by Leah Wilde
Thanks to the deal with Marsh, I also had an extra expense. I had to send Nick to a daycare after school because I didn’t want him around The Beehive if it was going to have drugs on site.
What made matters worse was Clay. I’d received several shipments already that week—Mason started bringing his stock in early Monday morning—and each time they’d come from Clay. Now it was Friday and he came in through the front door, not even batting an eye at the curtain pulled closed over the perfect line of charcoal in my floor. “I have a delivery,” he announced calmly. He was an unshakable man, which made me want to throttle him, but instead I sighed.
“Steph? Could you take over for a minute?”
The lady whose hair I was handling, gave me a startled expression in the mirror she was facing. Steph was working in The Beehive now because I couldn’t bear to fire her, but she didn’t usually handle the stylist side of things. She was more of a phones, cashier, and sales girl. And when she came over, she had the same startled expression as the woman in the chair.
Leaning closer to me, Steph asked, “Are you sure?”
I faked a bright smile at her, handing over a comb. “Of course. You’re just doing a little trimming. Split ends, nothing too sharp or short. You’ll be fine.”
No one looked comfortable with the situation, but I didn’t have a choice. I might normally let Steph handle the shipments, but that was when they were legal. Now that I was dealing in whatever drugs Mason sent my way, I couldn’t afford to let her do that. I wasn’t willing to put her in that kind of position. If she got caught with the drugs, not even knowing what was happening, I would feel awful. And wholly responsible.
So instead I was handing over a pair of scissors and a comb to someone that didn’t know all that much about styling hair. I was letting her cut this poor woman’s locks and everyone was just going to have to hope for the best.
When I turned to walk over to Clay, Steph reached for me again. “We could just wait. I mean, this won’t take very long, will it?” She glanced at Clay, then back at me.
I closed my eyes for a half a second, then forced them open again. I would have told her yes normally, but there was nothing normal about my life anymore. And I knew that Clay standing there likely meant more than just a delivery of drugs. “Actually, I may have to duck out for a bit and I know Mrs. Walsh can’t wait for me to get back.” I motioned towards the middle aged woman in the chair. “I can’t afford for her to reschedule.”
Steph frowned. “What is going on with you lately?” she asked, her voice hushed and her tone concerned. “You’ve been weird ever since the fire.”
I swallowed past the lump in my throat. I couldn’t exactly tell her what was going on, though part of me desperately wanted to. A shoulder to cry on, a sympathetic ear…but then maybe she wouldn’t be so sympathetic. What if she decided that I was disgusting and no longer wanted anything to do with me?
Unwilling to risk either our personal or working relationship, I kept my mouth shut about it. Instead, I told her it was the fire and the insurance. “They’ve been dogging me. If I don’t get this stuff taken care of now, that curtain’s going to be up straight through the winter.” I waved my hand at the offending thing. “And we both know that neither of us can afford that. So, please, do this for me?”
She still looked uncomfortable, but eventually nodded. “Yeah, of course.”
When Steph turned back to Mrs. Walsh, I let out a sigh of relief. I turned back to Clay to find him waiting patiently. A scowl on my face, I went over to him and snatched the clipboard. It was bogus, of course. No drug dealer with half a brain would have an inventory of their stash, but I still had to sign off on everything so that on the surface it all looked kosher.
Briefly, I looked over the invoice, then glanced up at Clay to raise an eyebrow at him. “Bananas. Seriously?”
“Just sign it,” he told me flatly.
Gritting my teeth, I did as I was told, because what other option was there? After I handed back the clipboard, he turned and motioned towards some guys who had been waiting outside. They carried in crates and by the looks of them, they had bananas in them. I, of course, knew that beneath the top layer of bananas, there some kind of illegal drug. Crate after crate was carried to the back of my store.
When the guys were finally done, I turned to Clay once more. Folding my arms across my chest, I fixed him with a cool stare. “Is that all?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer.
“No. The boss wants to see you. You’ve got a payment to make.”
Even as my skin crawled with disgust, I felt a flash of want. Desire was a tricky bitch, because no matter how much I tried to convince myself that I didn’t want Mason, my body continued to disagree.
“Fine.”
Without another word, I walked out with Clay. He opened the door of his sleek black car for me, but nothing could make me feel better about where I was headed. The ride was silent, not even the radio on, and I was almost relieved when we arrived at the hotel where I’d meet Mason. In the last week, he’d called in his little “payments” once a day, except for Sunday. I didn’t know or care what or who he was doing then. I was just grateful it wasn’t me.
Some days, I’d go to his office at the diner. We’d do it on his desk or standing up with me pressed against the window. Other days, he’d take me in the back of Clay’s car while Clay sat up front. And sometimes he’d set up a room at the hotel, his hotel, where he’d have his way with me for as long as he wanted.
