by Olivia Chase
The valet opens the doors, and we get out. I reach over and take her hand, unable to tear my eyes off her. She’s so fucking gorgeous she’s stolen my breath. Her red dress’s slit is all the way up to her thigh, indecent and erotic as fuck. Her breasts are on display, perfectly cupped with the halter top. She’s stunning. I want to ravage her, devour her, right here in front of everyone. Let them know she’s mine.
Mine. My heart gives a funny lurch at the word, so I focus on this moment, her hand laced in my fingers, us walking into the fanciest motherfucking place I’ve ever seen in my entire life. The restaurant has bronze sculptures of naked babies pissing into fountains. Charming.
We’re led to a table tucked away next to the massive floor-to-ceiling windows. The restaurant is on the top floor of a luxurious hotel…where coincidentally, we’re going to be staying tonight. The skyline view is incredible.
Marissa stares out the window with a gasp. “Wow. That’s so beautiful.” Her cheeks are flushed and her soft lips parted. I’ve never seen a woman who is more incredible than her.
“Why are you going west?” I find myself asking. Part of me doesn’t want to think about it, but I’m too curious to avoid it.
She turns to me and sips her water. Her cheeks grow pinker. “I…graduated earlier this year, and I decided to use the opportunity to pursue my dream job out in San Francisco.”
The waiter comes by, and we order cocktails.
“So what made you decide to start a bar?” she asks. “I have a feeling there’s a lot of backstory there.”
I give her the abbreviated version—how my dad legally has the right to claim the bar, but our cousins won’t give the bar up. How my brothers were first in charge of getting the debt settled but fell in love and left our family. I don’t get into the ugly parts of the story, the tactics our family used in the past. The stuff I’m not quite proud of.
I’m not sure why I’m sharing all of this with her. This is more than I talk to anyone.
“Well, given all of that, I can’t blame you. Sounds like a hard situation,” she says.
Our drinks have arrived by now, and we’re sipping cocktails and nibbling on the fanciest fucking cheese I’ve ever seen. There are nuts and honey and other dipping sauces on this wooden slab. The cheese platter cost, like, twenty bucks. Gotta love rich people dining.
“So do you miss your older brothers?” she asks, twirling the straw in her water glass.
It’s a simple question, but hard to answer. I do miss them. I’m also pissed at them still. But being with her…I’m starting to understand them. Why they might possibly fall in love and leave their lives behind to be with a woman. “It’s more complicated than just missing them.”
“Is it?” She quirks a brow. “You might have different philosophies, but in the end, you’re family.” Her gaze drifts toward the window again, and her face falls. “If you reached out to them, would they talk to you?” There’s a thread of something deeper in her voice, a pain she can’t seem to fully hide.
“Are you close with your family?” I ask. I’m wondering if there’s something about her family that’s causing that pain.
She licks her lips and looks at me. “No. Truth is…” She draws her lower lip between her teeth. “It hurts to talk about. But my stepdad has never liked me. He kicked me out after I graduated college.”
“Fuck. What a dick.” The words fly out before I can stop them.
But they make her give a soft chuckle. “Yeah. He is. My mom is a pushover. She hates being alone, so she puts up with him and gives him whatever he wants.” Her eyes turn hard. “I swore I’d never be like that.”
“I’m not close to anyone in my family.” The admission spills out of me.
That gets her attention. She looks at me. “Why is that?”
“Because they don’t get me.” I’ve always been the odd one with my family. The dude who preferred to read instead of getting in fights in the neighborhood or playing sports. Hale and I were closer when we were younger…before he became obsessed with amateur fighting.
Mom was the one who got me the most. Who encouraged me to read and learn, who got me books from Goodwill. And when she abandoned us, left us with Dad out of the blue one day…I was lost. Alone. Not wanting to open up to anyone again. Until Marissa, who’s prying my ribcage apart and digging deep inside. And I feel helpless to stop it from happening. Because part of me wants it to happen.
