Page 209 of The Tempted
“You want a piece of the Bulldog,” he said. It wasn’t a question, he said it as if it was a stone cold fact. “Let’s see if you got the chops, girl,” he tipped his head toward the door. “After you.”
His voice hung in the air like a dare, taunting me until I accepted and started for the door. I nearly toppled over as the door pushed open and a scantily dressed woman emerged swaying on her six inch heels.
“Watch it,” she hissed, lifting her eyes to Blackie. “Moved on so quickly did you Black?”
Blackie ignored the woman but I couldn’t help but gawk at her. Her hair was a mess, her make-up smeared across her face, and her clothes were in disarray. She looked like a prostitute.
“Keep it moving,” Blackie whispered against my ear, as he held the door open for me.
I exhaled, wishing like hell I never came here. I stepped inside the warehouse and was immediately hit with the foul stench of stale smoke. I blinked through the haze, my eyes finally focusing and I let them travel around the large room. I wasn’t sure if I had walked into a frat house or a brothel. There were people having sex right there in the open for anyone to see. They were smoking pot in the corner and ripping lines across the bar.
I had miscalculated and misjudged the man I came here seeking forgiveness from. I don’t know what I was thinking or what I expected but this, this wasn’t it.
In a world as dark as the one I live in, sometimes I can’t help but crave sunshine.
If this was the world Jack inhabited, then he was right, it was a dark one and sunshine, definitely didn’t fit amongst all this dark shit. I didn’t fit in. Not me, before the fire and certainly not who I was now.
“There’s the Bulldog,” Blackie said, his arm stretching over my shoulder as he pointed toward the far-left corner of the room. I followed his finger, choosing to block out the people surrounding me and focus on the reason I was here.
Jack leaned back against an old black leather sofa, his arms stretched wide across the back of the couch. I watched, mesmerized as he threw his head back against the pillows and closed his eyes, his ruggedly handsome features twisting and contorting in pleasure. His lips, shadowed by the scruff of a day or two's growth, lifted in the faintest of grins. He was beautiful in a lethal sort of way. I stared in awe as the man who always seemed so intense, unraveled before my very eyes.
He dropped one hand to his lap, threading his fingers through the hair of the woman positioned between his thick thighs. I couldn’t tell what she looked like as she was on her knees with her back toward me and her face buried balls deep between Jack’s legs. He fisted her hair, arched his hips and fucked her mouth.
It was vulgar, and it was obscene but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from him. I think I even took a few steps further into the room, hoping to get a better look. I felt something dormant awaken inside of me. A burning for something I didn’t realize was missing from my life. Something I didn’t know I was still capable of feeling.
I clenched my legs tightly together, trying to dull the ache that stirred between my thighs, the need that ripped through me, screaming for relief. Jack was oblivious to his surroundings, fixed on getting off, working for it like his life depended on it.
I was crazy.
Crazy for thinking this was a good idea. Crazy for coming here. Bat shit crazy for standing here watching, waiting, to see this man through his orgasm. Certifiable for wishing I was the one who drove him to that sweet ending.
“Well what are you waiting for?” Blackie taunted from behind me.
Jack’s hips buckled, and he shouted something I couldn’t make out since I was too far away. I bet whatever it was he cried out was dirty. Real dirty.
“This is the best fucking night of my life,” a young guy exclaimed, as he stood in front of me blocking my view of Jack. I lifted my eyes to his as he flipped the baseball cap he was wearing around so that the rim wasn’t blocking his eyes.
“Who are you, sexy mama?” he asked, reaching out to run his hand along my side.
“Riggs, she’s here for the Bulldog,” Blackie clipped.
I snapped out of the semi-catatonic state I was in and shoved the pie against the young guy’s chest, forcing him to take hold of it.
“I’ve got to go,” I mumbled, turning around and slamming into Blackie’s chest. He glanced down at me, a sly grin on his face.
“Can’t hack it,” he accused. For the first time since I stepped foot into Jack’s world I actually felt frightened. I stared up at Blackie, fearful that he would block my escape and force me to wait around for Jack to zip his fly.
“No I can’t,” I whispered, giving him the words he wanted to hear me say. Blackie stared at me for a minute, quietly assessing me before clearing the path for me to pass.
“Don’t look back, little lady,” he warned.
I didn’t tell him that I wouldn’t look back, that the images of Jack were embedded in my brain. The memory of his face would burn ferociously inside of me, warming me on the cold lonely nights.
I pushed past Blackie, running from Jack and his dark life. My feet hit the pavement outside the warehouse, carrying me away from the Satan’s Knight’s clubhouse. Only when I was outside of the gates did I turn and look back at the building. I conceded that my therapist was wrong. Jack was not someone I needed in my life. He may have given me a glimpse of the girl I used to be but there was no hope in him being the man who resurrected the old Reina.
It was hopeless.
I was hopeless.
I looked down at my clothing, vowing to donate all my old clothes to charity, rid myself of the disguises and false hope that I’d ever be healed. I was merely a ghost of Reina DeCarlo.
