Текст книги "Pretty When You Cry "

Автор книги: Skye Warren

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Chapter Eleven

He carries me upstairs. I’m drifting on the shore between sleep and waking, content to remain here as long as I feel his arms around me. As long as I can smell his musk. As long as I’m safe.

The sheets are cold against my heated skin, and I make a negative sound.

He starts to pull away, and I grab on to him. It’s so cold in this room. So colorless. “Please,” I beg.

He stares down at me in the dark, more shadow than man. “Go to sleep.”

“I won’t,” I say, but that’s a lie. I’m already half-asleep even while we talk, pulled further out on every wave—and he’s sand between my fingers. Even knowing that, I hold him tighter. “I’ll have nightmares.”

“Shhh,” he says, and relief fills me.

“You’ll stay?”

“Shhh,” he says again, and I know the answer is no.

The bed shifts as he sits on the edge. He strokes my temple, my cheek. “So pretty,” he says, and I shiver. I never wanted to be pretty. I never wanted to drive men to sin—until that was all I had left.

His hand strokes lower, down my neck, and over the swell of my breasts. I suck in a breath. This is the most he’s ever touched me. His fingers are light, barely a caress. It’s more like he’s tracing me under my clothes. This is as far as he’s ever gone with me. That may sound strange considering I’ve had my panties down while he spanked me, but nothing else ever happened. Now we’re in a bed and he’s touching my body. My hands lie on the bed, not stopping him.

When he reaches my panties, he slips his hand inside.

My whole body flushes hot and then prickles with goose bumps. I bow up off the bed, a soft sound escaping me. “Ivan? What are you—”

“No, Candy. You know better than that.”

The thud of my heart almost drowns out his words. Almost. I know what he wants from me. I just don’t know if I can give it to him. I move to push him away.

He presses one wrist down on the bed. “Don’t fight me, little one.”

I close my eyes on a deep breath. No, I can do this. God, I’ve practically begged him for this. Now that he’s finally giving it to me, I’m afraid. It’s too much, his calluses on my bare flesh, the contrast of my pale peach panties stretched taut over his large hand.

He seems to be resting there, not moving. I push my hips into his touch, but he squeezes my wrist and lets it go. “No,” he says gently. “You need to be a good girl now.”

My mouth forms the words without making a sound. “Yes, Daddy.”

The shift is subtle, just a twist of corded muscles. Then his fingers are on my clit, around my clit, forefinger and middle finger sliding on either side. Exactly how I touch myself. He’s watched me do it in that basement. He’s studied me, and now he uses that knowledge against me.

Pleasure pours through my body, molten hot, and I moan softly.

It’s more than the way he touches me. It’s how hard he presses, how fast he goes. Every second I spent under him, obeying him, he knew exactly what I was doing. And I know that he was telling the truth down in the dining room. He never did ignore me. Of all the things he did to me, he never did that.

I’m flat on my back, hands bound at my sides because he told me to. My legs are spread just enough for him to touch me. Completely at his mercy.

He rubs faster, and I can’t help myself now. I squirm against his touch, trying to get myself off. “Does it feel good?” he murmurs.

Of course he knows the answer, and even more so when I pant, “Yes, Daddy. Please.”

“You’ll get there, little one. I’m going to help you.”

I don’t know what that means until I feel cool air over my tummy. He lifts my tank top higher until my breasts are exposed. My breasts aren’t small, but his hand covers one completely, plumping it and caressing me until I’m shaking. I’m on fire both inside and out, the flames of my arousal licking me inside, his hands like a brand on my pussy and breasts.

“I feel funny, Daddy,” I say, my voice trembling. “I feel…”

“I know. That’s your body’s way of helping you relax.”

“I don’t—I don’t feel relaxed.” I feel strung up tight, every muscle in my body hard and tense. I know what an orgasm is, I’ve given myself plenty of them, but this is different. Those were stars in the sky, far away and almost invisible. This is like the sun, making me burn. I’m sweating, panting. Begging. “Help me. I can’t…”

“Shh. I am helping you. But you have to let it happen. You have to give in.”

He pinches my clit at the same time as he pinches my nipple, and the heat consumes me completely. I cry out as my climax overtakes me, scorching me, hurting me more than anything, until my body douses the fire, gushing my release over his hand and drenching my panties.

I’m still gasping for breath when he pulls away.

Two fingers push at my mouth, and I open for him instinctively. “Clean them,” he says softly, and I taste the musk of my own release. He rests his palm on my chin, keeping his fingers inside me. I slide my tongue over him, the ridges of his calluses sending sparks through my body.

“Good little girls like to suck, don’t they?”

I nod without releasing him, my eyes wide. I would suck more than his fingers, and he must know that. He makes no move to undo his pants—to fuck me or to let me suck him. He just keeps his fingers in my mouth, casual and perverse, letting me take comfort from the fullness.