“I don’t think my family ever got me either.” She’s speaking quietly. Our dinners arrive, and she picks at hers while she continue stalking. “My dad died when I was young, and my mom remarried. Stanley, her new husband…never wanted kids. I tried hard to get on his good side for years, but he never warmed to me.” There’s a hint of pain in her voice, and she fiddles with her gold necklace. It makes me angry that someone would hurt her that way. Make her feel unloved, unwanted.
“Well, fuck ‘em all,” I say, raising my glass in the air. We clink and take drinks.
Our conversation lightens up after that, drifting from topic to topic. What movies we loved and hated. Our favorite meals.
I can’t stop staring at those gorgeous tits and I don’t mind if she knows it, either.
Admittedly, we’re buzzed.
And underneath it all, under the light convos, is the thread of arousal, of tension between us. I’m aching to fuck her again, to slide my hand up that slit of her dress and touch her pussy. Drive her crazy. Part of me wants to hurry and finish our meals so we can get to bed, but I’m also enjoying the torture of waiting. The pleasure of learning more about her.
I give her a heated look after our plates are collected. “I want to get out of here,” I say baldly. “If I don’t get to taste you in the next fifteen minutes, I’m going to fucking stab someone in here.”
She sucks in a rapid breath and nods. “Oh, God. Yes. Okay.”
We finish up, and I pay with cash, tossing a big tip on the table. Then I take her hand and lead her out the door. I need inside her. Immediately.
Our suite is a few stories down. We step into the elevator, one other couple with us, two older men holding hands. They smile and nod, and Marissa does the same in return. I’m unable to tear my hands away from her body, my attention away from the brilliance of her eyes. They exit, and then we’re all over each other, touching and kissing. I’m so hard. My dick is screaming to be released and plunged inside her. It takes all my patience to wait until we get to our room.
But when we’re finally in our suite, I let the primal side loose.
“Get naked and lay on the bed,” I grind out.
Marissa doesn’t hesitate. She strips her dress off, revealing tiny lacy panties and no bra. Then her panties are off, and she’s on her back in the middle of the king-size bed.
“On your stomach,” I say.
That makes her blink. She flips over, dragging that sexy lower lip between her teeth, and eyes me.
I whip my tie off my neck and wrap it around her wrists, positioned over her head. She stills, awaiting what’s next, her body tight.
I use my hands to run up and down her soft skin. Fuck, her ass is perfect. Her hips are rounded. Her thighs are meant to be spread apart and me to dive in between them. But first…
I raise a hand and smack her ass.
“Oh God!” she cries, out, jerking in shock.
“You were a bad girl,” I say, “wearing a dress that sexy. Teasing me, teasing the other men in the restaurant. Don’t think I didn’t notice them looking at you.” Smack! I hit her other ass cheek, creating a lovely pink glow to match.
Her soft moan spurs me on.
I alternate smacking each cheek, then delving my fingers into her cunt to test her wetness. Oh, she is so ready for me, her pussy juices dripping down her clit and onto the bedspread. “You’re getting this bed so messy from your wet cunt. Guess you get another smack for that.”
I swear, the minx actually nudges her ass toward me, presenting herself for me. Her ass is glowing bright red n
ow, and I rub my hands across it before giving a series of spanks that make her moan ecstatically.
“I…I just wanted to look sexy for you,” she whispers.
“And you do. And that’s why you get a reward, too.” I flip her over, her breasts bouncing with the movement, then capture her nipple in my mouth. Nibble the tip to get it nice and hard for me, laving the flesh with my tongue.
Her moans and the way she writhes on the bed makes me so hard. But I leave my clothes on for now. Instead, I focus on her pleasure. It’s enough for the moment to see her so turned on. To smell her heat between her legs.
I let my tongue slide down her stomach, swirling her bellybutton. I can feel her melt under my touch, and I roam her skin with my hands, squeezing, kneading, stroking, giving small pinches in spots.
By the time my mouth reaches her cunt, she’s soaked, breathless, begging me for more.
