Crash Ride (12 page)

“Do you even know my name?” He raised his eyebrow as his grin widened.

“Um…” I looked down at his apron hoping to find a name badge but was disappointed when my search came up empty.

“I’m sure I’ll find out, if you go out with me tonight.” Lame. Why didn’t I just hang a sign around my neck that read desperado? I swear I had better moves than that.

Thankfully hot coffee dude had a good sense of humor and didn’t laugh his ass off at my feeble attempt.  After he whipped up my order, he took a break and sat with me while I enjoyed my coffee. His name was actually Callum and he was incredibly sweet. The thirty-three-year-old New Jersey native took the trip across state lines with dreams of opening his own retro-style coffee house. I didn’t want to crush his spirit by pointing out his business venture was probably better suited to New Jersey than New York, so instead I smiled and promised to be one of their first customers when he opened. That wasn’t a hard promise to make, regardless of my feelings for Callum, my love for the liquid God of caffeinated goodness would stand the test of time.

So with my coffee all consumed and Callum’s break over, we exchanged numbers with a promise from me that I would text details sometime that day for our hot date that evening.

It was with this new found relief that I floated back to my apartment. I had a date, he was cute
and
he wasn’t on an hourly rate. So many positives, I could barely contain my excitement. I texted Troy and told him that
Project Double Date
was a go and because I had been cocky, told him to name the time and pick the place. Clearly I hadn’t learnt from my earlier overconfident idiocy.

Callum—like most residents of NYC —didn’t own a car, so we decided it would make more sense to meet at
Jilly Beans
and split a cab to our destination. Troy had picked a club—standard— in midtown and silently I was glad it was somewhere noisy that lacked intimacy.

We stepped out of the shiny yellow cab sometime around nine. It was a Saturday night and the streets were filled with excited locals and tourists ready to party away the weekend in the city that never slept. Smoke bellowed from a grate in the ground; the heat of the day not willing to give anyone a reprieve.

I’d worn a short black backless dress that teased at my upper thigh—no bra. I knew it was sexy but if I had any doubts, they had been put to rest by Callum’s eyes almost bugging out of this head. My strappy Manolo’s —the ones I had purchased while trying to manage my Troy obsession— were the perfect compliment. Callum had dressed nice too, black skinny jeans, black pointy-toed shoes and a blue and red checkered button down shirt, rolled at his biceps. I still hadn’t decided whom I was trying to impress.

There was a short line, but Troy had informed me that my name with a plus one would be left on the list to ensure I would be allowed entry quickly and with no trouble. Sure enough, after the mention of my name, the rope was lowered and we were ushered inside. No cover charge was demanded, nor were our IDs checked, such was the power of celebrity.

The inside of the club was like a hundred others in the city. It was as if all the designers had all compared notes or they’d been styled by the same person. A marriage of industrial and modern, the walls had been painted to look like exposed cinder blocks. Lights swirled randomly from the exposed metal truss that hung from the celling. The bar, metallic and mirrored. Even the music sounded the same. Wash, rinse, and repeat.

“How did we get in so fast? Are you famous or something?” Callum naïvely asked.

It had been mentioned, in passing that we
might
be catching up with a friend or two of mine. Sure, the boundaries of honesty had been stretched, but telling him it was a double date right off the bat would have sent him running a mile.

“Oh, those friends I told you we may run into? They come here a lot, they said they’d leave my name at the door.” My web of deceit became more intricate.

“That’s cool, Megsy.” Callum smiled and slung his arm around my waist. I wasn’t crazy about the
Megsy
thing but didn’t set him straight. His overfamiliarity felt weird, like an ill-fitting belt that ruined a good outfit.

“Megs.” We’d barely travelled five feet when Troy’s smiling face greeted us, his arm around the shoulder of some blonde skinny whore.

Okay, maybe she wasn’t a whore and I was being catty, but the smug look she wore on her face was enough of a reason to hate her. And did he have to pick a blonde? He couldn’t have diversified and picked a brunette or something?

