Dare to Surrender

by Lilli Feisty

  Poor Andrew had to deal with telling Pain-in-the-Ass Panos she wouldn’t be in, but Joy simply wasn’t up to arguing with her surly boss. She hadn’t fallen asleep until dawn, and when the alarm had woken her an hour later, she knew she’d be useless for many hours to come. Her body was sore; her head was sore….

  Her ass was really sore.

  Yeah, she needed a break.

  So much had happened in too short a time period. Had she really only started this thing—whatever it was—with Ash last week? It seemed like months had passed since that night in the museum.

  The night she’d stolen from Ash. But all was not lost: She had a plan.

  Ash. Her stinging butt reminded her of the spanking he’d given her in the car, and desire washed over her.

  Not good. She couldn’t let things progress with him until she’d taken care of the little matter of stealing from him.

  Not that he’d given her any indication he wanted things to progress. So far he seemed to be interested in one thing only—sex.

  She, on the other hand, couldn’t stop thinking about him. His heart-stopping smile, the crinkles around his green eyes. The way he made her insides melt with lust.

  And his steadfast loyalty and honesty were just the icing on the cake. She already missed him.

  So. She could stay inside all night, alone, thinking about Ash and eating the remaining ice cream, or she could go out and try to forget about him for a few hours.

  The latter option won.

  The bedside clock read 6:00 p.m. Her bag was on the floor next to the bed, and she pulled out her cell phone. “Damn.” It was dead, of course. She really needed to be better about charging the thing up. A bit groggy, she climbed out of bed and dug around for her charger. She found it in the kitchen, buried under a stack of dish towels. After a minute, she had the thing plugged in, and as it charged, she dialed Erica’s phone number.

  “Hey, woman,” her friend answered. “Missed you last night.”

  Tethered to her cell phone charger’s wire, Joy leaned her backside against the kitchen counter. “I’m sorry. You think the gang is up for a redo tonight? I could really use a cocktail. Or five.”

  “I’m supposed to be studying with my partner tonight.”

  Joy yawned. “Bring him.”

  “What?” Erica barked.

  “I said, bring him. I want to meet this guy who’s been ‘making your life a living hell.’ ”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Why not? A few cocktails are good for studying, remember? That was our motto at Stanford.”

  “Joy, I never studied anything at Stanford.”

  “Well, it must have been my motto, then. Either way, you should ask him. I really want to meet him.”

  “He’s just a rich preppy who thinks he knows much more than a lowly waitress.”

  “How do you know that?” Joy asked.

  “Trust me. I know the type; I’ve been putting up with their shit my entire life.”

  Joy knew Erica came from a lower-income family, but she’d never quite figured out why she had such issues with people who had money.

  “I’m from a wealthy background and you like me,” Joy pointed out.

  “I know, but you’re different. And no one handed you a gold AmEx when you turned eighteen.”

  “True. Well, I say invite him, and I’ll give you a second opinion.”

  “Maybe,” Erica grunted.

  “Great, and would you call the guys? I’m going to hop in the shower.”

  “Yeah, no problem.”

  “Mario’s at seven?”

  “See you there.”

  Frowning, Joy hung up. Erica had sounded strange, distant. She hoped she wasn’t mad about Joy flaking off the previous night. Oh well, she’d get over it. Eventually.

  Tugging off her long T-shirt in her bedroom, Joy paused to check out her rear end in the full-length mirror. She bit back a smile. Her ass was bright red on both sides. Why did that send a wave of arousal through her? Her breasts suddenly felt heavy, tingly. She could barely believe he’d taken her over his knee and spanked her like an unruly child, and it was even harder to believe she’d liked it.

  But she had. Now, looking in the mirror, she saw her nipples go hard and pointy. She licked two fingers and took a nipple in her hand, imagined it was Ash’s mouth tugging, sucking, pulling on her sensitive flesh.

  Watching herself, she saw her own cheeks were already flushed from arousal; her hair was a fiery, tangled mess around her head, spilling over her shoulders. She saw her waist, her hips, and her slightly spread legs. If Ash was there, this was what he’d see. He’d see her reach between her legs and slide one, then two fingers into her damp sex.

