Bedroom Bully (Romance on the Go) Read online

  Evernight Publishing

  www.evernightpublishing.com

  Copyright© 2013 Avril Ashton

  ISBN: 978-1-77130-515-0

  Cover Artist: Sour Cherry Designs

  Editor: Karyn White

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  To the survivors.

  BEDROOM BULLY

  Romance on the Go

  Avril Ashton

  Copyright © 2013

  Chapter One

  All around her the bar emptied, but El didn’t move. Under the round wood table, she tapped her left leg impatiently. She couldn’t get it to stop. Lots of things she couldn’t do. The beer she’d ordered when she first walked into the place had long gone warm, but she picked it up and took a small swallow. Just to do something with her hands.

  To distract herself.

  She tried not to stare at the bartender as he wiped down the bar, but like everything else in her life lately, she had no control. She had to watch him, had to swallow when his muscles bulged under the olive green t-shirt he wore. Long enough to curl around his ears and nape, his hair was dark and glossy, making her wonder if it was all his or had help with gel or something. Not that she cared. Again, she was all about the distraction.

  She’d come in looking for someone, sure, but not him. Still, the instant he’d punched the unruly customer about an hour or so ago, he’d had her hooked. He might be who she was looking for. Naturally, her criteria weren’t much. Strong topped the list. She needed strong. What else? She’d tack on other attributes later.

  The bartender was also the owner of the bar, and from what she’d overheard from his conversation earlier, he was looking to open a gym.

  Driven.

  Another word to add to her list. The fact that he was a fighter, good with his hands, was a definite plus. Now all she had to do was gather the courage to approach him with her proposal. She practiced the little speech in her head with a grimace. She sounded even crazier than when she’d done it earlier. Tightening her hold on the beer bottle, she hunched her shoulders. Her eyes were gritty from the lack of sleep. Six months since she’d had that, a good night’s sleep. Six months since her father had died and her life had blown up. With the lack of sleep came dark circles under her eyes, and the dull pallor of her skin. When she did dare to close her eyes at night, the nightmares came. She needed it stopped, or at least controlled. Managed.

  She hoped the bartender wouldn’t laugh at her. Or he could laugh, but please God, she begged silently, let him say yes. She’d been searching, trolling the bars for someone strong enough and willing to take her on. The last one had broken her arm and bruised her ribs good. She’d had to make up a silly excuse about doing her yoga poses wrong, but she got weird looks anyway.

  Checking the time by turning on her cell phone, she sighed. She’d thought she’d put it all behind her, but apparently not. Six months ago she’d dared tell her family the truth. Finally, she’d cut herself open, hoping to assuage the weight and fear dragging her down. What she hoped to gain didn’t materialize. She’d given her father a heart attack. Two days later he was dead.

  Selfish. Her mother had called her selfish, had claimed she’d been seeking attention by dropping the bomb like she’d done at their weekly family dinner. Maybe she had been selfish, had been seeking attention, or maybe the dam just broke after too many years of her fighting desperately to keep it closed. Had she done the right thing? She’d killed her father, her biggest supporter. Lost her mother, maybe forever, and the things she confessed, all the secrets she’d shared, they’d been swept under the rug. Hidden, once again.

  “Hey, sorry. It’s closing time.”

  She jerked her head up at the low rumble. The bartender loomed over her, his eyes kind, a slight smile on his face. He wasn’t gorgeous, wasn’t the typical candidate for good looking that society embraced lately, not with the crooked nose and the sharp jaw-line, but his presence. It held her. His body was huge up close, shoulders massively wide tapering to a hard chest and lean hips. He wore dark jeans and motorcycle boots. With the hair and a yellow towel thrown over his shoulder, he stood staring at her with an amiable expression.

  He was the one. She felt it. Her entire body strung tight at the thought. She swallowed.

  “Excuse me?” He frowned at her.

