Chapter 20
TWENTY
Sophia
Part of me thought that Eric was kidding – or at least exaggerating – when he told me that he would be back for me, but he’s been here every night that I’ve worked for the past week and a half. Always alone. Always buying out the entire section.
I probably shouldn’t be so eager to spend so much time with him, but it’s so comfortable, and it’s the happiest I’ve been coming to work in longer than I can even remember.
If I have to be somewhere that I hate, at least I can be with someone that I like and not have to worry about being on the menu for the evening if I don’t want to be.
I just get to be...Sophia.
Well, Noelle, I guess.
“Your accent gets thicker when you’re drunk,” I giggle, tossing my feet over Eric’s lap and crossing them at the ankle. “You never did tell me where it’s from.”
“It’s Texas salad.”
I arch a brow at him. “I’m sorry?”
“Texas salad,” he laughs, sipping from his drink. “Little bit of everywhere. I think I was born in Lubbock; somewhere around there, at least. Picked up a little something from everywhere I went: Odessa, Galveston, spent a couple months in Abilene. Then there was Austin and Dallas.”
“You moved around a lot. Military family?”
He shakes his head. “Foster care. Got shipped around a lot, sent back. Didn’t spend more than six months in one place until I got adopted, a couple months after my twelfth ‘birthday.’”
Something shatters in my heart when he tells me that. I always thought of kids being in the system as babies who wouldn’t remember what it was like before they found a permanent family, but twelve? And they sent him back?
“How long were you in the system?” I brave asking him.
“Since I was a couple days old, I think. I was a firehouse baby; too clean to be fresh, but too squishy to be more than a week old.”
He said everywhere that he went. Not everywhere that he lived.
For twelve years, he never lived anywhere.
“That must have been horrible.”
He shrugs, draping his hand over my thigh in a way that sends liquid heat pouring through my veins. “I think I turned out alright.”
His tone is cool, relaxed in a way that makes it hard for me to tell if he just doesn’t want to talk about it anymore, or if he’s really just that fine with where he came from and what I can only imagine he went through.
Maybe he’s just had enough time that it doesn’t hurt anymore.
I’ll drag it out of him one of these days.
Extending my arms toward the table and making a grabbing gesture with my hands, I put on my best pout. “Drink please?”
Eric throws me a sideways look, shaking his head and pulling his lips together to try to keep from smiling as he reaches forward to grab the bottle of champagne from the table and hand it to me. “You’re something else,” he tells me.
“I’m adorable.”
I haven’t been this happy to be at work in so long.
I actually look forward to coming in now, simply because I know that Eric will be here, at his table, waiting for me.
I know that there will be no pressure to be anyone other than myself, or to do anything that I don’t want to do.
I know that I’ll be safe. I still worry, somewhere deep in the back of my mind, that Nash will show up and kick him out or even transfer me to a different club because he gets off on us not enjoying our time here – something that will make the other shoe drop.
I’ve been in self-preservation mode for so long that when I walk up these stairs and see him every night that I’m here, it feels like I’m being given an oxygen mask. It’s like I can finally take a deep breath without choking on some hidden toxin hanging in the air around me.
I feel Eric tense before I see the reason why.
Ethan’s blond head bobs up the stairs and he heads straight for us, inspecting each section in a way not unlike I did when I first saw the VIP section cleared out.
As he rounds the corner, I throw my legs off of Eric’s lap, reaching for an empty flute to performatively pour champagne into.
“I thought you said all of the tables were bought out,” Ethan says as he approaches.
Eric doesn’t give me a chance to speak before saying, “They were. I don’t like to share space with people I don’t know.”
That might be the only lie that I’ve ever heard come out of his mouth.
“Do you want a drink?” I interject, holding the flute out to Ethan, and Eric shoots me a look as if to ask who the girl in front of him is and what the fuck did she do with Sophia...Er, with Noelle.
But the truth is, I know that I’m in the wrong.
I know that I should not be sitting here alone every night with the guy that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about since the day that I met him.
I know that I shouldn’t be letting him touch me, I shouldn’t be touching him, even if we’re not doing anything physical together.
I should be staying far away from him, because whatever exists between us goes so far beyond being physical; the feelings that I have for him could not be further from platonic.
But he sees me.
He knows me.
He is safe.
