Текст книги "Four Seconds to Lose"
Автор книги: K. A. Tucker
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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 25 страниц)
chapter twenty-three
■ ■ ■
CAIN
I keep my arm coiled around Charlie’s taut waist as we pick our steps along the old pier. I could argue that I’m holding her so closely because it’s dark, she’s a bit tipsy, and the planks are uneven. But the full moon casts a healthy glow overhead, Charlie seems to have sobered up, and the planks are perfectly fine.
I was so close to driving us back to my condo.
So. Very. Close.
My uncomfortable erection reminds me of what I could be doing now, had I made a left turn instead of going straight.
But I can’t. Not yet.
Not if I want to do this right. And dammit, I want to do something right. Driving Charlie home tonight so I can fuck her until the sun rises—when she knows nothing about the man I am—does not feel right. That’s the kind of thing I do with Vicki and Rebecka. I won’t treat Charlie like those other women.
I want more.
“So security just let us on here?” Her arm waves out around us, her heels dangling from her fingers.
“Sure. I’m a member here.” The security guards at this private club all know me. I toss them money to look the other way when I come out to the pier in the middle of the night. I’ve been doing it for years. It’s my secret sanctuary. It’s the only reason I joined in the first place.
I’ve never brought someone with me, though. I’ve never wanted to. And tonight, I tossed them extra to keep anyone, including themselves, off the pier.
When the server came to collect our plates tonight, I panicked. I wasn’t ready to let Charlie go yet. I was enjoying myself too much. And that’s despite Larissa showing up. Of all people to run into . . . Fuck! Thank God that woman had the decency not to bring up the explicit details of our time together. That weekend began with an innocent drink by the bar at the same restaurant we were at tonight and ended with Larissa, her very attractive twenty-three-year-old female assistant, and a bag full of toys.
That woman is into some weird shit.
I went along with it, but the guilt ate away at me later and I promised myself that I’d never hook up with her again. Larissa is a female version of what I hate, taking advantage of her power. Yes, she’s beautiful and charming but she can be a coiled viper, like tonight, with Charlie. For a second there, I was sure she was going to proposition us for a foursome.
Something tells me Charlie has no interest in sharing me.
I grin, thinking about the smug smile touching Charlie’s beautiful, full lips as she reached across the table and claimed me. It may all have been for show, but in that moment, there was nothing I wanted more than to be hers.
Tonight, the way she handled Larissa with class and grace and an edge of bitch was beautiful. Unexpected.
It made me rock hard.
Which is why I had to take her somewhere other than my home. Even now, I can’t help but take note of how quiet and private this pier is. How dark it is. How easy it would be for me to get under that dress, something I’ve been fantasizing about doing for weeks.
We walk in silence, Charlie pressing further into me until we reach the park bench at the end of the pier.
“Do you come here a lot?”
“Every Sunday night, after Penny’s closes. Always alone . . .” I guide her to the bench at the end and sit down next to her, stretching my arm out along the back to get as close to her as possible without pulling her onto my lap. Waves of her creamy floral perfume keep hitting me, making me inhale deeply.
“It’s really pretty out here,” she murmurs, tipping her head back to rest on my arm, her lips curled into a peaceful smile. “Serene.” The moonlight shines over that pretty white neck of hers, exposed, and I find myself leaning in, fighting the urge to trail my tongue along it, all the way down along the full length of her body.
“Thank you for the flowers,” she offers suddenly, adding more softly, “I never thanked you earlier. They’re beautiful. The color is stunning.”
I guide her face toward me with a finger at her chin. “Brown eyes are pretty, but violet eyes . . . I can’t stop thinking about them.” It’s true. I haven’t. I’ve been dying to see them again, since the day I hired her. “Why do you hide them?”
She pulls in her bottom lip, no doubt deciding whether she’s going to tell me the truth or not. With a sigh, she says, “Because I need to be forgettable.” The pain in her tone is unmistakable and it tightens my chest. Is this because of that douchebag Ronald? Or another guy like him?
I can’t think about that guy right now. It’ll make my fists curl, and Charlie will notice. I drove by his apartment building earlier tonight and almost stopped. Almost.
But I didn’t. By the mediocre building, I’m guessing he wasn’t showering her with money and gifts in exchange for sex at any point. I don’t want to cause her more trouble and until I know what’s going on, stalking the guy might not go over well. “You’re a lot of things, Charlie Rourke, but forgettable is not one of them, violet irises or not.”
