by Banks, R. R.
“Not for me, it's not.”
“Because of your father?” I ask. “Or is it that other guy – Bryant, I think his name was?”
She scoffs. “Hardly,” I say. “On the arrogant asshole scale, Bryant makes you look downright humble.”
“Well, gee,” I say. “I'm flattered.”
The waitress drops off our food and hustles away as the place starts to fill up. I dig into whatever it is I ordered and groan with delight after the first bite. Whatever it is, it's amazing. Maybe I need to reconsider my stance on Mexican food after all.
“Good call,” I say. “This is delicious.”
“Been my favorite since I was a little girl,” she says, her voice sounding wistful – almost nostalgic.
“Grew up here, huh?”
She nods. “Yeah. Been in the area my whole life,” she says. “Except for the time I spent at Stanford.”
“Stanford,” I say. “Very impressive.”
“I would've preferred going somewhere back east,” she says. “Notre Dame or Georgetown maybe.”
“So, why didn't you?”
She laughs bitterly. “My father wouldn't allow it,” she explains. “He was paying for my education, so that gave him final approval of the school I attended.”
“You don't sound too pleased with that,” I say.
“I liked Stanford well enough,” she says. “I just wish I had a choice in the matter.”
I nod and start to understand the dynamic of her relationship with her father. It's obviously a patriarchal power structure in the Nichols clan – with Papa Bear making all the decisions for Baby Bear here. And though she hasn't said as much, it's clear that Baby Bear doesn't like it one bit.
I'm just playing armchair shrink here – and having spent so much time with my own army of therapists and psychologists gives me some perspective – but it could be part of the reasons she has issues with men and making emotional connections.
“So, does your dad make all of your choices for you?” I ask.
She pauses mid-bite as a sour expression crosses her face. Clearly, I hit the nail on the head. Zoe finishes her bite and then looks up at me.
“It's not really like that,” she says softly. “I mean, it is, but...”
Her voice trails off and I see a look of profound misery on her face. And seeing that, I can't help but feel for her. I mean, genuinely feel for her. I'd be lying if I said the despair I see in her face doesn't tug at my heartstrings. I'm not a completely heartless prick. Not always.
“Why do you let him?” I ask. “You're a grown woman –”
“It's – complicated,” she replies. “Just really complicated.”
“Is little girl lost still looking for daddy's approval?”
I don't say it with the intention of being mean, but I see a flash of pain in her eyes. Bingo.
“That's pretty presumptuous,” she says, her tone suddenly icy. “You don't know the first thing about me.”
“That's true,” I say. “That's why I'm talking to you. Trying to get to know you.”
“Maybe I don't want to get to know you.”
“Perhaps,” I say. “And that's your choice, of course. I just don't think a person can have too many friends who are willing to listen. I've been in some really bad spots, Zoe. I know what it's like to be at rock bottom and feel like you have nowhere to go.”
“Is that what you're trying to be? A friend?” she says. “And here I thought you were just trying to get in my pants again.”
I shrug and give her a roguish little grin. “Can't I do both?”
She stares hard at me for a moment and then the facade cracks. She erupts into laughter and shakes her head at me.
“You are something else, Connor Grigson,” she says.
“Well, that's certainly a step up from arrogant, condescending pig,” I say. “So, I'll take that.”
“No, you're still a pig,” she says. “But, I think there may be more to you below the surface. Shockingly enough.”
The mood between us seems to lighten. It's not as tense or saturated with as much anger. When Zoe looks at me, I can see it's without contempt – or at least, less than before. It's a nice change. I like it.
“Where did you go to school?” she asks.
“The school of hard knocks,” I reply.
She cocks her head and looks at me as if it's unthinkable that I didn't go to college.
“I was a rock star, Zoe,” I say. “I was too busy partying for school.”
“But, you're so – articulate,” she says. “I wouldn't have expected that.”
