by L. J. Woods
Even through bombing that meeting, Jo’s all I could think about. Hell, she’s the reason I made that meeting in the first place.
That’s why I can’t give up.
After convincing Shay and his wife to come over for dinner, that gives me a few hours to get everything in place. It’s a trick I took from my dad. Wine and dine them until “no” isn’t an answer.
Until then, Jo is my appetizer.
When I pull through the gate, my eyes narrow at Johnson’s Range in the driveway.
The fuck is he still doing here?
Knowing I’d be late, I told him to grab Jo and bring her home. I still don’t trust leaving her on her own after the shit we’ve been through. But that was hours ago.
Once I’m out of the car, crisp air on my face, I’m at the front door in a flash.
“Jo?”
Trap music thumps through the speakers in the ceiling, the place stinking of weed. Jo’s laugh hits my ears, sending that knotting feeling to my stomach again. My eyes drop to her leather jacket on the marble foyer floor next to a few bottles of beer and bits of weed.
“The fuck is going on?” I mutter.
This isn’t good.
Isobel’s gone for the evening and if the Shays see the place in this state they’ll assume what they always do. That I’m some party-crazed kid. Not anymore. I’m trying to build a life for us.
Where the fuck is she?
“Rowland!”
“Damien?”
I follow her voice to the living room where she sits up from the floor, pushing her hair from her face.
“The fuck is this?” Looking around, it looks like a party for two.
More bottles lay around them along with bags of snacks, a cloud of dense smoke around me.
“Damien!” Pressing off the white sofa, Jo stumbles when she stands, the smell of weed strong as fuck. She looks all cute and dazed, a small smirk on her face as she eyes my frame in one of my t-shirts. “Damien’s here!”
A laugh comes from Isaac, sprawled a few feet from her and my heartbeat starts to settle. His uniform is still on, tie loosened to his chest, buttons still done.
Jo’s hair is a beautiful mess, the Medusa she is but if the Shays see her like this, there’s no way this won’t get out. She stumbles towards me, her arms out. I want to laugh at how adorable she looks, but this shit isn’t gonna work for me today.
“Where the fuck are your pants?” When she turns around her ass peeks out and while my abs clench I’m not having that. No way. Not around Johnson. Shrugging my jacket off, I toss it at her. “Put your pants on, this isn’t a strip club.”
“Geez! Okay!” She staggers when the ball of leather hits her chest before she wraps it around her waist with a cocked brow.
Isaac sputters a laugh, staring at the ceiling like he’s looking at the stars. “Dude, chill out.” He raises his hand, a lit joint between his fingers. “Have a hit. We’re having a Marion memorial.”
Marion? She’s better off dead after what she did. Taking the joint from Isaac, I pull him up by his shirt. “Get out.”
“Why?” he laughs as I let him go. High as fuck.
“You want me to list all the reasons?” Picking up a bag of chips off the floor, I toss it his way as he sways. I’m not calling Isobel, contrary to what my dad thinks, she deserves time off. She has a life of her own. But I’m not picking up after this dick. “For one, you have my girl in nothing but a t-shirt.”
“I’m comfy,” Jo protests, taking a chip off the ground and pushing it in her mouth.
Isaac snickers, his eyes blown. I check Jo’s but they look glossy and red. Stoned and drunk. “You should be happy I’m even here after what you did.”
“What I did?” Now I’m in his face, his back hitting the clean white wall. “You fucked my aunt! I should kick your ass for the shit you pulled me into.”
“Dude, if it wasn’t for me, Jo wouldn’t have found you,” he slurs. “But go ahead. Pop off like you always do. Gonna hit me?”
It’s taking everything for me to not slam my fist through his wonky grin. “Get the fuck out, Johnson.”
“My pleasure.” Pushing at my chest, he gets me to take a step back. Looking over my shoulder, he grabs a beer off the ground, headed for the door before I turn to Jo.
“Why’d you do that?” she asks, falling back on the sofa.
“Clean this shit up, Rowland. I have a meeting in a few hours.”