When she opens her eyes again, there’s a sad smile touching her lips. “Why do you come out here to think?”
Bittersweet nostalgia washes over me. “It reminds me of my childhood, back in L.A. My grandmother used to take my sister and me to the pier on Sunday afternoons when we were young.” Despite raising the despicable man my father turned out to be, I remember my nan being a kind, soft-spoken lady who hugged us a lot. I think she did the best she could as a single parent, holding down two waitressing jobs to provide for them. I never met my grandfather. He went to jail for armed robbery years before I was born, where he eventually died of a heart attack. From the few comments that my dad made about his temper and how he “taught” my dad to fight, the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.
On those afternoons, she’d treat my sister and me to hot dogs and an ice-cream cone each. We’d sit side-by-side on a bench much like this one while we ate, my sister’s feet not even touching the ground, she was so young. I don’t know that my nan could afford to treat us every week. But when I was young, I didn’t think about things like that; I just took what was given to me. I don’t remember ever saying thank you to her. To this day, I don’t know if she ever knew how much I looked forward to those afternoons.
I wish I had told her when I had the chance.
“I don’t remember my grandparents,” Charlie says softly. “My mom said they used to care for me when I was really small. My mom had me when she was fifteen, so they helped while she was finishing high school. In my head, I see this older blond woman with blond hair and a red-checkered apron, standing on a big white porch, waving at me.” She frowns. “But I’m not sure if it was real or not.” Leaning in toward my body, her head nests itself in the crook of my arm. “What’s your sister’s name?”
“Lizzy.” The painful lump that used to come with uttering that name has long since vanished, leaving only faint bitterness.
“Lizzy,” Charlie repeats in a whisper. There’s a pause, a slight hesitation, and then she confesses, “I would have had a brother, but he died during childbirth. My mom was going to name him Harrison. She said she always wanted a son named Harrison.”
Wrapping my fingers around a strand of her hair, I start playing with it, marveling at its silkiness. “Harrison and Charlie?”
Her chest rises with a sharp inhale. “Where is your sister now?”
I pause to watch a ship sail by in the distance as I decide just how much I want to share with Charlie tonight. So far, she hasn’t seemed at all put off by what she’s learned. I can’t help but want to just off-load everything and find out quickly whether she’s going to reject me. Other than Penny, Storm, and Nate—and John, of course, who was the first officer at the scene that night ten years ago—I’ve never talked to anyone about my past. And no one but Nate knows the entire story. But do I really want to air all my shit in one night? I could end tonight’s conversation very quickly by leaning in and kissing her. That would end all talking. I’m sure of it.
I feel Charlie’s questioning eyes on my face and that’s all it takes for me to relent. “She died ten years ago, with my parents, in a drug-related murder. The cops were never able to nail anyone for it.”
Charlie’s body tenses up next to me and that makes me hold my breath. Is this the part where she starts wondering if she really wants to get involved with a guy like me?
“What do you remember about your sister?”
Air hisses through my teeth. I’d expected her to ask how they were involved with drugs, if they were guilty. If I miss them. This is one question I didn’t anticipate, and it somehow feels all the more invasive.
Charlie’s hand loops around mine settled on my lap. She pulls it to her, letting it rest halfway up her thigh, just below where her dress ends. Having my hand against her soft bare skin is definitely distracting.
My hard swallow fills the air. “At sixteen, Lizzy had a chip on her shoulder and an attitude that made you want to throttle her. She’d already been expelled from two schools, and suspended for fighting from another. She was into drinking and smoking pot. Older guys . . .” I shake my head.
Charlie’s manicured thumbs work small circles around the back of my knuckles as she asks, “Did you get along?”
“Honestly . . . I couldn’t stand her.” It’s painful even now to admit that, but it’s the truth. “She wasn’t the kid I grew up with. She changed. About three months before she died, I found out she was working for some douchebag strip club owner, giving blow jobs and God knows what else. She was working under the table and using the ID of a twenty-six-year-old Latina girl named Blanca who looked nothing like her. She was sixteen! The owner didn’t care.”
Exhaling heavily as if that act will release the guilt that still lingers ten years later, I continue. “And neither did I. Not enough.” With trepidation, I glance down at that doll face and find . . . I don’t know what that look is. It’s unreadable. Not judgment, not disgust. None of the things I saw in Penny’s eyes when I admitted this same thing.
