Lucky

Can I have a friend over?”

Fionnella looks up from her clipboard. “A friend?” She says the word like it’s an STD.

I nod, calmly spoon another mouthful of cereal into my mouth.

“Male or female?” she asks from across the kitchen isle.

“Does it matter?”

She sets the clipboard down. “Don’t be naive, Lucky.”

“Fine. Forget I asked.”

“No, I won’t forget it. Where did you meet this friend?”

“What makes you think they’re not someone I’ve known my whole life?”

Her stare is direct and cynical. “Are they?”

I shrug. “It’s no big deal if you don’t want me to bring anyone here.”

She plays with her pen for a minute. “It’s not up to me. You asked. I’ll run it upstairs, see if there are objections to you having a male friend over.”

I bite the snappy comeback off my tongue and swallow it. I’ve been a little cranky since I woke up and found Q gone and another hundred thousand sitting on the dresser. In the space of five days, I’ve made more money than I know I’ll make at any other point in my life. I don’t even care about the stigma attached to how I came by it.

No, what’s got me cranky is the way my heart feels…bruised each time I think of Q. How can I have such weighty feelings for a faceless stranger? The way I felt two days ago in South Carolina, when I woke up and Stephanie told me he’d left, disturbed the hell out of me. Those feelings doubled this morning when I woke up to an empty bed. How can his absence leave me with a hollow feeling inside when I don’t even know what he looks like, what his real name is?

What baffles me even more is that I have similar feelings toward Quinn, the man who’s barely touched me, never mind fucked me.

A part of me admits the feelings are attachment borne out of the circumstances I find myself in. Quinn, Fionnella and Q are the only people I’ve had the most prolonged contact with in the past five, harrowing weeks. Out of those three, one is becoming a friend, one is fucking me and the other is mind-fucking me. And in some weird way, I’m getting addicted to the friendship and both brands of fucking.

My mind skates over the conversation with Quinn last night, and the desire to see him again intensifies. So instead of telling Fionnella once again to forget I asked, I look at her, smile and say, “That would be great. Thanks.”

She gives me a peculiar smile in return, and goes back to her clipboard. “Your weight is much improved. How do you feel generally?”

“Great.”

She ticks a box, then looks at me. Her eyes are speculative. “Anything on your mind you want to talk about?”

I tense. “Not particularly, no.”

Did Q mention Clay to her? If so, what is she going to do about it? What can she do about it? The fact that she’s here, conducting her routine check-in suggests nothing has changed. But then, what do I know?

“When will I be returning to South Carolina?” I ask, trying to read her face.

She gives nothing away. “You won’t be.”

My breath catches and I lose my appetite. “Is…something wrong?”

“No, nothing’s wrong. The boss has commitments in the city, so there’s been a change of venue, that’s all.”

Relief eases through me. “Oh, right.” I stare around the loft, but I can’t see any obvious changes to the layout. “Will he be meeting me here from now on?”

“No.”

“He was here last night.”

A flicker of something crosses her face, but it’s gone almost instantly. “It’s his place, Lucky. He can come and go as he pleases. Just as you can. No need to stay cooped up in here all day.” Her gaze probes mine, and I’m thinking she does know what I let slip last night.

I get up from the counter, take my bowl to the sink to avoid looking at her. “I don’t like the cold. No need to go out if I don’t have to.”

“It’s not that cold today. Besides, you have warm clothes. I can organize a car service for you if you want.”

I pour the uneaten cereal down the garbage disposal and turn on the tap. “No, thanks. I’m good.”

“Are you?”

My spine tenses ten times harder than before. I grab a sponge and scrub the bowl. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

She stays silent for a short spell. Then sighs. “Okay, Lucky. Have it your way.” I’m not sure why there’s a hint of sadness in that response.

I look over my shoulder, but she’s gathering her things, shoving them into her giant bag. She looks at me as she hitches the strap over her shoulder. Her smile is back. Only this time, after witnessing a few variations of it, I can spot the cracks.

There’s tightly furled grief. Icily controlled anger. Determination.

My gaze stays on her as she makes her way to the door. I want to say something, but I don’t. We’re all, in our own way, locked in compartmentalized codes of silence we dare not breach.

She opens the door, but pauses. “Your next appointment is tonight, but I suspect the boss will be in touch sooner than that. Enjoy your day.”

True to form, the moment I emerge from the shower twenty minutes later, I see the blinking green light on top of the dresser. I’m not exactly sure how the box moved from the living room into the bedroom, but I’ve stopped questioning the way things work in Q’s world. He probably has invisible elves hiding in the closet.

The thought is both disturbing and funny, and I chuckle as I switch the gadget on.

“Something funny?”

“Just bemused at the workings of your world.”

“Elaborate.”

