by Jaci J
“Like I told you, we’re not going to work, T,” she tells me, like that fucking answers my question.
“You keep saying that shit.”
“We aren’t.”
“Not what I fucking asked you.”
“And my response is none of your business since we’re not a couple.”
We’re not a couple? “Says the bitch that begs for my dick, crawls into my fucking bed, rides on the back of my bike.”
Bailey laughs. It’s humorless and stiff. “We fuck. That’s it, T.”
“You’re so fucking full of shit. Your lies are gonna catch up to you, Doll.”
“You’re trespassing.”
This fucking bitch.
Pulling out my cell, I hand it to her. “Then call the cops, baby, let them know the motherfucker fucking you on the regular broke into your place. And while you’re at it, let them know I’m a Disciple. Might get them here quicker.”
Bailey pushes the phone away, rolling her eyes. “You’re not hearing me.”
“Oh, I fucking heard you.”
“I want you, but I can’t have you.”
“And why is that?”
“Because you’ll ruin everything.”
BAILEY
Guilt.
The feeling stabs at my chest, twisting in my stomach.
The feeling that slithers through my veins, infecting my body.
Fucking guilt.
T looks upset. Mad. Pissed. Irate. But more than anything, he looks hurt.
Standing in my bathroom, stripped down to nothing, I feel his eyes bore into me. He’s not looking at my body, he’s looking into me, looking for the answers in my eyes.
He doesn’t understand, and I can’t bring myself to say the words. Why? Because I’m embarrassed to say them aloud.
“Ruin everything? Ruin what? Your fucking job?”
“That, and there are things in my life, things you’d never understand, that make us impossible.”
“Try me, Bailey,” he growls, his voice thick and his face intense. “Because I’m getttin’ real fucking tired of this shit.”
“No.”
“No? So, that’s it? You don’t want me, but can’t fucking tell me why, other than giving me some bullshit umbrella reason?”
Pretty much.
I’m too disgusted to tell him the real reason, that old men pay for my time, attention, and my body.
It’s horrible.
It’s nasty.
“T—”
“Stop!” he barks, his voice loud and angry. “Stop fucking saying my name like that.”
Then what else do I say?
“I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry?” He laughs, forced amusement in his deep voice. “Fuck, you’re not sorry.”
I open my mouth to say his name again, but snap it closed when his eyes harden down at me.
“You’re not sorry,” he says again, but this time he smirks. “But you’re gonna be.”
“What?” I squeak, eyes widening when he advances on me, grabbing me around the waist. His big hands circle my hips and his fingers dig into my flesh as he lifts me up, putting my ass on the bathroom counter in front of him. Pushing his way between my legs, his hips settle between my thighs.
He doesn’t ask.
“You don’t want me, Doll Face,” he teases, one hand sliding up my belly and up to my chest, his large hand cupping one heavy, sensitive breast in his rough hand. “Because I don’t believe a goddamn thing that comes out of that pretty little lying mouth.”
“Never said I didn’t want you.”
“Yeah, I fuckin’ heard you. You want me but shouldn’t, or some bullshit,” he growls, his palm brushing against my nipple, teasing me, testing me. “Held me off for a year, made me think you weren’t interested. Figured you were just in it for the money, then thought maybe I was wrong. But now? Not fuckin’ sure anymore.”
His words, they hit me in the chest because they’re wrong. So fucking wrong.
The room, the space between us grows cold.
“Let me down,” I bite out, pushing at him.
“No.”
“Let me the fuck down,” I curse, pushing on him, hard, my hands hitting his solid chest with a thud. “I’m not fucking leaving,” I growl when he won’t move.
T steps back, giving me space, frowning.
Sliding off the bathroom sink, I storm into my closet.
He doesn’t follow me.
He fucking thinks this, everything between us, is about money.
I might be money hungry, but not when it comes to him.
That couldn’t be further from the truth.
On my knees on the floor, I dig through the bottom drawer of my dresser, pulling out a large paper bag from inside.
Back in the bathroom, I brush past T, walking into the bedroom. He doesn’t let me get far, though, not this time. Grabbing my elbow, he swings me around to face him. “The fuck you doin’?”
“You think I was only in it for the fucking money?” I shout, my voice shaking as I pull my arm free from his iron grip. “You couldn’t be more fucking wrong.”
My emotions are all over the place.
They’re a goddamn mess.
I’m a goddamn mess.
Spinning around, I open the bag and shake its contents out and onto my bed.
Twenties.
Fifties.
Hundreds.
The bills float down like rain, landing on my comforter in puddles.
“Every fucking dollar you ever spent on me,” I tell him, looking at the contents.
Well over fifty thousand dollars.
All of it from T.
Every single bill.
I look at him, but he’s looking at me.
“I couldn’t fucking spend it. That money made me feel cheap. I wanted to see you more than you wanted me to dance for you. I wanted to dance for you more than I needed that fucking money. Even though I shouldn’t want you, I do, but knowing and doing are two different fucking things, T. I wish you understood that.”
T looks at my bed.