It spurs me on. “I wasn’t much better than her, believe me. I moved out when I was seventeen and spent a year crashing on friends’ couches. I barely graduated high school. Then I started getting into the bigger fights. Making real money. Enough for my own car and an apartment. I let Lizzy come to live with me for a few months, but then I found out about the club and I kicked her out. She moved back in with our parents. I did nothing about the fact that she was selling herself. All because I couldn’t see past the tough, bitchy exterior to the girl who was still somewhere in there, needing someone to watch out for her. I doubt she was so tough when they . . .” My teeth crack against the clench. “I’m sure she was more like the little girl I knew growing up, those last few moments of her life.” At least, she always is in my nightmares, when the brutal and explicit details from the police reports come alive and I hear her screaming for me, for my help. For me to return the money that I’d stolen in the first place.
“And your parents? Did they know what was going on?”
Bitterness slithers through my body and, try as I might, I can’t help but feel the tension coiling tighter. “My dad dealt coke and pot. My mother . . .” I heave a defeated sigh. “ . . . dealt sex. They were scum. If they knew what Lizzy was doing, they didn’t care. Fuck, for all I know, my mother was somehow getting a cut. Lizzy had no one to protect her from them.”
Charlie’s body turns rigid against me, reminding me of what she’s probably had to deal with in her own life. Curling the arm stretched out along the back of the bench around her small frame, I pull her close to me.
The warm night air hangs silently around us as I wait for Charlie to say something. To tell me that it wasn’t my fault, that I couldn’t have known what would happen, that I shouldn’t let the guilt eat me up. All the standard things I’ve heard from Storm and Nate, that don’t ease my guilt. But she doesn’t say any of that. Instead, she lifts my hand up to her mouth to kiss it softly before bringing it back down to her lap, where her dress has climbed up even higher.
“It sounds like she’s not the only one who needed someone for protection.”
I don’t argue with her.
There’s a pause and then she asks, “So, how did you end up in Miami?”
“After Lizzy was killed, I lost myself in guilt for a while. I . . .” My mind drifts back to those months after, when I was fighting more than I wasn’t, and each fight was an all-or-nothing stakes, where I laid down every last dime to my name. It was high risk, high reward, and if I lost, I would lose everything. But I couldn’t be beaten, because all of my opponents had the same face—mine. The brother who turned his back on his little sister. Not the sister who cussed and sneered and dropped to her knees for fifty bucks. The little girl with hazel eyes, who sat quietly on that pier bench, eating her ice cream, gazing up at the brother who was supposed to always protect her. Lizzy became that little girl in my mind again. And it was that little girl who lay broken on the dirty, bloodstained shag rug in my parents’ living room.
I pounded the shit out of myself for months.
Swallowing to keep the hoarseness from my voice, I continue. “I made a lot of money fighting. A lot of money.” The hand I have curled around her shoulder flexes automatically, as it always does when I think of all those fights—all those ribs I cracked, noses I broke, guys I beat senseless. The guy I unintentionally killed the same night my family died. “Eventually, I got tired of it. I knew it wasn’t going to make me feel better. So I decided to do something more . . . positive. I can’t turn back time, but I thought if I could help other girls like Lizzy, maybe I’d feel like I’d be paying for my part. There’s always going to be a girl who thinks she has no other choice and there are always going to be dirtbags like Rick Cassidy, who feed off their desperation and turn them into drug addicts and whores. I figured I could do something productive with my money, like open my own club. I needed to get away from South Central, though. I needed a change.”
Charlie turns toward me, until I can feel her breath against my neck. As serious as the moment is, my blood instinctively flows downward. I don’t know how much longer I can be a decent human being with my hand resting on her thigh like that and the swirl of raw emotion hammering in my chest.
“But why Miami?”
“Miami is known for its open-minded laws in the adult entertainment district. A lot of cities out there restrict nudity, or alcohol with nudity, or the types of dances you can get. Not Miami, though. In Miami, you can have a burger in one hand, a beer in the other, and a completely naked woman in front of you. I figured a city like this—with such liberal laws—would breed a lot of Lizzys. It needed at least one club owner who was looking out for the girls. Someone to balance out the worst of them.