My face fell a little at seeing the hotel today. It meant it would probably be a long session. As Clay opened the car door for me, I pulled out my cell to text Steph. I’d have to let her know that I’d be a while. Before I could even start a message to her, however, Clay snatched the phone from my hand.
“What the hell, Clay?” I demanded angrily.
He shoved the phone into his pocket and started walking towards the hotel. Over his shoulder he told me, “No calls. You know the deal.”
The deal, as Mason put it, was Mason fucked me for as long and hard as he wanted, then sent me back to work or home or wherever. And in exchange for this great service, I couldn’t tell anyone what was going on. Not that I was exactly eager to in the first place. The last thing I needed was people thinking I was a drug hoarding prostitute.
“I need to let Steph know that I might be—”
“Not my problem.”
Gritting my teeth, I stomped angrily after Clay. We went in through the lobby. The man at the front, sitting behind the check in desk, nodded at us, but I made a point of keeping my head down. I didn’t want anyone knowing that I was here.
Clay led me to the elevator and pressed a number. All the while, I sulked. Steph was going to be worried and then she was going to ask questions. Like where the hell was I. Shooting daggers at Clay’s back, I thought of all the nasty things that might happen to him in his lifetime. Like baldness. Or losing his teeth. Maybe getting a really bad bout of dysentery.
Asshole, I thought.
“So, is today a spectator’s sport?” I asked him with as much venom as I could muster.
He just grunted.
The elevator pinged and the doors opened. I followed Clay as he led the way down the hall to a door. Using the key he already had on him, he opened it up and pushed right in. He closed it behind him then and stood with his back to it.
Ever the guard dog.
I stood in the middle of the room—which was admittedly nice, though it had lost its charm for me—and waited for what would come next. I didn’t have to wait long.
Mason walked out of the bathroom, which billowed out steam behind him. His dark hair was wet, clinging to his shiny skin. His muscles were slick with the shower he had to have just taken and his skin was a healthy pink color that made him look younger than he was.
He clutched a towel in his hand, but there wasn’t one wrapped around his waist. Which meant that his semi-hard cock was hanging free between his legs.
�
��Sasha, good. I need a decent release.”
I shuddered and told myself it was from disgust.
When I just stood there, Mason tossed his towel aside and waved a hand at my body. “Get to it already. I’m not interested in looking at you clothed.”
“If you’re only interested in looking, why not get a Playboy?” I asked him snidely.
He lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “Haven’t you heard? Playboy’s all about the articles now.”
I rolled my eyes at him. “Why don’t you just get yourself a girlfriend, then you won’t have to worry about all this…messiness.”
For just a second, his expression went blank and his body went stiff. He seemed to be lost somewhere else, caught up in a past life. When he came back, his tone was a little off as he answered, “Girlfriends are messy. This makes sense. Easy, clean, no strings.”
I snorted. “Maybe for you.”
“Exactly.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. The word pig lingered on the tip of my tongue, but I suppressed it. Although I felt sleazy every time after our little meetings, mostly they weren’t bad. At least, not violent. There had only been one exception thus far and that was when I’d called him some colorful names that he hadn’t appreciated.
The memory made me want to recoil and hide. While he was rarely gentle, he had only been brutal with me once, grabbing me around the neck. I had made a point since then of avoiding anything that might bring that around again.
It hadn’t been like that again, but the message was clear—don’t call him names and do what he said.
That was why I kept my mouth shut as I began to undo the blouse I was wearing. It was a deep maroon color with three-quarter sleeves and buttons all the way down the front. Beneath it, I wore that same plain bra that I always wore because I’d be damned if I put anything nice on for Mason. He could order me to do whatever, but I wouldn’t dress for him.
Mason had grabbed his length in his large hand already and was stroking himself as he watched me undress. This wasn’t unusual. I was pretty sure that he knew people watching me made me uncomfortable and he got off on it. What he didn’t know was that part of me was turned on by it, too.
I took off my dress and he hummed appreciatively. “That’s it. I love those tits.”
Ignoring him, I took off my pants next and then my shoes. After that, I waited. “Well?” I prompted him.
He gave himself another quick stroke, then came over to me. “Take off the bra,” he ordered. Sometimes he liked doing it himself and sometimes he liked watching. Seemed like he was in a watching mood today.
I reached around and unclasped my bra, then slid the straps over my shoulders until my breasts hung free. I felt my nipples begin to harden almost instantly and told myself that it was because of the sudden cool air on them, but I knew that wasn’t really it. I was turned on. Whether it was the way Mason was looking at me—wicked and hungry—or the way he was already rock hard, it didn’t matter. I hated that I was attracted to him.
His hands reached out and cupped my breasts, grabbing and squeezing them like they belonged to him. Which at the moment, it felt like they did.
I fought against the zap of pleasure that ran through my body at his touch, but it was hopeless. Already I could feel wetness begin to gather between my legs.
