The Bad Boy Next Door: Lance & Chastity (24 page)

To my surprise, we’re so busy all week, we don’t have time for work sex.

We make up for it every night at Lance’s house after Mr. McKnight is in bed. We use condoms every time. If Mr. McKnight hears us having sex, he never says anything, but he must know. I can’t imagine what my Mom would be like if she knew we were having sex in her house. Actually, I can. She’d find a priest to exorcise me. People and their differences are fascinating.

Fortunately, my period comes on like clockwork on Friday. Lance and I breathe a sigh of relief and vow to be more careful.

On Sunday, I start the pills we got at Planned Parenthood. I also skip church. It’s just a coincidence. I think.

Anyway, for the first time since Dad moved out, I don’t go to Sunday Service with Mom and Charity. It feels really weird not to. I consider it. Lance even offers to go. But I just can’t do it. I don’t want to face Mom or Mr. Molton. Later that day, I find out through Charity that Mr. Molton’s son Caden is okay. He had a concussion, but it wasn’t serious. What a relief. I still don’t want to see Mr. Molton. Or his wife Amy. He must’ve told her he caught me having sex. I know her. She works at the shop all the time and would want an explanation as to why he fired me. What else other then the truth would be believable? Even the truth seems ridiculous unless you were there. Amy probably didn’t believe it at first. I hate to imagine the look on her pious face when she finally accepted it. Disgust. Yeah, no. Skip that.

The next week goes by just as quick. Working for Lance is non-stop work. Who would’ve thought? But I love every second of it. Lance is the best boss ever.

And the sexiest.

The following Wednesday, Lance walks in after lunch wearing an impeccable silver suit with a vest, no tie, and a white button down shirt open at the collar.

Sex beast! I didn’t think Lance could do dress up. I goggle, “Where’d you get that suit?”

“Picked it up at my tailor today.”

“It looks… incredible.”

“I’d fuck him,” Beaver says.

Lance smirks, “You’d fuck a knothole.”

“That’s why they call me Beaver!” He bucks his front teeth over his lower lip and makes this rapid fire beaver clucking sound with his tongue before turning back to his computer.

I laugh. After going on two weeks, I like the guy. He’s sex obsessed, but he’s harmless.

“You look fucking hot,” Lance says to me.

“You told me to dress rock and roll.” I’m wearing a black crop top and black leather skirt with my knee high black biker boots.

Lance says to me, “We have two presentations this afternoon.”

“Is that why you’re all dressed up?”

“Yup. You ready to meet your first investor?”

“
My
investor? I’m just your assistant!”

“You kidding? The more money I make, the more money you make. If we get an investor on board and my next video blows up, I’ll double your salary.”

“Double? That’s eighty grand! I think that’s more than my Dad makes.”

“What can I say? You proved yourself last week.”

“All I did was organize your office. Nobody gets paid eighty grand for filing and answering the phones.”

“You can be the first. Anyway, that’s all an if. If we get money for the video. If it blows up. If, if, if.” His tone hints at the hidden stress he must be carrying.

I’m afraid to ask. I don’t want to burst the fantasy bubble just yet. We’re on a roll and I’d like to keep it that way. And besides, the outfits are real. The office is real. Lance is real. The work is real. So what am I worrying about?

“Anyway,” he sighs. “We need to nail this meeting if we want to get money. We better leave now if we wanna beat traffic.”

Micah drives us in his Mini Cooper. Beaver snores in the front passenger seat. Lance and I are in the back. Lance barely fits in the small seat, but he holds my hand the entire drive.

As we pass under the 405 heading west on the 10, I ask, “How come Beaver is here? He should be home sleeping.”

“In case we have a problem with the video.”

“And me? What should I do at the meeting?”

“Take notes. Listen. Watch people for anything I might miss. I don’t know how many people will be in the room.”

“I can handle that.”

“That’s why I hired you.” His eyes drop to my cleavage. “And look hot.”

I blush. “I’ll do my best.”

“You’re doing fine from where I’m sitting. Mmm, mmm.” He reaches over and taps Beaver’s shoulder. “Hey. Beaver. You gonna be awake during the meeting?”

Beaver snorts, “Huff?” Then resumes snoring.

Lance chuckles. “Fucking Beaver.”

I have the best job ever.

++++8++++

CHASTITY

No.

No, no, no.