He looks back at me.
His face is stone, emotionless.
I can’t read him, but I can feel him.
In an instant, he’s got his hands on me again, his hand in my hair and the other wrapped around my waist, his lips on mine.
His kiss is hungry.
His kiss is powerful.
His kiss is one of ownership.
His tongue tangles with mine, tasting me, savoring me, owning me.
Walking me backward, T lets me go when my legs hit the mattress, letting me fall onto my back, the money our relationship was built on catching my fall.
I look up at him.
His eyes are dark, emotionless, yet full of need.
Wordlessly, he drops to his knees at the foot of my bed, his shoulders pushing between my thighs, his mouth dropping to the panties covering my pussy.
Everything floats away.
Everything.
23
T
EVERY FUCKING BILL I gave her, ever fucking twenty I stuffed in her panties. Every fucking fifty I tipped her, every fucking hundred I handed her, she kept.
Every. Single. One.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Over-fucking-whelmed, I do the only thing I can think of—I take ownership of every fucking inch of her.
Bailey belongs to me, even if she doesn’t want it or realize it.
Pulling her panties to the side, I bury my face in her warm, wet cunt, tasting her, savoring her.
Bailey moans, shivering when I slide my tongue through her pussy lips, teasing her clit with my nose.
“Tyler.”
I love to hear my name on her lips.
Her tongue worshiping my fucking name.
Pulling her panties down her legs, I leave them on the floor and dive back in head first.
I eat her cunt like it’s the last goddamn time, spending my time teasing and tasting her,
giving her an orgasm that bows her back and curls her toes. An orgasm that has her legs shaking and her chest heaving. I give her an orgasm that has her crying my name out like a pleading prayer.
“You’re lyin’ mouth gonna tell me you don’t want me now?” I taunt, standing up between her legs at the foot of the bed, looking down at her.
She’s fucking beautiful.
I’ve got both of her long, tan legs in my hands and hanging at my hips, staring down at her, begging her to tell me I’m fucking wrong.
Looking up at me with heavy, heated eyes, Bailey bites her lip and shakes her head no.
“I always wanted you.”
I know.
I know it even more now.
She kept every fucking dollar I gave her because she couldn’t spend it. She kept every dollar because she needed my time and attention more than she wanted the money.
Jesus.
I fucking feel that shit in my chest.
“Good, because I’ve always wanted you too, even when you’re lying to me.”
“Tyler…” she moans, desperation twisted around her words.
“Yeah, baby, I know.”
I know exactly how she’s feeling.
Bailey watches me take off my clothes, her tongue teasing her lower lip in anticipation.
She wants me.
I’m fucking desperate for her.
On the edge of her bed, I grab both of her legs and wrap them around me, pulling her closer.
She doesn’t protest.
She doesn’t fight me.
Fisting my cock, I drag it through her cunt. She loves it when I tease her while torturing myself.
“T,” she moans, her hands clawing at mine, wrapped around her thighs, trying to pull me in closer.
“You want me inside, Doll Face?”
“Yes.”
I slide into her, her pussy pulling me in, needing to be filled.
“Ahhh,” she moans, head thrown back, money scattered around her pretty face.
Money, the root of all evil. Money, the fucking crux of our goddamn relationship.
Grabbing her hips, I pound into her, my cock bottoming out deep inside of her.
She feels so goddamn good.
She feels like my fucking reason.
She feels like my fucking downfall.
Grabbing my strained arms, she clings to me, letting me fuck her hard, matching my every thrust.
When she comes, she does it screaming my name, chanting it over and over.
I come inside of her, my cock throbbing and my vision blurring, my legs damn near buckling beneath me.
“Shit,” Bailey breathes, pulling me down onto her, and I let her, fucking spent. Mentally, emotionally, and physically. The woman rips me apart.
“You saved all that money.”
“I saved all that money,” she confirms, her fingers drawing lazy lines up and down my sweaty back.
“It’s your money.”
“It was never my money.”
“You earned it.”
“All I wanted was you.”
“You fuckin’ got me, Doll.”
BAILEY
Shit got real, and I got real scared.
Maybe I’m brave.
Maybe I’m fucking stupid.
Probably a little of both.
Quietly, I slip from the bed and walk through the door, taking a change of clothes with me.
Wearing a plain black tank top, a pair of gray joggers and a light jacket, I slip on my shoes and head out the door.
Walt had called and texted after last night, trying to see me again.
I owe him nothing.
Yet I feel like I should give him something.
Or maybe it’s self-sabotage.
T’s too much. Everything is too much. The way I feel about him, how he feels about me. The money. Everything.
Sitting in my expensive car, a car Walt helped pay for, a car I’d never be able to afford without him, I look up at his house. It’s a mansion on the nice side of town. Big and stately, it’s beautiful, and everything I always used to want.
Used to.
Something I’ve been saying and thinking a lot lately.
From inside my car, I hear a motorcycle, the sound faint, but loud in the silence. My heart stops, worry clogging my throat, making it hard to swallow down the fear suddenly bubbling up in my chest.