My towel still wrapped around me, I hop into bed and sit cross-legged with the gadget in front of me. His voice emanates from speakers around the loft, but I feel our connection through the box. “Your little black box moved upstairs. I was debating whether leprechauns were at play or just modern technology.”

“It’s always been there. I just moved it into your line of sight.”

“Oh, right.”

“How are you this morning, Lucky?”

The question is couched in civility, but for some reason, I shiver. “I’m fine.”

“Do you want to try that again?”

“I’m fine,” I stress. “You scared me last night, that’s all.”

“Your distress has been addressed. The content of your response hasn’t.”

“And it won’t be. That’s my business, Q. Please leave it alone.”

“Fionnella tells me you won’t leave the loft.”

“Fionnella needs to mind her own business too,” I respond, suddenly feeling decidedly less friendly toward my maternal minder. “Whether I go out or not should be my choice, surely?”

“Of course, but the reason you won’t isn’t the cold, is it, firecracker? California may be the sunshine state, but it gets just as cold there sometimes, doesn’t it?”

My gut clenches in shock. “What…how do you know?”

“Wild guess. Which you just confirmed.”

I don’t believe him. I lift shaking hands to my mouth and swallow hard. “Please…Q, leave this alone.” My voice is a naked plea.

But of course, he doesn’t. “Who is Clay?”

“He’s nobody! Forget the name.”

“Why is he after you, Lucky?”

I launch off the bed, my agitated feet pacing away from the black box, as if I can escape him. “Are you even listening to me? I don’t want to talk about it!”

“You belong to me. You’re in danger from this individual. Tell me what I need to know, or I’ll takes steps to find out on my own.”

I freeze in the middle of the room. “God, no! Please don’t do that. Promise me you won’t do that, Q?”

He counters immediately. “I’ll give you my word, if you tell me what I need to know.”

I lick my lips, wrestle down the correct words that’ll satisfy him and keep Petra and me safe at the same time. “He’s someone I owe money to, okay? I put some distance between us because I didn’t have the money to pay him.”

“That’s why you came to me.”

I nod, remember he can’t see me, and clear my throat. “Yes.”

“How much?”

Too damn much. “About a million dollars.”

“You’re not sure how much you owe him?”

“I’m…I’m hoping he’ll accept a million dollars.”

“What if he doesn’t?” he counters, his voice growing harsher with each question.

“Then it’ll be my problem.”

“Wrong answer, firecracker.”

I throw my hands up. “Why? Why is it a wrong answer? How is any of this your problem? And don’t say it’s because I belong to you. Our time together is finite. Once we’re done, I walk away. You won’t need to think about me, or take on this…this crusade you don’t want to keep out of. What, are you bored with your own life?” My chest heaves as I resume pacing. “Because I’m sure there are a thousand other things you could interest yourself with besides me. Especially when I don’t want you to be bothered!”

“You’re right. I can be in a million other places, doing a million other things. But here I am.”

That does something dangerous to my foolish, hopeful, heart. “Because I fascinate you? Because I’m your little lapdog you can command to stay, and I will?”

“The former is true. You fascinate me. The latter you respond to because you want to. I doubt I can make you do anything you don’t want to, firecracker.”

I hop back on the bed, and stare hard at the black box. “I’ve told you what you wanted to know. Do I have your word that you’ll leave it alone?”

“I’ll think about it. Take off your towel.”

“I…what? How do you know—you can see me?” My gaze darts around the room.

“Yes.”

I jerk upright onto my knees. “You said there were no cameras in here,” I snap.

“There weren’t until you mistook me for someone who wants to physically harm you.”

My brain staggers beneath the weight of what he’s saying. “But, I haven’t left the loft since last night. How did you get a camera in here?”

“Accept that I’m extremely resourceful, Lucky, and take off the towel.”

I shake my head, my gaze still searching the room. When I don’t find it, I glare at the box. “Where is it?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Because I want to find it and rip the damn thing out.”

“Why?”

“Are you seriously asking me that?”

“You’re still distressed,” he observes coolly.

My breath puffs out in disbelief. “I wasn’t when I came out of the shower.”

He doesn’t say anything. Not for a good minute.

Exasperated, I look around the room again. “What, you don’t like me pointing out that you’re the cause of my distress?”

“No. I regret that I’m not there to…see to it.”

The brief hesitation in his words convinces me he doesn’t mean soothing my distress in the normal, comforting way. The thought of how he would comfort me makes my heart skip a few beats. Not enough to abandon the totally fucked up set of situations he’s ramming down my throat right now.

“Q—”

“Take off the towel, Lucky. I prefer not to ask again.”

“I prefer that you give me your word that you won’t do anything about Clay.”

“You have my word.”

I exhale in relief. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

I stay seated, stare at the box for another ten seconds. Then I slowly lift my arms and let the towel fall loose into my lap.

His breathing alters. “Fuck, you have the most perfect tits, firecracker. I can fuck them all day, you know that?”