Jo watches me when I shrug my blazer off my shoulders before her brows furrow and I know what’s coming.
Shit. I close my eyes but when I open my mouth to speak her words come out first.
“Fuck you,” she spits, egged on by however many beers are in her system. Picking up a half-empty bag of chips, she throws it my way. “Why are you such an asshole?”
I don’t have time for this. I’m not about to be the failure my dad thought. “Get some clothes on and clean this shit up, Jo. You have two hours.” Two hours I could be spending fucking her.
“No,” she spits, her arms crossed.
“Jo, listen to me.”
“Oh, whatever.” She waves her hand as she walks by, that ass peeking out. I pull on the fabric, pulling her to me and I’m quick to push her in the same spot I had Isaac, her tits to my chest. Seems like everyone needs a bit of a Damien push today. “You can’t keep pushing me around and telling me what to do, Damien. I thought I made that clear”
Moving a finger along her bare arms, she curls in her lips, that fire in her eyes. “As much as I hate to see you with clothes on, do what I fucking say, Medusa. This means a lot to me.” She wants real? I’m being real.
“Your silly little meeting?”
“Silly?” With her back against the wall, it’s hard not to have some fun. I love a drunk Jo. My hand wraps around her throat, pretty in my hold. “Didn’t know you think restoring The Grove is silly.”
Her brows furrow. “Wait, what?”
Biting into her lip I fill her in on the last detail, speaking against her mouth. “I wanted to fuck you before our dinner with Shay and his wife but since you’re being so stubborn—”
“You didn’t even ask if I wanted to come to this dinner,” she says, pulling back. “You didn’t even tell me you were doing more business in The Grove.”
“You’re my girl. Of course, you’re coming to this dinner.”
“That’s sweet, and I’m touched you’re trying to gear your business in a better direction but, you could’ve asked. You could’ve told me.”
“I shouldn’t have to.” Leaning in closer, I’m an inch away from kissing those lips. “Do as you’re told so I can make you come on my cock before these squares come over.” She reaches to kiss me and I know I have her, but I lean back, we’ll both get our reward later. She almost stumbles when my lips don’t meet hers but I catch her slender arms between mine. “C’mon. Help me clean this up so I can get you cleaned up.”
She sticks out her tongue at me as she picks up a beer bottle. “Tell me about your plan for The Grove.”
“I thought about what you said, being better than my dad or whatever.” Grabbing a few bags of chips, I keep my eye on that ass as she moves about. If she’s not careful we won’t get this done. “I’m gonna fix whatever the fuck my dad tried to do in The Grove by revitalizing it. Putting money back into the community instead of pushing the community out. Hippie business shit.”
She pauses, reminding me she’s drunk when she almost slips. “Really?”
“Yes, really. I guess you’re an inspiration, Rowland.” Grabbing another bottle, I don’t miss the impressed look on her face. “It’s not easy getting the rest of these oldies on board though. Since they’re on the board and a lot of their investments are in The Grove, I can’t make this decision on my own.”
When she bends over again, I’m tempted to grab her ass but I try to keep my mind on the task. “Speaking of which,” I say, bringing the bottles towards the foyer. “Do you have anything less … Gwen Stefani?�
�
If we’re going to impress the Shays, we gotta look the part.
Jo looks at me over her shoulder, her hair falling over her face. “What? My clothes bother you now?”
That drunk sass again. “I’ll order you something.” Express delivery from Waldorfs never fails.
“So you can tell me what to wear too?” Fuck, she’s snippy. How long have they been drinking? “First the bodyguard, then the clothes and when the fuck did you start getting mad at your friends for day-drinking? It’s all you ever used to do.”
“If you’re in my house, Rowland, just do what I say, clean this shit up, and put on something nice for once.” I pause, hearing how that sounded.
When Jo stops picking up the bottles, I know she hears it too. Shiiiit.
“Fuck you, Damien.” Walking to the door, she grabs her jacket but she’s not reaching for pants.
