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Lorenzo. I cling to that, to the memory that I’ve been trying to push away for days now, because there’s no point in fantasizing about what I’m not supposed to have. Because it would only make it all harder. But now I grab onto the memory of him here in this room, underneath me, his face taut with desire as he tried to stop himself from giving in. Of how he felt in my hand, of the look on his face as I made him come for me. Of how it felt to let myself go, just for a moment, with someone who I really wanted.
The man underneath me fades away, replaced by Lorenzo. His muscled body, his handsome face, his dark green eyes. I forget how much I don’t want to be here in an instant, my revulsion replaced by desire, heat flushing over my skin. The murmured encouragements beneath me are Lorenzo’s, his voice in my ear, his hands on my hips—long-fingered and strong instead of thick and clumsy. The groan of desire is his, the pleading for me not to stop.
I feel my own desire, pooling hotly between my thighs, my body aching for more. More friction, more fullness, more. My fantasies spin away from me, going past the memory of Lorenzo shuddering beneath me on this exact couch to the memory of me on my knees, and then him—and then to things we haven’t done yet. His hands on my naked body, his cock pushing inside of me, his moan of pleasure as I tighten around him. I gasp, rocking against what I imagine is him beneath me, his hands digging into my flesh, and feel a wave of pleasure grip me as it ripples through my body.
The groan that I hear pulls me out of the fantasy, back to the unpleasant present. The man under me is red-faced and sweating, pupils dilated, mouth open on a low moan as he comes in his pants beneath me. I press my lips tightly together, tensing to avoid pulling away, but he just assumes it’s part of my own pleasure in the moment.
“Oh god,” he moans, holding onto me for another moment as the music fades away. “Oh god, that was so good, you feel so good?—”
Slowly, I detach myself from his grip, trying to ignore the spreading stain on his jeans and the uncomfortable, violated feeling that the entire encounter has left me with. He looks at me, unfocused, and nods towards the crumpled bills on the table. “You earned that for sure, baby,” he slurs, before starting to get unsteadily to his feet.
I grab the money, tucking it into my bra, and backing up. I turn off the music, nodding towards the door as I retrieve the bag of pills. “See you around,” I manage—not my most seductive outro, but I feel shaken, and I desperately want to leave.
It’s only eight—I’ve only been at the club for three hours—but I have the sudden, desperate urge to go home. I can feel tears burning at the back of my eyes, and I want to leave.
Jewel is in the back room when I slip inside. “Can you tell Dick I don’t feel well, if he asks where I’ve gone?” I ask her, as I start stripping off my lingerie and slipping my street clothes back on. “I need to go home.”
“Why?” she asks bluntly, and I give her a pleading look.
“I just do. Please, can you just tell him?”
I can tell Jewel still isn’t happy with me, but she nods. “Fine.”
“Thank you,” I breathe gratefully, shoving the money I’ve earned for the night into my purse along with the pills—I don’t dare leave them behind at the club—and slip out the back door to walk to the bus stop.
It’s not until I get off of the stop near my building, and I’m almost to the front door, that I see the cop car idling half a block away.
I could be imagining things. It’s hard to see the officer’s exact features, and I can’t be a hundred percent sure that it’s Adams. But the hair on the back of my neck rises, my skin prickling with a nervous warning, and I quicken my pace.
The sound of the car slowly pulling away from the curb comes from behind me. I can hear the cop car driving towards me, creeping down the street, and my pulse leaps into my throat, beating hard. I want to run, but I know better than that.
If he turns on the lights and sirens, I’ll need to stop. I can feel him watching me, waiting to see which building I go into. I keep walking, my heart in my throat, feeling the weight of the pills in my bag acutely. I remind myself of Lorenzo’s assurances, his promise that even if I get picked up, nothing will happen to me, but those assurances feel very far away right now.
I walk past my building, keeping my pace even. Another half a block. And then the police car passes me, the lights still off—and I catch a glimpse of the man in the driver’s seat.
It’s him. I feel sure of it.
I feel like throwing up. My hand curls around my purse strap, my other arm wrapped around my ribs tightly as I keep walking at a slow pace, waiting for the car to vanish around the next corner. I walk a little more, waiting to make sure he isn’t going to come back, before I turn and start walking back to my apartment building.
As soon as I’m inside, I reach for the burner phone.
This time, I don’t call him. I know I’m not supposed to, and right now, I feel like I’m going to break apart if I hear his voice. Instead, I type out a quick message as I hurry up the stairs, unable to stop expecting to hear Adams’ voice behind me at any moment, following me home.
Cop following me again. Trying to see where I live. Managed to lose him, but he will probably try again.
There’s no response. I wait for the phone to buzz as I unlock my front door, but there’s nothing, and my heart sinks. Lorenzo really does seem to be finished with anything between us that isn’t strictly distance—and doesn’t seem to be very concerned about what’s happening with Officer Adams, either.
The moment I step into the apartment, I hear the sound of small feet, and Niki bursts out into the living room. His eyes are alight with excitement, even though he doesn’t make a sound, and he rushes to me and puts his arms around my waist. Darcy appears in the kitchen doorway, and looks at me curiously.
“I got off early.” I don’t offer any other explanation than that, and thankfully, she doesn’t ask for one. “Are you making dinner?”
“I was about to get it started. I know it’s late, but we got caught up coloring, and Niki was having so much fun I didn’t want to interrupt him.” Darcy gives me a meaningful look, and I nod. Schedules haven’t seemed to help him—in fact, interrupting Niki when he’s relaxed and enjoying himself has proved to bring on panic attacks more often than not—and his therapist suggested focusing on the moment rather than sticking to a strict schedule. It’s harder during the week, when he needs to be in bed by a certain time for school in the morning, but on a weekend night, it’s better to have a late dinner than stop if he’s having a good time.
“I can finish it.” I drop my purse on the couch, rethink the possibility of Niki picking it up, and decide to take it back to my bedroom instead. “I’m just going to shower really quick, and then I’ll make dinner, if you want to head out.”
“Are you sure? I don’t mind—” Darcy hesitates, and I can see her considering an evening at home instead, with wine and bad reality TV. “If you’re sure.”
Truthfully, I wish she could stay. The last thing I want is to be alone right now with the specter of the cop hanging over my shoulder, and the shaken feeling that I’ve had since the dance at the club. But Darcy deserves an extra night off, if I can give her one.
