“It doesn’t matter,” I tell him, shrugging like it doesn’t even bother me. “It’s just an outfit. It’s fine.”
“Don’t go.”
“Vince…” I sigh, because he knows that’s not an option.
“He’s gonna… he’s not going to keep his hands off you, Mia.”
Gathering up her things quietly, Cherie says, “I’m done here, so… I’m gonna leave you guys to… all this.”
I don’t blame her. I wish I could bail, too.
Placing my hands on Vince’s shoulders, innocently pressing my boobs against his chest, I say, “Let’s fight the battles we can win. Mateo’s going to be busy playing poker with his buddies. We won’t be alone.”
“What if I rip it? You can’t wear it if it’s damaged.”
“Don’t,” I say, stilling his hand as it skates toward my corset. “Please. I don’t want to provoke him. Just… it’s just an outfit. It’ll be over in a few hours.”
“I’m waiting up,” he states, like I have any power over when we’ll get back.
“Don’t torture yourself. I’ll wake you up to let you know I’m home safe if you want me to.”
“I’m not going to be able to sleep.”
Reaching for his hand, I state, “We’re not letting him do this, remember? I know it’s hard, trust me, it’s not easy for me either, but…”
“How am I supposed to send you off to him, knowing what’s going to happen?”
I take a slow breath and let it out, wondering the same thing. But I know the answer. “Because we don’t have any alternative.”
“How are we supposed to live like this?” he asks, causing my hope to plummet. This is the first Mateo-sized bump we’ve come to since swearing we wouldn’t let him get to us, and he’s already getting to Vince. If we can’t survive one, how will we keep going?
“It’s the only way. We can’t keep going in circles. We already know where it ends up, and I don’t want to go back to that.”
Mainly because ‘that’ is Mateo’s bed, and if Mateo is my strongest lifeline? I’m super fucked.
He looks down, shaking his head. “No, neither do I.”
“I’ll be fine. He won’t touch me.”
We both know it’s a lie, but Vince wants it to be true, so he nods like he believes it.
—
“Why don’t you bring that ass over here, sweetheart?”
As degrading as I feared tonight would be, it’s worse. Just not for the reason I expected.
Mateo isn’t the problem.
The other creeps trickling in to play poker are.
It’s still Mateo’s fault, I suppose. Dress me up like a hooker, I guess you can’t blame the guys for thinking I am one.
Six men sit around the table, draining glass after glass of liquor, smoking cigars, and occasionally pushing obscene amounts of money around the table.
Two hours of leering, two hours of their eyes all over my body. I need to shower for a week straight after I leave here tonight.
This one’s drunk though, I can see it in his face. His cheeks are ruddy, his eyes have the gleam of drunkenness, and his big bald head shines as I reluctantly approach him to give him more alcohol.
As I go to pour it, his hand creeps up under my skirt and over my ass. I gasp, jumping, alcohol sloshing out of the decanter as I try to right it in motion.
“Hey,” Mateo barks.
The laughter in the room dies, smiles falling from faces as they all look slowly in his direction.
I swallow nervously, looking at him myself.
His gaze is still on baldy, but then he looks at me. “You’re not gonna make me sit here thirsty, now are you?”
It’s a sad day when I’m so eager to get away from someone, I welcome approaching Mateo, but I scurry right over to him.
He watches my hand shake as I dump some of the alcohol into his tumbler. As soon as I finish, he picks up the cigar he’s been fiddling with for a couple of rounds and glances at me.
Finally, he holds it out to me. I take it but I don’t know why, and my uncertainty must register on my face. Before I have a chance to ask, his hands are on my hips, yanking me into his lap, adjusting me until I’m straddling him.
It’s harder to breathe, but I’m not scared. Just… confused.
He hands me the lighter, but my eyes can’t seem to move away from his.
Then with all the casualty of someone who does so every day, he plants his hands on my nearly-bare ass cheeks and pulls me against him.
He’s hard, and I’m sick, because my loins stir at the contact.
He plucks the cigar from my fingers, placing it into his mouth, and I realize he wants me to light it for him. I fiddle with the lighter, hands still unsteady, until I manage it.
Mateo gives me a slow smile and a little wink. “Thanks, sweetheart.”
My blood runs hot and cold, confusion and overstimulation wreaking havoc on my peace of mind. Not like I had much coming into tonight, but I get the feeling I’ll be leaving with significantly less.