She’s supposed to be by my side. My teammate. So what the fuck is she doing? “Get back here, Rowland.”
“Fuck you!”
SLAM!
“Fuck!” My fist crashes into the wall.
How the fuck did we get back here? Pulling my fist out, paint and drywall crumble to the floor.
And now I’ll have to explain that to Shay.
* * *
Jo
“Isaac?”
I’m talking to the figure leaned against the black Rover in the driveway, bottle in hand. His head lifts when I say his name but it takes him a second to look my way. “Oh.”
“You weren’t thinking about driving were you?” I point at the key in his hand. “And aren’t you cold? Shit, how fucked up are you?” I’m one to talk, out here in nothing but a t-shirt and boots but the anxiety keeps me warm.
Isaac looks at his hand as if he’s piecing together where he is. “Nah, I was just …” He spaces out, looking around.
“Passed out on your car.” I help him figure it out, crossing my arms. I shift my weight in my boots, it’s early spring but the air is still a chill, the evening bringing a bite to it. “You wanna get outta here? Still down to party? I’ll call an Uber.”
Sure, I’m a little drunk but Damien has no right trying to run my life. He thinks he gets to call the shots and get me to do whatever he wants. Not this time.
“You and King have it out?” Isaac wipes what I assume is drool off the side of his cheek.
“Something like that.” Selfish dickhead. I’m already tapping at my phone.
“Well then,” Isaac takes a deep breath, stretching out his arms. “Where to, baby?”
“You know a place?”
He smiles a lopsided smile. “I do.”
When our driver comes, Isaac directs him to his house and I guess without pants, this is the safest bet.
That cold nap helped him sober up but it’s not for long. Once we get to his place, he turns on the music, his speakers even better than Damien’s which isn’t surprising for the son of a musician. It’s slow and bass-heavy, filling the home before we collapse on the yellow sofa in the living room.
“Whiskey, right?” he asks, a bottle appearing in his lap. “Just like King?”
“Fuck King.” Grabbing the bottle I take a long hard sip.
“You do fuck him a lot, yeah.” Isaac takes the bottle, grabbing a sip of his own. “You guys fight like husband and wife and fuck like rabbits. If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were in love.” Grabbing the bottle back, I take another long glug, keeping it by my lips. Isaac looks over at me before he sits up, failing.
“No shit, Jo.” He laughs, falling back into the cushion. “You love King?”
“Why is everyone so surprised? You just said if you didn’t know any better you’d say we were.”
“Yeah, but I was shooting the shit.” He’s still laughing so I nudge him with my knee. He hardly moves. “Well, go back there.”
“What? Why?”
“Something tells me whatever it is you’re fighting over isn’t worth spending the night with me instead of him. As much as he’s being a prick right now, in his defense, taking over a business isn’t easy. Especially not Sebastien’s.”
Isaac makes sense, albeit in a very slurry way. He’s right, I’ve been craving Damien’s arms all day.
Slumping down the sofa, my head hits the backrest. “I don’t wanna lose myself.”
“Hey, tell him that. Not me.” When did Isaac get so insightful? Whatever he’s on, I should take some. “If Marion was still alive, I’d spend every fucking moment with her.”
Shit. “I’m sorry.” Glancing at his face, he looks like that said little boy again. “And I’m sorry about how everything went down.”
“I know, Jo.” He lifts his glass. “You’re one of the good ones. Crazy, but good.” Shaking my head I take it before he lifts his glass. “To Marion?”
I can’t believe I’m toasting to the woman who almost killed me. Who almost killed the guy I love. But I guess it’s been that kind of day. “To Marion.”
After a couple of hours of de-stressing with Isaac, and sobering up, I order another Uber. On Damien’s card, of course.
There’s no other car in the driveway when I arrive. I’ve only been gone an hour so Damien still has time for his dinner and I’ll play. I only want the best for Damien and The Grove, but there has to be compromise. I get what I want too.
It’s silent when I’m back inside and I can only imagine how angry he is about me ditching him on a big business night. Time to face the music. Or the devil in this case.