“Tell me exactly what you want,” I demand.
“I… Please lick me.”
I lift her foot and lick the inseam, then bite it, which makes her groan with frustration. “Is that what you mean?”
“My…my pussy. Please. Lick me there.”
“Good girl.” I spread her thighs wide, resting them on my shoulders, then dive in. Feast on her. Part her labia and lick, suck. I can feel her getting wetter, sense her arousal increasing to impossible levels. She’s thrusting her pelvis toward my mouth, and I meet her request, licking harder.
I slide two fingers in her pussy, then three, and she starts to shudder. “You need to come so badly, don’t you,” I say against her cunt lips.
“God, yes,” she whimpers. Her breaths are ragged, her words desperate. Her fingers are clenched together above her head. I’m so hard, want to fuck her so much. Want to break her apart. To be the only one who can touch her like this.
I increase my speed, stroking her G-spot, licking her clit. “Come for me, baby,” I whisper. “Come all over my tongue.”
And then she’s flying, her body tight, her incoherent words spilling over us both as her orgasm slams into her. I continue, relentless, soaking down every drop, smothering my face in the taste of her.
I’m a junkie for her. I can’t get enough of her taste, of her sounds, of her smells, of feeling her body beneath my hands. No, I’m beyond a junkie. I’m…
As Marissa starts to descend from her orgasm, I draw in a steady breath, startled where my mind is going.
I’m falling for her.
Fuck.
We sit there, our breaths mirroring each other, our eyes locked. I can see the same thing in her eyes. The realization of something deeper than either of us anticipated.
She’s feeling it too.
And suddenly I can’t breathe. I’m overwhelmed with panic, with things I haven’t wanted to feel. Things I can’t feel. This wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was just fun, just dirty play, flirting, dating a little. Not real emotions.
Nothing like love.
“Um,” she says awkwardly, then glances up at her wrists.
Oh. Right. I shake myself out of it and remove the tie from her, draping it around my shoulders loosely.
Neither of us looks at each other. She gets up and puts her panties and dress back on. We perch on the side of the bed, staring at the door for a moment.
“Well, that got…awkward,” she finally says.
“It’s fine,” I say automatically.
I can almost hear her scowl as she turns to face me. “Are you serious? I was right here. I watched it happen. You were open to me, showing me how you felt, and then…you shut right off.”
Fuck. I hate that she can see inside me so easily. I hate that she possesses the power to hurt me. I have to regain control. “I want a drink.”
“And I want to sit here and talk about this. I thought…” She exhales through her nose, pinching her brow. “I thought in the office, we were gonna give this a real try.”
“This is a real try,” I lob back. “We’re on a real fucking date. What more do you want from me?”
“I want you to stop closing yourself off!”
I stand up. “I should check on business stuff. Maybe we should go.”
She doesn’t speak for a minute, merely stares at me, and I feel something crumbling in my chest, but I will not give in, I will not be weak, I will not let my guard down. Not now. Not this fast. I’m not ready. Then she rises, slips into her shoes, and grabs her purse.
We gather our stuff and head out the door. Down the hall. Descend the elevator. The valet fetches the car, and in utter silence, I drive her back to her motel room. My brain keeps running things over and over, coming up with possible outcomes of us. None of them are good.
She and I can’t work out. My life is too tangled. I can’t drag her into this shit. I’m dealing with mafia. I’m dealing with a father in prison. Who am I to complicate her life? Not to mention she’s complicating mine.
She’s leaving town soon, it’s ridiculous to even consider a serious relationship.
I don’t have time for these feelings. I have to focus, or my family is fucked.
I pull into her motel’s parking lot and shut the car off. Give her the keys—I left my car a few spots down when I picked her up earlier.
Marissa doesn’t say a word. The silence is deafening. With smooth grace, she exits the car, closes the door, and I follow suit, digging in my pants for my car keys.
Then she disappears into the motel, and I’m left outside alone.
