Chapter Five

Naomi

I’m an asshole.

The door closes behind Ben, and my stomach twists. My body feels relaxed and tingly after that session, and man, was it a good one, but it was a mistake. I’m happy that he read the signs and made a quick exit.

That won’t be happening again.

I walk on bare feet to my bathroom.

I look in the mirror, and see an image of myself being fucked in my mind’s eye.

He noticed that I like to see it in action and made it happen for me. The thought has my pussy tingling again as I strip my robe off and turn on the shower. I hold my hand beneath the stream until the water’s hot enough and step beneath it.

I savor the feel of the hot pressure against my skin, and I lather up some soap then run it along my arms, legs, breasts.

I reach my breasts, and the memory of our fuck returns. My nipples grow hard beneath my slick fingertips. I start massaging them, the steamy air a warm, safe haven for one last hurrah. I rinse my hand in the water before it glides of its own volition down my belly to the crest of my pussy lips, and I spread myself, flicking my bean. I reach for the shower head and pull it from its sheath.

I hold it against my clit, which is still sensitive from Ben’s work on it.

I press my back against the wall, images of him towering over me flickering in my mind. His muscled, tatted arms holding me still while his dick sank in, filling me with each thrust. My middle finger slides into my pussy, and I ride it, curling it up as I beckon another orgasm forth.

I know how I like it, so it doesn’t take long, especially after already having come twice today.

I pulse around my finger as I release a small moan, and then I replace the shower head and finish washing up.

I’m wasting time. I should’ve been at the restaurant ages ago, doing prep work, but it’s not like Ben offered me the chance to make a phone call. I do my best to dry my long, thick hair, and I end up braiding it to save time. I slide into another gray cotton dress and matching pair of thick soled boots, then step outside the door.

When I walk in next door, my head waitress—OK, my only waitress—looks up at me with accusation in her eyes.

“Seriously, Naomi? Where have you been? Paul is going berserk back there all by himself.”

I glance around. The place looks pristine, even during my absence. Well, pristine might be generous. It’s still a dive.

When I opened a few weeks ago after months of planning, I didn’t have the money to spruce the place up. A few tables, draped with red and white checkered table cloths, are scattered about a dinged-up wooden floor. I managed to find a few large paintings of coastal shores, and they add some character to the place. The air smells like hot butter and cooked seafood, and even if it isn’t the classiest place in the world, the food is outstanding.

The people of this town will learn that soon enough.

An older couple sits along the window, staring out at the moonlit ocean. A throat clears, and I turn my attention back to my interrogator.

“I’m sorry, Katie, but once you’ve heard the kind of night I’ve had, you’ll understand.”

“I don’t think I’m the one you’ll need to get understanding from, but I do love some good goss.”

I glance at the elderly couple.

They cut their scallops at a snail’s pace, carefully loading a fork and then taking a bite. Both of them have full drinks. It’s safe to say that at the moment, I can have a talk with my friend. Our eyes meet, hers a dynamic, ocean green-blue color, and I dart my gaze toward a table on the opposite end of the joint. Katie grins and heads in that direction. She pulls out a chair and crosses her legs as she leans in, ready for story time.

“So, dish! What happened?”

I inhale, and Katie reaches back to tighten her blond ponytail as her eyes remain bright with anticipation. She looks like a fairy—her face that perfect heart shape, her stature petite. I’ve often wondered why Katie doesn’t have a boyfriend, but I don’t like to pry. That’s Katie’s department.

I launch into my tale. She gasps appropriately as I tell her the story of my folly on the yacht that ended with me at gun point. I tell her about tough-guy Ben, and how he dragged me to the sheriff’s department against my will for no reason.

“Wow, really? I’ve heard he’s all about justice. Like, crime is crime is crime with that guy, but if you’re within the confines of the law, he’s nice.”

I remember Ben’s jacket draped around my shoulders. Then I remember his tongue against my clit.

Yes. Very kind, indeed.

“You’re blushing,” Katie says. “Do you like him? He’s one of the most eligible bachelors in town. Last I heard, he’s impossible to nail down.”

Her word choice has me laughing, and she lifts a curious eyebrow at me. She gazes on, her eyes lighting up when she makes her own deductions.

“You like him! Wait, you like him? But he arrested you!”

“Yes. The man is a complete and total ass hat.”

And a god in the bedroom.

“There’s something else. Something you’re not telling me.”

Damn her observant nature.

