In the Rain (2 page)

I
took a deep breath and waited until I was sure he was gone before opening the
door to pick my spare key off the floor.

With
the air in my apartment still taut, I debated whether or not being 
mentally
single for the last few weeks was enough time to warrant my going out and
getting laid. Glancing at the key in my palm, I transported it to the counter,
grabbed Bret's box of useless crap, then stepped into my shoes.

I
had to get it out of my apartment, and if going to the dumpster meant going out
for the rest of the night, so be it.

I
made sure to lock my apartment, then kept walking.

A
bout
a week after I'd kicked Bret out and more than half a dozen phone calls from him
that I
refused to answer, I found myself in one of the local bars. I never did go out
the other night, but being single
and having washed the slime from my lips days before gave me enough time to go
over my options, no matter how slim they may have been.

I
wasn't looking for a relationship. Hell, I didn't even know
what kind of dynamic
I wanted anymore, but the last thing I was interested in was dealing with the
same crap I'd had to face over the last six years. D/s was out, so I went to
the bar.

Sitting
on one of the stools, I wasn't entirely surprised when a gentle hand landed on
my shoulder, followed by, "Can I buy you a drink?"

I
turned my head just enough
to smile in his direction, but I didn't make eye contact. If he wanted to get
me a drink, who was I to argue?

Sliding
my club soda to the side, I said, "I'll have whatever you're having."

He
smiled, then sat on the stool beside mine. "Chris."

"Karie,"
I lied.

He
didn't need to know my name. For all I knew, Chris wasn't his name either. I'd
picked one of the grittier bars for a reason. Anyone I met here was a stranger
to me, and right now, the less we knew about one another, the better. No
history. No expectations. Just piss-poor drinks and maybe a night in the sack.

Right
about now, it was pretty much all I could handle.

After
we got our drinks, we went through the usual rigmarole one might expect from a
newly single man trying hit whatever, or whoever, was willing to listen to him.
Wife left him. No kids. Or maybe he did have kids. I'd heard it all before.

Woe
is me, blah blah blah.

For
the most part, I tuned him out. Nodded when I was expected to. Maybe passed him
a reassuring smile, but I wasn't interested in sap stories. I had crap of my
own to deal with. I didn't need someone else's on top of it.

Chris
or whatever-his-name-was cleared his throat. "It's getting crowded. You
want to get out of here?"

Finally.
I
offered him my hand. "Lead the way."

Helping
me off my stool, he didn't wait for an invitation. He leaned in and pressed his
lips to mine. While his hand on my shoulder had been gentle, his lips were the
complete opposite. He shoved his tongue in my mouth and groped at my hips with
fingers that would
probably leave me bruised in the morning.

At
least there would be some lasting damage, which was a lot more than I could've
said if it were Bret. Still, this man's kiss reminded me of one thing—the
reason I was here or, more specifically, how I got here.
All men are either
slime balls or try too hard to get noticed.

And
as handsy as this man was, I had no doubt he was more from column A than column
B.
Even better.
No emotional luggage to get me attached, and so long as
bruising was as far as the damage went, I had no problem submitting—
no, not
submitting—
I had no problem going with him.

After
a few moments suffocating under his kiss, we somehow managed to get out to the
curb to hail a cab. I lived a few blocks down Main Street, but the last thing I
needed was some schmuck knowing where I lived and inviting himself over
whenever he wanted. So when he mumbled his address to the cab driver, I didn't
argue.

His
place was clear across town, which gave us about ten minutes with the lights
and traffic to have second thoughts. He didn't say anything. I didn't, and as
the driver put the cab in gear, I joined Chris in yet another aggressive kiss.
I sucked in a breath as his hands moved under my blouse, slowly snaking their
way to my breasts. Luckily, he restrained himself, but I was sure once we were
in the privacy of his place, those hands would be all over me.

