. Or Red and Blondie were. My mouth dried at the implication, worrying about Spider and Cuba.

  He shooed his hands at me, like I was a gnat. “You may go. I will be in touch with you when it’s time.”

  Did this mean…

  “Your clients?” I asked, tasting the words and wanting to puke.

  He smiled broadly. “Yes, Katerina, I think we can take care of your debt in a most agreeable fashion.”

  I left his office, knowing I’d barely survived his wrath.

  One of them will not come back, he’d said.

  But now? I’d struck a deal with the devil in an Armani suit. I’d agreed to do a terrible thing.

  And my body revolted against the images in my head, of me with men like my father. I wanted to take an axe to the idea of it, chop it down until it bled, but there was no way out.

  And then, for some stupid reason my head remembered Cuba. Maybe it was because I was terrified Alexander would find all the people I cared about and hurt them.

  Maybe it had been the whole virgin question.

  I gripped the steering wheel and drove home, my heart aching at the final memory of my past…

  After practice on Friday, Cuba drove us out to White Rock Lake for our big night. I’d been anticipating this weekend for a while, my body hungry to belong to him.

  But things weren’t going as I’d planned.

  He spent most of the drive on the phone with his dad who’d had to fly out unexpectedly for business. He seemed exasperated as he called his mother to check on her. It seemed she wanted Cuba to come home.

  “I have plans,” he said to her. “I’m on a date with Dovey. Didn’t Dad tell you?”

  She talked some, and I strained to hear, but it was impossible.

  He said, “Yeah, I know. I’ve been coming in late a lot.”

  I smiled at him, feeling warm. We had been spending all of our time together.

  They talked more, with Cuba doing most of the chatting in a placating tone, asking her how she was and if she wanted anything from the store. I listened, finding it strange.

  “Fine,” he agreed tightly over the phone. “I’ll be home by nine. We’ll watch a movie together. Okay?”

  He got off the phone, gripping the steering wheel entirely too tight for it to be casual. “Change of plans. Instead of the lake house, let’s do a quick dinner. I’m sorry, but we still have the play to see next week.”

  “Why?”

  “Mother hasn’t had a good week. She’s been through some things, and I need to spend some time with her.”

  “What’s wrong with her?”

  “She’s sick,” he said, fidgeting.

  “I can come with you,” I offered shyly.

  He stiffened. “When she gets like this, she just wants family around. Sorry.” But he didn’t sound sorry. He sounded angry.

  We headed back into Highland Park and went to Vespucci’s. We ordered quickly, barely talking. I tried to get him to open up more about his mother, but he was tight-lipped and closed off.

  After dinner was over, he drove me back to my car at the BA parking lot.

  And just no.

  I didn’t want that. I’d just found him, and I wanted to be his. I wanted his heart at my feet.

  He turned off his car and gazed at me expectantly. “I need to go,” he said sadly.

  “Are you sure?”

  He didn’t look sure as his eyes caressed my face.

  “Stay with me,” I said.

  He gazed at me for a long time, searching my face until he finally spoke. “I have something for you.”

  “What’s that?”

  He reached into the glove box and pulled out a small box, wrapped in soft pink paper with a white bow. I took it gingerly from him, and it fit in the palm of my hand.

  “Open it.”

  With trembling anticipation I did, gently removing the expensive paper, revealing a cream box. Inside, nestled against white satin was a sterling silver necklace with a glass, tear-shaped pendant on the end. Two glittering white stones—diamonds?—framed the pendant like two little stars. Then I caught on to what was inside.

  “Are those dandelion seeds?” I asked in awe, tracing my finger over the glass where the puffy white stalks lay.

  “Yeah,” he said. “You mentioned how much you loved them, and, well, I had this idea to put the seeds in a necklace, so you’d always have your wishes right next to your heart.”

  “I love it,” I breathed, draping the long chain over my neck, letting it rest in the cleft between my breasts. I laid my hand over it protectively.

  His phone pinged, and he stiffened as he checked the sender.

  “You gotta go?” I asked.

  “I don’t want to,” he said, a torn expression on his face.

  “Kiss me instead,” I whispered.