My breath shortens and my fingers slide into my hair just to give me something to do with my hands. “You’d need a couple of pills of Viagra for that,” I joke.

He pauses a beat. “Hmm, it’s not an unappealing idea.”

I freeze in place. “What? You take Viagra?”

“Not normally. But I would with you, to minimize the recovery periods in between fucking you. The thought of giving it to you, making you come continuously all day and all night blows my fucking mind.”

I try to control my breathing, but the imagery he’s projecting is messing with my ability to think. Hell, it’s messing with my everything. I’m aware my nipples have turned into tight, painful points and my hairless pussy is growing damp. My mouth dries, then surges with saliva as decadent thoughts flood my brain.

“Does it turn you on, Lucky?”

A short, torn moan is my answer.

“Shall I make it happen, firecracker?”

I want to say no. I’m dying to say yes. On the one hand, I’m certain I won’t survive the experience. On the other, I can’t wait to get started. My head shake lasts two seconds before it bobs into a nod.

He laughs. “I’m not sure how to take that. We’ll reassess in a minute. Get rid of that towel and lie back for me now, baby.”

 Refusing doesn’t cross my mind. It’s what I want, too. I lie back and spread my legs like he taught me to.

His hiss of approval flows through the room. I get the sense that the camera is either above me or directly in front of me. But the loft ceiling is too high, with thick beams where he can hide a camera. So I stop looking.

“You know how much I wanted to fuck you again before I left?”

My breasts are heavy. I cup and squeeze them. He groans. “Why didn’t you? Your body, your pussy, right?” I half tease.

“You were sleeping like an angel. Against my better judgment, I chose to leave you alone.”

 “Why against your better judgment?”

“Because now I’m aching for that tight pussy. Touch it, Lucky. Open yourself wider and show me what I’m missing.”

One hand glides down and into my folds. My back arches as sensation buckets down on me.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he growls, low and hoarse. “Work that clit for me. I want to see you come.”

I go to town on my body. The fact that he’s watching me ceases to disturb me. I revel in his low hisses and thick groans, use it to shamelessly ramp up my own arousal until I’m past the point of no return. I scream as my release tears through me. I hear Q’s harsh breathing as I settle back into normal rhythm. Sublime lethargy drifts over me and I want to surrender to it.

“Lucky.”

I groan in response.

“We have something else to discuss.”

My eyes drift shut. “What?” I slur.

“The subject of your friend?”

I become instantly alert. “Uh…yeah?” I sift through the cadence of his voice. Is he pissed off? Indifferent? “You okay with me having him over?”

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“Do you like him?”

I frown. “Why do you care?”

“Because I care if you intend to fuck him.”

“Does liking automatically equal fucking?”

“Don’t women think so?”

“What about men? What about you?”

“I like fucking you. A lot. Enough for me to wonder if you’re planning on giving that body I own to this friend who’s coming over.”

“No, I don’t plan on fucking him.”

“Tonight or at all?”

I shrug. His tone suggests he’s not pissed. But there’s something there. Q is fucking with my mind again. “Not while I’m yours.”

“So you do like him then?”

“I don’t know how I feel about him. He’s…it’s complicated.”

“In what way is it complicated?”

“Wow, you’re full of questions. Are you bored, Q?”

“You want me to give you permission for some guy to come sniffing around what’s mine. He may be a mind-fuck artist for all you know. Give me satisfactory answers and I’ll consider it.”

My frown deepens as my confusion escalates. “I was just thinking the same thing about you.”

“What?”

“The mind fuck part.”

“Your friend and I have that in common?” he asks.

Shocked laughter erupts from me. “I see you’re not denying it.”

“You’ve proven yourself adequate to the challenge of being mind-fucked.”

“Seeing and calling your bullshit doesn’t mean I enjoy the aggravation, Q.”

“Then why are you smiling?”

I wipe the smile off my face and glare around the room. “Where is the camera?”

“Cameras, plural. Headboard and floor lamp.”

“I’m going to rip them out. You know that, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You won’t get pissed off with me?”

“They were meant to be temporary. I’ve put in place a more robust protection detail.”

I surge upright. “What sort of protection detail?” The last thing I need are more people digging into my business.

“None that will compromise your privacy. Or put you on any radar you wish to avoid.”

I’m a little reassured, but all the same. “Q—”

“You won’t come to any physical harm, Lucky. Not while you’re with me.”

Something about that statement bothers me. Badly. Enough to make my heart lurch and my stomach hollow out. Before I can think of an adequate response, he speaks.

“You have my permission to see your friend.”

Umm…right. I’m a little put out that he’s not jealous. I expected more resistance from him, what with the, my body, my pussy, edict he’s so fond of throwing down.

“Okay. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. But, Lucky?”

“Hmm?”

“Make sure you get enough rest. You come to me at midnight. And Viagra Night is happening.”