Chapter 24
twenty-four
LOCKE
The music becomes muffled. Rosie slamming the bathroom door shut might be the reason, but I think the mix of adrenaline and anxiety has some part in it too.
“Holy shit,” I say between deep, uneven breaths.
Now that we’re away from the ringing music and large crowds, the full weight of what happened crashes into me.
I’m still high on the thought of what I did and why I did it, but my mind has trouble grasping the experience.
“Holy shit. I can’t believe I just did that. ”
“Take a second, love.”
I’m trying. I push myself to focus on Rosalie tenderly rubbing my hands between hers, but the mix of emotions is still overwhelming. Both good and bad. The room is spinning and my heart is about to explode.
Everything rushes into my brain. The words I said. The image of Jeremiah standing there. The phones held up at eye-level while we weaved out of the mob.
The dawning realization of what might come next adds fuel to the fire.
“I just cursed a guy out in a club and someone definitely has a recording of it.”
“I don’t think ‘cursed out’ is the right phrasing but…”
She trails off. My mind is honed in on the high likelihood of a video. Even if someone didn’t know who I was, the attention we had on us was enough. There’s definitely a recording.
Said recording could be uploading right now. It could reach my father in mere hours. The uneasiness of wondering what he might say feels too familiar. I wait for the next step in the cycle.
After anxiety takes hold of my brain, stressing about the punishment usually comes next. Then, there’s regretting every decision I’ve made. After that, it’s coming up with an excuse he won’t accept anyways.
I wait. I sit with my anxiety. The loud EDM music continues bumping through the walls—though its subdued sound is more calming than pulsating. When the song changes, I realize my breathing has steadied, and the world’s brightest smile is shining up at me.
There are no anxious feelings of “What next?”. I’m afraid of what my father will say, but not enough to regret everything that happened outside that door.
“Holy shit. I can’t believe I just did that.” I repeat myself, more stable this time.
“How do you feel? Is your breathing okay?” Rosalie releases my hand to place hers on my chest.
I nod. “Better. The anxiety is going down. The adrenaline is still there.”
“Good. That’s the good stuff,” She jokes while wiggling her eyebrows. It pulls a laugh out of me. “Thank you, Locke. For sticking up for me and saying something. For being there.”
“You don’t need to thank me for that. No one should put you in that situation to begin with.”
“I know, but it must have taken a lot for you to say something. Being assertive like that isn’t something you necessarily… do.”
I hum. I’ve never doubted that Rosalie knows me, but this proves it on a deeper level.
She sees every version of me—even past ones, before she was in my life.
I don’t think Locke from three months ago would dare step in a club.
Let alone call attention to himself by getting into an argument.
At a bar. With someone who knows of my father.
“I didn’t. But it felt right. I had to say something,” I whisper, my volume dropping. “Was it okay? What I said, I mean. Did I… defend you well?”
My hands reach out to adjust my glasses. Rosie’s eyes soften.
“You did amazing. I’m so lucky to have you. But, how do you feel?”
I focus on breathing. My heart feels calm. Anxiety is settling to a level that’s bearable. If I don’t think about it too hard, I think it’ll go away. The adrenaline still lives in my blood, and that reminds me of how euphoric standing up for something is.
I’ve never had a shot of bravery before this. Even with the inevitable consequences considered, overall, I feel good. I understand why people get hooked on this feeling.
Through the adrenaline, I get ahold of my bearings.
The bathroom isn’t anything fancy. The walls are clean, mostly—aside from the random graffitied phone numbers and song lyrics here and there.
The detached sink faucet laying across the dingy counter is the only indicator as to why the bathroom is out-of-order.
With my neck no longer tight with tension, I take everything in. The room’s interior is one thing. The slow, methodic back-and-forth of Rosie’s hands on my torso is another.
I gulp. “Still reeling from everything, but I’m starting to feel good After the worries start fading away... you’re right. Only the good stuff is left.”
She nods and moves her right hand to my chest. “Heart feeling okay too?”
I don’t know if she means for it to sound so sultry. The club’s music has shifted from experimental EDM to remixed R&B, and her tilted smile matches the switch too well. Vibrations from the slower bass crawl their way over my skin and emphasize where our bodies meet.
