It reminded me of being on the Florida coast as a child, when we lived (briefly) at a gypsy-like trailer park. The ocean on the coast was rough at times and I was attracted to the waves. They held danger and mystery, even death, and my parents were too occupied to tell me any better. I’d jump into the surf, far away from the lifeguard stations, and time and time again, when I was trying to leave the water, the waves would break over my head. I tumbled, feeling the sand scrape my body, not knowing which way was up. And by the time I reached the surface, another wave would crash and I would repeat the turmoil all over again. I was tumbling in my new life—my new lie. I tried to come up for air, to think straight, to remember my plan, my goal, my revenge. But the heat in my belly that used to drive me forward had been replaced by the heat between my legs. It disappeared with every thrust Javier took, it melted when we came together. My body was his and it was just a matter of time before he had my heart. When that happened, I knew I’d take in water. I knew I would drown. Any love that starts under a lie is bound to kill you.
I didn’t really realize how deep I’d gone in, the power he had over me, until he picked me up after work one day. I was late doing the close down thanks to a last minute rush, so when he got tired of waiting he came inside and pulled up a barstool.
“I won’t be much longer,” I told him.
“Can I help?” he asked sincerely. He looked especially dashing tonight: black suit, skinny tie, white shirt. Sometimes I wondered what he did during my shifts—where he went, who he talked to. But I didn’t dare ask. I was afraid to ask. To ask would be to pop the sex-filled bubble I’d been living, and I’d been a virgin for too long to give that up.
“No, just sit there and look pretty.”
As I worked, quickly wiping down the counters like I was on fast forward, I kept glancing at his beautiful eyes. They watched me as they always watched me—attentive and involved. And horny as hell.
“Stop looking at me like that,” I admonished him, trying to de-smudge the eyeliner that had gathered under my eyes.
“How am I looking at you?”
“Like you want a good taste.”
He grinned, satisfied and secure. He gave me a short nod. “You know me so well already.”
That wasn’t quite true but I smiled back anyway.
“Can you wipe down the counter?” he asked, getting out of his seat. “I think you missed a spot.”
I gave him an odd look but did as I was told.
“No, do it with your ass.”
I snorted. “With my ass.”
He patted the counter with a few smacks of his palm. “Up, up.”
Curious, I threw the towel in the sink and hopped up on the counter. I wrapped my legs around him while my eyes darted over to the door.
“I locked it as I came in,” he said, reaching up and pulling my shirt over my head. “You really should lock it as you work. I don’t want any criminals coming in and feeling you up.”
My breath caught in my throat but he didn’t notice. His eyes blazed into mine as if he wasn’t a criminal himself. And as he took off my bra and pulled off my jeans and thong, I wondered just what kind of person I’d become. I was ignoring what he was and focusing on what he was to me. I was drowning again. And I was naked, sitting on the bar where I served drinks to customers.
I reached forward for his tie but he pulled back, wagging his finger back and forth.
“Nuh uh. You have been serving all day. Now it’s time for me to serve you.”
He made me lie down on my back, the counter still wet from the wipe down and sticking to my spine. He came behind the bar and I heard the rattle of ice cubes in a glass.
I turned my head to look at him, feeling like I was in a f**ked up version of a doctor’s examination. “Feeling thirsty?”
“Only for you, my sweet.” He put an ice cube in his mouth and rolled it around with his tongue. He came up to me, dipping his fingers into the ice and sliding them over my hipbones until I shivered. He gently spread my legs, then got up on the bar with me, kneeling between them. He popped another ice cube in his mouth then proceeded to go down on me.
I flinched from his icy lips on my warm ones. The sensation was new but not unpleasurable, and just as I was getting used to the contrast in temperature, I felt him press the ice cube into me using only his tongue.
I gasped, gripping the edge of the counter while the ice started to melt away, constricted by my muscles and tempered by my inner heat.
“I could drink you all day,” he murmured into me, his hands stroking the sides of my thighs, his trimmed nails raking downward. But despite his threat, he got me off in seconds flat and I hoped my cries wouldn’t attract the attention of any passerby outside.
Afterward, I tried to return the favor but he just smiled and handed me my clothes.
“Why are you so good to me?” I asked him, surprised to hear the sincerity in my voice.
He cocked his head, studying me for a moment, before he placed his hands behind my head and brought my face to his so only our noses were touching. Up this close, I could count the number of golden flecks in his green eyes—twelve in the left and ten in the right—the color variation made his eyes take on that unusual hue. His eyelashes were dark as night and unbearably long and pretty, something else that was really quite unfair.
“Why am I good to you?” he repeated, his lips brushing against mine as he spoke. “Because I can see you are broken. And I want nothing more than to put you back together.”
I was drowning again. In his words. In his promises that he never said but I knew he kept.
“I’d like that,” I told him, ignoring that pinch in my heart, the one that told me that he could never put the real me back together. He could never fix Ellie Watt because he had no idea who she was.
My lips found his and I kissed him like he was the blood that pumped in my heart. We lost each other then found each other over and over again, tumbling in the depths.
Until a loud knock at the door rattled it on its hinges and broke us apart with a start.
“Shit,” I swore, jumping off the counter and slipping on my clothes as fast as I could. “I bet it’s Steve. You shouldn’t be here.”
He knitted his brows together. “Why not? I’m your boyfriend.”
My brain stopped on that very phrase—boyfriend—for one brief and happy moment before it went back to fretting that I only had my pants done up.