“Troy.” I forced the smile on my face and tried not to hiss out his name through gritted teeth. I hated seeing him with someone else. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“Yeah, big coincidence.” Thankfully he continued my rouse though his smirk very plainly showed he was enjoying making me squirm.

“Callum, this is my friend, Troy.” I childishly sidled up closer to my date as I made the introductions. “Troy, Callum.”

“Hey, man. Good to meet you.” Troy shook Callum’s hand amicably. It annoyed me how easy it seemed for him.

“Wow, are you Troy Harris? The drummer for Power Station?” Callum’s smile widened.

“He sure is.” Skinny whore weighed in, tightening her grip on Troy. Oh look, she speaks. I had been worried she wouldn’t be able to move her exaggerated collagen-inflated lips.

“Yeah. Guilty as charged, and this is Amber. ” Troy nodded and gave his cheerleader a squeeze. Amber, she even had a stripper name. Perfect.

“Hi,” Amber squeaked. “And you are…” She deliberately left her voice trailing as she looked me over.

I am the woman who made the guy whose arm you’re clinging to come so many times he could barely walk two weeks ago.
“Megs.” I compromised. “A friend of Troy’s,” I added, not entirely content with my amended introduction.

Amber, obviously bored with me, turned her attention back to Troy. “Are you going to take us to the VIP section?” she whined, sounding like a toddler pleading for candy.

Troy shrugged. He didn’t seem as excited as he had been when we walked in. “If that’s where everyone wants to go.”

“Sounds good to me. Megsy? You cool with that?” Callum’s hand moved down the exposed skin on my back, dangerously close to my ass.

Troy’s eyes followed Callum’s wandering hand and his jaw tightened. “Megsy?” His eyebrow raised at my new found nickname. “Any objections?”

“None here.” I smiled brightly and pretended like the hand on my ass or the nickname wasn’t bothering me.

Amber clasped her hands together excitedly. “Great, follow me.”

We tried to squeeze through the crowd but had to stop every ten steps when someone recognized Troy. Every time he was polite, spending a few moments with each fan before moving forward. Amber seemed to enjoy the extra attention and always made sure she was tightly on Troy’s arm at every photo opportunity.

The VIP area carried the same theme as the rest of the club, metallic, industrial. What was different were the plush bright blue chairs that spliced through the harshness of the place. It was either some nuevo style technique I wasn’t cool enough to understand or the designer had been colorblind. The glass-topped coffee tables that were randomly scattered through the room were also a mystery.

When I had suggested this double date thing, it had seemed like a bad idea. The reality was so much worse. Amber poured herself all over Troy; her hands, legs, mouth, tongue on him at all times.

It was enough to make me sick.

My hands were balled so tightly that my fingernails had cut into my palms. I smiled politely while Callum spoke passionately about different Columbian coffee beans and his aspirations to open a coffee house. Amber commandeered the conversation when she could, chatting excitedly about who had been ostracized from the catwalk in Milan— The fact the coffee table legs were wider than her thighs should have been a tip-off that she was a model. I hated her even more.

We sat and drank, the smile fixed to my face while I lived out my private hell. Troy seemed relaxed, his arms draped around the back of one of the plush blue chairs —they might look like an eyesore but at least they were comfy— with Amber perched in his lap.

Despite having a fairly decent buzz from the copious amount of alcohol I had consumed, I was still far from having a good time. Mentally I made the decision to keep a handle on my inebriation. Drunk Megs was not as diplomatic as sober Megs, and also lacked the filter between her mind and her mouth. The last thing I needed was a slurred and emotional purge of my feelings or alternatively, to grab Amber by the hair and tell her to
back the hell off
. I’ll admit that the last part made me smile.

As the warmth of the alcohol spread through my body and made more me relaxed, my body discovered it had other needs—ones that required a bathroom. I had already filled my quota of listening politely and was skating to the end of my self-control. So rather than sprout the drunken, emotional confessional I had been avoiding, I decided I needed to get away from there.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” I announced loudly as I stood up, my body swaying unsteadily on my feet. Not sure why I felt compelled to broadcast my bodily need, but I didn’t wait for a response or an acknowledgement. Instead I opted to turn my back on the farce that was my night, both literally and figuratively and stalk to the nearest bathroom. The trip somewhat reminiscent of the first time I’d met Troy.