“Heart still needs to calm down,” I mumble. “How do you feel?”
Selfishly, I’m asking for more reasons than curiosity.
The green blazer of my costume starts to feel suffocating.
“After seeing you out there, like that?” Her left hand traces the waist band of my slacks. “You don’t want to know how I feel.”
She might be trying to make the anxiety fade away quicker. Maybe she’s just teasing me for the fun of it. I’ve learned she likes to do that. Maybe it’s all in my head and Rosalie doesn’t realize how easily she can turn me into putty in her hands.
She grips my waist band tighter, pulling me closer, and I drown in want. It’s become so common since meeting Rosalie, I’ve started to wear it like a second skin. It’s easy to get lost in her and forget about anything else.
Rationally, I check over my shoulder to check the door. Once I see the metal turned sideways, I throw that rationality out the window.
One hand wraps around her waist, pulling her flush against me so she can feel exactly what she does to me. How quickly she can light a fire under my skin. The other grips the back of her neck, rubbing harsh circles into the muscles just like I’ve learned she loves.
Her body responds immediately, pressing herself to me. Throat producing a high whine that flies straight to my dick.
“Now? Here?”
I yank the back of her hair. Just slightly, so she knows I’m asking out of clarification, not nerves. If getting roughed in a club is what she wants, then that’s what she’ll get.
Rosalie lets out breathy sigh and I grip her waist tighter. “Not everything.” Her hands hurriedly find the metal of my belt loop. “Just let me suck you off, please. I’ve been wanting it since you put this fucking suit on and I can’t wait any longer.”
Every piece of fabric becomes suffocating. The lustful glaze of her expression envelopes me, begging me to fold at the one request, but I look at the tattered tiles on the floor and wince.
“Princess, not here. You can’t kneel on this bathroom floor.”
“I don’t care about the floor.” She makes quicker work of my belt, whining and writhing like she needs me more than she wants me. I throw my head back and groan. “Please, Locke. I want it so fucking bad.”
The bass rocking through the walls is the only indication that music is still playing. I don’t hear any of it. Every piece of me is hyper focused on Rosie, her round, parted lips, and the glossy look in her eyes.
“I want it. Please.”
When she reaches her hand under the fabric of my pants and moans the words out, I don’t have the willpower to deny her again.
The first night we had sex, she made it clear that I haven’t been performing to the best of my abilities. Assuming I’d be quiet or reserved is understandable. I don’t mind that she imagined that version of me.
It was the fact that she doubted I could provide her fantasies.
She didn’t understand how deep my need to please her goes.
If Rosalie wanted an awkward, stumbling guy to boss around between the sheets, I would give her that.
If she asked for me to bring out some toys and work them over her skin, I wouldn’t hesitate.
We just happen to be on the same page about every sexual preference. Rosalie likes being dominated and brought to pleasure. I like seeing her pleased. The gratification of dominating her is a plus.
I work quickly to fulfill her wishes but keep still treat her like a princess. I throw my suit jacket off, fold it into layers, and place it on the ground in front of me.
“Kneel.”
She listens. Drops to the floor without a question and stares at me through her thick lashes. Rosie looks so happy and content, patiently waiting for me to give her what she wants. Just the thought of pleasing her makes every second more charged.
“Only because you asked. Any other time, I’d be bending you over that sink and working you with my tongue three times over.”
The leather of Rosie’s dress squeaks. Shifting, she takes my cock out of their restraints with her right hand, and her left gets lost between her thighs.
“I know. Thank you.” The small sentence is hummed against the base of my cock. It starts there, but travels everywhere else—through my spine and up into my scalp. Yanking my head backwards in a moan.
“Same rules still apply,” I grit out while holding one hand over her cheek. “You come first. Can you do that with just your hand, Princess?”
I wait for her to say no. Part of me hopes she does. An excuse to get her through an orgasm with my mouth or my fingers.
“I got it. I’ve fingered myself while imagining you before. I’ll probably come quicker while looking at the real thing.” The image of her blissed-out expression flashes across my mind right when she licks over the tip of my cock. “Unbutton your shirt. I want to see.”
I move one hand to the top button. The other, still resting on her cheek, taps twice onto the skin, and she drops her mouth open obediently.