A Bitch In Time (Marina: Part One: Naughty Nookie Series) (8 page)

A yelp escapes me, my body
bucks at the rough treatment and the water splashes against the bathtub and
cascades over the side.  Four more times he jabs me with his shaft, four
more times his fingers bite down painfully against my clit and sick witch that
I am, a climax howls through me with the strength of the North wind as it sends
cold bursts of air down my spine making the molten heat of my cunt seem all the
more fierier.

Wailing with the strength of
it, I grip the side of the bath with my one hand and arch my back and then, the
piece de resistance.  He nuzzles down against my shoulder and bites. 

I feel my flesh give way to
his teeth, not enough to draw blood, but enough to sting and another howl
floods the room as he slams into me. 

Now I’ve cum, he uses my pussy
roughly.  Impaling me on his shaft, sending my cunt into tingling
overdrive.  As his hips slam into mine, his cock wrestling through the
clinging, pulsating walls of my sex, I cum again. 

The back-to-back orgasm is a
weird combination.  It both drains and energizes me.  My entire body
feels like it’s soaring through the sky and as his cock shoots his load deep
inside me, my hungry, ravenous self feels very much at a peaceful
stalemate. 

His hips jerk and twitch as he
comes down from the high.  The gentle rocking motion seems to be of his
body’s volition and not his own.  As he gently fucks me, my pussy milks
his cock dry.  Willingly accepting every drop. 

With his lips, he soothes the
area he’d just bitten.  He tongues it, prodding it with the tensile muscle
and I let him, keeping my eyes closed and my forehead pressed to my hand.

He grabs my hip with his free
hand, the one that tortured my clit and rubs slightly.  “Marina?  You
okay, baby?”

When I don’t reply, he shakes
me a little.  “Marina?”

I mumble sleepily and nuzzle
deeper into my hand.

I hear his faint chuckle and a
soft smile lifts my lips as I feel his gentle touch against my pussy.  He
washes me; I can feel the bar of hotel soap sliding down between the lips of my
sex sending shots of painful pleasure along my limbs.  A grunt escapes me,
but he ignores it, intent on cleaning me up.  I can hear his own faint
grunt, as he tidies himself up and then, I’m being lifted out of the cooling
water.  Patted dry, I’m once again lugged into his arms before being
planted on to the bed. 

Nate doesn’t even have a
chance to climb in beside me, before the lights in my head go out.

I knew Nate would do the
trick.

There are no thoughts,
literally not one, wriggling through my mind.

Who needs medication to get
you to sleep, when you’ve a guy like Nate in your bed?

I should have realized how
deep my feelings for Nate were a long time ago.  In fact, I’m kind of
horrified at my ignorance.   This last week, I’ve really been knocked
off my pedestal, because I’m only just coming to realize how much of a dick
I’ve been.

There is no feeling comparable
to the one, where I wake up beside Nathan Conroy.  The quality of my sleep
is ten times better than it is, when I’m alone and at home.  The simple
knowledge I can reach across the bed and touch him must do something to my
insides.  Why else would I feel so rested and replete this morning? 

Sure, the orgasms might have
something to do with it.  But I burnt a lot of energy last night. 
Some parts of me should be flagging.  Instead, I feel like I’ve been dosed
with a syringe of caffeine.  Vitality zips through me like an ant on
cocaine but it doesn’t make me leap off the bed, instead I roll on to my side
and touch him.  I rest my hand on his flat belly and my skin tingles with
the heat he emits.  Hell, he’s like having central heating in the
bed.  Not the best of assets to have in a heat wave, but back home… in the
middle of a snowstorm?  He’d be all you need in a power-cut.

How long I sat there, just
enjoying the peace of the morning with only the sounds of Nate’s breathing to
break up the silence, I couldn’t really say.  I just reveled in the
nothingness of the moment.  Somehow, that made it all the momentous.

I’ve been a hard woman for
most of my life.  I had to be.  For survival.  The
IQ Commune
,
while a safe haven for geniuses, is a breeding ground of distrust, dislike and
rivalry.  It’s a community; we look out for each other against
outsiders.  But
inside
, it’s a different matter entirely.

Born to two parents who were
more interested in their own genius than their daughter, it was self-defense to
be caustic and distant from other people.  I knew no other way.  My
mother didn’t come and kiss me good night as a baby. My father didn’t give a damn
until my genetics and breeding started to shine through.

There was a brief phase in my
life where I was anything near tender.  But Jimmy’s death ended that.

I love Eddie and Mona. 
I’d kill for them and they’re the only reason I’m doing what I’m doing. 
Heading back to Blue Ridge.  Only for their safety would I do that,
because in Montana, lies heartache.  My past is there.  Like cancer,
it’s waiting for me.  I’ve been lulled into remission and it’s going to
attack the instant my feet touch the ground. 

