“Yes, you are. Keep going. I’m listening.”
My insides clenched, and I spat out the rest of my story while being pummeled with the sensation of King’s lips on me.
“Well, I refer to the person I was before, when I had a memory, as HER. Someone else entirely, because that’s who I was. A different person.”
“Get to the fucking point. Because if you don’t have one in the next minute, I’m putting my cock in you. Before I do that, though, I’m going to let you take me in your mouth and give you a taste because I know that’s what you were thinking about just now.”
Again, I closed my eyes and attempted to concentrate as King lifted me by the hips and sat me on his lap so that I was straddling him with my back to the steering wheel. In this intimate position, there was nowhere for me to hide. Although his hard cock was rocking against me, I had to push aside thoughts of him sinking into me in order to finish my story.
“The point is that I can’t do anything that could potentially be life-changing because it isn’t just my life I have to think about. I have to consider that one day all my memories, everything I am and everything I was, will come back to me. It may never happen, but I can’t take the risk. Because the possibility that it might happen is out there. That day, when and if I become HER again, I will have to deal with all the things I did when I didn’t know who I was. That’s why even though I think your artwork is beyond amazing and I’ve imagined you creating something for me since I saw you tattoo for the very first time, I just can’t do that to her. What if she hates it? What if she is morally against tattoos and I’ve left her with something she can’t get rid of? That’s why although my body wants you, and I want you, it doesn’t matter. Because the person you see in front of you is just temporary.” King pulled back and was now staring into my eyes as I spoke. “I can’t help but melt into you when you touch me, but I can’t do this to her. What if she has a boyfriend, a fiancé? What if being with you means ruining her?”
I sniffled. Tears welled up and were about to spill from my eyes. King forced me toward him with a hand on the back of my neck, and just as I thought he was going to kiss me again, he turned my face and licked my cheek, wiping my tears away with his tongue.
“What if she’s a virgin?” I whispered.
King slowly shifted me off his lap and set me back on the passenger seat.
“I hadn’t thought of that,” he said softly. “And while I am both appalled and incredibly turned on by the idea of being the first one inside that pretty pussy of yours, I feel it necessary to point out the holes in your little theory about the person you were, before you came stumbling into my life.”
“What would those holes be?” I asked.
“First, your virginity theory. Who the fuck cares? If your memory comes back and you go back to a life where I’m not around, at least you’ll have enough amazing memories to last you through faking the orgasms with whatever schmuck you’re with.”
“Why is he a schmuck?”
“Trust me. A guy who let you wonder far away and hasn’t found you by now, if he’s even looking for you at all, is a fucking schmuck. I didn’t even like you at first. In fact, I downright fucking hated you, and I still didn’t want you more than ten feet from me. Neither did my cock.”
I shuddered. “And the next hole in my theory?” My voice was strained.
“Tattoos. Anyone who doesn’t like my art can kick rocks.”
“It’s that simple?”
“Yes, it’s that simple,” he stated flatly. Then, his face grew serious. “It’s that simple, but not because of some guy who may or may not be out there pining for you or the fear that you will regret letting me fuck you or tattoo you.” King traced a line from the back of my hand to the top of my shoulder like he was creating an imaginary tattoo. “It’s that simple because you can’t live your life for someone you might be. So what if your memories come back and the person you were before comes with them? She will just have to fucking deal with the fact that you were here when she wasn’t. Make your mark while you still can, pup.”
“You make it sound so easy.”
“It is.”
“It’s not. I just…I can’t,” I breathed. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself knowing that I wasn’t protecting her.
“You made a promise that you would protect me. Well, I made a promise that I would protect her,” I said, my voice barely a whisper.
“Have you even thought that who you are now is exactly the person you’re supposed to be? That maybe with the slate wiped clean of bullshit outside influences that you are now more yourself than ever before?” he asked, with each point he was trying to make he grew louder.
“No.” I hadn’t thought of that. King had a point. “But living life thinking that was the truth was a gamble I’m not willing to take.” I looked down to the floor and wished it would open up and suck me down into it.
“So, let me get this straight. You were willing to fuck random bikers, but you can’t be with me?” There was a hint of cruelty in his voice. If his intentions were to sting, they worked.
“That’s a low blow.”
