16. Georgia
Chapter 16
Georgia
M y thighs were still trembling after I left his house. I felt deliciously spent, and my eyelids were heavy. Counting on one hand (and one finger) of my sexual encounters, this would have been number one. I honestly don't remember the last time I came like that. I felt…powerful. Deep down, I knew he was acting because it was literally his job, but he was good at it.
Giving up just a little control and just doing what I wanted, damn the consequences, felt exhilarating. I was floating to my apartment as I found Hannah all snuggled next to the radiator looking content underneath the soft lighting.
I felt the need to shower, just to digest. I swore I could still feel Wolfe's fingers inside me. Pushing, pulling sensations out of me I hadn't previously known existed. The shower was hot and beat against my body like a drum as I stood underneath it with my eyes closed, my whole body feeling wrung out in the best way possible. Was every encounter going to be like that?
Seeing his…member up close was as terrifying as it was intriguing. My dildos weren't even that thick. They did the job so I didn't see the need to go up a size. I'd never been into large pe nises; I was more attracted to the people they were attached to, so I just saw them as an extension of the person.
But this person was Wolfe, who literally only wanted me for one thing, and that thing was my body. So I didn't feel that bad for objectifying his dick size when we were just fucking. And fucking for money. I washed the smell of Quinn's room off of my body, the coiling smokey scent of bergamot and lemon. It smelled like him, I found myself thinking. Deep and mysterious, yet refreshing in some odd way.
I shook my head to clear those thoughts from my head; I didn't need to be thinking about Quinn at all. I was doing business with Wolfe, and my neighbor would still be the annoying Quinn, though at least I wouldn't have to put up with the random moans at 11 p.m. anymore. Well, I suppose I would, but in an entirely different capacity: A very enjoyable capacity.
Morning came too soon. I hadn't had that good of sleep in a long time—no nightmares of getting horrible calls about my grandmother or the cat dying. I felt rested and satiated. Blinking blearily up at my bedroom ceiling, I lay there for a moment to process everything that happened the night before.
Since I hadn't slept through my alarm, I allowed myself to actually sit and have my coffee rather than simply dumping it in a to-go cup and rushing out the door. I even made some toast for breakfast, giving Hannah some extra love today as she curled around my feet; she was not used to me being awake this early. The sun came in lazily through my dusty blinds, dancing off the adjoining wall while I drank my coffee. I had these butterflies in my stomach and try as I might I couldn’t wish them away.
I walked to work with a skip in my step, my bag slung over my shoulder containing my laptop. I was determined to get some words down on my novel today, come hell or high water. I didn't have a night shift until Monday for The Grind, so it was just a short shift at Hemingway's.
"Good morning, Emma!" I all but hummed as I set my things down to clock in. I had brought an extra thick hoodie for today just in case it was a "stay on top of the bills, and those include the heating" kind of day.
Opening my laptop next to me, I stopped, and with raised eyebrows, I looked around for my boss. The back door was shut, so maybe she was just in her office. There were no boxes to put away, and only a few re-shelves and a few merch items from a local shirt maker to hang up.
Grabbing a few books whose location I knew as I walked towards Emma's office, I stopped to shelve them properly before I knocked on the door. And knocked again.
"Emma? Are you in there? Just wanted to let you know I'm clocked in." I exclaimed to the closed door. It was odd because Emma hardly ever shut her office door. She said she had an open-door policy, even when I told her that wasn't exactly what that meant.
Without warning, the handle turned, and the office door opened. My smile disappeared as I came face to face with a tearful Emma. She was hurriedly replacing her glasses on her face, running her hands under her eyes as if it would make me believe she hadn't been crying.
"Emma? What's wrong?" I asked, questioning slowly; the only time I had seen Emma cry was when her wife died. She hadn't come in for two months after that but never cried in front of anyone else again. There was always a constant mourning look in her eye, but she never spilled a tear, like her grief was too bone-deep to be expressed by tears alone.
"Oh, Georgia, I'm sorry you had to see that." She sputtered, trembling hands replacing her glasses and smoothing back her short grey hair. "It's just been a hard morning."
I took her hands in mine. "Emma, what happened?" Had someone died? My stomach dropped immediately, my mind going through a list of people we both knew and trying not to let the anxiety hit me before I had the facts.
Emma closed her eyes as if steeling herself to answer me. "I got a call from Bill; he does the books for me." I nodded, urging her to continue. "He was calling to give me what he called a 'heads up'."
My head tilted, confused. "About what?"
Taking a deep breath, the shorter woman explained with a wobble to her chin. "With the rent increasing due to increased property tax, it's looking more and more like Hemingway’s won't last the next six months."
I forced myself to remain calm on the outside, just like I always did. Everything could be fixed; I could fix it. I just had to remain calm and make sure Emma was okay. Swallowing hard at the emotions climbing within me, I shook my head and hugged my boss.
"It'll be okay. I know it will." I pulled away, "I know a lot is going on right now, but don't give up just yet."
Looking over her shoulder at the one-dollar bill hanging over the makeshift desk next to her and Elaine's photo sent a pang through my heart. I would not let this place go, not without a fight.