There are questions I want to ask him. Things I need to say.

But I don’t want him to move his hand, so I continue sucking, taking my reward for being such a good girl. I let him touch me. You have to give in. And I do that, if only for one night. That’s how I fall asleep, with his steady breathing as my lullaby, his thumb caressing my cheek, his fingers resting on my tongue.

Chapter Twelve

I dream of volcanos, of giant explosions and the drifting of ash. I see red molten rivers that turn black. The earth cracks open, swallows us whole, reclaiming what it had lost.

I feel the singe of my skin, smell burned flesh. I hear the screams—and I sit up.

My screams. I pant, trying to gather myself. I heard myself scream. The sheets are tangled around my waist. The room is empty. I wait in the inky night, almost expecting Ivan to burst in the room. Won’t he have heard me?

Maybe he’s deep in sleep. Or more likely, maybe his bedroom is far away from here, on the other side of this massive house with thick walls. His room is on the third floor. I know that much, but he never let me in there. Not in the year that I lived here, and sure as hell not last night. The first and only time I tried to explore it as a naive sixteen-year-old, I actually got lost. When Ivan found me, he sternly marched me downstairs with strict instructions never to return.

He treats me like a child, and I obey him, because I like it.

I still like it, but not enough to stay.

I need more than that.

Part of me is disappointed he didn’t hear. I want to see what he’d do to comfort me, what else he might give me to suck. Another part of me knows this is for the best. This is my chance.

I cross the room and find my cell phone in the pocket of my jeans. The light blinds me for a second before I can make a call.

One ring. Two.

“Hello?”

“Clara. It’s me. Candy.”

“Yeeeah,” she says, drawing out the word, sounding distracted. “They have this thing called caller ID. I saw it was you before I answered.”

“Mhm, thanks for the technology lesson, but actually I need your help with something else.”

I can feel her attention snap to me over the line. “Something wrong?”

That means she hasn’t heard about the blood at the Grand. That’s good. If she knew, she might be more inclined to side with Ivan about this. “I need you to pick me up from Fourth and Lennox in twenty minutes.”

“Are you in trouble? Should I bring Kip?”

Clara is the little sister of Honor, one of the girls who used to dance at the club. When Honor got into trouble, Clara spent a couple of hours at the Grand under my questionable supervision. We struck up something resembling a friendship, even though I have no business talking to someone that innocent. Not anymore.

Kip is Honor’s very protective, very dangerous husband. He’d be only too happy to protect me, but it would put them all at risk.

It would also eventually get back to Ivan.

“Tell no one,” I say, doing my best stern-elder impression. Even though I’m only one year older than her.

“Okay, Ms. Mysterious. I’ll be there.”

“Are you coming from home? Head down I-32 and exit at—”

“They also have this thing called maps. Like on phones. And—”

“Smart-ass,” I say, but I can’t help but smile. Even in the midst of all this, deep in the heart of a torn up city, she’s a breath of fresh air.

I hang up with a sense of anticipation and dread. Anticipation because I have a lot to do in twenty minutes. I have to sneak out of Ivan’s house, which is almost as hard as sneaking in. Of course I have the advantage of knowing most of his pass codes and Luca’s habits.

And dread because now I have to leave Ivan, for real. Maybe I always knew he would fight me when I told him I’d leave. Maybe I always hoped it would lead to something like last night, where he’d finally touch me. Finally treat me like a woman.

Now I’m leaving forever, and he’s not here to stop me. I know this is for the best. I need to stay one step ahead of the man who’s after me—and more importantly, my presence here will put everyone in danger.

I’m also disobeying Ivan, and deep inside, that feels like the worst sin of all.

*     *     *

I’m soaking wet by the time I reach Fourth and Lennox. It turns out there is a moat. Who knew?

Okay, it’s more like a drainage ditch, but it accomplished the same thing. Now I’m shivering in wet jeans while I huddle against the brick building. My phone gave up the fight with the water. At least no one will be able to track me with it. I toss it into a gutter before melting back into the shadows.

I’m still in the upscale side of Tanglewood, near where Ivan lives, so I don’t want to be seen. A woman without a car or a man nearby would definitely stand out.

The cherry-red hatchback pulls to a stop at the curb, and I hop inside. “Hey.”

Clara gives me a look that says she’s going to need more of an explanation than that. Fair enough. She deserves some answers, but I’m going to have to be careful. The more she knows, the more likely she is to go digging, asking more questions when I’m gone, getting herself into trouble.

“So, where are we going?” she says, as casual as if we were going to hang out at the mall. And now I’m suddenly depressed that we never got to hang out at the mall. It would have been sweet to do something normal, for her and for me. We both grew up sheltered. We had that in common.