But King continued on as if I hadn’t just interrupted. “So I’m just like them to you? Just like a biker you don’t want to fuck and end up regretting?
King turned the key and started the truck, pulling back onto the highway.
“No, you’re not like them at all,” I whispered, unsure if he heard me.
“How is it that you can see me as worse than them when I know you want me? I can feel it. Don’t fucking deny it. Because it’s bullshit, and you know it.” King looked straight ahead at the road. He turned up the radio until Johnny Cash was singing so loud it rattled my eardrums. The tears in my eyes spilled over onto my cheeks.
I leaned against the window and hugged my arms to my chest. The lights from businesses and signs blurred together as we passed into streams of colored lights.
“You’re right. You’re much worse than them,” I whispered, knowing full well that King couldn’t hear me over the music. “Because with them, it wouldn’t hurt this much.”
Chapter Nineteen
Doe
King hadn’t come to bed in days. I still helped him at night in his studio but our conversation never escalated to anything more than him barking orders at me.
On Saturday morning I’d found a box on the kitchen counter with a note addressed to me. The card read:
FOR OUR DATE. BE ON THE PORCH AT EIGHT-PREPPY
Our date? Why would we go out on a date? Inside the box was a short black strapless dress and a pair of matching heels.
Preppy had made sure I had a bunch of jeans and tank tops to wear on a daily basis. He even stopped at a store and let me pick out some underwear and bath stuff one day, but I didn’t have anything like this.
The clock on the stove read only ten am. I was disappointed I’d have to wait so long to put it on.
At eight o’clock sharp, I stood by the steps and fidgeted with the hem of my new dress. I’d spent hours showering, shaving, and blow-drying my hair. I was beyond ready, thrilled to be doing something new and grateful for the distraction.
I had no clue what Preppy had up his tattooed sleeves.
“You ready, Doe?” he asked, bounding out from the door under the stairs.
He draped an arm over my shoulder and ushered me toward King’s truck, which was already parked in front. “I wish I could take you in my car. But you know, it fucking blew up and shit,” he said bitterly.
His usual short-sleeved dress shirt had been swapped out for a dark blue long-sleeved button down that he wore untucked over a pair of dark boot cut jeans. His usual bow tie carefully in place. He smelled like he’d just gotten out of the shower. Like soap and shaving cream.
“Did you shave?” I asked. His beard looked just as long as it had that morning.
“Huh?” he asked, looking down at me.
“You smell like shaving cream, but you still have your beard.”
“It’s a date, baby girl. I manscaped in case I get lucky.”
I laughed. “You’re not getting lucky.”
“I know. King would kill me, and I rather like my life. So, I think we’ll leave that off the table. For now.” He winked. “Besides, you may not let me get my cock wet, but maybe someone else will take pity on me when the night’s over and let me get it in.”
I laughed at Preppy, his smile taking the edge of his crude words.
“You look nice,” I said. If I didn’t know any better, I would say that Preppy actually blushed.
“Thanks. But tonight, I’m not Preppy.”
“You’re not?” I asked. “Then, who are you exactly?”
“Nope, this is a date. So tonight, you can call me Samuel. I would say that you look nice, too, but you look way more than nice. I would say…”
Preppy took a step back and slid his hand down my arm, to lock his fingers around my wrist. He, then, lifted my arm and twirled me around slowly to appraise me. My face flushed with embarrassment when I noticed he was staring at my ass.
“Hot. You look HOT, baby girl. Pancakes do a body good. Real fucking good.”
“Thanks.” I felt my cheeks redden. “I wish you could call me by my real name, too, but I don’t know—”
The roar of a motorcycle drowned out my words. We both turned toward the noise. King pulled up the gravel drive and parked a shiny black bike next to one of the house pilings. It was the first time I’d seen him drive anything other than his beat-up old truck. He swung off his bike and ripped his helmet off his head, tossing it to the ground as he stomped toward us with furious steps. His brows furrowed, and his fists clenched at his sides. His eyes firmly locked on me as he approached, looking me up and down and then to where Preppy was still holding my hand.
My heart beat in a quick, uneven rhythm as he approached. My palms began to sweat. I plastered a fake smile on my face.