“So, I opened up a small club called The Bank. It wasn’t anything flashy or huge. I was just learning about the industry. Hell, I was too young to be opening up a club to begin with. But it did well because I put no restrictions on the girls, as much as I hated it. I still do. I let the girls do anything that is legal but nothing more, and I make sure they’re safe.” Damn, was there ever a painfully steep learning curve over those first few months of owning The Bank! Luckily, I’m a fast learner and I had a great source of information—a Vegas strip club owner. In exchange for one arranged fight—which I won and he made a boatload of money from—he let me essentially live in his club for a month, learning the ropes. He wanted to partner up with me when I left for Miami but I declined. Instead, John fronted the business as the owner, on paper, until I turned twenty-one. I knew I could trust him.
“So I try to do right by my employees, at least. Like I didn’t do right by my little sister.”
“So this is all about a second chance?”
“No. It’s about trying to balance out the good with the bad. I don’t believe in second chances, Charlie.”
There’s a long moment of silence and then she asks, “China reminds you of your sister, doesn’t she?”
I nod slowly. “I get so much grief for keeping her around.” With a sidelong glance, I admit with what I’d imagine is a sheepish smile, “I know she probably hasn’t been great with you.”
“That’s an understatement.” Charlie chuckles.
It’s probably time I let her relax and stop slamming her with my shit. I know I can be intense. In one night, she has learned that I was bred and raised by criminals, that I’m no stranger to brutal violence, that I lie to women and then fuck them, and that I was the world’s shittiest brother.
And she’s curled up against me like she still wants to be here.
I can save the worst of it for another day.
She stands and walks over to lean against the railing of the pier, barefoot. If not for the full moon, I likely wouldn’t be able to see much of her but thanks to it, I can enjoy the view of her silhouette with the ocean in the background. There’s a breeze, just enough to send a few strands of her hair into disarray and the material of her short skirt swirling.
I miss her warmth next to me already. “Have you had enough of me tonight yet?” I murmur, and I hear the gloom in my voice. It’s after three and I don’t want to leave, but I noticed the dark circles under her eyes. I imagine she didn’t get much sleep last night. Ginger told me she came home a few hours after the incident with her assailant with a tear-streaked face.
Turning slowly to face me, Charlie says, “I know you’re telling me all of this to scare me away. But it won’t work. Nothing you’ve told me so far makes me think badly of you.”
An unexpected wave of relief crashes into me with her admission.
I watch her brow knit together as she hesitates, as if she’d deciding whether she should say something. “What if . . .” Again, she pauses and I see her jaw tense. She suddenly looks away, blinking repeatedly. Are those unshed tears I see?
“Charlie?” Worry begins to bubble inside, all thoughts of getting under her clothes gone. “You can tell me, Charlie. Anything. I won’t judge you. God, if you’ve learned anything tonight, it’s that I won’t judge you.” Ronald Sullivan’s name is on the tip of my tongue. I want to ask her, Who is he to you? What did he do? Do you want me to get rid of him? But I keep my mouth shut. I don’t want to pressure her and I sure as hell don’t want to send her running from me like I did yesterday.
Just as quickly, whatever it was—the fear, the indecision—disappears. The intensity of her gaze now reminds me of Charlie onstage. The bold temptress. My mind is still reeling with worry, but now my body is back on high alert.
Unavoidably, my eyes drop down to those tits that I’ve seen bared on twenty-two wonderful occasions and I inhale sharply. Yes, I’ve kept track of her shows. What I haven’t kept track of is the number of times I’ve jerked off to the visuals firmly emblazoned on my mind, afterward. Just the thought has me adjusting myself before I can help it.
And of course she catches me doing it.
She smiles. The coy smile that she gives me as she’s peeling off her top for me at Penny’s.
I believe that I won’t ever be saying no to Charlie Rourke.
I swallow as my blood begins pounding through my veins, as my breathing turns ragged.
As a spider web of tingles skitters over my skin.
I can’t believe it. I’ve never felt this. Not even with Penny.
I’m actually nervous to be with a woman.
chapter twenty-four
■ ■ ■
CHARLIE
Would Cain understand?
Would he see my situation for what it is—that I continue helping Sam in order to survive? To give myself a chance to break free? Or would he see me as weak?
I was so close. It was on the tip of my tongue. But I just couldn’t form the words. I can’t risk it. What would he do? After everything I’ve just heard tonight, I don’t know. Perhaps he’d help me because he craves fixing things, or perhaps he’d walk away because it’s too much of a reminder of his past.
