Bad Girls Don't Cry

Chapter 2: The boy with the eye tattoo

Every Thursday night I'm allowed to go out and do something of my choosing. Nothing too crazy like a club or anything like that. Something classy, maybe an opera, a play, an orchestra, or a movie.

I sometimes take these chances to do things that normal people enjoy. I sometimes go to Olive Garden to pretend that I just got off from work and I just want pasta and wine before bed. I closed my eyes and drifted off into an alternate reality where I had a normal Mom and Dad, and I was a regular art major just enjoying my 20s.

"How many?" The waiter asked as she grabbed a menu, snapping me out of my imagination.

"Just me," I said shyly. As if it wasn't embarrassing enough that I was eating here alone, she gestured for me to follow her, then shouted towards the kitchen.

"TABLE FOR ONE!" I groaned internally, letting my deep brown curls cover the fact that I was blushing. Since I had caramel-toned skin, embarrassment was very easily shown on my face; well, that and the fact that I wore my emotions all over my body.

I quickly slid into the booth, then acted as if I was going to be looking at the menu. Of course, I come here so much that I already know what I wanted, but I just wanted her to go away.

Going out to eat at Olive Garden may be strange, but I like to come out by myself to get away from my overbearing parents. I know it's not some fancy place, but I get tired of thousand-dollar tabs, and prying eyes. The downside of being rich is that you have the whole upper class in your business.

When I wasn't around my Mother, that was my time to let my hair down and be myself. She let me do whatever that was reasonable, as she would call it. I could go shopping, hang out with friends of her choice, and do regular outings as long as I didn't embarrass them.

The waitress came back and I ordered a vegan meal, eggplant. I wasn't allowed to have anything fattening, and I had to be a vegan. I took off my white, knitted sweater, revealing my sleek, red silk dress. I wore the most expensive fabrics, so they held your figure in all the right places and loosened up in the others.

As unconventional as it was, I always dressed my best to go anywhere. And I loved vibrant colors, I was an artist after all; despite what my Mother tried to make me. I smoothed my soft locks over my shoulder, then sipped on the Red Wine that I ordered.

"You unimaginable bastard!" A woman shouted about two tables down from me. I looked up, startled. I watched as a redheaded vixen threw her drink in the face of someone who I guessed deserved it, then I rolled my eyes and shook my head. Men I swear. Is this why I haven't been touched in years?

I looked down at the menu with a sigh, trying not to watch as she stormed past me and out the door. I never expect to see things like this in Olive Garden, especially since it's so lowkey. After I ordered food from the waiter, I was accompanied at my table by the very same man with wine all over him. I let out a small laugh but composed myself quickly. "Is there something I can help you with?" I asked him, amusement on my face.

"Yes," he smirked, sitting down in the chair in front of me. "I was wondering if you had a napkin."

I leaned back in my chair, passing him the napkin from my table. When he reached out to grab it I couldn't help but notice the eye tattoo that covered his whole left hand. "Anything else?" I asked, raising a questioning eyebrow.

"Yes," he cleared his throat. "I was wondering if you could write your number on it." At that, I laughed hard.

"You just got wine thrown on you, and you want my number?" I asked, impressed by the boldness of this man.

"I admit, not the best impression, but it was all innocent I swear." He smiled, his eyes glinting deviously in a way that made me quiver. "I saw you and I instantly had to admire you," he explained. "She didn't appreciate your beauty, but I do." He gawked, causing me to roll my eyes.

"That's not impressive," I spat, fluttering my lashes.

"Of course not," he laughed. "You must have men telling you that all the time. It probably doesn't mean a thing to you. But it's the truth." He unbuttoned his button-up shirt, revealing a plain white T-shirt. "What're you doing here alone?" He asked, getting comfortable in his seat.

"I like coming here alone," I clarified, letting him know that I wasn't afraid. Though when his deep, moss-green eyes met mine, I felt like I couldn't breathe.

"So you want to get outta here?" He asked, gesturing towards the door. I sighed, blinking in shock.

"Why would I want to do that?" I asked him.

"Because I want to give you what you need," he smirked, leaning in closer to me. I sunk into my chair, letting my hair cover one of my eyes. I knew he was buffing, trying to woo me. I never thought for a second that he could actually have a clue what I need.