For a while, he played with them. He weighed them in his large palms, then squeezed them tight enough that it almost hurt. Then he’d grab my hardened nipples between his fingers and pinch, rolling and tugging on them. I worked hard to remain silent as he did all of this, just like I worked hard to pretend like Clay wasn’t watching the whole thing.
When Mason finally tired of playing with my breasts, he moved on. His hands moved down to my ribcage, sliding lower along my waistline until they hit my hips. There they moved around to my backside and I felt him cup my rear. “You’ve got a nice ass, Sasha, baby,” he told me thickly.
I said nothing. Instead, I bit the inside of my cheek, because I didn’t want to moan when he squeezed my cheeks. His left hand released the cheek it’d been holding so that he could come back and smack it hard. The skin stung and burned a little where he’d made contact, but it didn’t really hurt. Instead, I felt myself grow a little wetter.
I don’t like it, I don’t like it. I tried to tell myself that over and over again, but I was already beginning to lose myself to the pleasure.
His hands moved back around to my hips. “You’ve got a woman’s body, Sasha. I like that. I think you’re my new favorite toy.”
I bit my cheek harder until I tasted blood because I could feel the moan build up in my chest.
I felt his fingers as they dipped beneath the waistband of my panties. He played with the elastic there for a minute, contemplating. After a bit, he told me, “I like when you leave here without your panties. I think I’m going to make a new rule. You don’t get to wear panties anymore, baby.”
Then he ripped them off of me. I gasped as the fabric tore and I pictured myself going back to work without underwear. It shouldn’t have turned me on, but it did.
He threw the fabric aside somewhere, then his hand returned to my hip. I felt it move inwards along my inner thigh then slip upwards. When he came to my core, he grinned. “Already soaking. That’s my hot little momma. So wet you’re practically dripping.”
I let out a whimper, making his grin widen.
His hand slipped between my labia, and I felt his finger begin to slide into my folds. Despite trying to hold it back, I let out a groan when his finger finally entered me. His other hand reached around and grabbed me from behind, jerking me forward. I stumbled a little and fell into Mason, my hands landing against his hard, muscled chest, still a little damp from the shower. Against my thigh, I felt his hard length.
Pulling his finger from my core, he brought it up the length of my body until it lingered near my mouth. “Want a taste?” he asked me, his tone deep with lust and hunger.
I wanted to tell him no, that I didn’t care to taste myself or him, but my body had other plans. My lips were already parting, inviting his finger inside. He grinned at me as he slipped his finger into my mouth. I tasted myself on his finger, tangy and a little sweet. When I’d sucked his finger clean, he pulled it out.
“You’re such a dirty little slut,” he told me and I shivered.
His hand went back down to my entrance and this time he thrust three large fingers inside of me. I let out a cry before I could stop myself. “I knew you’d come around, Sasha,” he told me. “You act like this is the worst thing in the world, but then you come here and all I have to do is put my fingers in your pussy and you’re like putty in my hands.”
“Bastard,” I managed to get out. It was the worst thing I could call him and get away with.
He laughed, plunging his fingers in and out of my moist core. “Maybe. But that doesn’t change the fact that you like it. That you want it.”
I found myself clinging to his shoulders as he fingered me. I didn’t want him to be right. I refused to admit it, but some part of me knew it was true. I was enjoying this, at least in some way.
He continued to slide his fingers in and out of me while his thumb started to move up between my pussy lips. This was part of being with Mason, I found. He wanted me to come. Maybe once, maybe twice, maybe even three times, but I wouldn’t leave his presence until I did. Sometimes he’d make me touch myself while he watched, but other times he insisted on doing it himself.
His thumb found that little buddle of nerves above my entrance and with just a flick of it, I was jerking against him shamelessly.
“Oh, you’re going to be easy today,” he told me, his mouth coming down to my neck. He suckled there as he continued to touch me. “I love it when your body just begs me to take you.”
“No,” I tried to tell him, but the word lost its power as I let out a cry of pleasure. He was right; I was already so close.
“Yes. You know the rules, Sasha. You come for me or I’ll use your body until you�
��re begging for release. And you know I’m a man of my word.”
I wanted to tell him that he was a despicable, manipulating son of a bitch, but instead I just moaned and rocked my hips against his hand. I felt the pressure build until it was overwhelming. I felt like I was standing on the edge of something, begging him to push me over.
He lifted his lips to my ear and whispered, “Come.”
That was it. I fell.
Pleasure came crashing down around me. I cried out, clinging to him like we were really lovers, and not stuck in the business arrangement from hell.
I was hazy after that. Coming down from my orgasm took a minute, but I was vaguely aware of him lifting me up and carrying me. Then he laid me down. I was aware of the cool sheets against my back and of Mason crawling over me.