My Prerogative Read online

  Steve snatched Jack’s arm, jerked it behind him like a chicken wing, and pushed the struggling guy toward the back door, where Chad stood, backing him up.

  I shook my head and poured myself a shot. Definitely a full moon.

  Driving home at three thirty in the morning was always nice. Traffic was minimal, and the darkness was comforting, except my mind wouldn’t stop racing. Not even Bob Seger on the stereo could distract me from my thoughts.

  Callie didn’t get fired, but Val suspended her for a week, and told her to get her shit together. Her tears had the other staff hugging her and telling her she’d be all right, and she’d left with two other waitresses—one who’d been working and the other who’d been in the club partying because it was her night off. And as soon as they’d walked out the back door, the others all started gossiping and laughing about it.

  Sometimes it really got to me, the way these people all partied together, and shared their secrets and their lives, only to be laughed at or made fun of when they were hurting. Many times I’d compared working in a bar to being in high school again, with all the cliques and the drama and everyone hooking up with everyone else. But it was worse than high school because these were adults. Young adults to be sure, but adults just the same. And the superficial shit just got to me.

  Then again, maybe that was why no matter how much I enjoyed my actual job, I didn’t feel like I quite fit in at Risqué anymore.

  30

  My first instinct was to avoid Harlan. It would’ve been easy too, considering he didn’t call me on Monday night when I got home from work. But hiding wasn’t my way.

  Part of me wanted to just move on, we’d had fun, it was nice, it was over. Roll with it. But the other part wouldn’t let it go. I tossed and turned in bed, trying to sleep, but my mind wouldn’t shut off.

  I couldn’t forget the way he slept with me that first night, but didn’t fuck me, or the truth in his voice when he’d said he wanted to get to know me, not just take me to bed. The question that kept running through my mind changed from did I want to see him again to . . . did I really believe he could be the one I’d always dreamt of?

  He’d watched me fuck myself. He’d watched me get fucked, by more than one guy. He’d watched me jerk off a stranger in a bar . . . and yet he spoke to me with respect—almost reverence.

  It was an amazing thing to me. I was used to being judged. Judged by strangers because of my appearance of colored hair, body piercings, and skimpy clothes. Judged by my family because I preferred to work as a bartender instead of something better.

  I knew there was more to me than met the eye, but it was unusual for a guy to know that.

  Overthinking things sucked. I finally flopped onto my back and concentrated on my breathing. Breathe in through the nose, out through the mouth. Good energy in, bad energy out . . . and I drifted off to sleep.

  When I woke up on Tuesday morning Harlan was the first thing that popped into my mind. I rolled out of bed and started to dress, and when I pulled out the first T-shirt I’d painted on, I knew it was just the kick in the pants I needed.

  A big black men’s T-shirt that I’d painted a bright King Pro-tea flower on. The blend of orange and yellow with tinges of pink blended smoothly on the almost prickly looking petals. Fire colors. The flower stood for daring and I’d always thought of it as my own personal symbol.

  Wearing the shirt, and a pair of cotton shorts I traipsed to the bathroom and did a quick cleanup before heading out the door. I was going to be daring. I was going to spill my guts, and see where Harlan truly stood.

  Calling him probably would’ve been smarter than going over and knocking on his door, but that didn’t stop my feet from moving forward.

  He answered the door in loose jeans and a thin paint-spattered T-shirt that hung off his broad shoulders. Dark stubble shadowed his jaw, his hair was mussed, and he was barefoot.

  How weird is it that I found him being barefoot sexy?

  “Hey, stud,” I said as I shoved my hands in my pockets to keep from reaching out and touching. “How you doing?”

  The distracted expression left his face the instant he saw me. His eyes lit up and his warm voice made my already hard nipples throb. “Great. How are you doing, Kelsey?”

  He stepped back and waved me into the loft. I passed in front of him and the light musk of working male tickled my nose, making my sex flutter.

