Rachel
(Women of Privilege)
Book 2
WRITTEN BY
BRIDGET BUNDY
RACHEL (WOMEN OF PRIVILEGE) BOOK 2
PREVIOUSLY KNOWN AS THE REALEST LIE
COPYRIGHT © 2015 BRIDGET BUNDY
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
THIS BOOK IS A WORK OF FICTION CREATED BY THE AUTHOR. ANY PERSON, PLACE, THING, BUSINESS, AND/OR INCIDENTS ARE THE INVENTION OF THE AUTHOR. ANY RESEMBLANCE TO A PERSON ALIVE OR DECEASED, PLACE, THING, BUSINESS, AND/OR INCIDENTS ARE PURELY COINCIDENTAL.
NO PARTS OF THIS PUBLICATION MAY BE REPRODUCED, DISTRIBUTED, OR TRANSMITTED IN ANY FORM WITHOUT THE WRITTEN PERMISSION OF THE AUTHOR.
COVER/EMBLEM CREDENTIALS:
COVER CREATED BY BRIDGET BUNDY
Alegreya Copyright © 2011 Juan Pablo del Peral
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nymphette copyright © Lauren Thompson
QUICKSAND Copyright © 2011 Andrew Paglinawan
COVER PHOTOGRAPHY iconogenic – fotolia.com
SECOND EDITION OCTOBEER 2015
Table of Contents
Table of Contents
Acknowledgements
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Epilogue
Visit Me Online
Published Novels
Acknowledgements
To my husband. For being one of my biggest fans.
Chapter One
His eyes are the lightest shades of brown. The dark curls on his head has tiny strands of silver. His olive skin is gorgeous, proof of his youth and vigor. He has a smile framed with dimples. His name is Brennan Moore. He is a pleasure to look at, a pure treat to the senses overall. Women walk by our table, doing blatant double takes, sneaking flirtatious winks and smiles. Doesn’t matter they’re in the restaurant with their significant other.
Brennan does not acknowledge the admirers, but strums his fingers on the table instead, staring at me impatiently. I’m not flattered by his attention. I’m just an entertainment piece, and when he’s had his fill of me, he will move on. I’m no more important to him than the Grant he’ll flip to the valet when we leave.
The untouched dark honey hued cognac vibrates in a snifter within inches of his reach. Caesar salads are in front of us. We haven’t so much as lifted our forks to try a single bite. Brennan is worried. He’s trying to make me more comfortable by having this romantic dinner, but it’s not working.
“I’m glad our salad is already cold,” he comments.
“Sorry,” I reply. “Guess we should have forgotten about dinner.”
“Have I done something wrong?”
“No.”
“Then what is it?”
“Nothing,” I remark sadly. “There’s nothing you can do to change what’s wrong, anyway.”
“We can end this right now if it’ll make you happy.”
I laugh. Even if we did leave, I wouldn’t get any happiness. There’ll be consequences.
“What can I do to help you, Rachel? Is it Grey?”
“You know better than to ask about him.” That’s my main rule when I’m with Brennan. No mention of Grey, and no questions about him, either.
“Why can’t you walk away? Obviously, that’s the answer.”
“Exactly where will I go?” I respond with a shrug of my shoulders. “There isn’t a place on this planet where I can hide. He’ll find me, and he’ll kill me.”
Brennan surrenders to the truth of my life and nods his acceptance. “I’m sorry it has to be this way for you.”
“Don’t be,” I remark. “I do get a little something out of it.”
“Yes, indeed, I agree with that.”
I look around at the other tables, trying to see whose listening or watching. Two ladies keep cutting their eyes at Brennan. If they were in my shoes, they might not be so quick to think he’s handsome.
“Alright, Rachel. Shall we eat? I don’t want our salad to get any colder.”
It’s sweet that Brennan is concerned. I do appreciate it, but coming from him, it doesn’t inspire much. Brennan Moore is who he is: a client, no more.
I stab at a tiny morsel of romaine lettuce and try to enjoy the taste of parmesan cheese and Worcestershire sauce. The food is always very good in the S. Moore Waterfront restaurant. This place was built of aged wood from ships long ago disassembled with nautical relics and photographs of old sailors hanging on the walls. Of course, the restaurant is owned by Brennan, but I don’t think he knows or is related to anyone in those pictures. From what I can tell, they only give the place a theme, promoting a bygone time of when ships sailed the Savannah River. It does not lend to a romantic atmosphere at all, either, but Brennan likes to think it does. There’s always that fishy smell and humid saltwater feel lingering in this place. I won’t tell him, though. Not my place.
Our dinner arrives not long after we finish the salads. I have the salmon. He has walleye. From the description on the menu, walleye is a favorite to the establishment, meaning Brennan loves it. We eat mostly in silence.
At times, he steals a glance at my diving neckline of my chiffon red dress. Actually, he doesn’t steal. He shamelessly holds a lingering stare. I wish I could say it’s the diamond pendant that’s settled in the crevice of my breasts, but Brennan is every bit a man and loves cleavage. I simply take his unabashed looks as a compliment.
