She twisted the amber poison around her glass once, twice, before taking a large swig and downing the entire thing. The bourbon licked a burning trail down her course throat, thrumming into her senses, and Beth became vaguely aware of the quiet jiggling of a doorknob. As she mustered all the composure her nerves would allow, somewhat clammy palms smoothed the greenish-grey cotton of her shirt, shoving down the excited chirp over the fact he'd both gotten her message, and bothered to show up. Steeling herself, she drew back her shoulders, straightened her spine,
and waited.
With leopard grace, and the danger to match, a slender form sauntered into the warm pooling of the kitchen light. Fitted bikers jacket, t-shirt, and jeans; all black, as usual. He looked delicious and dangerous all at once. Dark, half-lidded eyes caressed her top to bottom and inside out without ever leaving her face, dialling Beth's heart rate up a few notches and kicking the wind right out of her.
Time seemed to slip away under his unwavering gaze, and she couldn't say if it had been minutes or seconds, but she refused to be the one to crack the silence between them. The ever present tangible THING they shared slithered heat up her thighs, taunting and hungry. His pink tongue flicked quickly over his lips, wetting them smoothly. She drew in a gasp of air, praying he wouldn't notice.
'you can do this. He's just a person.'
Holding her head high, she refilled the crystal glass without ever breaking eye contact, and raised it to her pink lips. She blinked back fear, and something else, -something less familiar- and the thin, inviting creases of his mouth parted slightly.
"You know the tradition is Jordans over a phone line, right?" The way his eyes darted low only to swoop up over her form slowly, and how his mouth hardly moved as he spoke drove Beth crazy.
"I only had pumps," She shot back with a coy shrug. She wouldn't let him see her trembling; She'd banter with him until the sun came up, if that's what it took. All three girls needed this, and this was her only chance.
"Fair enough." His sugared drawl seeped straight to her gut, twisting and turning in a hot wave of desire; Whether it was for him or what he represented, she wasn't sure. Her heart thundered under his sure mannered steadiness, not even trying to hide how much she intrigued him. A playful smirk tugged gently at all his hard features, and the power radiating off him intoxicated her, soothed her, set every glowing inch of her pale skin on fire.
He was beautiful, strikingly so, and when his grin widened ever so slightly, Beth couldn't stop another gasp jumping from her lips. She was heady and drowning. She didn't even know his name, yet her senses overloaded just at the sight of him. Suddenly she wasn't the Beth Boland she always felt she should be - mother of four, pitiful housewife of a cheating dirtbag, in over her head- she was something more. She was desirable, she was strong, witty. Cunning and sexy, finally playing in a league suited to her skills. She was the woman who could spit steady logic with a gun to her head now more than ever. She looked at this beautiful devil before her, and the thought that she summoned him and he came, soaked right through her knickers.
"So, what did you wanna talk to me about?" He challenged her, dared her to tell him what she was thinking, like he already knew. Something in him dared her to ignore it, and just talk business, like a boss would do. But the business at least for now, she forgot as she shifted under his knowing gaze.
"I want," she began eagerly, but cut herself off. He raised an eyebrow at her lazily, waiting. And what did she want?
"I want back in." And she did, more than she wanted him between her thighs.
"Okay."
And just like that he turned to walk away, the quiet, smoldering spell that had settled heavily over their encounter seeming to vanish. Beth reeled in her uncertainty. That couldn't be all it took to devote yourself to a life of crime.. could it? Panic drove her quickly forward, and she was grabbing for his arm before she could think about why she maybe shouldn't have. The moment her fingertips sunk into the leather at his elbow, he whirled on her, and Beth shriveled into herself. He loomed close, too close, and she couldn't breathe over the roar of intensity clouding his eyes. He didn't say anything, and she realized she was still clutching tightly to his arm. It was like realizing she had walked loudly into a lion cage, and the retreat was agonizingly slow so as to not be eaten. The further she withdrew the more he seemed to relax.
"First rule of the job," he spat down at her, a voice of dry ice and bullets "You best remember who you're working for."
He turned to leave again, and she almost let him, but something silly and reckless, and maybe a little stupid inside her needed to ask.