“We’re going to the truck stop down I-32. That’s where you get off this ride.”

She doesn’t seem surprised about that. Just worried. “I’m supposed to leave you in the middle of nowhere?”

“No,” I say patiently. “At a truck stop. That’s somewhere.”

Her eyes flash. “And if you get killed, I’m supposed to be okay with that?”

“I’m not going to get killed.” Not that she would find out if I did. At the very least I’ll vanish before my hypothetical murder takes place. “Anyway, this isn’t…it’s not a game. It’s not a party.”

She knows about my party habits. Well, everyone does. Not to brag, but I’m kind of infamous for it. I think Clara even guessed why I did it for so long. We’re very different, the wild stripper and the quiet artist, but we have certain things in common.

Worry enters her eyes. “If it’s not a game, then what is it?”

“I’m leaving. For good.” And because I know she’ll argue, I add softly, “I have to.”

She opens her mouth and then closes it. She must have figured out that an emotional denial wouldn’t sway me. Smart girl. I glance toward the backseat. Her backpack is half-open, rolled up paper peeking out from the zipper.

“Shit,” I say. “Were you at the studio or some shit?”

She rents space in some kind of studio co-op so she has space for her large sculptures.

“At two o’clock in the morning?” She sounds amused. “They aren’t even open.”

“How the hell would I know?” I sigh. “I’m the worst influence. I shouldn’t have called. You were probably sketching. Or you know, sleeping.”

“Something like that,” she mutters.

I’ve hit a nerve. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she says, obviously lying.

I’m torn between curiosity and a strange protective desire to hide her away from the world. Is this what Ivan feels about me? No wonder he always looks like he has a stick up his ass. It’s maddening. “Clara.”

She snorts. “So you can keep your secrets, secrets which might get you hurt, secrets that mean I won’t ever get to see you again after tonight, but I have to tell you everything I’m thinking.”

I hear the pain in her voice, and my heart squeezes. “I didn’t think you would miss me,” I whisper.

Her hands tighten on the steering wheel. “Well, why not? I thought we were friends. Won’t you miss me?”

It kills me how open she is with her emotions, how free she is with her affection. She grew up in a cold environment and then had to live on the run for months. She should have been hardened by now, like me. “I’m kind of annoying, that’s why,” I say lightly. “I call you up at two in the morning and make you drive around the city.”

“It’s part of your charm,” she says ruefully.

I’ve never called her out in the middle of the night before, but I’m not a chat-over-tea kind of person either. “I will miss you,” I tell my reflection in the car window, unable to face her.

Her hand is warm on my arm. “Will you please tell me what’s wrong? Maybe you don’t have to leave. Maybe there’s some kind of solution to whatever it is. Is it money?”

I shake my head. There’s only a few bucks in my jeans pocket. I have a much larger stash back at my apartment, but I can’t risk going back. Ivan has stationed men all around there. I survived on twenty dollars when I was sixteen years old. I can do it again.

“Is it—” Her voice cracks. “Is it Ivan?”

Clara has always been nervous about him, which is understandable. She’s nervous about all men, which is also understandable considering what happened to her when she was younger.

“It’s not him,” I say, “but you can’t tell him you saw me tonight.”

She gives me an insulted look. “Duh.”

I know she’ll be loyal to me. It’s one of the reasons I called her and not anyone else. Even Lola, who’s probably my best friend, would crack under the pressure once Ivan started questioning her. Besides, I don’t want to cause a rift between her and her fiancé, Blue, whose company manages security at the Grand. But actually no one really knows that Clara and I kept in touch. I’m counting on that. There won’t be any trail for Ivan to follow.

Chapter Thirteen

It’s raining by the time we reach the truck stop and say our goodbyes. Clara doesn’t want to leave me here, but in the end she’s solemn and dry-eyed. The heavy knowledge looks strange on her sweet, almost babyish face. I watch the taillights disappear before I turn my attention to the inventory.

I’m humming “It’s Raining Men” under my breath as I size up each rig and driver. I get a few catcalls, some offers of cash for sex. One is particularly colorful, offering to wash up first.

Charming.

Most of the men here are little more than animals. They’d take what they want from me if given the chance, whether I consented or not. Only the thinnest veneer of manners keeps them from surrounding me right here in the parking lot. They could take me down—a full pack against one weakened gazelle.

Luckily, I have a lot of experience training lions. I’m a fucking ringmaster.

Head high. Don’t show any fear. Walk like you own everything you can see.

I find the one I need near the back, in one of the shittier parking spots. He’s a little young. Definitely horny. And the way he looks at me tells me everything I need to know. He admires me, he wants me. But most of all he looks up to me, the way I look up to Ivan. This one wouldn’t offer me sixty bucks to suck his dick, clean or otherwise. And he’d never force me. Hell, he’d probably give me all the money from his wallet if I asked him to. He’d beg me to refuse him an orgasm. Perfect.