  El looked around the place. Everyone was gone save for the bartender and a baby-faced younger man stacking glasses behind the bar.

  “Can you take a seat, please?” The words were no more than silent whispers. She cleared her throat and repeated the question, this time in a tone she deemed much improved.

  A wrinkle appeared in the bartender’s brow. His eyes—a color she couldn’t quite determine—grew wary.

  “What?”

  She tipped her chin up, affecting the haughty attitude of her mother. “I’d like to speak with you, Mr. Kincaid.” His name, she spoke his name. Her palms dampened.

  He crossed his arms, a defensive move she knew all too well. “Who are you?” Anger gathered on his face, darkening his gaze even more. Naturally her body responded to that. She could push him, force him to act. Would he? Would he be able to give her what she needed?

  “Have a seat.”

  He scowled.

  “Please, give me a minute. Sit, and I’ll tell you what you want to know.” Not everything, not by a long shot, but she’d tell him enough in an attempt to sway him to saying yes.

  Gaze fixed on her face, he pulled out the chair opposite and sank into it. Heat poured from him. This close she could smell his male musk, sweat and maybe lemongrass. She liked it.

  “Talk.” The word was nothing less than a command.

  She clenched at that, arousal dampening her panties. Yes. She gritted her teeth and twisted slightly in her seat. This. This was what she wanted. What she aimed for. Her gut said he was the perfect choice. Her job was to make him realize the same.

  “I’d like to hire you,” she told him.

  “What?” He lurched forward, elbows on the table as he peered into her face. “Are you drunk or something, lady?”

  Her attention snagged on the tattoos on his left hand, a colorful swirl of symbols she couldn’t begin to decipher that covered up his entire arm and disappeared under the tight sleeve of his t-shirt.

  Bringing her gaze back to him, she shook her head and held up the beer in her hand. “I’m not drunk. This is the same beer I ordered when I came in two and a half hours ago.”

  His gaze narrowed. “Then something’s wrong with your head because I don’t need a job.” He waved a hand. “Take a look around, this is my bar. I own it.”

  El didn’t bother commenting on his accurate assessment of her mental state. “Be that as it may, I find myself in need of some muscle. I came here tonight looking for anyone to fill the spot, but now that I’ve seen you, I think you’ll do nicely.”

  Snorting, he pushed his chair back. “I’m turning the lights off in two minutes, and I don’t give a fuck if you’re in here or not.” He stood.

  She grabbed his hand, latching onto a wrist so thick, her fingers struggled to circle him. “Please.” Helplessness swamped her and burned her eyes. She couldn’t let him walk away. “I need you, Mr. Kincaid. Please, just listen to what I have to say.�
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  He looked from her hand on his wrist to her face then back again.

  She released him. “Please.” She didn’t mean to whimper, but it gave away just how out of control she was. Anything to make him listen. “Just listen to my proposal.”

  She watched him war with himself.

  “Hey, Jud, I’m out,” the guy at the bar yelled. With a wave, he disappeared into a back room. Seconds later she heard a door bang close.

  “It appears we’re all alone, Mr. Kincaid.” She smiled.

  He frowned. “You have two seconds Speak.”

  He didn’t make a move to sit, so she nodded. “I’m looking for someone to perform a specific service, Mr. Kincaid. I believe you might be the perfect person for the job.”

  “What job, and why me?”

  “Why? Because you’re a fighter, you’re good with your hands. You’re disciplined.”

  A muscle ticked in his jaw.

  “I need someone who won’t pull his punches. Literally.”

  Holding on to the back of the chair with both hands, he leaned forward, eyes narrowed. “Let me guess, you want me to beat up someone.” Disgust dripped from his words, but that didn’t deter her. She was on a roll, close enough to finalize the deal.

  “Yes.” She nodded. “I do. Every weekend for one month, I want you to go to a specific address and do what you do best.”

  He gave a small laugh then wiped a hand over his face with a shake of his head. “I’m not interested. Sorry.” He turned away.

