Held A New Adult Romance(17)

“Maybe he’s into the whole blank canvas thing,” she said, looking me up and down. “He’s an artist, you know.”

No, I didn’t know. But I was on fire to find out.

The next time I saw him was at the bar where I'd first seen him - I'd been haunting the place for a week in the hopes of catching a glimpse of him again and I was beginning to get angry, desperate and crazy. Or maybe I'd been angry, desperate and crazy from the start - I don't know. It was hard to tell with him. Maybe I'd been nuts all along and he just knew somehow exactly which buttons to push to make me worse. All I knew was that every time I saw him and every time he spoke to me, sex stopped being this thing that happened to other people and became a thing that had to happen to me, with him, as soon as possible.

He was dancing with a rock-chicky kind of girl, whose tight lacy top left very little to the imagination. I was wearing a denim skirt and a sleeveless white t-shirt that I'd hoped would make me look vaguely rock n' roll, but actually made me look like a blonde version of Olive Oyl. I was pissed but wasn't I the one with his grandmother's rosary around her neck? I'm not sure how much I'd had to drink but it gave me an idea.

I went into the bathrooms and took off my bra. I stuffed it in my purse and went marching back out there, onto the dance floor. He was still there and smiled when he caught my eye. I leaned close to yell in his ear, my heart doing double time. "You wanna see something?" I shouted.

He looked amused. I took a step back and, still not quite believing that I was about to do this, hoisted my t-shirt to chin height. There was a rowdy drunk cheer ringing in my ears, but his face was all the reward I wanted - he was laughing, beautiful, incredulous. "You're insane," he said, and grabbed my hand. As he pulled me through the crowd I could already hear the mutters - slut, tramp, whore - but I didn't care. I had what I wanted - his undivided attention.

He led me out the back door to a narrow little alleyway behind the bar. His kiss was every bit as delicious as I remembered, his hands hot under my t-shirt.

"I know you," he said, grinding into me. "You're the movie star's daughter, aren't you?"

I felt him hard against me and it gave me a jolt of fear, but it was quickly smothered by the exultant knowledge that I had done that to him. I was out of my mind with the sense of my own power and daring. My top was bunched up over my breasts, my nipples bared to the elements. He had his hands on my hips now and I was arching into his touch, all but begging him. "Little rich girl, right?" Justin said. "Used to getting what you want?"

He hooked him thumbs into my panties and started to pull them down. Once again I felt the jab of fright, but as he'd said - this was what I'd wanted. Maybe it was going to happen faster than I'd expected, but I couldn't say I hadn't wanted it to happen. I stepped out of my underwear. His grin was all teeth - all the better to eat you with, my dear.

"I'll take these," he said, scrunching up my panties and stuffing them in his pocket. My heart was beating so fast I thought it would explode, the pulse between my legs nothing more than a mad, stuttering flutter. He reached between my legs and pushed his fingers into me - too fast and too rough - and that tiny wince of mine was my undoing. It wasn't that he was an especially sensitive lover, but I later found out he was finely tuned to fear - especially mine.

Justin laughed. "No shit," he said, slowly. "A virgin?"

I tried to look seductive, twisting my hips into his touch, but he just laughed again. "No way," he said, kissing me on the mouth. "You're too damn funny, baby."

"I wasn't trying to be," I said. "Aren't you going to...you know?"

He removed his hand, smoothed down my skirt and looked me up and down as he licked his fingers clean. "Nope," he said. "I don't think so."

I folded my arms over my breasts, conscious that he could see the shape of my nipples through my t-shirt. Five minutes ago I'd felt like a sex goddess. Now I just felt like a sad, desperate little slut. "Then give me my...things back," I said, reaching to remove the rosary beads from my neck.

He grabbed hold of my hand and kissed me. "This right here?" he said, laughing. "This is why I'm not gonna fuck you, baby. You can't even say 'panties', let alone 'fuck' and 'pussy'."

That was the start of it - an elaborate game of cat-and-mouse that went on for almost a month. Once the initial humiliation had faded I told myself he'd kept it in his pants because he was a gentleman. "Yeah right," said Everglade. "More like he smelled untainted cash and wants to make sure you're thoroughly dickmatized before he has his wicked way."