Tease Me Once by W. Winters

Braelynn

Days go by in an exhausted haze.

I’ve never been this deliciously sore in my life. I’m sore from Declan.

It’s a nine-to-five, so to speak; technically my workday starts at 6:00 at night and goes to nearly 3:00 in the morning.  I do a lot of work with bookkeeping and records, but every moment I’m on edge and waiting.  Being his personal pet, his toy, it’s invigorating.

One moment I’m filing papers like he told me to, the next his hand wraps around the back of my neck and hours pass getting lost in his touch.  Being used and fucked and then kissed like he needs to kiss me just to keep breathing.

Readjusting on the sofa, I’m hot and bothered all over again.  Even though I’m alone, I can’t get the memories of the last few days out of my head, and I’m not sure I want to. His fingers between my legs. Nate’s presence on the other side of the desk, watching. It’s far dirtier than anything I imagined when Scarlet explained what the rooms on the lower floor were used for.

A smirk pulls up my lips and I hide it behind the throw blanket in my hand, pulling my knees up which elicits a slight pain from how sore I am.

I’m certain I know what’s most addicting.  It’s like he can’t get enough of me.

I’ll think he’s sated but then his eyes darken and I’m spread out on his desk again. Or bent over it. I take a sip of my chamomile tea and get comfortable with the blanket up over me. Rubbing my tired eyes, I note the day has come and gone and I spent most of it sleeping, unpacking here and there, but catching up on rest.  With the dull drone of the TV serving as background noise, something’s on the screen, but I couldn’t tell you what.

It’s not a real priority when Declan’s on my mind. Nothing is a priority when I’m thinking about him.

I’ve never been fucked the way he fucks me. He’s hard and possessive about it, and insatiable. I don’t feel fragile with him. His intensity is like nothing I’ve ever encountered, and some parts of it do scare me, but at the same time …

I think I’m falling for him a bit. For Declan Cross.

Nervous butterflies create a storm in the pit of my stomach and I combat it with a sip of tea.  The man he grew up to be is nothing like that hollow-eyed boy in gym class. He has more secrets now, and he and his brothers have power. People fear them, and they should, because the Cross brothers aren’t to be fucked with.

I know that.  I’m all too aware of that truth.  If nothing else, I love what we do together.  I love what he does to me and how he makes me feel.  I crave it.  I want to be wanted by this man.

I was so afraid of that lower floor in The Club, but I’ve never felt better than when I’m in his office.  My phone slides across the coffee table as it vibrates.

Declan: Come in wearing the clothes I had delivered earlier.

A flush warms my cheeks, even though no one is here to see me receive this text. The heat from my face follows a path between my legs. It’s a good thing I was already sitting. What I feel about him is as intense as the way he looks at me. The lingerie he sent is the perfect example of his intensity.

Biting down on my lip, I think about the package that came today.  The lingerie set I received is bloodred silk and lacy and must have cost a fortune. It came in a thick box, the kind that only comes from upscale boutiques with ladies behind the counter who never blush. It was probably handstitched somewhere.

This is what he wants me to wear, and he wants me to wear it for him. It wasn’t long ago that Declan commanded me to wear black at The Club, and to never wear red again.  To wear it for now him feels that much more sinful.

He sent flowers yesterday along with my first check.  It’s ridiculous how much he’s paying me. I nearly fainted at the sight of ten thousand dollars written out.  The heaviness of the vase kept me upright.

It’s easy to tell myself I may have made that had I continued to be a waitress and therefore I deserve the payment.  But the truth of the matter is far more difficult to swallow.

It’s also because all of these things, like gifts and money and lingerie. They almost make me feel like a whore. That’s what whores do. They take money and gifts from men in exchange for sex. Growing up, I thought this was the one line I wouldn’t cross. I might have terrible jobs and work in hot kitchens and put up with mean customers as a waitress, but I wouldn’t sell my body to pay the bills.

Then you grow up.  You realize sex is … desirable.  Not hooking up with strangers is more a matter of safety than anything else.  And choosing the man you want.  Then the emotions.  It’s messy and complicated, and oh my God. I groan, throwing my head back.  With my hand over my face, I admit the truth.

I am Declan Cross’s whore.  Plain and simple.

That’s a truth I’ll never admit to my mother.