In
my mind, a voice told me to back out. To get out of the cab at the next light
and walk the half dozen blocks or so to my apartment. But I wanted this. I was
the one who went into the bar, accepted his drink and his invitation for sex.
It was simple. One quick roll in the hay to release some of this sexual
frustration—something I could've relieved on my own at home.

Damn
this life.

I'd
been so far out of the dating scene, I didn't know how to handle a one night
stand. In fact, I wasn't sure if what I had with Chris in the cab could be
called that.
I moaned and screwed my eyes shut at the pleasure-pain his fingers caused as he
pinched one of my nipples. His lips still against mine were enough to muffle my
voice, but not enough to keep the driver from glancing at us in his rearview
mirror.

Come
on, Moyra. You used to love being an
exhibitionist.
Yeah, in a controlled environment, not
in the backseat of a cab that who-knows-when
it was last washed. Hell, if officials bothered to investigate, I didn't doubt
it would look like some
crime scene. Semen, blood, drool, sweat—the works.

I
groaned and, very carefully pushed Chris away from me. He frowned and his hands
settled on my hips, still under my shirt, but no longer pinching my nipples
like they
were dials on some radio from the eighties.

"Why
did you stop?" he asked, leaning forward to seize my lips again.

I
shrunk back and kept a hand between us. Completely overwhelmed by his advances,
what he'd been doing to my breasts or how badly I wanted out, I drew in a
handful of ragged breaths. He grinned, and I was sure he figured my labored gasps
to be ones of pleasure and not the disgust I could feel knotting in the pit of
my stomach.

"Come
on, baby," he said in a cool, not so smooth voice. "You know you want
this."

I
met his gaze, but didn't move.
Do I?
I wasn't sure what was worse: the
idea of going through with whatever
this
was or rejecting a man who,
not five minutes ago, I'd been talking with once he bought me a drink.
More
like listening.
But
if sex meant I didn't have to hear some sad story about his life when mine was
so up in the air—

"Karie?"
He took my hands in his, pulling me from my thoughts.

At
first, I couldn't figure out who Karie was, but then remembered it was the
alias I'd given him at the bar. I cleared my throat and, after removing one of
my hands from his grasp, I tucked a phantom hair behind my ear.

"Save
it for the bedroom, Casanova." Heat brushed my cheeks, and I resisted the
strong urge to drop my gaze.
Not a submissive.
Not his.

He
gripped at my chin the same way Bret had and held my attention. "Mouthy."
He smiled, then released me. "I like it."
Chris turned forward and set his hands in his lap, tapping his foot as his vision
swept from the back of the driver's seat, to the rearview, then to me again. No
doubt he was as
anxious to get out of the cab as I was, but for a completely different reason.
I'd mouthed off and, against all expectations, he liked it. He may have eased off,
but the hard rise and fall of his shoulders and the way he shifted in his seat told
me he was
very
interested.

Fuck.

I
faced the back of the passenger side chair and watched out my window. Small
white lights circled around streetlamps as we rushed past. The holidays had
been over for over three months, and they still hadn't bothered to remove the
lights. At this point, they'd become a permanent fixture in as well as outside
of town. Aside from the brightly lit snowflakes they'd taken down after the new
year, whatever was left would likely remain until next year.

Usually,
the laziness in town bothered me, but tonight it served as a distraction from
the man sitting on the other side of the cab. His hands had stopped, but I knew
he was looking at me a lot more than I was bothering to look at him.

My
breath caught when the cab lurched to a halt outside an apartment complex
similar to my own. Then, without a word, I stepped out onto the curb to smooth
the wrinkles in my skirt. It was still freezing, but with spring less than a
week away, I couldn't bring myself to wear jeans outside the house anymore. If
there was one thing that could
make me feel more confident about myself, it was an ankle length skirt and a
nice blouse.

Chris
mumbled something to the driver, paid him, then came around the car before
wrapping an arm around my waist. "It's this way."