  Pausing, she took in her reflection. Was this the girl in the photographs Ash had taken? She hadn’t seen it before, but now, maybe because she was looking through the rose-colored glasses of lust, she saw the similarities. Her hips may not be narrow, but her waist looked smaller than she remembered, and she could count her ribs. When was the last time she’d even looked at herself naked in a mirror?

  Using her fingers, she rubbed herself with rapid, even strokes. Simultaneously she tugged on her nipple and watched as her body jerked, stilled. “Ash,” she whispered as she climaxed.

  Joy was, of course, the last person to arrive at Mario’s. She nodded hello at the bartender, passed a pool table, and finally ended up in the very back of the bar where a group of three sat in a large, deep booth. One of the last true dive bars in San Francisco. Joy loved the place.

  “Hey,” Erica said, sliding over to make room. “I ordered you a lemon drop.”

  “I knew I loved you for a reason.” She smiled at the other two sitting at the table. “Hey, guys, how’s it going?” Joy picked up a chilled glass and licked the sugar-coated rim.

  “Joy, you got a hot date later?” This was from Scott, a blond with pierced ears and blue eyes that made many a man in San Francisco melt.

  “No, why?” Joy asked.

  Scott leaned back in the booth. “You’re not dressed…. How should I say this? As frumpy as usual.”

  “I don’t dress frumpy!” Joy said. “I just like to be comfortable.” She adjusted the jeans around her thighs; were they really supposed to be this tight? She was used to looser, less-constricting clothes. But she didn’t dress frumpy.

  Did she?

  “Comfort is as comfort does.” This was from Kate. She’d never revealed her exact age, but Joy knew she was in her thirties. Kate, however, was clutching onto her twenties with the tips of her fake-red nails. Her incredibly perky breasts highlighted impressive cleavage in her low-cut blouse, her ebony hair was cut in a modern pageboy, and her makeup displayed bright blue eyes. She managed a chain of junior clothing stores and purchased most of her clothing from her company, despite the fact that the clothes were geared toward women a good ten years younger than she.

  Now Kate was practically sparking from excitement. “Does this mean I can finally get you into the store for a makeover?”

  “No!” The last thing Joy needed was a wardrobe that was meant for the Paris Hilton wannabes of the world.

  “Tell me the truth.” She shifted on the seat. “Are these too tight?” On a whim, she’d dug out a pair of jeans a department store saleswoman had talked her into last year. But the number of the size always seemed too small to Joy, and she’d never been able to wear them out of the house. She wasn’t exactly sure why she’d done so tonight.

  “Definitely not too tight. You have a great ass, and you should show it off,” Scott said.

  “Yeah,” Kate said, raising her glass. “I wish I had an ass like yours.”

  Joy scoffed, trying not to think about what the gang would say if they actually saw her ass, red and marked from Ash’s hand. “That’s ridiculous.” She looked at Kate. “I wish I had your tiny waist!”

  “Oh my God, you women are ridiculous!” Erica took a dainty sip of her cosmopolitan. “You’re both gorgeous;
now, would you shut the heck up?”

  Scott rarrred, trying to imitate a mad cat. “What crawled into your G-string?”

  Erica glanced at Joy, and, just for a second, she saw an unfamiliar vulnerability in her friend’s eyes. But then it was gone.

  “Nothing. I just…” She twirled the silver chain at her neck. “I’ve had a long day.”

  Joy placed her hand on Erica’s leg and was surprised when her friend jumped. “Weren’t you going to bring your culinary partner tonight?”

  Erica shrugged. “I invited him. I have no idea why; he probably won’t show.” She glanced around at the bar walls, which were covered in a display of total randomness, from ancient posters to obscure signs to a pair of panties that had been nailed up behind the bartender. “This place is probably way too lowbrow for him, anyway.”

  “I hope not!” Scott said gleefully. “I really want to meet this person who’s making our Erica so insane.”

  Kate’s perfect red lips spread into a teasing grin. “Yeah, the Devil’s Spawn, isn’t that what you call him?”

  “Did I?” Erica muttered, staring intently at her beer.

  Silently, Joy watched her best friend. Was it her imagination or was Erica actually blushing?