When our meal is done and the dessert has been declined by both of us, we are ready to make our departure. Brennan doesn’t have to pay, but he leaves a hefty tip for the young waitress, who was nervously serving us the entire time. He was so kind to her. That’s what I like about him. Sweet to a point and when necessary.
He rises first, holding my chair so it won’t tip as I stand, and assists as I put on my shawl. His hands caress my lower back as both of us ensure that we haven’t left anything behind. Brennan takes my hand. I really don’t want him touching me in public, but I let him only because I like him. He greets his guests, gives firm handshakes to gentlemen, light tender pecks on the hands of smitten ladies. He does not introduce me. Both of us prefer it that way.
Brennan gets to the last table before the headwaiter’s podium and shakes the hands of two people. One of them I know very well, and she knows me. Her name is Jaleesa Phillips, my husband’s sister. There’s no effort on my part to hide my face or pretend like I don’t know her. I’m here with another man, and it’s none of her business. Of course, she’s utterly shocked to see me, to the point she can’t speak a word.
I smile cordially at her with no shame and head held high. Rather she likes it or not, I belong at Brennan’s side as a beautiful prize to be showed off this evening, and there’s nothing she can do about it.
The short greeting is over. Brennan takes my hand once more, and we walk together to the front entrance. I glance back at Jaleesa. Her shock has turned to anger. She’ll call my husband, her brother, but her tattle telling is of no consequence to me. I will have my evening with Brennan Moore, and I’ll see what happens when I get home.
Chapter Two
Our hotel room is the epitome of elegance. The living room alone is as big as a loft. The recessed floor has two ivory white French provincial style sofas. A solid white coffee table with ornately decorated legs is in the center and has a spray of peace lilies and baby’s breath. Heavy velvet curtains open to French doors and the setting sun over the Savannah River.
Brennan only wants the best money can buy. Restaurants, hotel rooms, cars, houses, women. I can’t figure out why he thinks I rank among the best. I’m no more special or talented than any other ordinary woman. I can make a decent meatloaf, keep a house in tip top shape, but I’m in no way killer in bed. I simply do as requested, with some exceptions, of course.
He pays no attention to the décor of the living room, nor does he look out at the setting sun. He simply walks to the closest bedroom while taking off his watch and cufflinks. His cell phone and wallet are placed on a silver tray on the dresser. Brennan reaches in his pocket for a condom and puts it on the nightstand beside the bed. He takes off his jacket, socks, and shoes. Lastly, he looks at me with those smoldering brown eyes. He’s ready to play. I really love having sex with him. His touch makes me feel like I’m the only woman in the world.
Brennan walks over to me, never breaking eye contact. His cologne consumes me. I’m shivering. My palms are sweating. There is a sexual sizzle in the air. I can feel it, hear it. Slowly, gently, Brennan wraps his arms around my waist, and we kiss like lovers, like we haven’t seen one another in ages. His hands roam my back, searching for the top of my zipper. He finds it, and my dress falls at my feet revealing my naked body. Brennan backs me up to the wall, pushing his groin into me. I hate admitting that I enjoy his touch, his sweet attention, because I know there’s no more to this when we’re done. Real life seeps back into the picture, making this short thrill a mere memory. But right now, Brennan is a fulfilling need that I accept willingly and openly.
I take off his tie and unbutton his shirt, all while we kiss. His belt buckle is easy to undo, but I can’t get it off of him fast enough. I rush to unzip his pants and push them down to the floor with my high heels. Without missing a step, he steps out of them and lifts me by my legs.
Brennan lays me down and reaches for the condom off the nightstand. I watch him fit it, massage it expertly over his penis, ensuring the bubble is out enough. He takes great pride in ensuring his dick is well suited for the occasion. It’s sexy to watch him. Finally, he snuggles on top of me, covering me with his warm pale skin. He has a body like a swimmer. Broad and wide across the shoulders, narrow and firm in the middle, strong fit legs and arms. And he’s soft, skin smooth, and his butt breathtakingly firm. I can’t keep my hands off of him. During our first meeting, I didn’t have the feelings I do now. I thought I was going to puke when he first put his hands on me, entered me, and panted in my ear. But now, after several sexual connections and learning he’s as harmless as a teddy bear in love with honey, I can’t help but to feel somewhat happy in his arms.
Our kissing becomes more urgent, and Brennan rolls on his back. I’m on top, moving against him. I take him gently, moving the tip between my folds, and I sit on him all the way. I always want the full length of him right from the initial contact. I let go of a sensual moan as my head tilts back. He fondles my breasts, grazing the peaks of my nipples. Brennan knows my needs and my wants.
Slowly, I begin, rolling my hips, dancing sexually. He’s exquisitely thick, filling, and the throbbing. So magnificent. I move faster, grinding my nub on his mound. Waves of pleasure is building below the surface. He gently pinches my nipples. My orgasm is almost there. He can feel it, too. Then the sensation bursts, and my body gushes in pure ecstasy. Each bounce, each scream of his name, the entire thrill is all I care about in that moment, and when my orgasm dies, I exhale with satisfaction.