No to Lance’s idea for his video, no to the song, and no to the money. That’s all we hear all day.

At the first meeting in Santa Monica at a major talent agency, the guys in suits with the manicured nails sitting across from us at the boardroom table in the meeting room aren’t interested. They think Lance’s song is derivative and the market is over saturated with EDM. If Lance had come to them with this idea a year ago, they said, then maybe. But not now.

“That went well,” Lance grunts over lunch at the Third Street Promenade.

The second meeting is the opposite. A recording studio just off Wilshire Boulevard near the beach. The investors are casual, wearing shorts and T-shirts like they were just surfing and they all say “dude” a lot. They also say Lance’s concept is too different. Too out there. They don’t think the target demographic will get it. Not what I expected from their casual surfer attitude.

When we walk to Micah’s car, Lance looks at me across the roof. “Really, dude?
Really?
Too out there? Dude?”

I snicker at how Lance is mimicking the investor’s overuse of the word dude.

He flashes a smile.

Beaver says groggily, “Your video needs tits. Lots of bouncing tits.”

“Shut the fuck up, Beaver,” Lance laughs.

“Who doesn’t like tits?” Beaver asks himself as we all climb into the car. “Do you not like tits, Chaz?” he asks me when we’re inside.

“I like mine.”

Beaver twists in his seat. “Lance, I’m telling you! Tits!”

“You can’t have tits in a YouTube video.” Lance is actually taking him seriously.

“Pasties. Like at a rave.”

“America is afraid of bouncing boobs, nipples or not.”

“America loves tits.They just won’t admit it. Wait and see. The twenty-first century will be the century of the tit. Breasts everywhere. Look at what Chaz is wearing.”

He’s right. My new black bra is visible beneath my short sleeve Lurex crop top.

“See?” Beaver says confidently. “Tits.”

Lance grumbles, “Stop staring at her tits, Beaver.”

“Just saying. Your video needs more tits. It doesn’t have to be Chaz’s tits. Any tits will do. Although hers are pretty spectacular…” He says it seriously, like he’s solving a math problem, not lusting after mine.

I snicker.

Micah laughs, “Beaver, you need a girlfriend.”

“I’ve got plenty.” Beaver frowns and folds his arms across his chest before going to sleep.

Back at the office, Beaver goes home.

Micah says, “Do you guys mind if I mix on the monitors?”

“Um…” I don’t know what he means.

Lance says, “He wants to use the speakers instead of headphones. I don’t care. Raise the roof.”

“Yeah,” I smile. “Go right ahead.”

Micah sits at his Mac and goes to work editing one of Lance’s songs. The music is loud and the beat thumps through the floor, shaking the entire building.

“Office,” Lance says to me.

I jog up the stairs.

When the glass door closes behind us, it mutes Micah’s monitors, but the music still booms through the room.

“I need to fuck,” Lance grunts, shrugging off his suit jacket and dropping it on his executive chair. He unbuttons his vest and rips it off. “Strip.” His brutal tone is shocking and his eyes scorch me like I’m his victim.

Um, no? How is this in any way acceptable behavior? More importantly, why am I peeling my top off without a second thought?

“Now the skirt.” He loosens his cuffs, removing cufflinks which he tosses on the corner of the desk.

His insistence fires my irritation. I throw my top in his face. “Make me.”

He catches the top and tosses it behind him. It bounces off the interior window and falls to the floor.

“Be careful you don’t run over my top with your chair. The Lurex is delicate and you paid good money for it.”

He snorts a laugh and practically tears his dress shirt off without unbuttoning it and throws it on his vest. “Strip, Pink. I’m going to fuck you until you scream.”

Does he mean good scream or bad scream? I
should
hope he means the former but I
want
him to mean the latter. I am perverse. Why am I so turned on by his restrained rage? I bend down to unzip my motorcycle boots.

“Leave the boots on.”

“Okay then.” I stand up and unzip my leather skirt and shimmy it over my hips, stepping out of it. All that’s left is bra, panties, and boots. I plant my hands on my hips and my elbows flare. “Now what, your highness?”

“Dance.”

“Um, sorry. Not gonna happen.”

“Dance, Pink. Now.”

I fold my arms across my bra. “Sorry, your highness. I hate to break it to you, but I have zero experience. The only dance I know is the funky chicken. Or maybe the happy dance. So whatever sort of stripper fantasy your hoping to fulfill right now? Not. Gonna. Happen.”