"Wait!"
And for some reason that neither of them understood, he did. She hadn't expected him to, and she floundered a little before adrenaline reminded her to swim. Then it dawned on her how very alone they were, and that they'd never been alone before. There was always someone else, or a gun to slice through the thick smog of tension. She took a slow step towards his turned back.
"What's my cut?" And then he did turn, as shocked an expression as he could allow plastered to his face. A myriad of emotions played over his features, from surprised, to amused, to thoughtful, but he only continued to stare.
Beth knew he was testing her, he always was. Everything was a game, and as much as he liked to win, he loved to play.
"Twenty percent," she tried, bold and sure. He wasted no time; not when it came down to business.
"Ten."
"Seventeen."
"Thirteen." He shot back, Batting his eyelashes. She stepped close to him, entranced well within his personal space.
"FIF-teen." And she realized he wasn't breathing, because if he were she'd have felt it fluttering over her chin. But when he nodded Beth was focused solely on his lips, soft and inviting. She wondered how they'd feel; would he be gentle, like his tone? Or would it feel as brutal as his eyes on her, as rough as his edges, as wild and dangerous and demanding as he was?
"Cool, cool." It counted as a firm handshake in his book, and it was settled. He slanted his eyes up and down her body once more, his voice barely a hush in the thick bubble of lust wrapped around them. Beth Boland was back in business, so to speak, and she was beaming. She felt GOOD! He arched a brow, smug and devious, half his mouth cocked upwards in a sluggish grin.
"That all?" He drawled, tonguing the sharp points of his top teeth seductively. Beth nodded her head slightly, her own devilish amusement sparkling her features.
"Mhmm," she moaned, a decidedly breathy sound. She fluttered her eyelashes, and watched him swallow thickly, no doubt picturing her in a more... primal scenario. Picturing a thousand ways he could get her making those same damn noises.
He nodded once, slow and decisive. She saw him grit his jaw, the slight, telling tick Below his ears, before he brushed past her. By the time Beth could process what was happening he was gone, out the door and away into the night.
He moved hastily through the dark path towards his black Cadillac, stealthy and glowering. The whole way home he clutched at the steering wheel tighter than life. With his knuckles turning white, he scrambled to piece together his broken brick wall of self-control, and tried not to whip the car around and turn back to her house. She was an enchantress, casting her wicked and dangerous spell over him in ways he couldn't afford. She'd be the death of him, if he let her. She'd worm her way into his thoughts unless he cast her out.
"You a boss," he whispered to himself, again and again. "You're a fuckin Boss!"
Sometime before the sun came up and his boys came knocking for business, he started to believe it.
...
Tremors wracked through the boy as they half dragged him up the stairs, his arms over their shoulders. The house was silent, as expected, and he did a quick sweep of the bedrooms, deciding on the smallest one. At a glance he figured it would be the most convenient, with only one little person needing to be shuffled come bed time. Some part of him, tucked way back into his mind whispered that maybe he also just couldn't stand the thought of this boy being in her bed, laying comfortably in the one that smelled of her.
Eddy groaned as the men set him on the child's mattress, the small pink and white sheets tainted with sweat and scarlet stains. He bent down close to the young, agonized face, mumbled something the boy wouldn't hear about how he was 'safe here' and 'she'd take good care' of him. One of his goons pinned Eddy down, soothing him as best he could, while the other, the smaller of the two, made quick but delicate work of extracting the bullet and patching him up. He used the free time to explore the house.
When he sauntered upon the master bedroom, filled with half empty photo frames and only women's clothing dangling in the closet, he couldn't help the smug grin creeping over his face.
'hubby must'a done somethin real stupid' he mused to himself.
Sensing someone behind him, he turned his head to the side, still looking hard at the quaint wedding portrait on the dresser before him.
"We good?" He murmured, distracted. All he received was a grunt of what seemed to be approval, and they slipped from the house, a heaviness settling in their chests. There was something they needed to handle, a score to settle.
...