He can’t fix this, though. He can only put himself in danger by trying. No, Cain needs to remain in the dark. And I’m leaving tomorrow, so there’s no point shattering this illusion of me he has created—the abused runaway, looking for a fresh start. Half of it is true, in any case. Or will be, tomorrow.
Tonight is all about accepting that fate has brought a man like Cain to me. I think I may have stumbled upon a saint. I don’t deserve him. Cain is a good man, hardened by too many wrongs in his past. Not his own wrongs, though it’s clear he feels he needs to shoulder much of the blame.
He is as much a victim as his sister, from the sound of it.
As much a victim as I am, I sometimes believe.
Cain has put all of that behind him, though, and is doing something about it. I’m still in the thick of the wrong, and all I’m striving to do is run away and pretend that it never happened.
“I haven’t told you everything yet,” Cain offers softly, as if he’s reading my mind.
I pause, wondering what else there could be besides the enormous personal tragedy he’s just shared. In truth, I don’t think I want to know. “You’ve told me enough.”
And I’ve told you nothing. Half-truths, that’s all. It’s true that there’s a tiny tombstone next to my mother’s that reads Harrison Arnoni. I left out the fact that my mother died along with him, and that his father is a drug dealer who now manipulates my every choice, every decision.
And that memory of the blond lady in the red checkered apron? That’s real. Of course, I left out the part about the screaming match between her and my mother, who dragged me out by the arm, suitcase in hand, only moments later. I remember words like Christian and sinner coming from the blond lady’s mouth. I remember a greasy-haired guy waiting for us in the driveway in a blue El Camino that reeked of cigarettes. I remember waving goodbye to my grandmother for the last time. I remember the tears streaking down her face as she waved at me.
For someone that young, I remember an awful lot.
But I can’t share any of that with Cain now, because it would give away too much about my real self. Charlie Rourke is simply a bundle of lies with a few half-truths to appease my own guilty conscience.
And now I’m eager to silence my conscience entirely.
“Cain?” I take another step forward until I’m standing between his splayed legs.
“Yeah?” He’s sitting, relaxed, with one hand stretched out along the back of the bench and the other resting casually on his knee. The tension in his jaw tells me he’s anything but relaxed, though. I wonder if he has any clue what’s coming. He must. I’ve been rubbing up against him like an animal in heat for the past hour.
It’s now or never.
“Are you always such a gentleman?”
A smirk touches Cain’s lips. “No . . . I’m not. And you’re certainly not making it easy on me right now.”
Swallowing the conflicting thrill and nerves inside me, I ask, “And how would I go about making it impossible on you?”
Lustful eyes stare back at me and I catch something flash in them that I can’t describe. There’s a long pause, and then his hands wrap around the backs of my thighs. With a forceful pull, he directs first one knee up onto the bench, followed by the other. Before I know what’s happening, I’m straddling his lap with my hands loosely curled around his neck and my dress pooled around the top of my thighs. Cain’s hands have found their place around my hips, and he pulls them forward until they’re flush with his, until it’s impossible to miss his arousal against me.
Another wave of heat pools between my legs. I’ve been hot there since the second I woke up on his office couch, but the intensity has reached new levels. I wouldn’t be surprised if I soak right through his pants.
“Are you sure?” His eyes are locked on mine, his lips—only inches from mine—parted, his breathing ragged.
I let my eyes skate over the masculine lines of his face, and my fingertips graze the light stubble along his throat. I inhale that delicious clean, woodsy scent that I will always relate to him. I want to memorize every single moment of this, because no one has ever made me feel the way Cain is making me feel right now.
That what I want truly matters.
And in this moment, I want nothing more than Cain. Intentionally shifting my pelvis even closer to him, until his hardness digs into me, I let my lips trail against that strong jawline—something I have fantasized about doing every single night for weeks now.
I hear the hiss of air a second before his fingers loop around the thin straps of my panties and he tugs at them. His erection is straining against me. Just as quickly, though, he lets go, and his hands force their way up my back—beneath my fitted dress—to press my chest into his. I feel his heart pounding against mine as he catches my bottom lip with his tongue, beckoning me forward.
I accept the invitation, closing my mouth over his greedily, feeling his wet tongue connect with mine in a possessive dance. My hands find his face and urge him closer to me, relishing the light manly stubble beneath my fingertips. As much as I want all of Cain, I could just as easily do this until the sun rises; I love the way his mouth moves against mine, the way he tastes, the small groans he makes.