“No, I don’t want a goddamn drink, Sophia,” Ethan hisses, and I cringe at the sound of my real name dripping off of his tongue like a poison. “I want to know what the fuck you’re doing with this guy. Is he buying time with you every night?”
“Alright,” Eric says, bringing himself to a standing position.
His tone is dark; warning. His six-foot-six frame towers over Ethan’s.
“This is the one and only time I’m gonna warn you about speaking disrespectfully to her.
” He moves around the table so fluidly, it’s almost like an art form, until his body is practically touching Ethan’s.
“She’s at work, and now you’re bothering her.
So what you’re gonna do is apologize, then turn your little ass around and walk out of here before this gets ugly. ”
“Sophia,” Ethan says past him, “are you serious?”
“I’m working, Ethan,” I sort of, kind of, definitely lie. “Nash will kill me if you make a scene up here. Can we talk about this when I’m off? I’ll call you.”
Eric’s body tenses again, his fists visibly balling in the pockets of his dark wash jeans, the cords in his arms flexing with the motion. So that animalistic side of him that I love so much doesn’t just come out in the bedroom - or in the alleyway. It comes out when he’s feeling protective, too.
He feels protective over me.
My heart shouldn’t skip a beat over that, but…
Tense moments pass while the two of them have a silent standoff – no words need to be said between them, their body language and the hatred burning behind each of their eyes speak volumes more than any words could ever convey.
“I’ll call you,” I repeat, “I promise.”
Ethan barely gives me a second glance as he huffs, quickly turning his body away, and he heads for the stairs to the exit, his feet padding angrily against the floor as he moves.
My heart slams against my ribcage with the force of a malfunctioning jackhammer while Eric settles back into his seat. He reaches for me, grabbing onto my hips and lifting me like it’s nothing, settling me firmly onto his lap as if I belong there.
Part of me thinks that I do.
His tongue drags from my shoulder to the crook of my neck, and he brings his teeth to my skin with a gentle, but still firm, bite. “Sophia?”
“Noelle is my middle name,” I admit, closing my eyes at the contact of his teeth. “I didn’t want to give my real name to a one night stand.”
“How’d that one work out for ya?” He teases.
His hand trails over my thigh, the featherlight touch against my skin taunting and tormenting me, making me squirm. Through his jeans, I can feel his cock stiffen beneath me, and memories of our time together flood my mind.
“It didn’t,” I whimper as his hand rests between my legs, his fingers tracing lines over my pussy through my bodysuit in torturous precision.
This is my animal. The predator is ready to hunt his prey. He’s ready to lay claim to me.
Against my better judgment, I let my hips slowly rock against him, my ass grinding on his cock while forcing pressure against his fingertips.
Those same fingers head for the hem of the bodysuit, slipping beneath it, and I hear a satisfied chuckle from Eric as he trails those fingers over my pussy, slipping between my lips.
“Getting in trouble gets you hot, huh,” he taunts. “Look at you, Sugar, you’re soaked.”
“No,” I pant, “I’ve been wet since you got here. Every night, as soon as I see you—”
I let out a moan as he slides a finger inside of me, curling it to meet my most sensitive spot, giving the perfect pressure in the most perfect rhythm, and I have to stop myself from clamping my thighs together, because I know that I should not be letting this happen.
But he knows my body so well; he knows exactly where to move, exactly how to pace himself, and exactly how much to give me to send me into orbit. It’s like while we were in Mexico, he wasn’t just fucking me; he was memorizing me from the inside out.
Withdrawing his finger, he moves to toy with my clit, running his fingers down either side of it and bringing them together to trace circles exactly where I need them before slipping the pair of them inside of me.
“This pussy’s still mine,” he reminds me with his mouth pressed to my ear. “Even if you’re lending it to someone else.”
I whimper, my breath growing heavy, and I rock my hips against him, earning a groan in response.
“Don’t you dare stop,” I pant.
“I already told you I’m not into edging,” he teases with a chuckle as he beckons pleasure closer from inside of me.
I reach behind me, grabbing onto his hip while I grind against him, biting my lip hard to keep from crying out – not that anyone but the bouncer near the stairs would be able to hear me, but I really would rather keep this as private as possible. This isn’t a client, this is…
“Eric,” I whine, the pressure inside of me building to an almost unbearable level.