Kenneth rambled on about Tommy's party, and the hotel rooms and sports games, and Beth bit her cheek. She looked into his little face, and she wanted to tell him his father had stolen away his chances of a grand birthday party this year, maybe for the next few. She wished more than anything to just run her fingers over his rosey plump cheeks, to be able to tell him she could make it work. But she couldn't, and she despised herself. Hated Dean more than ever. The sound of Emma's petite voice nagging her name rocked to her core, snipping at the final threads of her patience.
"What is it?" Beth patted herself on the back at the surprisingly cool tone, grateful she, by the grace of God, hadn't yelled.
"Who's the man?" They blinked at each other.
"What man?"
"The man in my bed." A dead weight dropped through her chest, a sickening taste pooling at the ball in her throat.
Kenny and Emma followed her up the stairs, but she barely saw them through the white hot terror. A pounding heartbeat resonated loudly within her skull, and Beth beckoned them to stay behind the cover of the hallway corner. When she drank in the sight of the clearly wounded boy, barely on the cusp of manhood, bleeding out on little Emma's childhood sheets, she heaved a sigh of relief.
'Hes already been shot,' she mused inwardly. Panic and reason trudged through her minute of peace, reminding her that gunshots KILL people, and she may or may not have an actual dead body to dispose of from her baby's mattress by the time she dropped her children off with their father. Goddammit, she was going to kill that gangbanger.
...
"That is not what I meant when I said we'd do another job!" Beth jabbed a finger at him. Rio; His name was Rio.
He smirked at her hushed but shrill tone, only infuriating her more that he was amused with his own cruel trick. Even in her puffy winter coat, all shrill and worked up she was fine. Annie and Ruby lounged behind her, curiously following Beth's lead.
"Who is that guy?" She demanded. He cocked one brow.
"He works for me." Beth was mildly thrown by how almost gentle he spoke to her, no hint of condescension. His unwavering composure was a surprising comfort, which she clung to. She found herself lifting her chin, gathering up her ruffled feathers, smoothing them out.
"Does he wash the money?" Annie shot in brightly, earning her a rather peeved side eye. Rio noted the hand Beth raised at her side, a single flick of her wrist silencing her sister. She wasn't no boss or nothin', but she commanded respect and she got it. A natural leader, even if she didn't realize it. Nothing could puzzle or arouse him more than that. Except maybe how she got right back to business, refusing to be sidetracked or unheard.
"Regardless, there's been a miscommunication!" Beth hated how weak she sounded, how wide her eyes must be, how completely scared she felt.
"Oh, so you think you can pick and choose what you wanna do-" his eyes narrowed to slits and he leaned in menacingly- "and when you wanna do it." As usual, it was a statement rather than a question.
"She thought it'd be like driving for Uber." Ruby exasperated, the annoyance etched upon all her features. She rolled her eyes, and he couldn't help but chuckle. These girls were killin' him with how easy and formal and SAFE they expected working for him to be. When he had to explain why a kid hit in a drive-by couldn't go to no hospital, their naive faces scrunching while they sorted that in their heads, he got the hint that maybe they weren't cut out for this. Still, they'd surprised him before, and he was willing to bet real money that they would do it again. They'd bring him something he wouldn't otherwise know he needed, he could sense it. If not, at least it was a pretty fine view. He watched them literally lick their lips as he casually rolled out the neat stacks of cash he had presumptuously wadded in his hoodie. They turned on her then, her devoted subjects goading and coaxing against her at the first sight of a loaded payday. Rio flashed a wicked, boyish grin that shot straight between Beth's thighs.
"You get your money when I pick him up."
It was a firm, non-negotiable statement.
"So, we got a deal ladies?" His devilish brown eyes glimmered, trailing Beth's pink tongue as it darted thoughtfully over her supple lips. And he knew he had her, inhaling the power he had over her, revelling in the the high. "Or what?"
All Beth could do was break, huffing a defeated sigh. What had she gotten herself into?
...
