Page 45 of Heartless Boss
“We can always skip the date, and I’ll fuck you right here and now.”
“No,” I say, gathering my makeup from the counter and tossing it into my pink bag. I turn around. His erection rubs against my stomach, and my sex is wetter than the ocean.
I want to go to town on his erection, but I want to do things the traditional way so I hurry out of the bathroom, grab my camera and his car keys on the way out the door, and wait in the building’s underground garage until he finishes getting dressed.
* * *
On our way to the fair, a two-hour drive from NYC to Atlantic City, we talked about everything: politics (we are both not into it); television shows (we agreed horror movies are overrated, and reality shows kill brain cells more than smoking); our views on music (I made him listen to Young Gunz and Muse, he still thinks modern rock music is garbage); his favorite colors (black and gray, which I already knew).
Instead of resting his hand on the gear or tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, he keeps his hand intertwined with mine, or he rests his hand on my thigh. I don’t mind, his touch is comforting.
When Gunner pulls up to the parking lot, I grab my camera bag from the back seat and strap it over my shoulder, then exit the car.
He should have checked the weather before we drove all the way here. The sky is a happy gray, and black clouds hover over us, ready to unleash a beautiful thunderstorm.
As we stroll to the front entrance he grabs my hand and we head to the booth, bypassing the long line. Gunner paid extra for us so we won’t have to wait long in order to get on rides.
He slings his arm over my shoulder, meshing my body with his, kissing my lips. “I’m going to beat your ass in some games, dope you up on sugar, then after this date, I’m going to fuck you like I’ve wanted to do since I was twenty-one years old.”
He smacks my butt as I squeal.
* * *
“This date sucked,” I say, laughing as I shake my soaked hair like a wet dog. Our clothes are drenched from the rain. I love it—the way the cool drops splatter on my heated skin, and the way the thunder claps in the sky.
We perch in the leather seat with the heat blasting. This is one of the worst dates I’ve ever been on. And that says a lot because I’ve only been on two others. The last date I went on was four years ago when I wanted to give my love life that good old college try. The guy I went out with worked as an IT guy at an Apple Store. He was nice and all, but I didn’t like the fact that we had to take his mom with us, and I felt like I was on a date with her, not him. Thinking back, this date isn’t so bad by comparison.
First, we got stuck on the Ferris wheel. Second, I accidentally spilled my Coke on Gunner’s white shirt because I was so nervous thinking about tonight. He then bought a new shirt from a hippie smelling like weed. That’s when the rain started pouring down on us.
“The next date will be a lot better.” He removes his damp shirt, tosses it into the back seat and shifts the gear into drive, pulling onto the wet asphalt.
The wipers whimper as they slap water away from the windshield. Rain splatters against the roof, creating music to my ears.
My clothes are wet and dried-up mud coats my oxford shoes.
“You want to check into a nearby hotel?” I suggest.
“Anxious for me to dick you down?” His tone is smooth. He reaches over to squeeze my thigh, and my stomach clenches at his words.
“Maybe,” I say through a smile.
“Be patient, little Rainbow. We’ve got all night for me to fuck you until you’re numb.”
I play with the end of my soaked shorts. “It’s been nine years since I’ve had sex.”
“Why?” He entwines his thick fingers with my tiny ones and squeezes my hand gently.
“Personal reasons.”
I don’t want to go into details about the night that I left my ex, and I don’t want to put a damper on the mood.
For the two-hour drive back, we remain silent, and my stomach breaks out in a bad case of butterflies.
I’m not nervous about actually having sex because my old therapist told me that what happened to me wasn’t my fault and what my ex did to me wasn’t sex. I’m surrendering my body to Gunner because I trust him. He’s my security blanket. I’m nervous about the scars ingrained in my flesh, which haven’t been seen by another man. My insecurity weighs a ton in my stomach, like it’s trying to pull my gut to the floor.
These scars are a reminder of a past I’ve been spending almost a decade trying to forget. Every time I look in the mirror, I avoid looking at them. I feel like a slave to these scars. I can’t wear shirts that show my belly, or if I go to the pool, I can’t wear a two-piece bathing suit because I know I’ll get pitying looks.
When we drive through the streets in this gorgeous community, I’m surprised by the size of the mansions. They’re so big they can fit three huge houses into one, and each one is spaced out from each other.