  Our lips connected, and the outside world faded, leading us down a path we’d been on since the day he’d sat down at my table. God, yes. I wanted this. Him.

  “Come here,” he said after a while, scooting his seat back and then tugging me over the gearshift. The area was hardly big enough to move with his massive body, but I managed to get my knees on either side of him. I lifted my dress up at the hem and slipped it over my shoulders, the soft silk falling to the car floor.

  He froze.

  I unsnapped my pink lace bra and let my breasts fall out. His eyes got a dreamy look in them. “Dovey?”

  I ran a nail down his shirt. “I want to see you naked so I can ride you like a cowgirl.” I immediately blushed at my words.

  He grabbed my hands. “What are you doing, Dovey? Explain.”

  “I’m giving myself to you. Tonight,” I murmured, grinding my hips on him, making his eyes glaze over. “It’s killing me to not belong to you…body and soul.”

  “Fuck,” he said, wide-eyed and panting, until finally, he lunged for me, taking my mouth hard, dragging his hands through my hair, adjusting my head at the angle he wanted.

  “Dovey, you make me crazy,” he said thrusting up, rubbing against me in the most delicious way. He said my name over and over in-between kisses as he touched me, his hands ghosting over every inch, touching my legs, the curve of my hips, my face.

  “I can’t get enough of you,” he whispered, raining kisses on my neck, dining on my tender places, but inside, I begged him to take it further, and he did, his mouth capturing my hardened nipple. I gasped at the way he held me with one hand, flush against him, while his mouth wreaked havoc on my breasts.

  I melted into him like a piece of chocolate on a summer day.

  We’d passed the point of no return. I was ready. But was I? Was I? WAS I?

  Was I pushing this, hoping to hold on to him?

  He fumbled around with the seat and finally, blessedly, we lay back. His hand went underneath the back of my panties, splaying over my ass, and I shivered.

  “When you wear that necklace, make a wish for us, that we make it,” he whispered in my ear, and I detected the same need in his voice I felt in my body. He tried to say more, but I shushed him with my mouth, coasting down his chest, my tongue exploring him. All the way down to his defined abs, where I teasingly bit the snap to his jeans. Yes, yes.

  His phone pinged again, and I paused, waiting, but he either didn’t hear it or ignored it.

  He rose up so he could get out of hi
s jeans and tight boxers. He threw them in the back and breath left me. Wits left me. Naked Cuba made me feel out of control and wild and insatiable.

  How would I ever live if he left me?

  He tugged me back up to him until I lay against him. He framed my face. “Is this too soon?”

  “I trust you,” I said, but that wasn’t true. We needed more time. But I was too afraid of waiting.

  “Let me make you feel good,” he whispered, sliding my panties off and finding the most secret part of me with his hands. I whimpered at his attention, at the way he worked me like an instrument, sometimes fast and sometimes slow, using the heel of his hands and his fingers in tandem, making me gasp.

  He knew just what to do, and my need grew bigger, my hands more insistent as I clutched his shoulders. I felt myself building to release, my body pulsating in sync with him. I’d come before by my own hand, either in the shower or under the covers in my bed, but nothing like this. Because this was insane, a pounding of my body that screamed for reprieve. Tension made my body tighten, and the edge of the cliff was right there—but it kept slipping away.

  Because even though he was gentle and taking care with me, too many questions flitted through my mind. About us. About trust.

  “Stay with me,” he said, kissing my shoulder. “Let go. I’ll catch you. Every single time.”

  His promise sneaked right into my heart and took up residence. Yes.

  And as layer upon layer of heat and fire built up in me until finally, it all came crashing down in a fiery crescendo. My spine snapped back and arched, the undulations racking my body, sending me into an out of control spiral of the best kind.

  “I love you,” he cried out, his eyes watching me as I went over, and yes, yes, yes, I believed his declaration. I did. The need, the hunger, the desperation, all of it was there. And my heart soared.

  He clutched me to him and I clung, limp, coasting down from my high.

  “You said you love me,” I said, my voice trembling, full of wonder.

  He pulled me into the crook of his shoulder and rubbed my back. “Did I?”