After a few lighthearted rounds of whiskey and some sobering episodes of Desperate Housewives, Annie and Ruby packed themselves up and headed home. Beth flicked off the TV, ruminating in the emptiness of the house. She was almost dreading going to sleep, sad to see an excitingly rare childless evening come to such a casual end. So she poured herself another, cranking up her music to silence the suddenly sad thoughts creeping into her mind, blocking out the whimpering boy upstairs. She'd left a few bottles of water in pail of ice beside the bed for him, along with her strongest bottle of painkillers. Beth was wary to go in there too often, afraid she'd find his chest still and his pale face waxy and unmoved.
So instead she danced, hips swaying languidly to the music until sweat pooled on her forehead. With a sneaky grin she slipped her shirt over her head and tossed it aside before starting on her jeans. She twirled freely around her living room, using the bottle of booze as a makeshift microphone while she belted obscene lyrics back into the speakers. It had been ages since she'd danced a night away in nothing but her underwear, sometime back in college. She hardly batted an eye when she bumped over the remnants in her glass after a particularly uplifting tune, the cool mixture of alcohol and ice water seeping into her faded black mom-jeans and sweatshirt. She may have done the same thing three times before learning from her mistakes and resting her drinks down in the center of the coffee table. Unlike the old buzzkill Beth, who would have killed her high in a fit of mopping the mess and tackling the laundry, new Beth, the money-laundering drunk one, decided that she'd deal with it tomorrow. It was a small thrill, yet she soaked it up like soup on bread nonetheless.
With a contented sigh, she made her way to the kitchen in search of a refill. It was all she could do not to scream and hurl the empty bottle at him when she was thrown face to face with a bemused Rio, still sporting the same outfit as before.
"GOD, what are you DOING here?!" He could tell she maybe had had too much when she didn't move to cover her exposed form. He tried not to show how heavily her creamy curves affected him, slipping that signature collected mask over his features. The chuckle rumbled through his chest, a booming sound that doused Beth in fire from the inside out. She was sweating again, for new wholly unwholesome reasons
"Sounded like I was missing one helluva party," he shrugged. With a high brow he ticked his head towards her half naked frame, chocolate eyes bright and shining like a kid at the candy store. Realization dawned upon her, and she sunk to the floor, hugging her knees and hiding her blush in her lap.
"Can you please pass me my shirt," she murmured. He made a grand show of pretending to cover his eyes and peaking through his fingers, simultaneously furthering her embarassment and drawing a nervous giggle from her. Following the shuffling of his shoes on the hardwood, she heard a grunt of disapproval and the wet smack of her outfit back to the floor. Vaguely she was aware of the long whir of a zipper, and she startled a little when she felt his hoodie drape over her shoulders.
"Your clothes are soaking wet," he explained, his face almost shy as she beamed her blue eyes up at him. Beth barked a laugh.
"Now that you're here, that ain't the only thing" she slurred. And the giggles took over, cute, girlish sounds bubbling up from her gut. She scooped a strand of her flaming hair behind her ear before pushing one arm, then the other through the sleeves, sliding the zipper into place. She only fumbled a little, and she let herself smile proudly at her triumph. She didn't see how Rio's eyes tailed the gesture, or the bobbing of his Adams Apple when he tried to swallow the slow burning of desire scraping through him. He briefly wondered if she were bluffing; if he dipped his fingers into her panties would they be wet for him? He gazed down, heavy-lidded and confused, wondering why he had come. Why HAD he come here? He pretended he didn't know the answer, and that the answer wasn't this woman before him.
Instead, Rio offered her a hand, and with surprising elegance she grasped it, pulling herself to her feet. Even when she was up she didn't let go of his hand, her tiny fingers hot against his. She wanted to kiss him with every cell in her body, she wanted to taste his lips, feel them on hers. Feel them on her jaw, her neck, her chest. She craved him lower, and all over, all at once. He stiffened when she stepped into him, and God he wanted her, but not like this. No, he wanted her sober; to know it was him marking her flesh and making her cum, to remember it, his face, his body. It took all his strength and then some to stop her just before their lips touched.
"You've had a lot to drink, Elizabeth," he hissed, the words gushing around the tiny sliver of self-control clenched hard between his teeth. She made a noise, somewhere between a giggle and a moan.