The private restrooms of the VIP area were extremely luxurious. The white tiled walls and chrome accents made it feel like I’d stepped into a private utopia. Luckily for me, I was the only occupant, which allowed me the ability to explore. My high heels echoed off the white marble floor as I inspected the space that featured a large, white leather chaise and an old-school bureau filled with designer lotions, soaps and colognes.

It was in the bathroom that I could finally breathe. The noise of the club and the memory of my horrendous evening could be shut behind the large metal door. It was heaven. I wondered how long I could stay here. Or if I slunk off without saying goodbye, if anyone would notice? I had been okay with not dating Troy, or at least I thought I was. What we had now was great, he made me laugh and I loved spending time with him either on the phone or seeing him briefly when I went to visit Ash. But I wasn’t prepared to see him dating someone else. To see another woman touching him, going home with him. It was selfish and unreasonable and I knew that, but I would give anything for that the girl he took home tonight to be me. News flash. It wasn’t going to be. Great. I was emotional, confused, far from sober and hiding in a bathroom. I had reached a new level of hell.

Amber—my date—was
as dumb as two planks. Actually, that would be insulting to the wood—she was probably dumber than that, and the only interest she had in me was my ability to get her into the restricted VIP area and continue to pay for the overpriced pink cocktails she was sucking down. In all honesty, that situation was perfect with me, so I didn’t feel like a complete and utter asshole in having zero interest in her.

Her number was randomly selected from the collection of crumpled napkins, matchboxes and scraps of paper I had accumulated over the last couple of weeks. Not that I called any of them before—I wasn’t interested in dating— but Megs’s bright idea had required me to play the number lottery.

When Megs had suggested this double date thing, I thought she was kidding. No shit, I fucking laughed. Firstly, because we weren’t in junior fucking high— who the hell went on double dates, and secondly, ’cause the last thing I wanted was to see her with some other dude. Fuck that. NO.

We’d played it cool for the past few weeks, doing the friend thing. It seemed like every day I got a little bit deeper, and even though we saw each other and spoke all the time, it was never enough. Our phone conversations were hilarious and the highlight of my day. I even pretended like shit was all fucking fine even though I was less than happy that I couldn’t touch her. Yeah, and it wasn’t just about not being able to fuck her either. I missed the weight of her against me. Her smile. Her laugh—made my world go around.

Tonight had been its own special brand of hell. She strolled in looking like sex on legs, and I had to spend the night hiding the hard on I’d been rocking since she walked in. God, she was beautiful.

While there was no denying Amber was pretty, the girl had yet to take a breath since the minute we’d sat down. No seriously, I was surprised she hadn’t passed the fuck out. She had been running her mouth about a bunch of bullshit I had no interest in. The hipster douche from the wannabe
Starbucks
that Megs had walked in with was fucking riveted. Awesome, maybe those two should get together seeing as neither of them had even noticed when Megs left to use the bathroom.

My quota with sitting around and pretending like I gave a shit was full. So rather than listen to the mundane world of those two morons, I excused myself to go take a piss. Besides, Megs had looked a weeble-wobble when she’d stood up and I could smell the disaster.

The idea of her going home with Callum fucking pissed me off. He had the nice guy routine down, but I knew nothing about this kid other than he had a Jersey accent and he had a hard-on for coffee. The thought of her sleeping with him— that put me on a whole different level of rage.

The bathroom was tucked away in the back right hand corner, and was found with very little effort. I debated whether or not I go in, or earn myself creeper status by standing outside and waiting for her to come out. The decision was made for me when after a two-minute internal debate she came barreling, bull-in-a-china-shop, through the doorway and slammed right into me. I caught her.

“Hey, Troy Harris, do you need to use the little boy’s room?” Those big beautiful eyes clocked me as her tits pressed against my arm.

