I hesitate before slowly nodding. “Okay.”
A hint of a smile takes over his face as I turn to walk away. I should be worried. God, who am I kidding? I am worried, but it doesn’t stop me from walking down the short hallway and slipping into the single stall women’s restroom.
And then I wait.
And I wait.
And I wait some more.
Seconds turn into minutes.
Two, three, five.
I try not to think about the fact that I’m in a public restroom, about to have sex with the man of my dreams for the first time.
At least it’s a clean restroom.
I wash my hands, and run my fingers through my hair. I fidget with my dress, smoothing and straightening it, and then I watch the door.
And watch.
And watch.
And then it finally opens, and Joshua steps in, locking it behind him. He grins at me, a grin that has me both anxious and melting at the same time. “Turn around, baby,” he says, his voice husky. “I want to see that sexy ass of yours.”
My heart hammers in my chest as I nod, slowly turning around. As soon as I do, his hands are at the hem of my dress, shoving it up to my waist.
“No panties.” He hums his approval, then falls silent. I struggle to keep myself still under his scrutiny. When he speaks again, his finger trailing over my new ink, his voice is so low I almost miss it. “Perfect, just like you.”
I bite my lip, looking back at him. God, he looks good. He smells good, too. The fresh scent of dish soap clinging to him. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”
“You’ve got nothing to be nervous about,” he says. “I’m not going to do anything you don’t want to do.”
“It’s not that,” I mutter, ducking my head, suddenly glad my back is to him. “I want to. It’s just that … well, this is … real. It’s not over the phone. It’s real and well, what if it’s not, I mean … I’m not good?”
He lets out a loud bark of laughter. “Haven’t been inside a woman in a very long time, beautiful. If anyone should be worried, it’s me.”
“Don’t laugh at me,” I whisper. “This isn’t funny.”
Joshua cups my chin with his hand so I have no choice but to look back at him, and his other hand wraps around my waist, pulling my bare bottom flush against his jeans. He leans in, brushing his lips across mine, and I let out a shuddering breath. Letting go of my chin, his hand wraps around my hair, pulling tightly and arching my neck.
And then his lips are on my throat, and he’s murmuring words that I assume are supposed to be soothing, but I can’t make them out over the need buzzing through me. I gasp as his hand travels lower, his finger sliding between my folds, and he groans, “You’re already so fucking wet.”
His dick is already hard, too. I can feel his length straining against his jeans, pressing against my ass. It sends a thrill soaring through me. I reach back blindly, my hands slipping between us, and I work to undo his jeans as his finger circles my clit.
I let out a moan as he slides two fingers inside me, pumping them in and out a few times. He kisses and licks and nips at my neck. And suddenly, I’m caught in a whirlwind of sensations, and I don’t ever want to touch the ground.
Finally freeing his button, I work my hand into his open jeans. It makes my heart race faster than before. I grasp his length, stroking it, loving the feel of his silky skin in my hand.
“Baby, put your hands on the wall,” he says. “I need to get inside you.”
He doesn’t have to ask me twice. I do as he says instantly, taking a step forward, placing my hands on the wall.
As soon as my hands are in place, I glance back, watching him watch me as he pulls down his jeans and boxers. I don’t get a chance to admire him before he’s behind me, one of his hands on my hip, pulling my ass out toward him. He rubs the head of his cock against my entrance, sending tingles through my body.
“Your pussy feels so good,” he says as he pushes into me for the first time.
I want to tell him that his cock feels so good, too, but I can’t. The words won’t come out around the sudden moan that fills my throat.
Joshua pulls out, before pushing back in again, moving slowly, and I’m thankful for the moment to catch my breath.
The breath doesn’t last long.
Joshua thrusts into me again—hard. So hard that it knocks the breath from my chest. I gasp, my hands slipping on the wall as his grip on my hips becomes tighter. And when one of his hands slips down, his finger circling my clit, my entire body shudders. I try to keep it quiet, I really, really do, but with each deliciously hard thrust the sounds just pour out of me. I’m moaning. I’m gasping. The noises mixing together, sounding far too loud, but I just can’t swallow them down.
I can already feel it. My body tightening, the warmth and pressure building, and I cry out as my orgasm explodes inside of me. I can feel myself squeezing around his dick, my muscles contracting and releasing, and I think it sends him over the edge, because he groans and thrusts back into me hard, before stilling, his fingertips tightening on my hip.
I feel his breath panting against my neck, and then I feel his lips there. “Fucking love you, baby girl.”
“I love you, too.”
He stays inside me for a moment, his arms wrapping around me, his chest pressed against my back, but all too soon, he withdraws from my body.
I instantly feel empty.
Joshua uses the toilet, as I clean myself up and try to straighten my appearance. He doesn’t say anything, and I don’t either, though the silence doesn’t surprise me. It’s always hard saying goodbye, though this time it feels even harder.
Sex, even restroom sex, changed something in me.
I want to tell him I don’t want to leave. I want to let him know I wish he was coming home with me. I want him to know that I already miss his touch.
But mostly, I want him to know that I need him.
But I keep my mouth shut. I have to. The last thing I want to do is make him remember that at the end of the day, he’s not coming home to me.