"Yes, of course, hun," the older woman sighed, running her hand down her face as she looked around. "I'm going to go ahead and hop out. Maybe see some friends. Would you mind staying a few hours over and closing up?"
I nodded, grateful for the extra two hours. However, my mind was so restless as I sat at the counter, mulling over what to do. I get that some people might not understand why I loved this job, especially at my age. I had earnestly tried to get a job in publishing after I graduated, just to do something that involved my favorite thing. And I did get an offer, and a damn good one. Three states away.
Closing my eyes, I pushed back the memory of the feeling of elation that had turned into despair when I realized that I couldn't leave my grandmother here alone. Not after all she had done for me. My grandfather had died, and no matter the salary, no matter the high-rise apartment, I could never live with myself if something happened to her after I left. I received a call that she was in the hospital and that she had fallen, the day after that offer that I ultimately rejected.
In my heart and very soul, I knew it was the right thing to do and I don't regret it one bit. But even doing the right thing hurts sometimes, and a piece of me still mourns the life I could have had if things had turned out differently.
I shook my head, clearing my thoughts like an Etch a Sketch. That hadn't worked out, and now the one job I loved could be getting shut down, and I was having sex on the internet for money. Jesus Christ, what was happening?
It was at that time that my phone decided to vibrate, breaking my train of bleak thoughts.
Unit 2: Hey, checking in; I compiled a video from the footage last night so you could get an idea of what a real one is like. Can I send it to the email that you wrote on your form?
Me: Yeah, that's cool.
Typing bubbles appeared and then disappeared, only to reappear again.
Unit 2: You good Clark?
Me: Yeah, just a bad day at work
Unit 2: Sorry to hear that. Is it a bad time to ask if you feel comfortable moving forward?
It was my turn to pause, my mind going a mile a minute as I read and reread his text. Did I want to go forward? I raised my jaw, trying to remember the last time I did something without weighing every consequence and outcome. Without having a three-day panic attack about making the wrong decision and still somehow making the wrong decision regardless. I’d stayed with Dylan for four damn years because it was comfortable. It was boring, but it was safe. I didn't want to be safe anymore. I didn't want to be comfortable. Comfortable was getting me nowhere.
Me: Yeah, I'm off Friday evening. Does 10 sound good to you ?
I hit send before I could rethink it. Quinn replied almost immediately as if in relief.
Unit 2: My calendar is clear that day. We'll touch base on Thursday for details; I'll text you some themes. Nothing hardcore for our first video.
Me: Sounds good, just send me the info.
He replied with a thumbs-up, and I received a notification immediately after that I had gotten an email. It was from [email protected] and had no subject. The body of the email was simply a link with a password. That was definitely not something I needed to open at work.
I tucked away my phone as soon as my first customer of the day walked in the door.
The rest of the day was a busy blur. We had an influx of customers, mainly due to the hotel a few blocks down receiving a traveling tour of antique enthusiasts who were delighted to find a local coffee shop and bookstore side by side. Many of them were older adults, and I loved being able to talk about our collections and show off our local authors while directing them to a few of my personal favorite locally owned businesses.
All in all, it would have been a great day had I not had that cloud of misery hanging over me from my conversation with Emma. I couldn't even comprehend what my life would look like without the bookstore. It might not be much, but it was almost 2,000 square feet of books including a loft that overlooked the main hall, complete with string lights I’d hung myself and comfortable chairs Emma and I thrifted on some of my favorite "work days." There were the fresh flowers we got from the local florist across the street every week and, of course, the smell of roasting coffee beans that wafted through shared air ducts from The Grind.
To me? This place was a paradise, a place that not only paid me and my grandmother's bills but was a literal dream from my childhood. I didn't need a six-figure salary to be happy, though healthcare would be nice—but really, who has that these days?
It felt like everything I had built was slowly coming apart, and no matter how quickly I tried to put it back together, it fell to pieces at my feet. It was all I could do to go through the motions of the day, my laptop was left disregarded on my desk.
It was dark by 6:00 p.m. when we closed, so I wrapped my hand-knitted scarf from Sarah around my neck (the thing was massive but ridiculously warm) and locked up. It was beyond frigid; it felt as if the air from the ocean, even if it was miles away, was blowing right down my neck and instantly making my eyes burn with the cold.
First thing I was doing when I got that paycheck from my work with Wolfe? Radiator. Immediately. Maybe even change the air filters so the car would actually heat up before I got to work. What a novelty.
I trudged home, exhausted and defeated. Once I finally reached the steps about thirty minutes later, the door opened before I could even touch the door knob.
"Clark? What the fuck, did you walk again?" Quinn (of course) exclaimed, looking around to see me and leaning against the doorframe in obvious annoyance. "It's like 45 degrees out here!"
I rolled my eyes as I walked by him and grumbled, "I know, and I feel every one of them." He ignored the sarcasm and watched me fumble with my keys. To be fair, I did have like 10 keys on one keyring, only four of which I actually used, but I was too scared to get rid of the others in case I remembered what they were for.