I give her a grin. “Just because I didn't go to school doesn't make me an idiot,” I say. “I read a lot. Everything I can get my hands on. I'm never afraid to try new things. Learn new things.”
“Like winemaking,” she says.
I nod. “Exactly like that,” I reply. “One of my addiction therapists thought I needed a hobby. Something about it called to me, and all these years later, here I am.”
“With one of the most successful wineries in California.”
“I have some great people working for me,” I say. “Without them, I'd probably still be making it in a bathtub and selling it out of my car.”
She finishes a bite of her meal and washes it down with some soda, cocks her head and looks at me.
“Why did you leave Ireland?” she asks.
“Well, when the Lucky Charms factories closed, it was hard to find work,” I reply. “There are only so many openings in the Leprechaun Union –”
She cuts me off with another burst of laughter, a smile stretching wide across her face. It's a musical sound. When she looks at me, there's a sparkle in her eye that I haven't seen before, and I find myself being drawn in and losing myself in the bottomless depths of that dark gaze.
“I was being serious,” she says.
“Yeah, I have a hard time with serious sometimes,” I say. “Character flaw of mine. One of many.”
She shrugs. “I honestly don't know the last time I've laughed this hard,” she says. “So, thank you for that.”
“Laughter is good medicine,” I say. “To answer your question though, my best mate Ronnie and I were in a – bad situation – back home. And we both knew if we stayed, it was only going to get worse.”
“What kind of situation?” she asks.
A rueful grin touches my lips. “One that would've probably ended up with both of us dead.”
“Oh,” she says softly and leans back in her seat.
“Anyway, when we were fifteen, we found a way to get to the States,” I continue. “We found some work, started playing music, and by the time we were twenty-one, we were playing sold-out stadium tours.”
“I have to admit, I don't know much about your music,” she says. “I only know what I was able to read about online.”
I don't know why, but I like the fact that she's not some foaming-at-the-mouth groupie. That she doesn't know me from my FUBAR days. It almost feels like I get a clean slate with Zoe. The man she's getting to know is the man I am today –a much better person than who I was back in my rock god days.
“It's not a time I'm particularly proud of, to be honest,” I admit. “There were plenty of good times, yeah. But the lows were – they were bad. I'm grateful to have had them. I probably wouldn't be where I am today if not for them. But honestly, I'd trade everything to have my mate Ronnie back.”
She nods like she understands. I doubt it. Somehow, I’m doubtful that Baby Bear has witnessed her best friend OD and die right in front of her. Just the mention of his name, all these years later, still brings the pain back to the surface. It hurts as bad today as it did then.
“I read about him,” she says. “I'm sorry. I can see how much it still hurts you.”
I nod. “Hasn't gotten any easier with time,” I say, feeling a familiar melancholy rising within me. “Apparently, they lied. Time doesn't heal all wounds.”
“Not the ones etched that deep,” she says.
“The bitch of it is, it should have been me,” I say. “If one of us was going to go, it should have been me. It's my fault. Ronnie was a good man. He was trying to kick the stuff. I convinced him to have one final hurrah and...”
I let my voice trail off and look down at the table. I don't know why I'm admitting this to her and why I can't seem to shut up about it. It took me damn near a year to admit it to my shrink. But, something about Zoe makes me feel comfortable opening up to her. She makes me feel safe. It's crazy, I know that. I barely know the woman. But, I know the connection I feel between us is real. And the fact that I'm willing to be this open with her only reinforces that idea.
“It's not your fault, Connor,” Zoe says.
She reaches across the table and takes my hand, giving it a squeeze. I look into her eyes and see nothing but sympathy and compassion. It melts my heart, and I have to physically fight the urge to lean across the table and kiss her. Something tells me it might not be entirely unwelcome. It feels like the world around us is holding its breath, the air laced with anticipation.
Zoe leans back, removing her hand from mine.
“Anyway,” I say, clearing my throat. “Enough of that. Let's get back to you.”
She gives me a wry smile. “Let's not.”
