California Nights: Rich Boys of California Duet

I arched off the bed as I came again and he shifted positions, sitting up and dragging my hips to meet his. Now he was rocking his hips in small circles as he dragged his fingertips over my chest and stomach. I felt another orgasm approaching and he shifted again, finally laying on top of me.

Now things changed for real. I’d thought it was intense before but now- now he was fucking me and making love at the same time.

Hard but tender.

Rough but true.

I must have passed out during my final climax. The last thing I remembered was Clay above me, his head thrown back as he convulsed on top of me. I’d never seen him so vulnerable.

As I lay there next to his sleeping body, I realized how much that scared me.

Clay was never going to let me go.

He wasn’t just gaming me.

He loved me, or he almost did.

It should have changed things. It should have made me want to stay. But it didn’t.

If I let him keep me – if I stayed – I would forever be his poor little piece of ass from the wrong side of the tracks. No matter what I accomplished on my own, or who I became. I would be the girl from the club.

The girl who lived above the garage on his estate.

I needed to make my way on my own. I couldn’t let him pay for school. He’d signed his tournament check over to me despite my protests. I stared at it on the bedside table. Then I padded over to the desk to write him a note.

It was time to wake up from this dream.

I had work to do.

I had to go.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Clay

I still could not believe it. I still could not believe she had left me there. Alone. After the night we had shared. With just a short note, sitting on top of the check I’d tried to give her.

Thanks for the offer but I have to pass

Try not to bash anyone’s face in hot stuff

Take care of yourself, Clay

Goodbye,

Nevada

I clenched my fists behind my back. I was in the back of a cop car. The same cop car that had been waiting for me when I drove home, out of my mind from her note. We’d been sitting here for an hour, while my dad tried to get the cops to let me go.

It wasn’t working.

I watched as my father shook hands with the police and walked over to the car.

“I’ll be right behind you, Clay.”

I nodded. It was hard to believe his sudden interest in my well being. I could understand him wanting to avoid the embarrassment, sure. But this mess was all his fault to begin with.

Well, most of it.

Maybe not the face bashing part. Or the shoulder injury. I’d done it in front of witnesses too. I was sure it would cost a pretty penny. But I didn’t care.

That part was all me.

I was processed rapidly, with what had to be more courtesy than the common criminal received. That probably had something to do with my father and his attorney looming in the waiting room in suits that cost more than some of these guys made in a month.

There was something about crazy money that just intimidated people.

Finally I was fingerprinted. I stared at my ink stained hands. Just a few hours ago, I’d been touching the most beautiful girl in the world with these hands.

And now she was gone. And I was in jail. I almost laughed at the cruel irony.

It was an hour later before they came to get me from the holding cell to talk to the lawyer. Stan was an okay guy for a suit. He and my dad had been friends forever. He’d always been nice to me. I knew he was giving me straight advice.

I had to cop to public nuisance but deny the battery charges. Deny deny deny. Matt had it coming so I felt zero compunction lying about who had thrown the first punch.

Actually, Matt had thrown the first punch. After I’d steamrolled him into a dumpster. So, it was all good. Nobody had seen the fight begin except Nevada.

Not that I was going to drag her into this. Not even the fact that Matt had been borderline assaulting her. Her name would never cross my lips.

Finally, Stan stood up and shook my father’s hand. Dear old dad stayed behind, leaning on the back of one of the chairs.

“What the hell is wrong with you, son?”

I leaned back in my seat and crossed my arms.

“That little fucker messed with Nev.”

“What do you mean? Is she alright?”

My dad had perked right the fuck up when I mentioned Nevada. Interesting.

“He was groping her and called her some nasty names. So I intervened.”

He hung his head, exhaling. Then he looked up again. Desperation was all over his face.