"What's wrong with your car? I only see you driving it once in a while," he questioned, crossing his arms and leaning on the door jam beside me.
"Radiator or whatever. It's okay short distances, but my vehicle support ran out and—" I paused, narrowing my eyes to look at my neighbor as I finally got my door to unlatch and could already hear the pitter-patter of cat paw's coming to greet me. "You know what, I'm exhausted, and I've had a rough day. Goodnight, Quinn. "
As I closed the door I heard a long-suffering sigh from my annoying neighbor, leaning in so he could yell between the cracks, "Clark, if you need a ride, I can take you!"
"Goodnight, Quinn!"
I swore that cold, leftover pizza fixed everything. Maybe 60 grand would, too, but this was the best I could do in a pinch. Hannah wound around my ankles as I sat before she hopped on the table, hoping for a sliver of pepperoni.
"Absolutely not, you had spicy diarrhea for, like, three days last time." I scolded her gently as I sat her back on the floor. It was at that moment, as I set my phone beside me, that I remembered the link, the link that held the footage of me and Wolfe doing…adult things.
I made myself finish my dinner before starting on the dishes, deciding to do them while I watched. Because I simply couldn't just sit down and watch myself getting eaten out; I shuddered just thinking about it. I tried reminding myself that this was just a formal test to see how I felt afterward, and I’d felt fine. I was less on the edge, which was probably due to the…two orgasms that Wolfe pulled from me in a span of an hour and a half. But that was beside the point.
With a deep breath, I pushed play and set my phone on the ledge of the sink while I scrubbed my dinner plates and breakfast dishes from that morning.
The first thing I noticed was the production quality was fantastic. I knew all those cameras Quinn had set up were expensive, but I wasn't expecting this. I nearly squeaked when it began in earnest, the shot of my shirt hitting the ground and my peaked nipples on full display as I lay down under his massive body. A jolt shuddered down my back as he crawled over me predatorily, the amber of his eyes practically glowing under his black mask, his dark brows raising slightly as he took me in.
I swear I could still feel the way his large hands felt as they ran up and down my sides, almost tickling as he accustomed himself to my body. I could feel the goosebumps rising all over again. While I wasn't an especially tiny woman, I looked dwarfed underneath all 6'4 of him. The tattoos seemed to dance across his tawny skin under the steady glow of the red lights, drawing my attention away from him to look at the rapt attention on my face. My eyes were hidden underneath the black lace but my eyebrows were raised as I looked up at him like I couldn't peel my gaze away.
I cleared my throat and squeezed my legs together as I finally put the very clean plate into the dish rack, my heart racing in my chest as I finally turned my attention to the phone.
I got a close-up of his hand reaching between my thighs as my back arched off the bed like my very soul was leaving my body just by his simple touch.
I watched. And watched. Wiping my forehead with the back of my arm as Quinn’s—no, Wolfe's—fingers entered me, my moan seemingly shattering from my body as his thumb rubbed my clit in motion. It was the moment when he stopped and I looked up confused as he took my hands from their place clutched in his comforter and set them on his hips. I heard Wolfe's deep voice telling me that I could touch him too.
My eyes had been tightly closed at this point while recording, so I didn't get to see how his head tilted towards mine with our foreheads nearly touching as he inserted another finger, praising me as Idropped my legs wider around his broad body. The shattering of the mug I had been washing brought me back to the present, swearing as ceramic skittered over the wood floor.
"Fuck Georgia, get your head on straight," I berated myself as I tiptoed around the broken mug to sweep up the jagged edges. I found myself looking up at the phone as I swept; the video was finally over, containing maybe ten minutes worth of usable film from that scene, which was honestly more than I was expecting.
I tried to turn the sexual part of my brain off as I fast-forwarded and rewound the footage and watched for anything discernible about my person but could find none; I was also somewhat flattered by the angles and the way I looked while I writhed underneath him. And I knew, objectively speaking, that Wolfe created content specifically for the female gaze and audience. I was just a placeholder so they could imagine themselves underneath his tattooed body with his fingers buried in their pussies, wringing out pleasure that made stars appear behind their eyes and their hearing to go static.
But it was me. I was the one underneath the prolific and secretive Masked Wolfe. And, fuck, that felt…good?
Tossing the broken pieces into the trash, I took my phone from its place, propped it up behind my sink, and opened my messages.
I paused, my finger hovering over Quinn's contact. This would be it, then. I was committing to this. To him, in a way.
I searched myself, the hesitant version of me screaming to think of the possible negative consequences, while a softer, more devious voice whispered, "But wouldn't it be worth it?"
Me: Loved the footage. I'll see you tomorrow.
Unit 2: Sounds great. Come hungry.
I wrinkled my eyebrows at the text before I responded.
Me: Is that supposed to be sexual?
Unit 2: Jesus Christ, Clark, for food. I will have food.
Me: I knew that, of course.
Unit 2: Whatever, you freak; see you tomorrow.
That night, under the dark of night, I closed my eyes as the memory of his touch was burned into my skin, and for the first time in over a year, my vibrator just didn't seem to give me the same sense of satisfaction.