  Ignoring the little jolts of sensation that zipped from nipple to groin, I tried to focus on the conversation. “Doing good as well. I just thought I’d come by and say thank you for taking me shopping on Sunday.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Hmm, he was not going to make this easy. Why didn’t he say anything? Then again, what did I want him to say?

  Fuck.

  “Thanks for everything else too. The park, and the very nicely done playtime . . . I enjoyed it all.”

  “I did too.” His lips twitched. “I’m glad you dropped by, I was hoping it wasn’t too much for you. I didn’t want to scare you off.”

  “Too much?” I snorted. “Hardly. In fact, I was wondering when we could do it again.”

  Harlan laughed and I cursed silently. That was so not what I’d been planning on saying, but seeing him all rumpled and yummy looking, hearing his voice, and the playful challenge, the words had just popped out.

  We stood there for a minute, neither of us speaking until I couldn’t handle it anymore. “I’m sorry for just showing up at your door. I should’ve called first.”

  The intense emotion in his gaze turned my heart into a trip-hammer and I looked away.

  He stepped closer and tucked a loose lock of hair behind my ear. “Don’t hide from me, Kelsey.”

  A tight ball of nerves knotted in my gut and I bit my lip. This was a lot harder than I’d expected. Looking at him, talking to him about more, about the future. It was intense, and more exciting than any flirtation I’d ever had. And a big part of me wanted to ignore it all and pretend it had been nothing more than some naked wrestling. But backing down when I was being called out was not my way, so I met his gaze. “I’m not hiding. I’m right here.”

  “You are here,” he told me. “But you’re still hiding too. Don’t pretend there isn’t a connection between us. Don’t lie to me.”

  “Then don’t push me,” I snapped without thinking.

  I stilled, waiting for his reaction. When he remained silent I chanced a look at him. He hadn’t pulled away, but he wasn’t pulling me any closer either. Shit.

  Fuck.

  Ugh!

  “Look,” I said, placing my hand on his chest, my fingers mindlessly stroking a flat male nipple through his shirt. “I’m not sure what’s going on here, but I agree there is something. Can’t we just go with it for a while, without trying to attach rules and labels to it?”

  His lips curved and he reached for me. “What about ‘the hottest sex I’ve ever had’? Can I attach that label?”

  Relief flowed through me. “That’s a label I can live with.”

  He kissed me deeply, then pulled back and looked me over while I fought to catch my breath. “Come on over here. I have some things I’ve been wanting to show you.”

  My pulse jumped when I realized he was leading me to his work corner. There were three easels in front of a small table that was pushed against the wall. The table was full of oils, brushes, and cans and the scent of paint and turpentine grew stronger the closer we got to the corner.

  Neither of us spoke, Harlan just led me to one of the easels and let me see the canvas set on it.

  Shock hit me first, and before it wore off, pleasure followed. It was unfinished, half of it coming to life in every minute detail while the other half was more simplistic . . . but it was clearly a painting of me.

  Nude, and stretched across the simple blue white background of the canvas. My head was tossed back, ecstasy clear in the shape of my lips and in every line of my body. My body with my arms pulled behind my back and bound in ro
pe that was wrapped around my chest above and below my breasts, compressing them and making them jut out.

  Following the path of the rope with my eyes I saw that it went from the knot between my breasts down the center of my torso and then disappeared between my thighs. The angle of the body showed that the rope was kept taut by being wrapped around my own wrists. It was an incredibly erotic version of being hog-tied.

  My voice was husky with arousal when I asked, “What happens if I move?”

  “The rope would rub against the folds of your sex, but not directly on your piercing, or your clit. It would work you up, but not get you off.”

  I tore my gaze from the painting and found him watching me intently, his smile slightly evil.

  My breath caught and my sex clenched hungrily.

  Before I could say anything else he nodded to the second easel and I stepped past the first. This one was also of me.

  It had the same sort of hazy blue white background, but a shade darker. In this one I was blindfolded and tied spread-eagle to a bed with a black metal frame. The restraints looked familiar and my mind flashed on the silk scarves Harlan had purchased on Sunday.