  Scott leaned back, spreading his well-defined arms, showcased in a tight, short-sleeved black T-shirt, across the back of the booth. “Yeah, I believe you said, and I quote, ‘He’s a scurrilous waste of biological matter.’ ”

  “You must be talking about me.”

  The group looked up to see a tall man with brown hair standing before them, looking at Erica with amusement in his eyes. He wore khaki pants, a blue button-up shirt, and a smile. Except for the black Doc Martens boots on his feet, Blaine did, in fact, look every inch the preppy boy Erica had described.

  He gave a short wave. “I’m Blaine, Erica’s culinary partner.”

  “Hi, Blaine. Please, join us.” Joy scooted over to make room. As Scott and Kate introduced themselves, Joy caught sight of Erica doing something that nearly made Joy gasp. There was no doubt about it. Erica was blushing, her cheeks bright as pink rose petals.

  What was that about?

  The waitress appeared to take Blaine’s order, and he asked for a beer.

  “Can I see your ID?” she asked.

  Kate giggled and then slapped a hand over her mouth.

  Sheepishly, Blaine reached into his back pocket, pulled out his wallet, and handed over his driver’s license.

  The waitress raised a brow. “Beaumont? Okay, here ya go.” She handed him back his ID, then turned and went to get his beer.

  Joy had to bite her lip to keep from chuckling out loud, but Erica didn’t bother.

  “Beaumont?” she said, laughing. “Seriously? I thought your name was Blaine!”

  Now it was his turn to have pink cheeks. “I hate that name, so I go by my middle one.”

  “Beaumont Blaine Prescott?” she said. “Seriously?”

  “It’s a family name.”

  “Oh, I bet it is.” Erica’s tone said the words as if something was being confirmed.

  “So,” Scott said, obviously trying to change the subject. “Is working with Erica a huge pain in the ass or what?”

  “Shut up, Scott.” Erica shook her head and dug into a bowl of peanuts that had probably been on the table for at least a year.

  But Blaine just leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. “Not at all. In fact, I find her quite charming.”

  Erica snorted, but Joy noticed she was really working that necklace now.

  “I do,” Blaine said. “Her constant abuse and mockery hold a certain… je ne sais quoi.” He turned to Erica, and Joy saw the teasing gleam in his eye. “That’s French.”

  “You’re a jackass,” Erica said. And then they glared at each other.

  And everyone at the table stared at them silently before Scott broke the silence. “We were just discussing Joy’s wardrobe,” he told Blaine, and then lowered his voice and leaned closer. “Or the lack thereof.”

  “You idiot!” Joy said, and threw a peanut at Scott.

  “Joy has a new boyfriend,” Kate informed Blaine.

  “I do not! I barely know him,” Joy said, but the words didn’t ring true. She knew how he felt climaxing inside her; she knew he cared for his family more than anything. She knew he liked to tie her up and deliciously torture her.

  And she knew he despised thieves.

  Throwing back the remainder of her lemon drop, she hoped the alcohol would diffuse the nerves that went crazy in her core whenever she thought about that.

  The plan. She had a plan that would fix everything.

  “Who wants another round?” she asked.

  Everyone raised their hands.

  An hour later, they were still at the booth, on their third—or was it fourth?—round. Multiple trips to the bathroom had resulted in musical booth seats, and now Joy sat between Scott and Erica, with Kate and Blaine taking up the ends. Somehow the topic had rolled back to Joy and men, specifically Ash Hunter.

  “I don’t know…” Joy said, her voice loud in her ears. “Guys like that are never interested in me. And look.” She began digging things out of her purse and placing items on the table. A brush, an old ticket stub, a belly-dance scarf that jangled loudly as she dropped it on the pile.

  Finally she found her cell phone. Squinting, she peered at the blurry screen. “See? No messages.” Disappointment settled in her chest in a special drunken way that was extra painful.

  “Why do I even care?” she asked her phone. “I barely know you. I mean him.”

  “But you’ve done the deed, right?” Scott asked, tipping a beer bottle to his perfectly formed lips. “Danced the horizontal tango? Made sweet, passionate love? Spanked his monkey—”

  “Shut up!” Joy said.