Tears bite at the backs of my
eyes and I shut them, hoping to stay the moisture, but it doesn’t work.  A
rough finger traces the wetness and I jump in surprise—I thought Nate was still
asleep.  My eyes open and my blurry vision takes in a rather clouded
Nathan.  He’s leaning over me, his face a foot away so I can see the frown
marring his brow as he smoothes the line of my jaw with the damp digit.

“It’s the morning,” he says
and the simplicity of his words makes my eyes sting even more.

I turn my head to the side and
lift an arm to cover a part of my face.  He grabs it, forces it down and
just waits.

“I’ve been so stupid, Nate,” I
whisper, keeping my eyelids shut.  I
can’t
look at him, when I make
the first ever admission that for the last four years, I’ve been running a
brothel.

It’s weird, because I’m proud
of what I’ve been doing.  I’d consider it my highest achievement. 
I’ve taken two dozen women off the streets and I’ve given them a future,
instead of a dead-end present.  Yet, I must still be ashamed, because why
have I never told Eddie or Mona?  Why is it so difficult to tell Nate?

Papillon has been my dirty
little secret for so long.  Breaking it wide open feels like a chasm is
opening up at my feet and Nate is on the brink of pushing me to my doom.

Melodramatic, maybe.  But
I can’t help the way I feel.

“I doubt that.  You
belong at the
IQ Commune
with the rest of them.”

The touch of his fingers
against my cheek is both comforting and disturbing.  It’s a connection I
don’t want to lose and I fear the truth will be its destruction.

My lower lip trembles as I
whisper, “Some people want to kill me.”

Nate’s stillness speaks for
itself and then he sighs.  “I’m going to assume, you’re joking?”

That it’s phrased as a
question, tells me he’s hoping it is a joke.

“I wish.”

“Okay.”  He sucks in a
breath.  “It’s not to do with drugs, is it?”

“No.  I haven’t been that
stupid.”  Taking a leap of faith, I stare at him through tear-laden
lashes.  “It started by accident, Nate.  I was just helping out and
then, it exploded.  We became a success.  I never expected Papillon
would do so well.  None of us did.”

“Papillon?”

“Yeah.  Papillon. 
My brothel.”

More silence and then, Nate
rolls away from me and sits up.  With his back to me, he stares into the
distance.  His spine is curved over, the notches surrounded by muscles
that are tensed and straining with his silent contemplation.  His silent
fury.

Maybe I shouldn’t have blurted
it out that way?  I can’t take the words back and perhaps, it was for the
best.  Better out than in.

“You’re a prostitute?”

The very blandness of his
question makes me flinch.  At that moment, I feel for every single one of
my girls.  This is how it feels to reveal yourself, your job to a
man.  This is how Eloise felt as she divulged all to her Professor. 
And I haven’t even slept with a guy for money.  It feels like a betrayal
to them all, but I’m pathetically relieved I don’t have to make that admission
today.

My relief and shame makes my
retort sharp.  “No!  Of course not.”

“So you managed this brothel?”

This lack of reaction is
making me nervous.  When I thought about telling him, about getting his
advice, I don’t really know what I imagined.  Anger?  Vocal
disapproval?  This seething silence is like watching a pressure cooker on
the brink of explosion. 

Why did I expect anger?

Well, the few girls to have
told their partners about their occupation have always described the man’s wrath
at such knowledge.  Either they’d continue by slating them as whores and
used goods, or like Eloise’s professor, they’d try to get them to stop. 

In my case, it’s a bit
different.  But I think the difference isn’t all that minute. 

No, I haven’t been sleeping
with men for cash, but I’ve been facilitating others and helping them to do
just that.

“The women weren’t underage,
or anything,” I mutter, thinking maybe he believed I’d exploited my girls or
something.  If anything, I saved them from exploitation.  But when
I’m feeling a bit like dog crap on the ground, something nobody wants to look
at or pick up, it’s difficult trying to explain myself.

It’s strange to realize how
often Nate’s and my eyes connect.  Eye contact is important for both of
us.  Until now, with his back to me, his refusal to look at me... it makes
me feel like something beneath his notice.  Undeserving of such a
connection.

Meekness doesn’t sit well with
me.  I’ve done nothing wrong.  Well, not technically.  I didn’t
run some two-bit whorehouse.  My girls were clean, protected,
loved
. 
They were my friends and I cared for them.  I provided for them.  Not
once did I take advantage.  And it’s there that my self-righteous anger
comes to save me.

Judge not
lest ye be judged. 

Yeah, I’m not the most
religious of people, but I know my quotes.

As I climb out of bed, I shrug
off the sheet that has tangled itself about my feet.  Almost stumbling, I
manage to right myself and stalk directly in front of him, so there’s no way he
can’t see me.  I won’t be made to feel ashamed of something I’m proud of.