“Where the fuck did you get THAT thing?” King roared, pointing to my dress. His gaze darted back and forth from me to Preppy.
Preppy smiled and released my hand. Once again draping his arm over my shoulders, he tugged me into his side.
King’s eyes widened at the gesture, and I thought for sure he was going to punch one or both of us. Preppy, however, seemed unaffected by King’s mood.
“We’re gonna paint the town red, Boss-Man,” Preppy answered coolly. “How do we look?”
Something in the way he asked made me think he was goading King.
“He bought me the dress,” I added, slightly embarrassed that King obviously didn’t like it. It was strapless and form-fitting. Showing off the curves I’d developed in the days I’d been stuffing my face.
“Fuck no, you’re not. I’ve changed my mind,” King said, staring Preppy dead in the eyes. “You’re gonna get your fucking ass back in the house before I put a fucking bullet in your skull. That’s what you’re going to fucking do.”
“Why not?” I heard myself ask before I had time to register the fact that I had also shook off Preppy and stepped to King. He came forward, too. Our feet touched at the toes. Since I was much shorter than him, I had to look up to meet his disapproving gaze.
“Cause I fucking said so, pup,” King growled, his nostrils flaring.
His usual green eyes were now shining black pools of anger. There was a hardness to his features that suggested this was a fight I’d never be able to win.
That didn’t mean I wasn’t going to try.
“I’m here because I don’t have any other options! I get that you’re fucking mad at me, or that you fucking hate me. I do. But I just wanted to pretend for one fucking night that I’m a normal girl on a normal date in a normal place!”
Just as I turned to head back into the house, King grabbed my elbow and spun me around, he tipped my chin up.
“Stay. Here,” he ordered, his face still hard and angry. “You.” King pointed to Preppy. “A fucking word. Now.”
He gestured with his chin to the house, releasing me as he stormed up the steps and slammed the front door behind him. Preppy looked amused although I’m not sure how he could’ve been with King steaming in such close proximity.
“Sorry, babe,” Preppy said with a knowing smile. “Maybe, another time?” He bounded up the steps, taking them two at a time. I thought about following them in, but I didn’t want to provoke King further.
I spent the next ten minutes stewing on the porch, wondering if they’d killed each other because I hadn’t heard anything inside. The sun had long since set over the trees, so I stayed under the safety of the light of the porch. I soon got tired of standing. My ass had barely touched the bottom step when the front door swung open, and King came bounding out. I jumped up and held onto the railing to keep from falling onto the walkway.
“Let’s go,” King said, holding out a hand to me. Anger still lingered on his face, along with a bit of confusion.
“Go? Go where?” I asked.
“On a date thing.” His brows furrowed again like my question confused him.
“With you?”
King nodded. Since his hand was still extended out to me and I’d made no move to take it, he reached over and grabbed my hand. That’s when I looked at him, I mean really looked at him.
He was freshly showered and smelled like he’d just put on cologne. He wore his usual dark jeans and a tight black t-shirt. His stubble was still there but neatly trimmed. It’s amazing what he’d done in the ten minutes he’d left me outside.
“With me,” he confirmed, slowly raking his eyes over my body. hid gaze burned into me.
“What happened to Preppy?” King stiffened.
“He’s no longer available,” King spat, obviously put off by the question.
“Oh,” I said, looking down at my feet.
“Fuck. Just forget it. It was a fucking stupid idea anyway.”
“What? No, I just… this was all Preppy’s idea anyway.”
“Shut up,” he said, silencing my rant. King tugged on my hand and led me over to his bike. He handed me a helmet and straddled the seat. He turned the key and it came roaring to life. He turned and gestured to the space behind him.
I shouted over the engine, “I’m wearing a dress!”
King grabbed my hand and tugged me toward him. “I think we know by now that you know how to straddle, so get the fuck on.” I pressed my thighs together, willing the memory of the night in his truck away.
“Why can’t we just take the truck, or we can walk.” I suggested.
King stared me down. “Pup?”
“Yeah?”
“Get on the fucking bike.”
“You’re really are a fucking asshole, you know that?.” I punctuated my words by digging my pointer finger into his chest. King smiled obnoxiously. I didn’t want a smile I wanted a fight. I was beginning to think it was long overdue.
