Gigi made me feel light. I didn’t know how to explain it. I’d never been good with words, but it was like she lifted something off of my chest and I breathed so free around her. Maybe it was because she had no idea about the shit I’d seen in my life. She probably couldn’t even imagine it. And the way she looked at me, so radiant and full of hope, it was like suddenly I could start to see the sunshine, too.
Maybe things could be better. Maybe I could make a fresh start, not just escape all the violence and pass the time with these bouncer and security jobs but find something I liked doing and do it well. I’d always wanted to be a firefighter. I’d never even mentioned it to anyone. It was the kind of job the guys I’d grown up with would make fun of. Who’d want to get paid peanuts to drive around town rescuing cats and carting old people off to the ER?
I did, that’s who. I knew how to defuse dangerous situations. I’d been surrounded by them my whole life. I could lift and haul and run and rescue all at the same time if I needed to do it. And who knew, maybe I could even help a few people out? It would never undo all the shit I’d already done, all the drug deals and gun sales and straight-out murders I’d aided and abetted through my association. It didn’t matter that most of it had happened when I was still a minor. I’d done it. I’d watched evil, vile shit go down and then helped the bad guys get away.
But maybe it wasn’t too late to become one of the good guys? It happened in movies. With Gigi, I felt like anything was possible.
I let a few more people into the club, turned a couple of fall-down drunk guys away. Then my phone sounded again.
* * *
Gigi: How’s my favorite bouncer? Seen any really bad fake IDs tonight?
* * *
Dom: None as bad as yours.
* * *
Gigi: I turn 19 next week, thank you very much.
* * *
Dom: 19 isn’t 21. Next time I’m going to have to turn you away.
* * *
My phone went silent for a while, enough to make me wonder. Sometimes you could misread the tone in a text. There wasn’t any way she’d thought I was serious? But then she got back to me.
* * *
Gigi: Sorry, I just got a weird text.
* * *
Dom: From who?
* * *
Gigi: Brock.
* * *
My blood pumped quick with rage.
* * *
Dom: Block that fucker. What did he say?
* * *
It took her another couple of minutes before she responded.
* * *
Gigi: Doesn’t matter. He’s blocked now.
* * *
That did it. I was going to start keeping more of an eye on that dipshit. People kept giving that crazy fucker a pass because his father owned half of New York. The fights he’d started at the country club alone would have gotten him banned for life any other place. But his father was on the board, so all he got was a gentle slap on the wrist. Not any more. I’d make sure Brock was kept on a short leash, especially around Gigi. I really didn’t like the thought of her all alone in that big house. Guess I’d have to be stopping by to check on her more often. I liked the sound of that.
* * *
§
* * *
The next night I had to work and she had some party she had to attend, but I called her as I was heading out even though it was late.
“Did I wake you up?” I asked. Her voice sounded all warm and husky and I could picture her stretched out on her bed.
“No. I was just lying here, thinking about you.”
I liked how this conversation was starting. “Is that right? Are you there all by yourself?”
“No, my brother Colt showed up this afternoon. He’s here for the next couple days.”
Had I not liked the idea of her being left alone? I now wanted to revise that thought. I wanted her alone so I could join her. Cock-blocked by her brother, that sucked. But we still had the phone.
As I drove home, she told me about her night. She had some friend who was far gone over a guy. The guy liked her around but never wanted to get serious. I’d seen that a whole lot of times and it never seemed to go so well for the girl.
“Tell her to move on,” I advised, pulling into my apartment and climbing up the stairs. “Find some guy who likes her back.”
“I know!” she agreed. “I’ve told her a million times. But she’s stuck on him.”
I guessed I knew how that felt. You could tell yourself that something didn’t make sense, but if you were stuck on someone logic didn’t mean squat.
I walked into my bedroom, closed the door and it seemed to me there was only one place this conversation was going to go.
“Are you working on what I told you?” I asked, sitting and resting back against the headboard of my bed.
She laughed with that light sparkle, but I could also hear an edge of nervousness. I knew I was a bad guy for a lot of reasons, but one of them was how much that nervousness turned me on. I liked surprising her, pushing her boundaries, making her wonder what was coming next. She had so much to learn.
“I don’t really know what I’m doing,” she admitted, quiet.
I licked my lips, picturing her there on her bed. “That’s why you need to practice,” I instructed her, unbuttoning my jeans. “Now, I want you to do something. I want you to slip a finger down to your pretty pussy. Can you do that for me, Gigi?”
I could hear the hitch in her breathing at my dirty words. She liked it when I talked to her that way, even as it shocked her.
“Yes,” she said softly. I heard some rustling, maybe her kicking out of her sheets so she could gain access.
“Now think about what I did to you at the beach. Do you remember?”
“Yes.” Her voice sounded lower, and I could picture her heavy-lidded, her hand down between her thighs. I unzipped my fly and eased my jeans down my hips. My cock strained at my briefs and I palmed it through the cotton, feeling the urgency in me build.
“Are you thinking about what I did to you?” I asked, sliding my hand down, skin against skin, imagining it was her hand doing it. She’d be tentative but so eager.
“Yes,” she sighed.
“Are you touching yourself, Gigi?” I demanded.
“Yes,” she confessed.
“Good. Slide your finger in and out. In and out. Are you doing that?” I worked my cock up and down as I talked to her, picturing sliding into her heaven, so slick, so tight and hot.
“Mmmm.” Her soft moan gave me my answer. She was following my instructions.
“You’re a good student, Gigi. I can tell,” I praised her. I could hear her breathing through the phone, her little pants as she worked herself. “You want to please your teacher, don’t you?” I asked her.
“Yes,” she moaned. I could tell she liked admitting it to me. Oh, the things I could get her to need and want. She had no idea what a good girl she could be for me.