Off Limits(6)

By: Callie Harper



I’d been bored that night, same old same old. I was getting tired of this shit. Lately, all I wanted to do was fight. A year and a half ago I’d joined an MMA gym and it had grown on me. Now all I wanted to do was train. It felt real, whether I was throwing the punches and kicks or whether I was getting beat down. Some of both happened. I was figuring it out, adding in new moves to my wrestling and ju-jitsu background. And I was starting to find it addictive.

But I was used to attending bullshit charity events. I’d grown up on them. My mother had loved that shit, before she’d taken up drinking as a full-time hobby, married the pool boy and moved to Barbados. My billionaire father still made the circuit, though. He loved the schmooze. He’d been born into it himself, his father an oil and steel man who’d inherited wealth from his father before him. In the Helmsworth family we made money the old-fashioned way, inheriting and piling up even more. The best way to make money was to have money in the first place.

Nothing drove my father crazier than bringing that up. He liked to pretend he’d pulled himself up from his bootstraps, that he was a regular rags-to-riches story. As if heirs to fortunes who’d attended Dalton, Princeton and Harvard Business School had anything to do with rags. Hell, if he hadn’t made good with all of the money he’d been handed at birth, turning a few companies going public into huge wins, that would have been the surprise. Turning the $750 million that he’d inherited into a billion? Yawn.

My father had talked me into going to this fundraiser, some bullshit equestrian land charity. We didn’t usually pal around. He wasn’t exactly a fan of mine, his one and only son who showed more interest in fighting and fucking than in the family pastime of wealth accumulation. If that wasn’t bad enough, I was attending a state school, a SUNY besmirching the Helmsworth name. The horror.

But I was home for the holidays, as if his Bel Air mansion felt like home, as if we celebrated Christmas with relatives and Santa and home cooking, and I’d let him convince me to come. These kinds of galas were usually good for getting laid, anything with an open bar typically was. And if a party didn’t have an open bar, I could always turn it into one, using my father’s tab to loosen the taps and inhibitions right along with them.

This party started off the same as all the others. I surveyed the scene, bored as usual, ready to drink myself into a stupor and fuck whoever threw herself at me the hardest. Call me an asshole and I’d admit it. I never pretended I was anything but, never apologized. I played games with women who liked to play, like shooting fish in a barrel.

Then I’d seen her. She’d been hiding behind a pillar watching the party. From where I was standing, I could see a glimpse of her, that green dress and red hair. I knew there was something different about her right away. Apart from the obvious, of course—that hair was like nothing I’d ever seen before. Nothing out of a bottle could ever look that rich, that captivating, like loose, flowing flames

But it was more than that. Most of the girls I knew, prep school girls, rich New Yorkers, they’d been cultivated, groomed, trained from the day they were born. Some of them started having their eyebrows waxed at age five. They’d been on diets since they’d started solid foods. At boarding school I knew a girl whose mom flew her home every weekend so she could weigh her on the home scale and make sure she didn’t gain a pound. True fucking story.

What struck me about this girl was how fresh she looked. So unstudied, new, real. It seemed like her first night out at a party and she looked radiant.

And I was a healthy, red-blooded man, so of course it was her body that hooked me in good. Slender, graceful, pale creamy skin you wanted to suck and bite and mark, at least if you were a perverted fucker like me. I was a big guy, pushing 6’3”, so a lot of girls seemed like munchkins. I fit proportions all over and, honestly, some girls just couldn’t handle all of me.

This girl, though, she looked perfect. She had mile-long legs and I could instantly see them wrapped around me as I drove into her, maybe fucking her against a wall the first time. She could throw her arms around my neck and her ankles around my ass and I’d plow into her as she screamed my name.

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