“Damien?” My boots squeak against the shiny marble, the mess Isaac and I made much more apparent now that I’ve left and come back. Funny how that happens.
He’s not in the living room or the kitchen, so I make my way upstairs. “Damien?” Most of the lights are off when I move by the office to go to his room. That’s when I hear the familiar tinkle of ice in a glass.
“Damien?” When I poke my head through the open door, a hand pulls me in, the door slamming behind me when he backs me against it.
“You came back.” His breath smells like whiskey and pot. Looks like the devil I love is back. He’s replaced his suit with a white v-neck. Grey joggers. And like it’s early in the morning, his boner presses between my legs.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left like that but—”
He presses his lips against mine and while I thought I was in for one of his sadistic games, I get instant relief instead.
“You’re not mad?” I ask.
He brings his kisses around my eyes to my cheeks before his warm tongue slides to my ear. “I’m glad you came back,” he says, his voice husky. If this is how he is when I’m gone, I should leave more often. “You’re still mine and you know it. Do you know what that does to me, Rowland?” He hoists my leg up to his side so he can press harder against me, his bulge rubbing right against my clit. “Do you wanna feel what it does to me?”
I can already feel the dampness between my legs, my voice a breathy sigh, “You’re not mad.”
“That doesn’t mean I’m not gonna punish you.” He lets my leg down, leading me over to the desk. With one last kiss, he pulls my shirt over my head before the tingling feel of his cold hands on my waist makes my nipples pucker. “I need you to play by my rules, Rowland.”
“We n-need to compromise.” It’s hard to speak with his hands cupping my breasts, my nipples pinched between his fingers sending jolts of pleasure flowing through me.
“I’m listening,” he growls, leaving me to stand naked in his dad’s old office. “But as long as I’m listening, I’m doing what I want.” He lights the candles sitting on the window ledge before he dims the lights. All the while, he keeps his eyes on me.
“That doesn’t sound like a compromise.”
“Trust me,” he says, his tongue landing between his teeth.
A click of a button plays some old Nine Inch Nails and I’m reminded this is his office now. His domain.
Pulling my body towards him, my back presses against his ches
t, his mouth to my ear. “Now what is it you wanna say, Medusa?”
“What about dinner?” My voice is way too soft to be making demands. It’s hard being firm when his fingers are wandering between my legs.
“Cancelled.” His voice rolls in my ear. Biting my lip is the only thing keeping me from jumping his bones and I’m biting it hard. I need to stand my ground. “It’s me and you, Jo.” Bending me over the wooden desk, my tits press against the cold wood, the weight of his chest moving me with ease. “And I’m about to show you some tough love.”
Fourteen
Damien
She gasps when the candle wax hits her smooth ass. It dribbles onto her sandy skin, a line rolling down her cheek. It’s almost as hypnotizing as those eyes.
I warn her, “Stay right there.”
Another drop and her hips rise off the desk.
“Is that wax?”
“Too hot?”
“N-no it’s …” Bringing the heat of the candle close to her skin she lifts her ass towards it and I smirk. She likes my twisted games. Craves it.
Raking my finger through her soft curls I grab a handful of her hair, pulling her face off the desk. “It’s what?”
Another drip of the white wax gets her answer instead. “Gooood,” she moans as I move my hand from her hair. My fingertips graze her back before they drag all the way between her legs.
“You do like it. You give it away with how wet you are, Jo.” Groaning, my cock begs for freedom but not until I have my fun.
“We need—ahhh god, yes!” My fingers swirl over her clit while I let another drop of wax hit her ass. I can’t help it. I love the squirm of her body, like a sexy brown snake.
“Need a safe word?”
“Compromise,” she moans, my fingers pushing into her tight, wet hole and I can’t help but stroke my cock through my joggers.
“Compromise? That’s the word you’re going with?”
“No.” She tries to look back at me. “Call off your bodyguard.”
Pulling my fingers from her warm wet slit, my palm comes to her ass, the hardened wax coming off in the impact.