"Not that much," she lied, kissing a wet trail down his neck. He clamped his eyes tight, unable to entirely stifle the groan when Beth nipped at his pulse point, laving over it with her tongue. He really tried not to, but he pictured her mouth other places, and his pants seemed to shrink right where he needed more space. Long, nimble fingers caressed his chest, tender and exploring, and he had to firmly move her backwards as they tried to dip into his jeans.
"Wait-" he started, but the sight of her in almost nothing but his sweater hanging just past the top of her thighs, mussed strawberry hair wild and sexy against her swollen lips, nearly had him undone. "How many drinks have you had."
Beth tried to count back, but the math of the spillage and the dancing and the music still pumping in the next room left her at a loss. She simply shrugged, biting her lip. She peaked at him through her lashes, the sneakiest of smiles flourishing under her lipstick. Dean had had fun, he'd had A LOT of fun, so why shouldn't she? It was no secret she found him attractive. He practically gulped when she began to move her hips, twisting and sliding back towards the living room.
"If you're not going to fuck me," she purred from the doorway "then you at least owe me a dance."
And he knew he was a goner, but he followed her anyways, cursing in what she could only assume was Spanish.
She danced around him, against him, for what felt like hours. Her coy hips snaking about his and coaxing a few tense moves from him. She poured him a drink, and by his second he had loosened up enough to twirl her about the room with grace. He took over as DJ, steady, pulsing beats washing about the room. She realized they were usually singing in Spanish. There was something intoxicating about the exotic feel the language brought over Beth, the way he seemed to relax into the music. She closed her eyes, lost in the moment and the music and his hard chest against her back.
"You're a good dancer," she declared.
"One of many things I can do." Beth laughed at his playful boasting, her rump vibrating beautifully against his hips. They fit so perfectly together, like his body was made to dance on hers. He rested his cheek tenderly on the top of her head, rocking them back and forth to the slow tempo. He gave her a firm squeeze when she made to turn around in his arms, holding her back to him.
"Mm-mm Darlin, I know what those hands can do." He drawled, content just to enjoy the moment. He couldn't see the wicked grin, but damn did he hear it in her voice.
"I don't need to touch you to turn you on, Rio." It was the first time she said his name. She placed her hands over his on her hips, making him feel how she moved and gyrated against him. She let out a breathy moan.
"If I wanted to get you going," she began, her voice entrancing over him as they moved, "I could tell you how hot you make me when you look at me. How I can't get your voice off my mind even after you've yelled at me."
She dropped down slow, tilting her head back against his legs to look up into his eyes. They stared down at her darkly, tense and predatory. When she dipped back up she tilted her head to one side and revealed her neck to him. Tangling her fingers behind his ear she brought his lips to her throat, groaning as he kissed her skin. He gave a low, gutteral growl, fighting tooth and nail against his instincts.
"I could tell you about the night you came when I called you with a necklace." She let out a gasp when he bit her neck, his tongue trailing up to her ear to nibble at the shell. He felt her shudder against him and his breath stuttered.
"I could tell you how I made myself come, again and again picturing your face." He grunted, aching and spiraling out of control. "Picturing you bending me over that couch right there." The grip on her hips was bruising, punishing, wonderful.
"Picturing you pulling my panties aside, slipping in your fingers instead of mine." He palmed the edge of his hoodie at her legs, hesitating. She could feel his erection digging deliciously into her back, and she'd never felt more desirable.
"I could describe how it sounded when I screamed your name when I was done." And then he couldn't fight it anymore, he slid his hands down her thighs, pulling her legs open. He reached around expertly, his fingertips finding no resistance with her lacey, soaked panties. He slicked a finger through her sopping slit, gliding over her protruding clit before plunging two fingers inside.
"God yes," she whispered, choked sobs ripping through her as she tossed her head back against his shoulder. His masterful hands pulled every ounce of pleasure her body had to offer, pausing his fierce rhythm only to walk her towards the couch. And just like she said, he bent her over the sofa with her hands gripping the back for support. He worked her until she was trembling, and had to wrap his free arm around her waist to hold her in place when she tried to shy away from the climax bulldozing through her. He fucked her with his fingers, hard and fast, and he didn't stop until she came again, his name ripping from her throat like a hurricane.