Shit.
I wait, waiting for T to show up.
After a few tense moments, nothing happens, and I work up the nerve to get out of my car.
Outside, the air is cold and damp. It’s two in the morning, and everything around me is dead silent outside of the sound of my heart beating wildly in my ears.
At Walt’s front door, I knock.
Jesus.
No one answers, and I debate on whether or not to get back in my car.
I’m a mess of fucking emotions.
A goddamn disaster.
With my back to the door, I hear it, the locks being unlocked.
I turn around just as Walt opens the door.
“Coco?”
Instantly, I regret coming.
“What’s wrong?” Walt asks, looking me over. He’s wearing a robe that’s hanging open, showing off his trim frame and the salt and pepper dotting his chest. He’s handsome, but he’s not T. No one is.
“I can’t see you anymore. I can’t take money from you anymore,” I hear myself say. Like an out of body experience, I hear the words coming from a voice that is mine, but I can’t believe it’s me saying them.
His head snaps back slightly, like he’s being hit with horrible news. “What?” he asks, dragging a hand over his tired face. “Why not? Did I do something?”
I shake my head. “No. You were always good to me.”
“Why stop, then? We have a good thing going.”
“It’s not enough.”
Stepping back, opening his door for me, Walt says it all without saying anything. He’s willing to give me more, but at what cost? Me giving him more of me?
I shake my head. “It’s not the money.”
“That’s a shame, Coco.”
“It really fucking is,” I hear that familiar gravelly voice say from behind me.
T.
I don’t turn around, I’m too scared to.
“Thank you, Walt, for everything.”
He nods, his eyes big, looking at me and then over my shoulder.
“If you ever need anything …”
“Anything she needs she’ll get from me,” T growls, the sound of his voice like a fucking whip, sharp and cutting.
Walt nods once before shutting the door in my face.
I don’t turn around.
I can’t.
I can feel and hear my heart, louder than ever, hammering in my chest and ears.
It’s fear. It’s excitement. It’s the unknown.
“Turn around, Bailey.”
I only shake my head.
“Not gonna tell you again.”
24
T
“YOU’RE NOT GONNA fucking run me off, Bailey.”
“T…”
I feel my blood pressure rising, the vein in my goddamn head close to exploding when she says my name like that, like it can fix or erase anything bad she does. Like that shit is a balm.
“Not gonna tell you how fucking stupid it was leaving in the middle of the night like that. Not gonna tell you that you’re fucking dumb if you think I wouldn’t know you left. Not gonna tell you how fucking mad I am that I found you at some motherfucker’s house. You know these things, yeah?”
She won’t meet my eyes, and it’s probably a good thing. She won’t like what she fucking sees looking back at her.
“You know those thing, right?” I grind out, my voice tight, ready to snap.
I want to toss her ass on her bed and fuck her in every hole in her body until she knows who she belongs to, until she’s screaming my name.
“I’m not sorry,” she tells me,
her chin out, like a fucking badass.
“You never fucking are, but what you’re not going to do is run me the fuck off, you hear me?”
“I wasn’t trying to.”
“No? So all your bullshit is out of love? Fun? What?”
“My bullshit?”
“Yeah, your bullshit. You like to playing games, Doll.”
“I’m not playing games.”
“No? And lying to me isn’t a game?”
“Lying to you?”
“I fucking asked you if you were seeing someone else and you said no.”
“I’m not seeing him.”
“So you’re just fucking him?”
Bailey looks ashamed and embarrassed, and I hate that I feel like a fucking prick for making her feel that way, but fuck, it had to be said, had to be asked.
I might love this woman, and I might put up with her shit, but her fucking another man is a hard line for me.
“I’m not my mother,” she growls, her eyes narrowed on me as she stands in front of her dresser and looks at me.
“The fuck does your mother have to do with this?”
“Everything!” she screams. “You said I wasn’t like my mom, but I am,” she tells me, tossing her phone at me.
I catch it, and on the screen is text messages.
In those text messages are pictures.
My stomach churns. The muscles in my jaw tighten. At my side, my fist cracks, my knuckles popping.
“Do I like this shit?” I quip, my voice quiet and steady, despite the fact that I feel like my teeth are about to crack at how tight my jaw is. “Fuck no, I don’t, but I know struggle when I see it, and you’re fucking struggling, baby.”
“I’m not,” she whispers, her eyes watery and soft.
“You fucking are. Struggling to keep me out. Struggling to stay afloat. Struggling to not fall apart.”
“I’m fine.”
“Are you? Your tears tell me something different.”
“Fuck you,” Bailey sniffs, holding her head high.
It’s all bullshit.
“C’mere, baby,” I sigh, sitting on the edge of her bed, hand out to her.
“I’m not fucking him,” she finally tells me, and I can breathe again.
I didn’t think she was, but fuck, did I need to hear it.
I don’t like how hard she made me work in the beginning. I don’t like where I found her tonight, and I don’t like what I saw on her phone. I don’t fucking like a lot of shit, but what I do fucking like is her. I like her enough to fight for her.