I shrug. “What's good for the goose, love,” I say. “Look, all I'm going to say is that I see this vast, untapped well of strength in you. It's deep and powerful. I can see it. For whatever reason though – and I know it's complicated – you let your father rule your world. It seems like he's the one in command, and you just follow along, doing whatever he says. And I'm of the opinion that you're a lot stronger than that.”
She looks down at the table. “Yeah, it's kind of like that, I guess.”
“It doesn't have to be. I mean, I know it's complicated. I know that things like guilt and grief, and a bunch of other shit, can really fuck with your head. Believe me, I know,” I say. “At some point though, you need to put your foot down and say, enough. You need to live your life for you. And only you.”
Her eyes soften as she looks at me. “Why does it matter to you?” she asks. “I don't mean that to be rude, I'm honestly curious about why you seem so passionate about this.”
“It's because I see this light inside of you,” I say. “It's this bright, amazing, vibrant light. And I fear that if you let your father, or this Bryant clown, keep dimming it, they're going to snuff it out entirely one day. And that would be a shame. A goddamn shame. It would rob the world of something great.”
Zoe sits back and looks at me like I just dropped a bomb that's shaken up her entire world. Honestly, I don't know where that little speech came from. But, I do know that I meant each and every word of it.
Zoe looks at me with shimmering eyes. Her full, sensuous lips are parted slightly, and it's all I can do not to kiss her. A lone tear races down her alabaster cheek and I lean across, wiping it away.
“Shit, I'm sorry,” I say. “I get on my soapbox sometimes and –”
“No, don't be sorry,” she says, shaking her head. “I appreciate what you said. It means a lot. I don't think anybody's ever put it to me like that before.”
We sit in silence for a few moments as she seems to be absorbing my words. As I look at her and see the distress in her eyes, I feel a longing inside of me. One that, shockingly enough, doesn't have anything to do with sex. I want to comfort her and soothe her pain. As I look at her, I find that I want to right all those wrongs in her world.
And it scares the shit out of me.
Zoe looks at her watch and grimaces. “We should probably get back to the office.”
~ooo000ooo~
I pull the car back into the underground parking lot and cut the engine. The ride back was more or less silent. Zoe would barely look at me. I don't know if I pissed her off or just made her feel worse. Either outcome is not what I'd intended with my little outburst.
I turn to her. “Listen, I –”
Zoe cuts me off by leaning across the seat and pressing her lips to mine. She slides her tongue into my mouth, and I run my fingers through her hair, sliding them down her back. Our kiss intensifies, and I feel my cock grow almost painfully stiff in my jeans.
She pulls back and holds my gaze. “Thank you,” she said. “For what you said at the restaurant.”
A small grin touches my lips. “I'll keep talking if it'll get you to kiss me like that again.”
She giggles. “Idiot. Shut up and kiss me.”
I press my mouth to hers again and our kiss is full of passion and fire. It's fueled by our shared longing. And overwhelming. My car is a 1957 Chevy Bel Air that I've restored over the years. I collect older cars and fix them up. This one is my pride and joy. Fortunately for Zoe and me, it has bench seating.
I slide across the seat so I'm not directly behind the wheel and push her skirt up as I pull her onto my lap. She groans as she grinds herself against the hard bulge in my jeans. I slip my hands beneath her skirt, relishing the feel of the soft silky stockings and the smooth, porcelain skin of her legs.
A car door slams somewhere in the garage, causing Zoe to abruptly stop and look around. The windows are tinted a shade darker than legal, making it hard to see inside the vehicle. The door slammer never appears, and after a few minutes, it seems like the garage is relatively deserted once again. Zoe leans back in and kisses me, with even more force this time.
My hands roam her body. I knead her breasts through her blouse, pinching her hard nipples, eliciting a gasp from her. She continues to grind herself against my cock, harder and harder, her breathing growing ragged. Reaching down, I squeeze her tight, toned ass, before sliding one hand up to touch her through her panties. She's already dripping wet, and moans as I rub her through the silky material.