I'm twenty-years-old, I'm untouched and unloved. I had my first kiss when I was fifteen, and that resulted in me getting abused by my mother. She was just so upset, and I still don't understand why.

Ever since then, I've been too afraid to talk to guys. Call it PTSD, call it whatever you want. I learned when to fear my Mother, and when to push the boundaries. That's how she wanted it though.

With those thoughts in mind, I sat straight up. "How do you know what I need?" I asked, entertaining him.

"Oh trust me," he smirked, running his hands up my bare leg. "I know what you need." His eyes glinted in a way that made me believe him, and I stiffened under his touch, blinking profusely. "So what do you say? Huh?" He asked, and I moved his hand from my leg. "You gonna come with me?" His question made me roll my eyes.

If he had been there in the room when it happened, he would never have asked me that. "What's gonna happen if I come with you?" I asked, peeking up at him through my thick lashes.

"I guess you'll have to come and find out."

~*~

"Are you scared?" Jay asked as he opened the door to his penthouse.

"No," I replied, following him inside.

His place was huge! A nice little penthouse suite with a view of the city. The ambiance was gray, black, and dimly lit. Of course, it was nothing compared to my mansion, but it was the kind of nice that I could like if I was allowed to live on my own.

He took off his black, wool coat, then took mine off for me. I made my way over to his leather couch and gazed around while he brought over wine and two glasses for us.

He handed me the half-filled wine glass, then sat down on the couch next to me. "You always bring girls to your place that you meet at random restaurants?" I asked.

"No," he laughed. "You're actually the first."

"And who was the drink throwing Nancy?" I asked with a teasing smile.

"She's my now ex-girlfriend," he said matter-of-factly.

"Oh, you're a relationship kind of guy." For some reason, this made him laugh.

"I don't look the type?" He asked, smiling his charming smile. I looked at the ′cut here′ tattoo on his neck, and the ′myself′ tattoo that went across the edge of his eyebrow. He was like the kind of danger that I looked for when I was a teenager.

"No," I answered honestly. "Especially not if you have money like my parents."

"What's wrong with your parents?" He asked in all seriousness.

"Nobody around them knows what love is. Neither do they. They don't care about love, all they care about is money, and how to get more of it."

"And I'm guessing you don't?" He smiled.

"No, actually that's not it. I'm aware that it matters, and I love having it. But I wish I had the freedom that it could buy."

"You want freedom?" He asked.

"Yeah..." I trailed off. "Actually... I do." I answered him honestly. I don't know what it was about him, but he made me want to spill my whole life out to him. My wants, desires, and needs. He made me feel like I could tell him anything, and he'd listen.

"Caged birds usually do sing," he answered simply, only I didn't understand what he meant.

Our conversation was nice, but I did notice how much closer to me he had gotten over time. After we had a glass of wine, he made me come sit next to him on his bed. I immediately knew where this was headed, and debated if I wanted to run for the hills or not. I had never really thought about having s*x before, I had my own list of struggles to deal with.

He stood in front of me, towering over me intimidatingly. I looked up at him nervously, closing my eyes as he ran his hands through my thick curls. He knelt down to my eye level, and I couldn't help but think about how sexy this man was.

He leaned in close; so close I thought that he would kiss me, but he never did. I could feel goosebumps rising on my skin as he grazed his mouth and nose down my neck and over my shoulder.

"You smell so good," he groaned, making my heart skip a beat. He made his way back up to my face, and this time he kissed me softly on the lips. His hand lingered over the strap of my silk dress, and before he could start to pull it down I stopped him.

My back was now pressed against the wall. Mr. Capable's biceps flexed by my shoulders, caging me in but I didn't feel confined. His smile sent my chest into a flutter, and the heat from his body had my panties ready to ignite.

His green eyes floated across my face like he was tracing every line, memorizing every curve. "What's your name, sweetheart?"

The sound was smooth and melodic like he should've been the one with the guitar on the corner, melting me from the inside out. My tongue felt fat, and every word from the English language seemed to evaporate from my mind. What was he asking?