“Don’t you dare judge me,
Nathan Conroy.  I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“You helped women sell
themselves,” he grits out.

“No.  I saved
them.”  At his snort of disbelief, I glare at him.  “Every single
girl came to me for help.”

“And you think that makes it
better?”

My hands form into fists so
tight my nails dig deep into my palm.  “Yeah, it does.  Their pimps
had beaten them, either that or nearly killed them.  I looked after them. 
Made sure they had medical attention.  Somewhere to sleep without fear of
being beaten again or being murdered or raped in their beds.  I got them
clean; helped them quit coke or heroin or whatever the hell else their pimps
had used to entrap them.”

“Does that make you feel good
about yourself?”

His derision has me hissing,
“I won’t let you make me feel as though I’m the bad guy.”

“You
are
the bad guy.”

“
No!
 I’m
not!  They came to me ̶ I didn’t seek them out.  It’s not like
they weren’t able to make their own decisions; it was their choice to be
there.  I provided them with safety.  If they had to do what they
did, then they were in a controlled environment.”

He keeps his gaze averted from
mine but stands, letting the sheet drop to his feet.  It’s inconceivable
that the pair of us are having this argument in the nude.

Talk about surreal.

But then, this entire
situation is surreal.  Whatever I’d expected from Nate, pleasure wasn’t
one of them but neither was complete condemnation.

A part of me is reeling and
the other is just wondering what the hell to say to make him understand.

I don’t want to explain
myself.  Don’t feel like I should have to, but with Nate’s disdain, huge
cracks seem to be shattering the ground between us.  I don’t want either
of us to topple into it.  Nor do I want to lose Nathan.  Even if that
appears to be a possibility.

“For four years, you’ve kept
this from me.”  With a shake of his head, he strides over to his pants,
where he’d dumped them on the floor last night, and begins to pull them on.

“Yeah, considering your
reaction, I was wise to not tell you.”

“How the hell can I trust you,
when you’ve hidden something like this?  What else have you been
concealing?”

With a sigh, I scrape a hand
through my hair.  “I didn’t mean to hide it.  I haven’t told anyone
about it.  Not even Edwina or Simone know.”

“Is that supposed to make me
feel better?”

“No.”

My bluntness has his eyes
finally connecting with mine.  “So why do ‘some people’ want to kill
you?”  He lifts his hands in mocking air quotes that make me want to smack
him.

“Because the place was too
successful.”

“And that’s why you want to
return home?  Not because of us?  Or what we could have had
together?”

His use of the past tense has
me flinching.  “Well, no.  But what do we have?  Especially if
you think so little of me?  Morally, I feel justified by what I’ve
done.  I’ve encouraged each woman to be what she wants to be.  I’ve
encouraged them to believe they’re capable of more than just being a
prostitute.  Do you know any other madam who encouraged school?  Who
has women in her care with degrees?  Something they only managed, because
of me.  I took them off the streets.  I protected them.”

“And you did it out of the
kindness of your own heart, I guess?”

That makes me flush.  A
mixture of shame and exasperation turns my tone toxic.  “In comparison to
my girls, I earned a fraction of what they did.”

“So, no, then?”

I turn away from him and walk
toward the bathroom.  On the back of the door, there’s a bathrobe and I
pull it on.  By the time I return, he’s fully dressed.  Expecting him
to have walked out, it’s a shock, when he says, “Who wants to kill you?”

“The Russian mafia.”

The stunned silence is worse
than before. 

Swallowing back my nerves, I
stride over to the mini bar and pull out a small bottle of whisky.  I
don’t care it’s only mid-morning; I need the burn of alcohol to ignite some of
the tension curdling in my belly.  I try to open the tiny flask, but the
lid won’t budge.  Feeling like screaming, my sweaty palms twist and turn,
grope and wrench at the tiny metal screw cap.  To no avail.

When Nate appears in front of
me and grabs the bottle, I try to snatch it back but he opens it easily and
presents me with the potent liquor.  In one swallow, I sink back the whole
shot.  It makes me cough, but the buzz of the booze settles pleasantly in
my belly and I retreat to the bed.  Falling backward on to the sheet, I
stare up at the ceiling waiting for more condemnation.

It doesn’t take long.

“And you actually thought you
could return to Blue Ridge with the
Russian mob
at your back?”

Fluttering my eyelids to a
sliver, I wish this scene were over.  I wish I’d never told him the
truth.  “Not many people know about my association with the ranch.”

“The fucking mafia is a whole
different kettle of fish.  You were willing to put everyone in danger,
because of your own foolish actions.  You go to Montana and they’ll just
come after you.  These guys don’t fuck around.  If they want something,
then they get it.”