“I need you inside of me, Connor,” she whispers in my ear. “I need you to fuck me.”
I cut a glance outside, keenly aware that anyone could walk by at any moment. And though they might not be able to see us through the tinting on the windows, the rocking of the car would be a dead giveaway that a couple inside was fucking their brains out. It could end very badly – especially if her father happened by.
But hell, what are the odds of that happening? What are the odds of her father walking by my car, in this giant parking structure for holds hundreds and hundreds of people?
Of course, I could just be trying to rationalize it to myself but fuck it. My need to be inside of her is too great to worry about things like that right now.
“Glove compartment,” I say. “Get me a condom, love.”
She leans over and opens the glovebox, revealing a rather large box of condoms inside. She pulls one out and gives me a curious look as she holds it up. I flash her a roguish grin and shrug.
“As the Boy Scouts say, always be prepared,” I laugh.
“I doubt this is what they had in mind.”
“I've got a merit badge that says otherwise.”
She laughs. “You were not a Boy Scout. No way.”
I raise my hips and grind my cock against the warm, wet center of her. She gasps and bites her bottom lip as she looks down at me. I slide my hands up and push her panties to the side, stroking her wet, swollen lips with my fingers. She throws her head back and moans softly. I kiss her soft, smooth neck, letting the tip of my tongue trail down her chest.
“Okay, I was never a Scout,” I say. “But, you should see the way I can tie knots.”
“Maybe you can show me sometime,” she purrs, her gaze locked onto mine.
“Count on it.”
She reaches down and fumbles with my belt and zipper. My cock is straining hard against my jeans, begging for release. When she finally has them undone, I raise myself up a bit and slide my pants down just far enough to give her access.
Biting her bottom lip, Zoe tears open the condom package and slips it over the tip of my dick. She slides her hand down, unrolling it as she goes. She's gripping my cock hard, and a low moan escapes m
e.
“We should be quick,” she says, a mischievous grin on her face. “I can't believe I'm doing this.”
“Honestly, I can't believe you are either,” I say. “But hey, I'm all for it.”
She squeezes my cock nice and hard. “I can tell.”
Zoe presses her mouth to mine, kissing me softly as she raises herself up and guides my cock to her hot little opening. Slipping the head between the velvety folds of her lips, she slides herself down onto it. Her eyes squeeze shut and jaw clenches as she slowly takes me in, inch by inch.
When I'm fully sheathed inside of her, Zoe begins to ride me. Her pace is slow and deliberate at first as she gets accustomed to having me inside of her again. I reach up and unbutton her blouse before unclasping her bra.
Her full, amazing tits fall free and I cup them in my hands, reveling in the soft skin, and her perfect pink nipples. Leaning forward, I flick my tongue over her stiff nipples, drawing a gasp from her. I squeeze one breast and suck on the other, as her pace starts to pick up.
I slide my hands down and cup her ass firmly as Zoe starts to fuck me even harder than before. She's moaning loudly as she bounces up and down on my cock. She fucks me with so much zeal, waves of ecstasy roll through my body. Fuck. Her big, dark eyes stare into mine as she rides my cock. The look of joy on her face makes my heart swell as much as my erection.
“This feels so fucking amazing,” she says, her voice breathless.
“Yes, you do, love,” I say through gritted teeth. “Fuck me harder, Zoe. Ride my cock, baby.”
I slap her ass to emphasize my point, prompting a squeal and a giggle from her. I can't believe we're doing this in the parking garage of her father's office. I slap her ass again, harder this time, encouraging her to pick up her pace. Zoe complies, riding me even more vigorously. I know if anyone happens by, they're going to see my car bouncing wildly. They might even hear the moaning and groaning – then they’d know exactly what's going on inside.
It's crazy, even by my standards – at least in recent years. But fuck me, if it doesn't seem to make it all the more intense.
“Oh shit,” she says, her voice choked and gasping. “Oh, my God. Oh. Oh, God...”