Brennan flips me over. There’s a purpose for the change. He wants me to cum again and again. And he knows how to do it. His chest must touch my sensitive breasts. His dick must go deep without hindrance. He’s giving my body a flawless performance, and it’s not long before I am on the rise again. He kisses the pulse on my neck, and that’s all it takes for me to explode. I can’t hold still. I can’t get enough. My ecstasy spreads and breaks me into pieces.
“Love the way you feel, Rachel. Your pussy is squeezing me. Cum for me, baby.”
He is an expert, a pussy master with his dick. I can’t help but to give him what he wants. Love this state of mind, the high of sex, riding to the moon. Shit, if I could stay under him forever, I would. But the lull does hit me, and I can’t produce the rise any longer. But that’s okay. I’m more than satisfied.
Brennan keeps going with his final performance. He works hard, quickly arriving at the precipice. He tightens up, followed by a last painful thrust. I hold on to him, giving him the release he has given me so many times before. When he has emptied himself fully, he falls to my side, out of breath and tired.
What we do is crazy. We have sex like we’re in love, but there’s no love between us, just a connection of flesh in exchange for money. I look over at Brennan as he sits up on the bed. His broad pimpled back faces me. He’s done for the evening.
“I’ll be seeing you again later this week,” he says, smiling back at me. “I want another taste before I go out of town.”
Without waiting for my answer, he exits the room, still butt ass naked. He’s going to take a shower on the other side of the suite, which is fine with me. We can avoid the good-byes.
I get up and go to the bathroom. I must clean up before going home, too. Can’t smell like sex around Grey.
Chapter Three
My arrival at home brings dread to the pit of my stomach. Jaleesa’s Escalade is parked by the garage. I’m sure she’s already told Grey where she saw me and who I was with. She must have broken a thousand traffic laws to get over here before I got home. She’ll do anything to put herself on a pedestal while grinding her heel in my back.
Jaleesa is loyal to Grey because she wants to keep the lifestyle he’s afforded her. He’s paid for her home and car, and he gives her a monthly allowance. She doesn’t have to work. All thanks to the guilt trip their dead mother has laid on Grey before her passing.
For some odd reason, Jaleesa feels I’m a threat to everything Grey has given her. Maybe, she thinks I’m badmouthing her or feeding him rumors. To be perfectly honest, I really don’t know her. We don’t hang out. There are no brunches or chatty rumored filled phone calls between us. If we pass in public, neither one of us speaks to each other. So why she feels threatened? Really, I have no clue.
“Wonder why Jaleesa is here,” Andrew says while getting out of the car.
Andrew is Grey and Jaleesa’s youngest brother, and he’s brought me home from the hotel. He lives with me and Grey over the garage. He’s pretty much a leach, much like their sister. Andrew comes and goes as he wants, never having to pay for anything, not responsible for anything. Grey foots the bill for him one hundred percent, as long as Andrew is available when needed. He is the size of a football linebacker, walking like he’s going to kick someone’s butt all the time. But truth be told, Andrew is harmless and a coward at times. I’ve never really seen him get mad over anything, and he has a knack for disappearing when trouble pops up or when Grey gets mad.
I look up at the house of hell that I hate so much as Andrew goes inside. It’s a two-story Tudor. It stands among trimmed hedges and cassia trees. The thing is huge with five bed
rooms, a study, three full baths, two half baths, two car garage, breakfast nook-kitchen-living room all in one, a formal dining, and a finished basement. Honestly, I think having so much house is ridiculous for two people and a leach. Grey and I have no plans of having children…ever, as far as I’m concerned.
I want to enter the house through the garage. The doors are closed and locked, and Andrew is already inside of the house with the key fob. I walk in slowly, hoping to make it to the master bedroom without being seen. The moment I try to turn the corner at the end of the hallway, Grey spots me from the living room. He calls me. I sigh in pure aggravation and head for the entrance.
The shock of the scene in front of me leaves me speechless. Jaleesa is on the floor, and Grey is standing over her with both fists balled up at his side. Jaleesa’s hands are raised. Her eyes are red, tears are flowing down her face, and her bottom lip is cut. Blood has stained her white blouse.
Andrew is standing in the entrance. He appears to be shocked as I am, but he hasn’t done anything to help Jaleesa. I look at Grey, and he’s staring over his shoulder, daring me to say something about what he’s done. This is the first time I’ve ever seen any hint or evidence of Grey putting his hands on his sister. I’m not going to ask if she’s okay or try to help her. He’ll turn on me, and I’ll get a worse beat down than she did.
One thing is certain, Jaleesa has learned to fear him. It rings true on her face and in the way she trembles. I live with that same fear every single day. The difference between her reaction and mine? I don’t give him the satisfaction of my tears, and I never will.
“Did Jaleesa see you earlier today?” Grey speaks with clear, concise English. He never wants to be misunderstood, and he doesn’t like to repeat himself. If a person is not paying attention to what he’s saying, he doesn’t have time for them. One chance, that’s all anyone ever gets, including me.
Rachel (Women of Privilege Book 2) Page 1