  “Wait!”

  He froze, then turned back to her.

  “Don’t you want to know who?”

  “Look, I said I wasn’t—”

  “Me,” she said softly. “You’ll be hurting me.” Holding his gaze, she picked up the beer and took a sip, grimacing at the warmth. Shock sparked in Kincaid’s eyes and on his face. His mouth opened and closed rapidly.

  Speechless. She’d never rendered a man speechless before. Too bad she was strung too tight to enjoy it.

  “Are you—are you fucking kidding me?” He looked around the room as though expecting a television crew to jump out and yell “Surprise!” “You want to hire me to hurt you, beat you up?” Incredulous didn’t begin to describe his tone of voice. “Lady, are you on fucking drugs or something?”

  Didn’t she wish. Maybe the drugs would take away the guilt and the shame. Doubtful, though.

  “I don’t do drugs, Mr. Kincaid.” She pointed to the beer. “I barely drink. I might be crazy, the jury’s still out, but the fact remains, I have needs. I think you might be able to help me meet them.” At least for a little while.

  “Jesus.” He dropped back into the chair. “Listen, I don’t know what you’ve heard, but I don’t hit women. Not in anger and not for sport.”

  “What about for money?” He left her an opening, so she might as well take advantage.

  “There’s not enough money.” His voice was strained, weird, like he was holding back from telling her how he really felt.

  “You want to start a gym, don’t you?”

  He glared, and she shrugged.

  “I overheard you and one of the guys talking earlier.”

  “You’re out of your mind, you know that?” Anger shook his words, controlled anger. Her aphrodisiac, apparently, because she was getting wet again, her nipples aching.

  “I can pay you enough to help you with your dream of opening a gym. In return, you give me what I need.”

  His fierce gaze pierced her, froze her in place. “What’s your name?”

  “El—” She cleared her throat. “Elliot Lively.” Her voice shook, but she didn’t break his gaze. “Everyone calls me El.”

  “What do you need, Elliot Lively?”

  She laced her fingers and took a breath. Time to lay it out, right? And hope he didn’t have her locked up in the loony bin, constrained by a straightjacket. “I want you to hit me, hurt me. Take me. Control me. I’ll fight you, but you’ll overpower me.”

  His eyes bulged.

  She wasn’t finished. The words tumbled out. “I want bruises and the pain. I want to be punished. I want to hurt.” The tears burning her eyes spilled over, distorting her vision. “I came in here looking for someone, anyone to take home with me tonight. I can’t sleep unless I get it. I’ll pay you anything.” She did sound like she was on something, like she was strung out, feenin’, on drugs. Maybe she was, but the high wasn’t the artifice of pharmaceutical aids—it was the rush of the endorphins and adrenaline as she finally got what she craved.

  “Listen.” Kinkaid touched her knuckles, his gaze devoid of judgment. “I’m sorry, but I can’t help you. This is—it’s crazy and not my cup of tea. I don’t do that shit.” He pulled away and leaned back, his face hard, eyes sympathetic.

  She nodded. Okay. The urge to beg and plead itched her tongue, but she swallowed and rode it out. She wouldn’t beg. This was only the second bar she’d visited after all, and it was still dark out, sometime after 2 a.m. More than enough time to visit another bar or make a stop at the park on the other side of town, the one where the questionable characters hung out. She’d visited there once. Got her hand broken when the guy she’d taken home twisted it too far back, but she’d go. If she wanted to sleep, if she wanted to function at work for the next few days, she needed her pain tonight.

  “Thank you for your time.” She pulled a business card from her purse and placed it on the table. “My card.” He didn’t make a move to take it. “All my numbers are there if you change your mind.” She stood up, watching with no small amount of satisfaction when he swept his gaze over her body. She kept in shape, and she had no doubt if all she’d wanted from Jud Kincaid was a hot fuck she’d have gotten it, no questions asked.

