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“I think you’re going to like staying with us. You’ll fit right in,” I say.
“I don’t know about that,” she laughs. “I’ve heard things about you guys.”
“What have you heard?”
“Besides the fact you guys run the city? You’re powerful. Deadly. Some kind of rob-the-rich-to-give-to-the-poor self-made mafia?” she says.
“Yeah.” I know she’s not thinking about the things she’s just listed. She’s thinking about other things she’s heard about us. Sexy things.
She waits a moment. “Umm… I’ve heard you guys…”
“What?” I sneak a look over at her. Is she blushing?
“I’ve heard a lot of things.” She brushes her hair back from her face. “Let’s just say that.”
Now I’m curious. “Tell me. What have you heard about us?”
She gives a little shrug. “Just some crazy stuff. You know. Salacious rumors. Like… you guys are kinky in the bedroom?” Her voice goes up an octave. “Like… you spank your women?”
I have to chuckle. “That is salacious.”
“So then it’s not true?” She peers over at me.
I shoot her a wink. “Didn’t say that.”
“Oh my…” The blush on her cheeks turns to rosy red.
“But you’re probably not into that kinda thing,” I say, my voice velvet smooth. “Are you?”
“Umm…” Her breathing picks up, those full, glossy lips parting just enough to make me want to lean over and slip my tongue between them. “Dunno.”
I do. I can see the outline of her nipples showing as they press against her clothing. Her cheeks are deep pink, her palms pressing against her denim-covered thighs like she’s wiping away nervous sweat. She likes the idea. She’s curious.
But she’s been through a lot. And judging by what little I know of her relationship, it was abusive. She needs to feel safe, to know that there’s a different kind of pleasurable pain that she wants. Her partner’s tough exterior is probably what drew her to him in the first place. A strong woman wanting a stronger man.
She just picked the wrong man.
An awkward silence fills the car as I decide how much to share. Don’t want to scare her off but don’t want to let a door close if she’s opening it to me. Not really sure where to go with this…. We’re at the gate now. Perfect time to change the subject. “You ready to see the Village, Rhett?”
She sits up in her seat, eyes as big as saucers as she watches the gate open at the presence of my car. “I’ve heard about this place. But I never thought it was actually real.”
As a mechanic, my previous house was a studio apartment over a doughnut shop. How I didn't gain twenty pounds from smells alone, I'll never know.
I never, ever thought I'd live somewhere like this.
To say the Village is the nicest place I’ve lived would be a gross understatement. Perfectly manicured, tree-lined streets, well-decorated homes made of quality materials. The grassy courtyard with its metal bistro tables and beautiful couples drinking and dining is my favorite area.
To know the Village is my home fills me with pride.
Once a Bachman, always a Bachman. And not only do we get to live in the most beautiful place in the city, but we’re also rich AF as well. Still trying to get used to seeing six digits in my checking account when I log in to my bank. And my savings is double my checking.
We get to my house. I can tell she’s trying to hide her admiration as she eyes the front door. The homes are three stories, lined in neat rows. Three concrete steps lead up to a shiny red door—I love the Cincinnati Reds—contrasting with an exterior painted a soft gray.
I open the car door for her. Then I open the front door for her, take her purse, and hang it on a nearby hook.
“Can I have your phone?” I hold out my hand. “I promise to return it when it’s safe.”
She trusts me, taking her phone from her bag where it hangs, handing it to me. Her attention quickly turns to the house. The walls are a soft blue-gray, the floors stained dark.