  “But this is fun.”

  “Anyway, yeah, but we haven’t, like, you know. Talked.”

  She felt Erica stiffen next to her. “Funny. He only calls you at night for sex. There’s a name for that, you know.”

  “Booty call!” Kate said, swigging her cosmo.

  “No, no, it’s not like that!”

  Blaine had been fairly quiet through the discussion, and now Joy turned to him. “What do you think, Pain? I mean Blaine?” His name was darn hard to pronounce after a few drinks.

  He glanced at Erica and then back at Joy, lifting his chin just a fraction. “I think you seem like an intelligent adult who can make up your own mind. I’m sure you’ll make the right decision.”

  Silence stretched out before Kate and Scott burst into laughter.

  “What?” Joy asked, shaking her head. “Blaine’s right. I’m a resssponssible adult.”

  Scott lifted a lock of her hair and smiled. “It’s just that you don’t have the best history with men, sweetie.”

  “Not true… There was… What about…?” Not Cartwright, he was a philandering charmer. Or that banker, turned out he was married. Or that guy who said he was an organic farmer and then she’d caught him on the news one day being dragged away in handcuffs in one of the biggest marijuana busts in northern California history.

  “There has to be one good guy I’ve dated, right?” she whispered, her voice tiny.

  Scott and Kate shook their heads sadly. She turned to Erica, who was just staring at her, her eyes sympathetic. “Joy, I don’t want you to get hurt. Again.”

  Just then her phone started vibrating on the table. Like some kind of alien had just landed, all of the group members stared at the cell in wondering silence.

  Five heads leaned to peer closely at the phone. “Ash,” they all said in unison.

  A prisoner in the booth, Joy whipped up the phone and answered, aware of her engrossed audience.

  “Joy, we need to talk.” His voice sounded strained and tense.

  Her heart stopped momentarily as panic set in. Damn. Had he discovered the missing sculpture? She tried to sound casual. “Sure, about what?”

  �
��Listen, can you come over?”

  She looked around her, to the four pairs of eyes that were watching, eavesdropping on her every word. Booty call. But what if it wasn’t just that? What if he knew about the stolen art? What if he was mad at her?

  Or what if he did want a booty call?

  Her body responded to the sound of his voice, making her blood go hot. Her ass throbbed as a reminder of what they’d done in the car, and she realized she wanted to see him again. Badly.

  She nodded.

  “Joy, are you still there?” Ash asked.

  “Oh, yeah. Sorry. I’ll be right over.”

  Her three “friends” gave exasperated breaths next to her as she ended the call. “Sorry, guys. Gotta go.”

  “Are you kidding? You’re ditching us because some guy calls you and demands it?” Erica asked incredulously.

  It was Blaine who put a comforting hand on Erica’s arm, but she shook it off.

  Joy looked at her friend. “It’s not like that, Erica. This is about business.”

  “At nine o’clock at night?”

  Frustrated and guilty and tipsy, Joy nearly told everyone about what she’d done, how she’d stolen the sculpture from the San Francisco Art Museum. She opened her mouth to speak but quickly snapped her lips shut. Yeah, her friends saw her as a bit of a mess, but they also thought she was a good, honest person. Joy wasn’t ready to disillusion them yet. And anyway, she had a plan, a plan that was going to fix everything.

  She shook her head, replacing the contents of her purse she’d excavated while searching for her cell phone. “Please, guys. Don’t be mad; it’s not like that.” Ash wasn’t like that, she wanted to add, but knew the statement would only sound patronizing. “Would you please excuse me?”

  Erica remained in place, but Scott and Kate scooted out to allow Joy’s escape. Digging through her bag, she tossed some money onto the table. “Thanks for understanding, guys.”

  Avoiding her gaze, Erica just grumbled. Joy would deal with her later, without an audience.

  But Scott raised his eyes and smiled. “Use a condom.”

  Shaking her head, she turned and pushed her way through the now-crowded bar. As she passed the women in their tight jeans, high-heeled boots, and flowing tops, Joy couldn’t help but compare herself to them. Yeah, she was wearing tighter jeans than she usually did, but she still wore an older, loose sweater and her same old flat shoes. Boring.