I want to keep the information to myself, but I also don’t. It’s been a long time since I’ve had sex with anyone, much less had a friend to confide in about it. Katie may be a bit of a gossip, but she’s one of my best friends here, and she’ll keep my secrets if I ask.

“We kind of slept together,” I admit.

She claps her hands together. Her face is lit with delight. “You bagged the most desirable man in town! Why didn’t you lead with that?”

“Shh.” I cast a wary glance at the table for two across the way, but they are happily discussing something that hopefully has nothing to do with our own topic. Another couple of patrons walk in then, and Katie stands and greets them. I wait at the table, and I’m about to head back to the kitchen to help poor Paul when Katie returns.

“I gotta get these folks some drinks, but this is a great thing. You have been so stressed out getting things ready to open this place. Let loose, enjoy yourself! Was it good?”

My grin answers her question, and she giggles.

“Yeah, it was!” she says. She lets out a small whistle then heads back toward the kitchens to fill some drinks. I follow her.

The stovetops are filled with silver pots, clambakes boiling at full blast. Paul turns and looks at me, and I hold up my hands in a placating gesture.

“I know. I know. I have an excuse, if you’re willing to hear it.”

“I don’t have time to hear it. Katie just put in three more orders. I hope this came out like yours would, but I’m happy to go back to sous-chef duties now.”

My stomach churns with guilt, and I nod, stepping up to the oven and taking over so that Paul can get a break. We start cooking in earnest. Katie reports that a group of men has taken up two tables and pushed them together, so we’re almost a full house.

It’s crazy busy, the world is bustling around me, and I calm right down. I can get so tense and stressed out in the real world, but in my kitchen, no matter how nuts things get, I am all Zen.

“Order up!” I call out, and Katie zips back, loading her arms with plates of hot, steaming food. She’s gone before I can say another word, and I wipe my brow.

That completes the orders for the moment, and I turn to look out at the restaurant. I like to watch and make certain everything’s running smooth. Lucky for me, Katie is exceptional at what she does. She’s setting a plate down in front of a greasy-looking guy when he reaches around and grabs her ass, pinching it.

“Hey, what the fuck?” Katie jerks back.

My chest fills with anger, and I step out, ready to control the situation.

“Come on, baby. You know you want it. A girl like you is too cute to go untouched.”

“Last I checked, consent is ‘in’ right now, asshole.”

“Last I checked, a woman wants it whether she says so or not. Now why don’t you come over here and take a little ride on Skippy’s lap.”

“Back off, Skippy,” I say, standing next to Katie. I can feel her relief at my presence, and it serves only to increase my annoyance. I’m protective of my staff. No one is allowed to fuck with them, or with me. Not in my restaurant.

Skippy eyes me up and down. He’s lean, with stringy brown hair and torn-up, patchy clothing. He’s the kind of guy I don’t want in my place, period, and I’m looking forward to kicking him out permanently. Him and his little cronies.

“Fuck you, lady. My boys and are I enjoying the fish. We love the taste of fish, don’t we, boys?”

He leers at his friends, and they all laugh at his crude joke. My gaze darts around the room.

We’re slowly gaining the attention of the other customers. If I get a reputation for housing bad eggs in here, I’m finished. I need people to want to come here, to feel safe here.

“This is my restaurant, boys. I don’t allow vulgar behavior in here, and I’m afraid you’re wearing out your welcome. Now pay up for the food, and then leave.”

I cross my arms, my stance spread in case I need to take some kind of action. Not like I can. I hate this kind of confrontation, and I’m not exactly a fitness model here.

I have some moves for getting people out, though, and I think about Ben’s expert hold on me as he dragged me to the car. If I ever talk to him again, I’ll have to ask how he did that. It was minimal effort on his end, and it had me fully bound.

I wish I knew more moves like that.

Skippy is unmoved by my bravado. He stands up, towering over me. His beady black eyes bore into mine, and his hand drifts to his side. For the first time, I notice a knife strapped to his hip.

Shit.

He jeers at me. His breath smells like rotten teeth and old fish, and I gag. Better not to puke all over him. I don’t want to ruin my patrons’ appetites, after all.

“Don’t fuck with me, girlie,” he hisses. A fleck of spit lands on my face, and I wipe it off.

“Or else what?” I ask. I shouldn’t have. What am I thinking? He leans even closer, but I stand my ground. I will not back down on my own turf.

“Or else I’ll have to fucking kill you.”