The girl opens her mouth and looks like she wants to argue, but she wisely doesn't. Instead, she goes back to working my cock like I'm paying her to do.
She keeps stroking and jerking me – though, I can tell it's less enthusiastic than before. And it feels way less good than it did before. I sigh and shake my head. She's fucking up my whole fantasy with her petty, petulant attitude.
“Stand up,” I snap.
A pouty look on her face, she does what she's told. She looks at me, but the flirty attitude and sultry smile are gone. In their place are a frown and an attitude that says, let's just get this over with.
Yeah, real sexy.
Without a word, I grab her by the shoulders and turn her around, bending her over the chair. She's got a tight, toned ass – a lot like Harper's. I grab her hair as I step forward, closing my eyes, and try to conjure the image of Harper's face in my mind again.
And when I have her face locked in my mind's eye, I quickly slip on a condom and move closer. Yanking the girl's hair, I slam my cock into her hard and deep. She gasps but otherwise does nothing. She just stands there, her ass in the air, while I thrust my cock into her again and again.
But that's okay. I don't need her to do much. I'm already caught up in my fantasy again. I see Harper looking back at me over her shoulder, a seductive smile on her face. I hear her moaning and groaning as I pump my cock into her.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I grit my teeth and bury my hard rod into her faster and faster, hearing Harper's voice calling my name. I feel my balls tighten and the pressure low in me building quickly. As I imagine Harper writhing beneath me, hear her groans of pleasure, I feel my orgasm rising like an ocean tide.
I feel her push back against me, grinding her pussy against my rod and that's it for me. My cock starts to pulse and throb and grunt as I blow my load, filling the condom inside of her.
“Fuck, Harper,” I moan as my body trembles and shudders. “Yeah, baby.”
I'm not even done spilling my seed when the girl stands up and starts to dress. I drop the condom into the trashcan and pick up my pants, pulling them on. The last wisps of my fantasy fade away and I'm left with the reality before me. The girl – whatever her name is – is gorgeous, but she's no Harper Wilkins.
I fish some money out of my wallet and toss it on the table without a word. She picks it up and tucks it into her purse as she heads for the door. Before she leaves though, she turns around and looks at me.
“You've got some issues, man,” she says. “I don't know who this Harper chick is, but you need to get over her or something.”
“I pay you to fuck,” I said. “Not to hand out advice, but thanks.”
She shoots me a dirty look before slamming the door behind her on her way out, leaving me alone to bask in the afterglow of my fantasy.
ooo000ooo
With my hands in my pockets and my head in the clouds, I stroll down the street, heading for home. Having found a way to relieve my – tension – I'll be better able to handle Harper running around in her short shorts and tiny tops. She does it to tease me, I know. And it's frustrating as hell.
It's just after one in the morning and the streets are still buzzing with activity as people mill about, smoking and talking or head from one bar to the next. I'm not paying attention like I usually do when I walk the streets at night, so I don't realize anybody is following me until I feel them literally, right behind me.
I stop and turn – and feel my blood run cold. I swallow hard and do my best to keep my face neutral. Expressionless. The last thing I want these two to see on my face is fear.
“What's up, fellas?” I ask.
The bigger of the two – Jimmy – looms over me. He's easily six-five, is as wide as he is tall, and is pure muscle. I have little doubt he can tear me in half if he wants to. He doesn't speak though – in all the time I've known these two, I've never heard him speak. He's obviously there for the muscle and the intimidation factor. The other one, Frank, looks a lot like Danny DeVito and is the brains of this little duo. Talk about an odd couple.
“What's up,” Frank says, “is that you owe the man sixty grand. When can Marco expect payment, Landon?”
“Marco?” I ask. “I thought Roberto was the man in charge.”
“Don't be an asshole,” Frank says. “You know that Marco is running things here now. You owe the Rossi family a lot of money and they want it. It's time to pay up.”
A nervous flutter shoots through my body. I don't have the money. I don't have anything close to that kind of money. I'd borrowed it to start my own club – a business decision that ultimately failed. I'd apparently overestimated the appeal of a burlesque club in the area.
I took a bath on it and now, I have to repay the original debt – a debt that was supposed to be paid down from the profits of my club.
“Look, I just need a little more time,” I say. “I'll have it. I got some things in the works. You know me I'm always hustlin'.”
“Yeah well, you need to start hustlin' a little faster,” Frank says. “Mr. Rossi wants his money.”
“And he'll have it. I swear,” I say.
Frank nods to the large man, who steps forward and drives his fist into my stomach so hard, I'm sure it's going to burst out my back. I fall to my knees, gasping for air, feeling like I'm dying. Frank crouches down next to me, putting a gun under my chin. The cold steel of the barrel presses into my skin and I have to hold back the urge to piss myself – that's the last thing I want to do in front of these goons.
“You better get it,” Frank says. “Mr. Rossi is getting real tired of waiting. We'll be in touch.”
Frank stands up, and the two men turn and walk away without another word. They leave me down on my knees still trying to catch my breath. The buzz I'd felt when I left the hotel room is now officially gone. Replaced with the cold dread of reality. And that reality is that I owe a lot of money to people who won't think twice about shooting me in the face if I can't come up with the cash.
As I walk home, I rack my brain, trying to find some way to come up with a way to get that kind of cash – and fast. When I finally get home though, I'm no closer to an answer. And feel like I'm a lot closer to catching a bullet in the head from one of the Rossi family henchmen.
I settle into my bed, my pulse racing, my mind and emotions swirling, and close my eyes, knowing sleep won't be coming anytime soon.
Chapter Five
Rob
Los Angeles
I throw the ball and watch as Ella and Fitz, my two Great Danes, race across the yard, jostling and bumping each other to get it. They're both so long, graceful, and full of joy as they run. My pups both come back – Ella grinning around the ball in her mouth – and look at me with their wide, sweet eyes.
Squatting down, I rub them behind their floppy ears as they lean into me. I fish a treat out of my pocket and give one to each of them.
“My good pups,” I say.
I was fortunate enough to rescue them a year ago from a backyard puppy mill that was being shut down. They had some health issues, but I got them the very best care I could and now, they're beautiful animals. Warm, loving – my dogs are better than a lot of the people I know.
I throw the ball again and watch them race off in pursuit, a smile on my face. Sitting down at the table on the back patio, I take a drink of my coffee and soak in the morning California sun, enjoying a cool breeze with just a hint of the ocean in the air.
Yeah, I think moving from New York to California is still one of the best decisions I ever made.
Ella and Fitz run back up to me, wagging and wiggling, smiling away as I give them both another treat. They chew up their treats and look to me, waiting for another chance to chase down the ball – so I oblige, hurling it as far as I can, and smile as they race off once again.