"Charlotte!" My name bounced off my tongue in a surprised shout before I could control it. I clamped my lips together and suppressed a groan. Way to play it cool, Charlotte. Well done.

He grinned down at me and waited.

What was he waiting for, a kiss? I was not going to kiss a stranger in his apartment alone. One brow pulled up, and his grin widened like he was amused. "Jay."

Heat prickled my neck and pooled in my cheeks. His name. Right. His fingers reached for my hair; one thick, deep brown curl twirled between them. Of course, I could notice how close he was, and of course, I knew what he wanted, seeing how I willingly went home with him. My heart thumped against my ribs, and my throat tightened. I couldn't even tell him that I was a sad, pathetic, twenty-year-old virgin. "I don't think I can give you what you want." My mouth spat out before I could stop myself.

The green in his eyes softened. His fingers buried further into my hair and massaged the base of my skull. "What is it you think I want?"

A woman beneath you, on top of you. I widened my eyes and flattened my palms. Against a wall. "What most guys want?"

He smirked. "Beer?"

I bit my lip. Mortification filtered through the nervousness and flushed cold in my veins. Did he just bring me here for a drink? Was I overestimating this attraction between us?

He laughed, noticing my panicked expression. With his sexy smirk and entrancing eyes, he looked like a walking one-night stand. Did I want to get involved with someone like this? He looked like he knew exactly how to touch a woman. Would it be so bad to spend a few hours moaning beneath him? It's not like I had time for anything more.

He dragged his fingers through my hair, sending a toe-curling tingle down my spine. My eyes dropped to his mouth. It was millimeters from my own. If I tilted my chin up, our lips would touch. Was that what I wanted? To kiss a stranger? To feel a stranger's hands on me, inside of me?

I wanted to say no. I had chapters to read, a paper to finish, and a friend I was supposed to be supporting. But my feet were glued to the floor, refusing to let me walk away. I lifted my chin, and my breath stilled. So close.

My chest swelled with each breath and a tightness tugged at my skin. I was hot and needy with a craving so foreign to me that it was overwhelming and consuming all at once.

My body ached for this stranger, and it wouldn't stop until I had him. His body pressed against mine, his lips kissing a slow, steady path from my chin to my collarbone. My n*****s tightened in expectation. Would he wrap his lips around the tips? Scratch them a little with his teeth?

Shallow breaths wobbled from my lips. Would Jay be slow and soft or hard and rough? His cocky smirk hinted at a guy who liked to have fun. Nervous energy spiked in my stomach. The fun was good.

Jay leaned forward and pressed his lips to my collarbone. They were soft and gentle like he was exploring. I tilted my neck and let my hair roll off my shoulder, giving Jay room to move. His lips kissed my flesh as his fingers stroked between my thighs. A moan rolled up my throat and my n*****s ached. Lips latched onto mine, and a tongue slipped into my mouth.

Fingers tangled with my panties, shoving them down my legs. A belt clattered and foil crinkled in my ears.

Hands gripped my thighs, spreading me wide. Hips thrust, piercing my walls and settling a hot, thick c**k inside. I moaned in relief. Aching for him had been torture.

My legs wrapped around the waist, rocking above me and pulled the body closer. My back arched, a delicate thread twisting inside, drawing me closer to that sweet relief. The c**k surged forward, swelling my lips and sending a flood of sticky heat to ease its path.

The thread down low in my belly pulled tighter. I was almost there. A few more strokes and my life would be erased from my mind with a flood of oxytocin. I grinned. Now was not the time to go clinical, Ms. Doctor-In-Training.

Vibrations purred beneath my skin and my thoughts fogged. All it took was one more thrust and we both exploded together in each other's arms. Jay planted one last sweet kiss on my lips, and I closed my eyes to soak in what I had just experienced. It didn't hurt like I thought it would, I didn't even bleed. I actually wanted more, dangerously, but as I checked the time I had to rush back home soon, or I would be hearing music from my parents about this all night.

Realizing this, I grabbed the hem of my dress and pulled it down, slipping my shoes back on my feet and grabbing my things in haste. "Wait, you're leaving?" Jay asked, and I nodded without another word. "How am I gonna see you again?" You called, but I had no time to respond as I was already halfway out the door.