His eyes burn. “Don’t make me come around this desk.” He’s not joking. He’s frightening.

“How about square dancing?” I squeak, afraid. “I did that in grade school. I can do-si-do.” I put my arms out in front of me in the do-si-do pose and step lively in a circle. Then I stick my elbow out and call, “Swing your partner!” I start giggling and stop dancing, bending over with my hands on my naked knees. I can’t decide if I think he’s ridiculous for acting this way or if he’s scaring me with his glare. Probably both.

His eyes smolder with pent up fury. Then he
almost
cracks, a flash of a smile, but it’s gone just as quick.

“Sorry,” I laugh. “You’re making me nervous. So I’m cracking jokes.”

“Feel the music.”

“Micah keeps starting and stopping it.” At the moment, it’s silent, but I swear he’s played the same ten seconds over and over at least ten times.

Lance turns around and rips the indoor window open and yells downstairs. “Micah!”

“Yeah?” he hollers.

Lance stares at me as he continues yelling down to Micah. “Leave the music playing.”

“I’m editing, Lance. Do you want me to put cans on so you don’t have to hear it?”

“No. Leave it loud and take a break. I don’t want you back here for an hour.”

“You sure? I’ve got plenty left to do. I was hoping to finish before eight so I could take Shiloh out to dinner tonight. We won’t have time for a movie after if I take an hour break now.”

Lance is obviously frustrated. “Leave the fucking music playing and leave. Go take Shiloh out early. And see a movie. On me. Bring the receipts back so I can expense it. But I don’t wanna see you here until tomorrow. Got it?”

“Yeah! Thanks, man!” Micah is obviously happy about it. “Shiloh will be stoked! Laters, people!”

“Bye!” I holler.

“Later, Chaz!”

The music booms through the studio a moment later, much louder with the window open.

Lance’s face darkens like he’s going to eat me alive.

Chapter 18

CHASTITY

“Dance,” Lance commands.

“I told you, I suck at dancing.”

“Feel the music.”

I slump my shoulders for a second. “Okay. I’ll try.”

I start moving, picturing all the sexy dance videos I’ve watched in secret over the years. Beyoncé, Britney Spears, Shakira. But it’s not like I studied their moves. Lark and I just jumped around to the songs like idiots. We weren’t exactly trying to master dancing.

Lance sits in his chair, feet up on the desk, hands behind his head. Is he enjoying himself? Or is he just irritated?

Who knows.

I twist and gyrate and move my hips as best I can. The next thing I know I’m breathing hard from the effort. I’m so busy dancing, I forget about Lance, but I’m completely focused on doing a good job. I want to impress him as much as he’s impressed me since day one. I don’t want him to see me as the innocent church girl I am. I want to be dirty and slutty and his perfect fantasy. Too bad I have nearly zero experience in that department. Wait, that’s not true. My mind drifts back to all the dirty things we’ve done since he first kissed me. I lose myself in the moment and I get a little bit turned on. I just hope Lance likes this.

When the song finishes and I plant my hands on the edge of his desk and flip my hair up over my head, he’s sitting there glaring at me. Now his arms are folded across his chest.

I frown. “Are you even enjoying this? I’m trying to do a good job.” And failing. Why does this make me want to cry? Because I feel like a failure as a woman? Oh yeah. That. It almost makes me mad, but I’m too confused to be angry. Just frustrated. “What am I doing wrong, Lance?”

“Stop asking questions.” He sits up suddenly and I jump back from the desk. He steeples his fingers in front of him. “Touch yourself.”

“I just was. When I was dancing.”

“You’re going to make yourself come for me. I’m not going to lift a finger.”

“Don’t be such a stick in the mud.”

“Touch. Your. Self.”

“Fine. Be like that. But you’re not getting any of this tonight.” I motion at my crotch with hands like blades.

His devil’s grin curls. “I make the rules, Chastity. You do what I say.”

I’m not your property, Lance!! I’m not your whore!! I’m not your possession!! You don’t control me!! This is messed up!! You need therapy!! Like, years’ worth!! What is wrong with you?!
My chest heaves as I think these thoughts. But not one leaves my lips. I push my panties down and fight with them as they tangle in the buckles of my boots. Stupid panties! But I get them off and throw them at him but they miss. Then I unhook my bra and throw that at him too.