I
nodded, cringing when my flats scraped against the sidewalk. The weather in
Pennsylvania this time of year was so up in the air the walks were usually
caked with salt, ice or both. God, I couldn't wait for spring, and not because
of this winter one day and spring the next crap. I wanted real open-the-windows
warm weather. I'd been stuck inside for way too long. If Bret wasn't the one
keeping me in, it was the freezing rain, the snow or the fucking wind.

Fans
blew warm air down at us as we stepped into the main lobby. Neither of us spoke
as we waited for the elevator, but as soon as the doors closed and Chris had
punched his floor number, his hands were on me again. On my hips. My breasts.
My back, pulling me against him.

He
crushed his lips to mine and barely kept us upright as he half tumbled, half
pushed me into a corner. A chill ran up my spine, and I was glad he didn't
notice the way my lips twisted then, or how the feel of his hands grabbing at
me caused more discomfort than I'd hoped.

I
silently counted the floors as the elevator rose above them. I didn't notice what
floor he lived on. He'd probably hit the top floor just to
keep me in here that much
longer.

I
groaned as he lifted one of my legs above his hip. A groan which quickly
matched the panic at the base of my spine as Chris drew up my skirt, thrusting
his fingers inside my pussy so fast I saw stars.

"Oh
God, baby, you feel so tight," he growled, holding me closer to him as he
thrust his fingers in so far they hit my cervix.

I
winced. "Easy," I said, trying to put as much room between his
fingers and my pussy.

"Trust
me." He crooked his fingers to, I guess, hit my G-spot.

All
he managed to do was scrape against my cervix.

"Fuck!"
I exhaled.

"Like
that?"

I
swallowed and didn't give a shit if I hurt him or not. I pushed him away, or
maybe I was the one who moved away. In either case, I got my leg out of his
grasp and lowered myself onto the ground. Without giving it another thought, I
pushed the button for the next floor, hoping to God the doors would open before
he could grab at me again.

The
elevator dinged, and I had just enough
time to throw one last remark over my shoulder. "Next time you're with a
woman, at least cut your nails."

The
elevator doors closed and, thank fuck, Chris knew better than to follow after
me. Either that or
he was still too shocked to move. As for me, I had no doubt my pussy would be
sore by the time I got home. Cab fare or not, there was no way in hell I was
walking all the way across town this late at night.

I
turned the corner and took the next elevator down to the lobby. I was one step
closer to getting home, in my own bed, far away from Chris or some other
self-proclaimed Casanova.
So much for having a nice night out.
I
should've known better. 

A
month or so after my experience with Chris, I was in the bar again. In fact,
I'd returned a few times to see if there was any hope of finding a man who
actually knew what the hell he was doing with his hands, his mouth or both. And
so far, all I'd found were men who were either clueless or, according to them,
knew everything there was to know about the female body. Why I came back here
was anyone's guess.

At
this point, I was starting to wonder if all men were as inconsiderate to my
needs as Bret was. Sure, he'd been attentive in the beginning, but as soon as
he had me to himself, his affection swayed to other things.
Like video
games.
Or quickies that truly
were quick with close to no sensation at all for myself. The only time
I had the chance to get off was when he went into full out Dom mode. Which,
like it
or not, didn't happen nearly as often as he promised. I offered up my
submission as soon as he walked in the door. And even though
he took that control, he rarely used it the way it was intended.

You
weren't his submissive. You were his slave.

Fixing
my blouse for what must've been the twentieth time since I left my apartment, I
glanced around the room at tonight's selection. I groaned at what I saw.
Luckily, any man from the last month had either called it quits once they had a
night with me or they went to another bar, which suited me just fine. Nothing
more awkward than shopping in the same bar as an ex-fuckup.

Most
of the men I saw were either visually unattractive, well out of my age range or
already busy trying to get a woman drunk enough to take her home.

That
is, until I checked the far corner of the room. My breath caught, and I had to
do a double-take, but yes, the man was someone I knew. Worse yet, he was the
one man I would cut off my left foot for just a
chance at him.