“Took you long enough.” He said, grabbing hold of my finger.
“Long enough for what?”
“To figure out I’m an asshole. Now, get on the fucking bike.”
“Fuck you,” I spat.
King got off the bike and stalked toward me. He snatched the helmet out of my hands and roughly shoved it onto my head. My hair was trapped over my eyes and I was momentarily disoriented. King took advantage of that, by picking me up and setting me on the bike.
I shrieked into my helmet, and before I could protest and jump off, we were in motion. My options were then limited to holding onto King or flying off the back of his bike.
Reluctantly, I wrapped my arms around his waist.
What I really wanted was to wrap my hands around his throat.
We drove for what seemed like only a few minutes but in reality it was more like a half of an hour. The normally stagnant and wet Florida night air blew cool all around us as the bike pressed forward into the night.
My jaw dropped, and my heart sped when the neon lights came into view.
A carnival.
King had brought me to a carnival.
The Ferris wheel overhead appeared so close I thought that if I reached my hands up into the air I might be able to touch one of the swaying carts.
When King brought the bike to a stop in the grass parking lot, my body was still humming from the vibrations of the engine. In my excitement at being at a real live carnival, I jumped off the bike quickly, grazing my calf on one of the hot pipes.
“Shit, shit, shit!” I shouted, bouncing around on one leg.
King set his helmet down and came around to where I was hopping around and wincing in pain. “Come here,” he said.
I was still angry, the twenty minute ride doing nothing to take the edge off wanting to do him physical harm. I ignored his request and bent down to inspect the damage on my leg.
King shook his head and walked over to me, picking me up under my shoulders and setting me on top of a nearby picnic table. “You need to learn to do what you’re told,” he said, lifting my leg to inspect the burn.
I huffed. “Picking me up and tossing me around is unnecessary, you know.”
King leaned down and gently blew across the burn, sending hot chills up my spine. I was all too aware that the dress I wore had ridden up my thighs when he’d picked me up. I caught him glancing at the exposed white fabric between my legs.
“Then, do what you’re fucking told the first time.” He then proceeded to inspect me thoroughly. “It’s not a bad burn,” he said, but I could barely hear him over the memory of his breath against my skin.
“I thought you didn’t do gentle,” I teased.
King helped me set my foot back on the ground and reached for my hand.
“I don’t.” He turned to the gate, roughly yanking me behind him as to prove his point.
King paid for our tickets, and we entered through a turnstile. Once inside, my inner child sprang to life, and my anger was temporarily forgotten. Neon lights, carnival music, corn dog and cotton candy stands.
It was everything I ever wanted in a first date. Well, except maybe for a date who actually wanted to be there. I yanked my hand out of King’s grip, but he grabbed me again and held my hand tighter, pulling me closer into his side.
“What do you want to do first, pup?”
“Everything. I want to do absolutely everything!” I craned my neck to get a better look at the giant Ferris wheel.
“The Ferris wheel is last,” King said, pushing me toward the row of games.
As we moved deeper and deeper into the crowd, the noise level around us increased tenfold. A group of kids whizzed by us, leaving bursts of laughter in their wake.
The carnival workers shouted the names of their games and advertised how easy it was to win one of the big stuffed animal prizes they held up.
King stopped at a game where the goal was to shoot water from a gun into a hippo’s mouth in order to move the baby hippo up the ladder. Whoever shot their gun the steadiest and moved their baby hippo to the top the fastest was the winner.
“You in?”
“I’m so in,” I answered, barely able to contain my excitement. I bounced up on the balls of my feet.
“Two,” King said He removed a money clip from his pocket and plucked out a few bills, handing it to the man controlling the game. King took a seat on one of the ripped leather stools, and I took a seat a few stools down.
“Afraid to sit next to me?” King asked.
“No, but you’re huge and these stools are small. I don’t want to bump into your arm and lose just because you haven’t missed a workout in three years.” I closed one eye and readied my water gun.
King shook his head, “That mouth of yours,” he said. There are several ways I could have taken that statement, but I didn’t have time to think about it because I had a game to win.
“I’m warning you. I’m really good at this game,” King said to me.
Was he being playful?
“Competitive, are we?” I asked, keeping my focus straight ahead at the