Now I understand what Scarlet was talking about before, when she told me about the red dresses. When it’s late, and the liquor is flowing, and these men look at you like they’ve never wanted anything more … sometimes it’s tempting. I get that now.

There is nothing more tempting than the way Declan looks at me when I open the door to his office. There’s nothing more thrilling than getting a package delivered from him and opening it to find something beautiful and expensive. Men don’t give you those kinds of gifts if they don’t think they’ll suit you. Declan thinks I’m worthy of these gifts, and not only that, he wants to see me in this gorgeous lingerie. He wants more than to know I received it, he wants to see the proof on my body. He wants to put his hands on it himself.

That’s what Scarlet meant, but I feel it all the time, not just when it’s late, and not just when the liquor is flowing. I feel like this all the time, even when I’ve had nothing to drink but chamomile tea.

It’s different from taking random people down to the lower floor for a drunken fuck. That wouldn’t be enough for Declan, just like sending me the lingerie isn’t enough for him. It’s not enough for me, either.

Stretching my tired body, I go back out to the kitchen and wash the cup from my tea in the sink, then settle it into a small rack to dry. I check the deadbolt on the door. Check my phone for any more messages and make sure it’s plugged in. I give the curtains another tug to make sure no one can see inside.  Although I’ve slept most of the day, I feel like I could sleep for a week right now.

Then I go back to my phone and return Declan’s text.

Braelynn: I will wear it, Sir.

I have it all typed out and ready to send when something catches my attention from the TV. It was the word “Cross.” The remote has fallen between the couch cushions but I dig it out and push down hard on the button to turn up the volume. Even with it louder, it’s hard to make sense of what the news anchor is saying. Her voice is calm and even, and her gray blazer is so perfect that she can’t possibly be talking about one of the Cross brothers, but she is.

She’s also talking about a man named Marcus.

It hits me all over again that they’re involved in things even the woman on the news won’t say out loud. Dark things. Illegal things. The kind of things that make people put an extra deadbolt on the door at night. The Cross brothers have never shied away from the underbelly of the city, and now they’re in charge of it.

Everyone knows it but no one can prove it.  It takes me a moment to understand what she’s saying.  A number of cold cases are linked to both the mysterious grim reaper who used to terrorize the area, but now the crime family known as the Cross brothers are suspected.

The blood draining from my face chills every inch of me.

Fear makes my heart beat faster despite all the chamomile and how tired I am. It’s not just The Club I’m a part of now. The conversations I’ve overheard while with Declan … I know the area the news anchor mentioned.  I know the train tracks and I know Nate brought them up more than once.

Swallowing down the anxiousness, I close my eyes and my mind instantly goes back to the feeling of being wrapped up in that soft, black blanket he keeps stowed away in the bottom desk drawer to wrap me in when he’s done with me.

He’s strong underneath me, holding me tightly, kissing my hair.

I told him I heard nothing and I mean it. With the click of a button, the TV turns off.

All I know is that I am his and I haven’t heard a damn thing.

Even that lie sends a deep chill to ice my veins.  It’s wrong.  That’s a real line I thought I’d never cross: turning a blind eye.  I’m in over my head. I’ve been ignoring that, because it’s easier. I don’t want a confrontation with Declan. I don’t want a confrontation at all.

But how am I supposed to do this? It’s one thing to be a plaything and a pet. It’s another thing if the man you belong to is a murderer.

Shivering, I glance at the black screen of the TV and then the stairs. If I had to, I could pack a bag right now and go. I could drive out of the city and keep driving until I saw an exit that looked appealing on the highway. Oh God, what would I do? Change my hair and try to get a job where people didn’t see me often? Even if I did that, how long would it take for him to find me? I remember Nate’s question, and thinking I could give Declan any reason to suspect I’m undercover or an informant sends true fear through me.  I have no doubt Declan has influence beyond the city. I bet people would agree to whatever he said anywhere in the world. They can feel the power he has, and the dangerous energy.

Retreating to my bedroom, I take a seat on the bed. What I need is to know more about him. Scarlet would know more than I do. I bring up my texts and start to type one out, but it goes nowhere. Type. Delete. Type. Delete. I feel like I’ve been doing that a lot lately. But maybe I don’t want these questions in a text.

Falling back, the cheap mattress bounces with me and I cover my face with both hands.  I wish I hadn’t seen the news.

Not out of fear or conflict.  It’s because I’m falling for him.

Already.  I am so fucked.