No, at the end of the day he’s going back to a prison.
When he’s finished, he steps over to me, pulling me into his arms, smiling down at me. “Stop fidgeting, baby. The just fucked look you’ve got going on looks sexy. Makes me want to bury my dick back inside you.”
I roll my eyes, a small laugh escaping me. “I’m sure it does.”
He kisses me then, a quick soft kiss. “Got to get back to work, baby,” he says reluctantly. “I need you to do something for me when you leave.”
I tilt my head back until my eyes meet his. “Anything.”
Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a scrap of paper. “Need you to go here and pick up a package for me. Bring it to me tomorrow at two o’clock, okay?”
“Okay.”
He kisses me again, and then brushes his lips against the side of my neck, before letting me go. “I’ll see you tomorrow, baby. Wait a couple minutes before you come out.”
****
The drive to the address that Joshua gave me only takes a few minutes. I park in the driveway and stroll up to the door, knocking. It’s late afternoon, the spring air warmer than normal.
The door opens and a man appears in front of me. He’s older than me, perhaps mid-forties, with salt and pepper hair and beard. He stares at me, his expression blank, his eyes sliding over me before settling on my face.
The way he’s looking at me sends a chill down my spine.
“Um, hi,” I say, waving awkwardly. “Joshua sent me to pick something up.”
He’s silent for a beat, just staring, before he finally speaks. “You mean Swag?”
“Uh, yeah,” I say, smiling bashfully. “Swag told me to come.”
The man nods once, before disappearing back into the house, returning seconds later with a black duffle bag, handing it over. I take it, and go to say thank you, but I don’t get the chance, the door closing before I can even o
pen my mouth.
I blink a few times, staring at the closed door before turning around, hauling the duffle bag over to my truck. I toss it on the passenger’s seat as I climb in, eyeing it, wondering what it is. Maybe it was the sex haze my brain was in when Joshua asked, but I never really thought about asking him what I was going to get.
But now that my head is clear, I’m realizing that whatever it is, it’s not something he’s supposed to have. If it were, it would be ordered and shipped to the prison.
Glaring at the back, I put my truck in drive, and back out of the driveway. It’s not until I reach my apartment that my curiosity gets the better of me and I finally look inside.
25
This Call Is Being Recorded
Have you ever woken up from a dream and felt unsettled, like that dream was trying to tell you something that you just really didn’t want to know? And then there’s that moment, the shattering moment when the sleepy fog clears and you realize that what you thought was a dream really wasn’t a dream at all.
I’ve been stuck in that moment for what feels like days.
I’m on my back, lying in bed, staring up at the off-white popcorn ceiling. Becca is beside me, her hand twined in mine. She’s been lying here with me since I opened that damn bag yesterday and had a little freak-out.
I should be happy right now. It’s only been twenty-six hours since Joshua and I connected on a whole new level. Shit. I should still be riding the wave of post-sex bliss, but I’m not.
Not even close.
That wave crashed into the shoreline like a goddamn tsunami the moment I opened that stupid bag.
It’s fifteen minutes after four, and aside from the odd bathroom break, I haven’t left my bed in a little under twenty-four hours.
My phone starts ringing again and my gaze goes back to it, back to his blinking name on the screen. I should answer it, I know I should, but it’s been ringing non-stop for nearly ten minutes now, and I haven’t been able to do it yet.
“You should answer it,” Becca whispers, squeezing my hand. “If you don’t do it soon, his guys are going to start showing up here.”
“I know.”
“Maybe if you just talk to him about it,” she says, then hesitates. “Maybe there’s a reason.”
“Of course there’s a reason,” I say, when the phone quiets, then dings with another missed call notification. I shift my head, looking at her. “It’s money. It has to be money. But couldn’t he have just asked for money? He shouldn’t have asked me to …”
I let my words fall short and they hang in the air.
Becca gives me a sad smile. “Has he been asking you for money?”
“No. Never.”
My phone starts ringing again, but I don’t look at it, my gaze stuck on Becca’s face. I can tell by her expression that she’s not sure if she believes me, but it’s the truth. Joshua Larson has never asked me for a single penny.
Never.
On the third ring, Becca lets go of my hand, popping up and reaching over me to grab my phone from the nightstand, and before I even realize what she’s doing, she swipes the screen, putting the call on speaker.
“Becca, no,” I protest, sitting up and reaching for the phone.
She holds it out of my reach, giving me a pointed look. “You’re going to have to talk to him at some point. Might as well get it over with.”
I flop back down on my bed, listening to the recording. The pause where his name is announced seems exaggerated, but when I finally hear the sound of his voice stating his name, a chill runs over my skin, twisting my stomach into knots.
The recording plays and plays, and when Becca has the chance to accept it, she does instantly. There’s a long pause of silence that feels as though it lasts a whole freakin’ day, before his anxious voice breaks through. “Are you okay?”
“I think so.”
Silence.
“Then where the fuck were you today?”
There’s a bite to his voice that makes me cringe. I glance at Becca, sitting beside me holding the phone, seeing the deep frown creasing her forehead. She opens her mouth, as though she’s about to speak, but I quickly shake my head, quieting her.