I drive home, ripping off my tie and tossing it into the passenger’s seat. Fuck. What the hell is wrong with me? Did I just blow us up? I keep doing this, keep coming on to her and then retreating. No doubt she’s going to get tired of it.
But the fear…it’s real; it keeps me from moving forward.
She deserves better than me. I’m fucked up, just like the rest of my family. It’s in my blood. In my genes. My dad could never keep a woman—after Mom left, he went through a series of them, right up until he landed in jail. I stopped trying to learn their names a long time ago.
I turn onto the street of my family’s house, slowing as I approach. Then I just keep going. I don’t want to go in there now.
So I guide the car down random streets, moving on autopilot. Not thinking, not doing anything but going through the motions. I revealed a lot to her tonight. More than I’ve ever told anyone else.
And it scared me. As fucked up as it is to admit that, I wanted to take it all back as soon as I said it. The anxiety of knowing she knows my vulnerabilities…I couldn’t deal with it. I shut down.
God, I’m so fucked up. I’m fucked up, and no doubt I’ve pushed her away for good.
What the hell am I doing?
Marissa
What the hell am I doing?
That’s the question I can’t stop asking myself.
I kick my shoes off into the corner of the motel room. Toss my dress to the floor, then my panties. The dejection I feel is slugging through my veins like molasses, making my movements slow.
I step into the shower. Try to scrub away the memory of him touching me. Licking me. The way he made me feel tonight. The things he opened up about. The things I revealed to him. And none of that mattered.
It was so evident that the moment of connection between us, when he realized what was going on was far more than physical, freaked him out. I could practically see him retreating into himself. Not that I wasn’t feeling the same sort of panic, of course.
Hell, I wasn’t expecting to have this strong of feelings toward him. Feelings that are painfully edging toward full-on love. But he withdrew, and then he was a jerk, and then he dropped me off and just left.
I press my forehead against the shower stall and let the tears fall. Idiot. Hot water pulses on my back. This was all a giant mistake. I should have just quit on that night, quit and not let myself fall for his words. The way he said he wanted to give it a chance. Sure he did. Right up until it meant actually being real. Then it was bye-bye.
&nb
sp; I dry off, sniffling, my hair lying damp against my neck and shoulders. Wrap myself tight in a robe and stretch out on the bed, staring at the water-stained ceiling. Years ago, I promised myself I’d never spend my days toiling away in bars and restaurants like my mother, hooking up with the wrong guys and then settling for a subpar situation.
But I feel torn. Because deep down, I just knew there would be so much potential with Hudson. Tonight, he opened up to me, revealed things that helped me understand him better. Why he’s so reserved. So closed off.
Or maybe I’m just fooling myself.
I’m feeling alone for the first time since coming here. No one to talk to. My mother never responded to my text; work kept me busy and helped me not think about it, but now that I already feel cut open, it’s just salt on the wound. I feel…unwanted.
I grab my phone and text one of my old college friends. I just need to talk to someone who knows me. She and I don’t keep in touch as much as we’d like to, but when we do, it’s like no time has passed. And besides, she’s out in California and lives in the general vicinity of where I plan to be staying once I’m out there.
Suzie, hey! I type. I’m in Michigan right now, slowly heading west to San Francisco. How r u?
I put my phone on the bed beside me and try to relax. It dings a few minutes later.
Holy shit, I was gonna text you and see how you were doing. ;-) So Michigan? WTF is there? Isn’t it just billions of lakes and trees and shit? Haha
I can’t help but laugh, my mood temporarily buoyed. Yeah, I’m earning some money. Gonna head out of here though. I’m ready to move on and soon I’ll be in ur neck of the woods.
I’m not as ready to move on as I’d like to be, though. The thought of leaving Hudson makes my stomach turn. But he won’t let himself go, won’t try to explore whatever it is between us. And I’m tired of putting myself out there and getting hurt.
There’s no way I can return to work tomorrow, though. Not with how things ended between us tonight. Maybe I can fake like I’m sick. At least until I figure out what I’m going to do. Where I want to go. I need to plan my next steps.