“Give a girl a ride?” I ask.

He licks his lips, looking from side to side. Nope, no one is standing right next to his rig but him. “Where you heading?”

“Where you going?”

“Gainesville,” he says too quickly. God, he’d be a dream to train. If only…

“Then that’s where I’m heading,” I say with a smile.

He nearly trips over himself to clean the cab of his truck in the minutes before we leave. It’s exactly what I’d expect from him. Fast-food wrappers and porn magazines with women in leather. The industrial-grade lights in the parking lot illuminate his blush as he shoves everything under the seat.

I put my hand on his arm. We need to get out of here sooner rather than later. As in, right freaking now. Ivan will be coming after me when he notices I’m gone. More than that, I’m worried about whoever left those messages at the Grand. I don’t think I’ve been followed here, but it never hurts to be careful.

Most of all, I’m a little nervous about the other truckers who are gathering around us.

“Hey, mister. This is real nice. Thank you for making me comfortable.” I give his arm a little squeeze. “But I wonder if we could get going now?”

“Oh, right!” He looks around at the men who’ve advanced on us, just a few feet away from the truck. They aren’t making a rush for us, and I heard the locks click. But at least one of those men is packing heat, and I really don’t want to test these windows. Apparently my little subbie trucker doesn’t either. He guns the engine, and we speed into the night.

*     *     *

My chauffer’s name is Charlie, and he’s from Kentucky. He’s driving his uncle’s rig, since his uncle broke his leg playing street hockey. I can’t figure out if that’s a euphemism for something.

I let Charlie ramble and blush and stammer. He’s really a sweetheart. Once we’re ten miles out, he stops for some food and drinks. I slurp on a huge tub of soda and watch him drive.

“So, Charlie.” I draw out his name, infusing it with the kind of sultry sound that earns me double the tips at the Grand. “Do you have a girl back home?”

“N-no,” he says, and I believe him. At least, I believe he doesn’t have the girl. But he wants one.

“What’s her name?”

“Alyssa,” he says, then turns beet red. A-freaking-dorable. “But I’m not—we’re not—”

“It’s okay, Charlie. I understand. Unrequited love is a bitch.” I understand more than I want to. People act like love is a gift, but it’s not. It’s theft. It’s a goddamn tragedy.

Love is losing a vital organ to a man who will never give his in return.

Charlie studies the black expanse, dotted with red and white and yellow. “I figure if I can get my own rig, she might look at me different.”

“Older or younger?” I ask.

“She’s older,” he says. “But I don’t mind.”

“Of course you don’t,” I assure him. He prefers it, actually. “And what does she do for a living?”

If I thought he was red before, now he is an actual tomato. “She’s a…well, she’s a stripper. But she doesn’t, you know. It’s not like that.”

Oh dear. I have a feeling I know exactly what it’s like. Alyssa does her job very well. That’s what it’s like. “Well, I don’t know Alyssa, but I’m absolutely sure that one day you will find the perfect woman for you. One who loves you. One who understands you. One who will tell you exactly what to do to please her.”

His eyes grew wide, a mixture of shock and arousal swirling in his light brown eyes. “You really think so?”

I’m saved by having to reply by the earsplitting whoop of a siren. A second later blue and red lights bounce off the tall columns of rearview mirrors on either side.

“Shit,” Charlie says, fumbling for the blinker. “I wasn’t even speeding.”

I narrow my eyes at the cruiser as we pull over, bouncing on the rough interstate shoulder. “I don’t think they’re here for you.”

“Oh fuck,” Charlie breathes. “Are you in trouble? Should we make a run for it?”

I soften. “Charlie, you’ll make a really amazing boyfriend one day. And to do that, you need to not be dead. So no, don’t make a run for anything. Just sit there and do whatever the cops say.”

We don’t have to wait long. The cop that comes up to the window is familiar. He shines his flashlight inside, taking in both of us. At least he doesn’t flash it in my eyes. “Good evening,” he says in that drawl of his. I really hate that fucking drawl.

“It’s morning,” I say, annoyed. “Aren’t we a little outside your jurisdiction, Officer?”

He just smiles. Creep.

That’s the thing about bribing cops. All the ones who’ll accept bribes are total assholes. “I’m outta here,” I say, blowing a kiss to Charlie. “You go ahead.”

His mouth is open. “But—”

I smile and slam the door against his bewildered expression. It would only be worse for him if he hung around. Officer Asshole bangs the door and tells him to drive away. When he’s back in the flow of traffic, I start walking.

“Hey,” Officer Asshole shouts. “Where are you going?”

I shoot him the finger and keep walking.