I take a breath, and then, “I was at home. I, uh …” I stall. “Becca’s here with me and you’re on speaker. I, uh … I looked in the bag.”
“Shit, baby, stop right there,” he says. “This call is being recorded. You know we can’t talk about this now.”
Frowning, on the verge of tears from stress, I suck in a breath. “You asked. I’m just answering your damn question!”
“Watch your fucking tone,” he says, his voice full of warning. He pauses for a beat, and I can hear him take a deep breath as though trying to calm himself. It doesn’t work. “Come to a visit tonight.”
“Jesus,” Becca mutters. “You’re an ass.”
“Bitch, shut the fuck up,” Joshua growls instantly. “This is between me and my woman. Keep your mouth shut or get the fuck out. You hear me?”
Silence.
I cut Becca a look, mouthing an I’m sorry. She merely shrugs, winks at me, and then flips off the screen before saying, “I hear you.”
“Good,” he says, then sighs. When he continues, his voice is softer. “Look, I’ve got to grab a shower, Victoria. Why don’t you be here around five. We can talk then.”
“I thought you were done with this shit,” I say softly. “I thought you were—”
He lets out another sigh, cutting me off, but this time, it’s long and gusty. “Baby, we can do this tonight if I decide I’m going to answer your questions.”
I blink a few times. “If you decide?”
“Yes.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that there are certain things I’m just not going to talk to you about,” he says. “That’s it. Plain and simple.”
I sit up straight, my eyes narrowing at the phone. “I moved out here for you, got a tattoo on my ass telling everyone I’m your property … I think I have a right to know what’s going on, especially if you’re going to drag me into it.”
“I’m done with this conversation.”
“No, you’re not done,” I snap, anger and something that feels a hell of a lot like regret tinting my voice. “We need to talk about this. What am I supposed to do—”
“Enough,” he growls, cutting me short. “I expect you to be here at five o’clock. We’ll discuss this shit then, but just so you know, they could be recording us at the visit just like they’re recording this phone call. So don’t push—”
It’s my turn to cut him off. “They don’t record visits.”
“Oh, they most certainly do. One of my lawyer’s clients caught a Feds case because he said something at a visit. Do you want me to say the wrong thing and get more time in prison?”
I grit my teeth. “Of course not.”
“Then you need to be mature about this and realize that there’s just some things I can’t talk about,” he says. “I expect you here at five.”
Joshua doesn’t give me a chance to respond, the recording telling me that he’s already hung up. Becca laughs, shaking her head as she tosses the phone down and gets up. She goes straight to my closet, sliding the door open, and rooting around and calling out, “What do you want to wear?”
“I’m not going.”
She pulls her head out of the closet and rolls her eyes. “Babe.”
“I’m serious,” I say, pulling the blankets up to my neck. “I’m not going. He can send someone to pick up his damn drugs, but I don’t want to—”
“After everything you’ve been through with Richard, you’re just going to throw it all away without even talking to him?” she asks, interrupting me. “Oh, no. No, that’s not going to happen.”
Her words take me back ten months to that first letter. To the excitement and the nerves. I was so happy when I received his first response. So giddy with joy.
How the hell did we go from excited and so
lust-filled that we fucked in a restroom to this in twenty-four hours?
I just can’t even wrap my head around it.
****
Forty-five minutes later, I’m sitting at table fourteen, watching for Joshua to walk through the doors. I’ve got our drinks on the table, along with a bacon cheeseburger heated up waiting for him.
When I see him, the look on his face nearly knocks the wind out of me.
It’s blank.
Completely and utterly blank.
I don’t stand up when he approaches the table, too nervous to even try, and he doesn’t ask me to, simply leaning down and placing a quick kiss on my cheek, before taking a seat across from me. He doesn’t reach for his drink, doesn’t even look at his burger. Instead, he folds his arms over his chest and just stares at me.
It’s … unnerving, that stare. So very different from the warm look he usually gives me. This look … it chills me right down to the bones.
“You should eat,” I say eventually, trying hard to hold his stare. It’s a struggle. “It’s going to get cold.”
“I’m not hungry.”
More silence.
Then, “Sometimes you’re too nosey for your own good, you know that?”
“I told you I was nosey,” I whisper, dropping my head because I can’t stand another second of looking into those hard blank eyes. “You’ve always known that.”
“You’re right, I did,” he says, matter-of-factly. “But it shouldn’t matter. You say you love me, you say you’ll do anything for me, and I ask you to do one fucking thing and you can’t even do that for me. You’re supposed to be my ol’ lady, but you can’t even do what you’re fucking told.”
“You asked me to pick up drugs,” I whisper, my damn voice shaking. “You asked me to bring them—”
“I’m not talking about this here,” he says abruptly, his tone hinting at the anger I can see brewing in his eyes. “They could be recording these tables.”
“You’re being paranoid.”
“Maybe,” he agrees. He leans forward then, plucking my hands off my knees and holding them tight, his touch sending tingles shooting through my body. “But maybe I’m not. How would you feel if you leave here and find out I got more time because you wouldn’t let it go?”