  I wasn’t alone in the second painting. A large and obviously male shadow loomed next to the bed.

  “You?” I asked.

  “In my mind . . . yes.”

  I swallowed hard. Emotions and sensations swamped me, but there were too many to isolate. Harlan stepped to the side of the table, and without a word, started to turn over the canvases that leaned against the wall.

  Three more paintings of me, all with a variation of the blue white background, in various forms of undress. Straddling the kitchen chair with my back arched, head flung back. Propped against a mound of pillows, legs spread with one hand covering a breast and the other between my thighs, hiding my sex from view. One of my head and shoulders above the covers as I slept peacefully.

  Awe. That was what I felt the most. With arousal and pride running close behind. Harlan stood next to me as I gazed at them, his tension palpable.

  I got to the end and turned to him. “They’re beautiful,” I said. “I can’t believe you actually painted me.”

  His shoulders dipped and I realized just how anxious he’d been about my reaction. Stepping up to him, I wrapped my hand around the back of his neck and pulled him down for a kiss. I rubbed my body against him and slid my tongue against his.

  He kissed me back until we were both breathing hard and his erection was pressing against my belly. When he lifted his head he stepped back and held me at arm’s length with a small smile. “I’m glad you like them. How do you feel about them being on show?”

  Lust fuzzed my brain. Huh? “Like to the public?”

  He nodded. “And for sale.”

  “Very cool,” I said. “I think that’s great.”

  “Are you sure? Think about it, Kelsey. I don’t have any control over who buys them, and while it’s unlikely people who see you will recognize you from the paintings, people who know you will recognize you in them.”

  I thought about it for another minute, but it didn’t bother me. The paintings were clearly art, and not just gratuitous porn. My parents could see them and I wouldn’t mind.

  I might blush, but I wouldn’t be ashamed or anything. In fact, the thought of so many strangers seeing me on display so erotically was a turn-on.

  “No problem,” I said, and pushed against the arms holding me away from him. I was tired of talking, of thinking. I just wanted to feel. “Now, let’s get naked.”

  He opened his arms and pulled me to him with a grin.

  My tongue slid between his warm lips and danced sinuously against his. Hot blood rushed through me, the burning need to be closer making me squirm against him, hands clutching him tight. His hands gripped my hips and lifted. Without breaking our kiss, he carried me to the sofa where he dropped down into the seat so I straddled his lap. Lips touched, hands caressed, and our bodies instinctively shifted until we fit together. His hardness against my softness.

  My insides liquefied, surrounding the hard knot of arousal growing in my belly. Soft and swollen and wet, I ached to be filled.

  Reaching between us, I made quick work of his jeans while his hands ripped open my shorts. One large hand skimmed over my rear while the other slid between the slick folds of my sex.

  I gasped at the touch, my hips jerking uncontrollably as a mewl of hunger escaped from me. My hand wrapped around Harlan’s hard cock and I stroked it. Up, down, the hot throb of it filling my palm the way I wanted it to fill my sex. My thumb scraped over the smooth head, spreading the wetness there while my hips rode his hand.

  “Not enough,” I said against his open mouth. “More, Harlan, give me more.”

  He pulled his hands from my shorts and cupped my ass, surging to his feet and carrying me to the bed. He set me on my feet next to the bed and grabbed a condom from his bedside drawer while I got rid of my clothes. As he was about to roll the condom on, I stopped him. Taking it from him, I sheathed him myself with slow, sure movements.

  God, he felt so damn good in my hands!

  But he’d feel even better buried deep inside me. I grabbed his shoulders and lay back on the bed, pulling him down so he covered my body with his. With no further encouragement he settled into the cradle of my hips and joined us together.

  His mouth went to my throat, nipping and licking, biting and kissing as he thrust deep. I closed my eyes, reveling in the way he filled me. Hitching my hips, I wrapped my legs around his waist and moved with him. Soon, his hands tangled in my hair pulling my head back until my eyes opened and our gazes locked, making our connection complete.