  Pity she didn’t do just sex. She couldn’t even get wet without anger or pain being involved. Pulling out her phone, she called a car service, giving them the address of another bar she was familiar with. She wasn’t going home until she got what she came out to find.

  When she got off the phone with the cab service, she picked up her purse and nodded to Kincaid. “Goodbye, Mr. Kincaid.”

  He didn’t speak. She didn’t expect him to. He would have been perfect. Her gut never lied, but there was nothing she could do about it. Outside Kincaid’s, she climbed into the cab idling at the curb. Head thrown back against the seat, she got a lung full of the driver’s stink, sour sweat, and way too many cigarettes.

  She shuddered. Cigarettes. Her mind travelled back in time to the stench of bad breath and stale cigarette smoke on her neck. To thick fingers, clammy with sweat pawing at her, pinching her breasts, jabbing between her legs.

  She curled against the cab seat, whimpering, eyes closed as she fought the memory.

  Tease. What he’d called her. What she was. She was a tease, and she needed to be punished. Clawing at the ripped leather of the car seat, she jerked upright. Cold sweat dampened her nape and trickled between her breasts.

  The car stopped. Through watery eyes, she threw a fistful of money at the driver then stumbled out the vehicle. He drove off, leaving her coughing from the cloying exhaust. A crowd gathered at the entrance to Club Appeal. Taking a deep breath, she tugged up the green, skin tight dress she wore, exposing even more of her legs. The deep plunging neckline put her heavy breasts on display.

  Only one thing was on her mind tonight, and she wasn’t about to waste time by giving off mixed signals. At the bar, she ordered a sparkling water. Taking a sip, she lifted her gaze to search the dark room. A hulking dark-skinned man with corn rows, clad in leather, grinned at her. She saluted him with her drink.

  Twenty minutes later, in a pay-by-the-hour motel, she was coming with the stranger’s belt welts on her ass, said belt wrapped around her neck, and his cock down her throat.

  Chapter Two

  Jud stared at the business card. Two days and he couldn’t get the woman out of his head. Her eyes. The saddest pair of brown eyes he’d ever seen. There was a whole heap of hurt on that c
urvy woman’s shoulders. A whole lot of darkness happening there. He wished he could help, but what she wanted from him … man.

  She wanted to be hurt. Physically. Maybe to match the oh-so-obvious turmoil on her face. He knew when someone was in trouble. That woman was in trouble.

  Elliot. What the hell kind of name was that?

  She was short and curvy, skin like burnt caramel, tits that wouldn’t quit. Her black hair was cut short, almost boyish, except for the longish bangs swept over her right eye. She’d worn the tightest green dress, leaving no doubt as to what she’d been looking for. She’d begged for it. For the pain. And when he’d turned her away, she’d gone on to find someone else.

  He flipped the card between his fingers. What she was doing, that was scary. Picking up strange men and taking them home to hurt her. That shit was crazy. Why had she approached him? Did she think because he dealt with a drunk customer in his bar he’d jump at the thought of hurting someone? A woman? He was a goddamn stranger. Did the woman have no sense of self-preservation?

  Not judging by that lost look in her eyes.

  He couldn’t stop thinking about her. Was she okay? Had she gotten what she went searching for? She could get herself killed with the way she went about seeking her needs. She was gorgeous, her body insane. Exactly the kind of woman he usually went for. All those soft curves. If she’d wanted sex he’d have been more than happy to have her on her back, legs wrapped around his waist.

  He squirmed, sneaking a hand under the table to squeeze the hard-on his fantasies created. Could he do it? He knew nothing about what she wanted from him. Why did she think she needed to be punished? What brought her to the intense level of hurt and pain in her eyes? He wanted those answers, wanted to take away the heaviness in her eyes.

  She was an accountant. The card had two phone numbers and an email address. He had all he needed to find her. First he needed to do some research, decide definitively if he wanted to tangle with Elliot Lively.