But I only have tonight, I remind myself.
Without his lips leaving mine, his hands emerge from beneath my dress to pull the zipper down. The material falls. With the skill of an expert, he has my bra undone in a second, exposing my breasts to the cool night air.
And to him.
His fingers waste no time finding their way to my bare flesh, splayed to stroke me, rubbing both hardened nipples with the pads of his thumbs simultaneously. Shivers run through my body. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve thought about doing this?” he whispers into my mouth.
“Weeks?” I tease, but my heart is racing. I can’t help but begin rocking against him, his confession building my own desire to desperate heights.
He breaks free of the kiss with a groan, his hands sliding down to grip my ass. Guiding me up onto my knees gives his mouth easier access to my nipples. He takes full advantage, pulling one into his mouth. I inhale sharply against the almost painful suction, but he quickly counters it with a soothing tongue.
My arms instinctively wrap around Cain’s head, squeezing him closer to me as my fingers wind through his hair. It’s always styled so perfectly that I expected it to be stiff with product. I’m delighted to find that it’s silky smooth.
I press my body closer to him. I can’t get close enough.
“Fuck, Charlie,” he growls, his thumbs sliding under the straps of my panties to yank them down as far as they can possibly go, until I hear the first tears of the elastic in them from being stretched too far.
I’m not quite sure how Cain maneuvers so smoothly, but in seconds he has me on my back, lying along the seat of the bench, as he stands over me. It’s not the most comfortable thing to lie on but right now, I really don’t care.
With proficient skill, he effortlessly draws my panties all the way to my feet and, removing them, tosses them casually to the ground. Gripping my legs by the calves, he gently bends them and pushes them back, making room to prop himself up with one knee on the bench and a leg on the ground, facing me. His hands land on my knees and begin their descent down the inside of my thighs. Heat rises in my lower belly.
And then he pushes my thighs apart. Wide apart.
Suddenly, the fact that I’ve been taking my top off on a stage for several weeks means less than nothing. I’m lying completely exposed on a pier bench in the middle of the night, for a man that every straight woman lusts after—that I lust after—and the very though has tension suddenly jetting through my body. I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t this. Not so quickly.
Cain wasn’t kidding about not wasting time.
He shifts himself to hover over me, the muscles in his neck and shoulders straining beautifully as he holds himself up. “You’re nervous,” he accuses with a tiny, teasing grin before he leans in and lets his tongue dart out to catch my lip.
“No, I’m not,” I lie, feeling my cheeks flush.
“You tensed up,” he pushes, nipping my bottom lip playfully before laying a gentle kiss on my lips. “You sure you’re okay with all this? We can stop.”
It is rather sweet of him to be so in tune with my body and concerned about me, but I don’t want to stop. In response, my fingers wind through his belt buckle, unfastening it and making quick work of his buttons and zipper, my hand diving beneath his briefs to grasp his cock faster than I think he expected me to.
A low groan escapes Cain’s lips.
And I smile. Ben was so very wrong. There’s nothing Hobbit-sized or malformed here. Cain is perfect.
“What’s wrong—you sure you’re okay with this?” I tease, stroking his length, feeling the drops of moisture at the tip. Drops for me. I pull my hand out and make a point of licking my thumb as I peer up at him from beneath heavy lashes. “Are you nervous?”
He chuckles. Though it’s not unpleasant, there’s a hint of wickedness in the sound that I haven’t heard from him before. “Is this a new game of yours? Okay, Charlie, you know I like to play your games.” Shifting out of my grasp, Cain’s hands work my dress down to my ankles and off. “I was going to let you keep this on, but . . .” Standing, he folds my dress into a neat pile and tucks it under my head like a pillow. Then, he resumes his perch on one knee, admiring my body without reservation. I don’t doubt that the moonlight overhead is providing ample light for his perusal. I refuse to cower under his scrutiny, though this is both the most erotic and the most embarrassing thing I’ve ever experienced. “Does Security ever walk down here?” I ask, unable to mask the apprehension in my voice.
His hands move to my thighs. He pushes my legs farther apart, lifting one up to rest on the back of the bench while he urges the other one down, to dangle off the edge. Despite my attempts to act nonchalant, I inhale sharply, my body beginning to ache, searching for some relief, both from him and this compromising position.
