off. Now.
His caller ID showed Janelle’s number. Anyone else he would have ignored until he’d taken care of business.
“Hello?”
“Is this Ace?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s Janelle.”
“I know. What do you need?”
When she hesitated, he gripped his shaft and imagined her saying
your cock
. He was dying to give it to her.
“My son is missing.”
Ace paused, mid-stroke. “Your son?”
“My mom just sent me a message. He snuck out of the house. I’m worried that he went to Slab City or something.”
Her mother lived in Niland, only a few miles from Slab City. It was a tempting place for a boy his age, like Pleasure Island from
Pinocchio
. Ace released his jutting wood, hissing a breath between his teeth.
Fuck.
“I don’t get off work until two,” she said, sounding miserable.
“I’ll go look for him.”
“You will?”
Her voice was flat with shock, as if she hadn’t expected him to offer. Even though she’d obviously called in hopes that he would.
He didn’t
want
to, of course. He didn’t want to go anywhere near her son. Granting her this favor might be the pathway to her hot little body, which he was salivating over, but it was still a major inconvenience. The devil on his shoulder urged him to ask for something in return. What was she willing to do for him, if he found Jamie?
“I’ll fuck you,” she whispered. “I promise.”
“Christ,” he muttered, closing his eyes. Only a heartless asshole would agree to this deal. Although those two words described him pretty well, he couldn’t bring himself to accept. He didn’t want a gratitude fuck or a goddamned martyr. He didn’t even want a sexy faker. What really turned him on was the idea of turning
her
on. He wanted her begging for his cock, her hands bound and her legs spread wide.
Jesus wept.
His cock wept, too. It throbbed against his belly, threatening to jet all over. “Don’t talk like that.”
“Like what?”
“Don’t talk about fucking me unless your pussy’s wet and you’re hungry for my cock. Otherwise, I don’t want to hear it.”
Silence greeted him.
Damn her. Damn
him
. And damn this stupid attack of conscience.
“Sorry,” she said finally. “I’m not used to asking for help.”
Ace dragged a hand down his face, feeling like a surly, horny son of a bitch. Why was he so bent out of shape over her suggestion? He’d been thinking the same thing, but the note of desperation in her voice had triggered his guilt reflex.
He hated guilt. Fucking hated it.
“I’m leaving now,” he said, and hung up.
He rose from the bed and yanked some clothes on, his mood dark. Sobriety, sexual frustration and shady club rivalries had taken their toll. The custody situation with Skye was so far out of his control.
He wanted to be in control again, and he wanted to fuck. He wanted to dominate Janelle and make her his woman. To brand her with his come. To own her body, to penetrate every orifice with his fingers and tongue and cock.
But her desire was a crucial part of the fantasy. He wasn’t interested in coercion, or sex he had to pay for, or women who feigned interest. She could save that sexy stripper act for her customers. He’d take the real deal or nothing.
Buttoning his fly, he grabbed his keys and shoved his feet into boots. He’d had a long day. He’d been too tired to haunt the parking lot at Vixen’s, and he hadn’t wanted to embarrass himself by falling asleep in his truck again. He’d heard that White Lightning was having a bonfire in Bombay Beach, anyway. Chances were slim that Jester and his friends would leave the party to pester Janelle.
He grabbed a caffeinated soda from the fridge and left, lighting up a cigarette on his way out the door. Slab City was about forty miles from Coachella. The road there was flanked by the Salton Sea on one side and train tracks on the other.
Courtney had died in a car accident on this very stretch after an epic fight between them. She’d been drunk and high
His caller ID showed Janelle’s number. Anyone else he would have ignored until he’d taken care of business.
“Hello?”
“Is this Ace?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s Janelle.”
“I know. What do you need?”
When she hesitated, he gripped his shaft and imagined her saying
your cock
. He was dying to give it to her.
“My son is missing.”
Ace paused, mid-stroke. “Your son?”
“My mom just sent me a message. He snuck out of the house. I’m worried that he went to Slab City or something.”
Her mother lived in Niland, only a few miles from Slab City. It was a tempting place for a boy his age, like Pleasure Island from
Pinocchio
. Ace released his jutting wood, hissing a breath between his teeth.
Fuck.
“I don’t get off work until two,” she said, sounding miserable.
“I’ll go look for him.”
“You will?”
Her voice was flat with shock, as if she hadn’t expected him to offer. Even though she’d obviously called in hopes that he would.
He didn’t
want
to, of course. He didn’t want to go anywhere near her son. Granting her this favor might be the pathway to her hot little body, which he was salivating over, but it was still a major inconvenience. The devil on his shoulder urged him to ask for something in return. What was she willing to do for him, if he found Jamie?
“I’ll fuck you,” she whispered. “I promise.”
“Christ,” he muttered, closing his eyes. Only a heartless asshole would agree to this deal. Although those two words described him pretty well, he couldn’t bring himself to accept. He didn’t want a gratitude fuck or a goddamned martyr. He didn’t even want a sexy faker. What really turned him on was the idea of turning
her
on. He wanted her begging for his cock, her hands bound and her legs spread wide.
Jesus wept.
His cock wept, too. It throbbed against his belly, threatening to jet all over. “Don’t talk like that.”
“Like what?”
“Don’t talk about fucking me unless your pussy’s wet and you’re hungry for my cock. Otherwise, I don’t want to hear it.”
Silence greeted him.
Damn her. Damn
him
. And damn this stupid attack of conscience.
“Sorry,” she said finally. “I’m not used to asking for help.”
Ace dragged a hand down his face, feeling like a surly, horny son of a bitch. Why was he so bent out of shape over her suggestion? He’d been thinking the same thing, but the note of desperation in her voice had triggered his guilt reflex.
He hated guilt. Fucking hated it.
“I’m leaving now,” he said, and hung up.
He rose from the bed and yanked some clothes on, his mood dark. Sobriety, sexual frustration and shady club rivalries had taken their toll. The custody situation with Skye was so far out of his control.
He wanted to be in control again, and he wanted to fuck. He wanted to dominate Janelle and make her his woman. To brand her with his come. To own her body, to penetrate every orifice with his fingers and tongue and cock.
But her desire was a crucial part of the fantasy. He wasn’t interested in coercion, or sex he had to pay for, or women who feigned interest. She could save that sexy stripper act for her customers. He’d take the real deal or nothing.
Buttoning his fly, he grabbed his keys and shoved his feet into boots. He’d had a long day. He’d been too tired to haunt the parking lot at Vixen’s, and he hadn’t wanted to embarrass himself by falling asleep in his truck again. He’d heard that White Lightning was having a bonfire in Bombay Beach, anyway. Chances were slim that Jester and his friends would leave the party to pester Janelle.
He grabbed a caffeinated soda from the fridge and left, lighting up a cigarette on his way out the door. Slab City was about forty miles from Coachella. The road there was flanked by the Salton Sea on one side and train tracks on the other.
Courtney had died in a car accident on this very stretch after an epic fight between them. She’d been drunk and high
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