  “Kelsey,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion.

  My heart pounded and my chest tightened. There was more than desire, more than lust darkening his deep blue eyes. Even scarier was the way that look made me feel. Everything inside me melted, that look sending me over the edge as pleasure overwhelmed me.

  Harlan’s lips parted, his groan of satisfaction mingling with my cries and echoing through the loft. His arms trembled next to my head and I reached up to pull him close, taking the weight of his body on me.

  “Heavy,” he muttered, and tried to roll off.

  “Stay.” I tightened my hold on him and spoke softly. “I like you on me . . . inside me.”

  We dozed for a bit, holding each other, then woke to spend the next few hours wallowing in each other’s bodies. When I finally dragged my ass out of bed to go home and get ready for work, Harlan was asleep once again.

  I think I wore him out.

  Slipping my clothes back on, I started for the door only to have my feet take me back to his work area. The paintings were better than good, and it wasn’t just pride or whatever because I was the subject that made me think that. The colors were luminous, the details in each image exact. The talent of the artist was clear, and so was the emotion behind the images.

  Everything I’d felt in Harlan’s arms came rushing back to me. The heat, the emotion, the comfort, and the contentment. Somehow, our afternoon in bed had been more than an afternoon of sex. We’d been making love.

  Panic rose, my heart skipped a beat and the urge to run was too strong to resist. I spun on my heel and headed for the door lickety-split, but Harlan’s voice stopped me in the middle of the room.

  “Kelsey, you okay?” He was out of the bed and moving toward me fast.

  Shit. Fuck. Shit.

  Deep breath, I told myself. You’re an adult. You want this.

  Harlan could see her suck air in, then let it out slowly, forcibly relaxing herself. Her lips lifted in a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m fine. I’ve just got to go get ready for work.”

  “Uh-uh.” He blocked her way. This was it—the withdrawal he’d been expecting ever since the night he’d gone over to her place and they’d fucked each other blind—and he was ready for it. “I saw you over there, and I know something’s up. I’ve watched you enough to know when
you’re spooked, so spit it out. What are you thinking?”

  Kelsey looked up at him, the green of her eyes darkening with determination.

  “I’m not a nice girl, Harlan. I like to drink. I like to fuck. I like to do what I want, when I want. I’ve never had a real relationship. Hell, I’m not even sure I’m capable of one.”

  Oh, yeah, she was running scared. He’d been surprised to see her at his door earlier, but he shouldn’t have been. She was strong, independent, and willful enough to always do the unexpected. But he needed to be careful or he’d lose her before he truly had her. “A relationship isn’t a bad thing, Kelsey.”

  “I know that, Harlan,” she snapped. “But that doesn’t mean I’d be good at one.”

  Panic flared to life inside him. She was about to walk away, to leave him in the cold, and he couldn’t let her do that.

  Quick thinking had him giving herself enough rope to hang herself. After all, she didn’t say she didn’t want a relationship. Just that she wouldn’t be good at one. “Why do you say that, Kelsey? What is it you think you can’t handle?”

  Her eyes snapped fire and her mouth opened. “I can handle anything.”

  He watched her for a moment, stilling his own temper. Her pulse beat fast at the base of her throat, her eyes darted around, and her hands were twitching at her sides. She expected him to fight. She expected him to pressure her despite what he’d said earlier about labels.

  She’d let him watch her from a distance because it had been emotionally safe for her, but in that time, he’d come to know her better than either of them could’ve predicted. His mind knew her, his body knew her, and his heart knew her.

  He knew her well enough to know she wasn’t ready to accept any of it . . . if he pushed. She was strong-willed, she had to figure things out on her own, and he had to let her.

  “Okay, if you can handle anything, then don’t run from what we could have. Just take it one day at a time, no pressure, no strings.” He reached for her hands and pulled her against his body. “Maybe a few ropes though, or some silk scarves.”