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Bree trembled, fisting her hands as she paced in the small space. She barely took three steps before having to turn around, and part of her wanted to step back outside and run away into the desert beyond the gates. She’d been raised better, she knew right from wrong, but her body was acting as if Ice hadn’t violated her. All she’d had to do was say stop. She could feel the word stuck in her throat, lodged as if it were turned sideways, the crossbar of thethooked into her larynx, and she’d have to cough to free it. Instead she fell silent. Not from fear, but want. She wanted him to touch her.
Had she ever slept with a man hours after she met him? No, kissed maybe, but she was a “let’s take it slow” type of woman. For years now she’d heard tales of Ice, a mix of horrors and what she thought was bragging. The problem with pacing was with each pass, she tended to turn sooner and sooner, until she was basically spinning in a circle, and then it was over. But this place was too damn small.
Bursting out the front door, she ran right into Ice, who caught her with flair and spun her around as if she didn’t weigh a thing. When was the last time that happened? When she was five? Six? Having shot up in elementary school, she was used to being the tallest or biggest in the class photo. Backrow Bree was her damn nickname that followed her through the years, making new boys think she was easy.
“I’m not easy,” she bit at Ice as if he’d said something.
“Okay,” he said, letting go of her once he made sure she was settled and balanced, his hands outstretched as if he’d set down a priceless vase and was prepared to catch it if it fell. “Look, I was helping you out.”
“Were you?” she questioned, then glanced back to the guard still standing outside the Airstream.
Ice gave the man a nod, and when he passed them, the men fist bumped.
“Jesus, the man at the end of the hallway.” She covered her face with her hands.
“Ah, he’s seen more tits, ass, cock, and pussy than a sex change doc.”
“Yes, but mine?” she said, holding her hand to her chest.
“Were covered,” he replied as if confused by the notion of her unease.
“Yes, but—”
“You jumped in my truck,” he reminded her.
“Oh, so that grants me one public orgasm?”
“You came from that?” he questioned, wiggling his fingers in front of her. “I mean, they’re good, but that was like two minutes. Has it been a while?”
“I was being facetious,” she said. If nothing else, she needed to at least fake her indignation, because her body thrummed in the moment, and having a man with smokey eyes tormenting her with a crooked smirk and a mouth she so wanted to have crushed against hers meant space was needed.
She’d read thousands of sex scenes over the years that had sent her spinning and rolling over to the top drawer of her nightstand to sate herself. This was so much worse. The fire wasn’t being quelled by her indignation, and the only dildo within reaching distance had a man attached to it—one who had the ability to piss her off and turn her on in the same goddamn sentence. She was too many levels of fucked up in the moment and needed space. A motorcycle would be the perfect cure right now, buzzing between her legs as the wind whipped past her and she leaned in and out to weave through traffic.
Only the practical side of her called out in her mother’s voice once again. Twice in one night, once more and she was going to her room without supper and giving up all electronics until her father came home.
The barely there step in front of the door of the Airstream bounced a bit as she slowly sat on it, afraid of the tensile and hinge strength of the bolts in the older model RV. It was a balance between older craftmanship built to stand the test of time versus the safety measures added into today’s construction. She wasn’t so much hovering, but putting her weight more toward her feet and resting her ass on the step.
“Hey, Bree, it’s all good. No one is judging you right now,” he said as if that could quiet the Headmistress of Protocol at the School for Proper Young Ladies who had been implanted early into her brain. “I have a feeling all the church ladies you’re worried about are on the Strip watching Australian men bring down the thunder.”
“Doubtful,” she retorted.
“I’ve lived in Vegas all my life,” he said, dropping down to a crouch before her, placing his hands on her knees and sending a worrying jolt up her spine as she leaned forward even more, officially causing her ass to hover and quads to burn. “The whiter the lace, the blacker the leather.”
Bree swallowed back the fact she was, at that moment, wearing pure white lace-trimmed panties and bra, more padded than lace because the girls would wander if not properly restrained. Her toes were beginning to ache, and before she knew it, she was the one with the structural fail as she fell forward, then bounced back as her legs gave way.
Every decision she’d made from the moment she knew she had to get in the truck for the twins had been an error. Ice wasn’t going to shift what he did moment to moment because she was there. If anything, she was a distraction that at some point would have no purpose beyond letting him go do what the fuck he wanted to. Even that she’d failed at, because he went in and voted on the color of the walls or some such shit, and she left the kids she was supposed to be protecting.
“You know, I have a whole couch and a chair inside,” he said.
“Yes, practically on top of each other.”
Ice dropped to his ass, bent at the knees as the two of them sat opposite each other. “Why are you here, Bree? You’re putting Mrs. Kravitz to shame.”
“Mrs. Kravitz? Like Lenny’s mom?”
“No, like the crazy neighbor onBewitchedwho was staring out her window all day long, Gladys Kravitz,” he explained. “I was raised on reruns.”