I bit back my grin. “Come on, Megs. You know there is nothing little about me.”

“True, Miss Stripper USA is in for a treat tonight,” she slurred sarcastically. She sounded drunk and maybe a little jealous.

“She’s a model not a stripper,” I corrected. Not that I wanted to talk about any girl other the one in front of me.

“Model, stripper—the girl needs a sandwich.” Megs waved her hands animatedly in front of my face. “You might want to spring for a burger or something. It would be kind of awkward if she passed out while you were having sex.”

“Thanks for the tip.” My grin got bigger. “Would you like me to get your date a burger while I’m at it? My forearms are bigger than the dude’s legs. Incidentally, you might want to check your wardrobe when you get home. I don’t think the pants he is wearing are his own.”

“They are called
skinny
jeans.” Megs rolled her eyes. “They’re supposed to look like
that
.”

“Skinny jeans? When did real men start wearing girl’s pants?” Horrified! It would be a cold day in hell before I’d be rocking a pair of pants like that. How the man hadn’t spoken three octaves higher had me dumbfounded.

“Oh, you are just jealous they don’t make them in your size.” Megs poked me in the chest, big ass grin on her face.

“You’re right, I’d be lucky to get a fucking toe in a pair. How do those pants not strangle his sack? Oh, I know
you
probably have bigger balls than he does.” I laughed as I pulled her closer, her body up against mine.

“It’s not the size of his balls I’m interested in.” She smirked as she breathed into my face. “It’s whether or not he can make me come.”

Right, now she had my attention. I lowered my head and whispered in her ear. “Well it’s a good thing you bought that huge dildo early in the week, ’cause it looks like you’re going to need it tonight.”

“Wow, thanks for the great idea.” She turned her face, those beautiful lips almost touching mine. “I can get myself off with the dildo while I blow him.”

Detonation. Something inside of me snapped. Like a fucking avalanche of sexual tension unleashed all at once and there was no stopping it.

My mouth slammed down on hers, my hands grabbing her ass and hauled her onto me. She got with the program, wrapping her legs around my waist and I walked us back into the bathroom she had just walked out of. My tongue got to know every inch of her mouth as I pinned her against the cold tiled wall. My hands busy palming her ass.

She moaned my name as I used the bulge in my pants to rub up against her hungry pussy, her head thrashing from side to side as I worked the length of it up and down between her legs.

I reached out an arm and slammed the bathroom door shut. My hand fumbled for the lock, twisting until I heard the telltale click of the metal sliding into place. If I weren’t so fucking turned on right now, I would have thanked the club management for their progressive stance on public fornication by installing a lock. But the only thing rocking my thoughts was touching every part of the woman whose tongue was currently in my mouth.

“Megs.” I pulled my mouth away; my hand brushing the hair out of her eyes. “We’re in a whole world of trouble right now.”

“Oh God, stop talking and touch me. That feels so good.” Megs’s hands clawed at my back and pulled me closer toward her.

“You going home with him tonight? You and Callum, is this a thing?” This shit wouldn’t go down if she was with him. No fucking way. She moaned against me trying to get the friction she needed. “Megs, I need to know.”

“No, he’s just a guy. Coffee shop. Needed a date.” Her mouth on me making her words come out jumbled. “Amber?”

“You’re not her type, sweetheart, and neither am I.”

Green light. Her eyes widened as my hands moved to her inner thigh and pulled aside her panties. She was soaking wet, the tips of my fingers coated as I circled her opening.

“Yeah, is that what you want? You want me to make you feel good?” The pads of my two fingers stroked her while I thumbed her clit.

“Yes.” She circled her hips in rhythm with my hand. “It’s been two weeks and I need to come so fucking bad.”

Fuck, I wanted her. I wanted her to yell my name so loudly that even with the fucking music blaring in the club they’d hear her. I wanted to make her pant and pulse and come so hard she wouldn’t be able to walk straight in the morning. She had me by the balls and I didn’t give a fuck, my sole mission was to give her what she was begging me for.

“Megs, you have a dirty little mouth when you’re horny.” My hands palmed her tits, pinching her nipples through the material of her dress. “You want me to make you come with my hand?” My thumb got cozy with the opening of her pussy.

“No, Troy.” She leveled me with a stare and looked me dead in the eye. “I want your cock. Fuck me.”

I’d lost the ability to think.

I ripped the tiny black thong from her body and tossed what was left of it on the floor. It had no business covering what I wanted. Her legs unfurled from around my waist, sliding them down so she could stand. Not that she was going to be able to do that for long if I had my way. Her hands went straight for my belt. Fuck. We were going to do this.

Fingers wrestled with my buckle and my zipper, as my thumb rubbed circles around her clit. I was so hard, it fucking hurt. My objective, get suited up and inside of her. Like five minutes ago.

She pushed down my jeans and boxers below my hips. My dick springing free was her reward. Her hands palmed my shaft, giving me a stroke or two while I plunged two fingers inside of her.

“Yes.” She writhed against the wall as I continued to play, her head flailing from side to side as I slid my fingers in and out.

It killed me to stop touching her, my cock punched out in protest to let me know he wasn’t happy either. From the minute I’d seen her walk in, this is exactly what I wanted to be doing. Sadly the condom wasn’t going to magically fly out of my pocket and land on my dick all by itself. And not having sex with her was
not
an option.

“No, don’t stop.” She grabbed my wrist as I moved my hand. Trust me, I didn’t want to either.

“I need to get a condom on, Megs. Give me a second.”

“Hurry, Troy. I need you in me.”

I yanked the condom from my back pocket, ripping open the packet with my teeth. The packaging was tossed to the floor as I fought with Megs’s hands, needing her to let go of my cock long enough to slide the latex down my shaft.

As soon as I was suited up, her hands went straight back to my dick, gripping me so tight it bordered on pain. “Fuck,” I hissed, as she continued to jerk me off. It felt freaking amazing but there was no way this was going to end in a hand job.

My mouth was once again on hers as I pried her fingers from around my cock and captured her hands. She protested, bucking against me as I raised them above her head. My lips moved to her neck as I sucked against her skin. Knowing it would probably leave a mark made me even harder.

I grabbed her wrists with my hand and held them steady against the wall. “I need to be in you.” My other hand rubbed the head of my cock against the opening of her pussy. She arched her back to get closer and making me feel like king of the fucking world, she was just as desperate for this as I was.

She wrestled her hands out of my hold and gripped my ass, pulling me toward her. I met her half way and slid into her in one, swift stroke.

“Megs.” It was halfway between a moan and a prayer. She felt so tight and wet that I had to stop for a minute and just let myself feel it. My lips panted against her neck. This girl was going to be the death of me.

Not one to sit around and wait, Megs starting moving. Restricted by my body caging her up against the wall, she swiveled her hips from side to side, which created some crazy-good twisting sensation. It was like be jerked off—by her fucking pussy. My mind almost exploded.

I grabbed her legs and locked them around my hips, needing to get in deeper. She gasped as I gave her everything I had. I pulled out slow before sliding back in fast, my finger marks indented on her ass. She fought against me each time, not wanting me to pull out.

“Holy Shit.” Megs scrunched her eyes tight as I plunged into her, her pussy clamping around my dick.

Yep, playtime was over. I slammed into her deeper and faster, her hips meeting my every thrust. It was out-of-control crazy and unrestrained, pumping into her while I kissed her hard. God, nothing should feel this good and be legal. I wanted every part of her.

“Don’t stop. I’m so close,” she mumbled against my lips.

“You going to come for me, Megs? I want to feel it.”

“Troy.”

One word. That was all she said.

It was more a muffled scream than a word, but it was clear she had said my name— and then I felt
it
. Her body tightened before it finally let go, and she shook in my arms as I rode out the rest of her orgasm. I’d been holding back, wanting to see her face when she’d finally come, not allowing myself to finish. That look alone tipped me over the edge. It was like chasing down a runaway train as I continued to pump, my load shooting deep as I panted against her throat.