by Piper Rayne
He always did have the filthiest mouth and I’m woman enough to admit that I loved it.
His fingers move from my ear to the back of my head and his strong thigh separates my legs, pushing my skirt up and placing pressure on my clit.
“We can’t.” He’d be a moron to think I mean it as my head falls back with a sigh. Talk about a guy who has the secret map to my treasure trove.
I raise my head to meet his gaze and we each lick our lips. Our mouths descend, hesitant at first, as though we’re feeling each other out, but it only takes one taste before we’re ravishing each other.
His tongue dives in, my hands grip his strong shoulders and his thigh rises higher between my legs. He swallows down my moan as I lose all sanity.
Somewhere between his tongue down my throat and my hand venturing down to his rock-hard dick, my sanity returns with the impact of a freight train. Instead of pumping his dick, I place my hand on his chest and push him off.
“What?” he asks.
“No, Dean.” I wipe my mouth and straighten my skirt.
“I don’t think you mean it.” He approaches me again, his cocky smile on display.
I smack him.
“Fuck,” he says, his hand covering his now red cheek. “Did you really have to do that?”
“Yes. Jesus, Dean. I’m your ex-wife. You hate me, remember?” I step a good distance away from him, out of the bubble of arousal we were in.
“I’m kind of remembering now.” He holds his cheek.
“That’s it. We’re through. Please respect that.”
He stands straight, and I want him to watch me leave this time around, instead of the cowardly way I did it five years ago after he was passed out.
“You have your wish. If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”
I open the door and pause for a moment, looking back over my shoulder. “I won’t.”
Shutting the door behind me, I vow to leave him in the past where he belongs.
Chapter Seven
That Friday, I shut my apartment door after saying goodbye to another dud of a date after dinner. Stepping out of my heels, I pick them up and retreat to my bedroom.
“Tonight, I need pajamas, popcorn, and a movie.”
Opening my closet doors, I place my heels next to my other ones and strip out of my dress, thinking back on the date that can only be described with one word—boring.
I’ve been determined to find a straight-laced guy but give me a break. The guy visits his mom every Sunday and keeps a gratitude journal. Sweet yes, but I’m not signing on for that. He volunteers at three different places during the week after he’s done at work. You know when people say you date or marry up? To this guy, I would’ve seemed like the used gum at the bottom of his shoe. He had a damn halo over his head.
Five minutes later, I’m in my silk pajamas, sitting on my couch with a bowl of popcorn in my lap.
“This is the life.” Again, I’m talking to myself since I’m alone.
I click through the movies. Nada, Zip. Screw this.
Since I refuse to get rid of my DVD player because contrary to popular opinion Netflix does not have every movie available, I open up the media cabinet under my television to dig for a movie.
As I go through them, nothing sounds interesting. A romantic comedy won’t work since my romantic life sucks right now. I pull out a few other cases, but nothing sparks my interest. When my hand clenches around the Rambo case, a shiver wracks my body.
It’s our DVD. The one Dean and I made. God, that man can convince me of almost anything.
I’d hidden our recording in the back of the cabinet so no one coming to my apartment would stumble upon it. I should’ve taken a lighter to it years ago. There’s no use in denying that my feelings for Dean haven’t exactly waned over the years. Do I hate him? Hell yes. Do I ever want to go down that road again? No way. That doesn’t mean he’s not hot as hell and seems to still have some magical pull on me.
I hold the DVD in my hand, the contents of what’s inside causing my desire to burn even more.
“Fuck this.” I shove the DVD back into the pile of movies underneath all the other ones, shut the glass doors to my entertainment center and head to the kitchen. “Ice cream solves all.”
I abandon my bowl of popcorn and instead dish myself up a bowl of strawberry ice cream.
Sitting back down on the couch, I channel surf for a good ten minutes.
“AHH.” I click the television off.
I grab the newest Cosmo magazine on my end table and scour through it to see if I missed any articles when I read through it last week. I toss it back on the end table once I see that I even did the quiz.
Replacing the magazine with my phone, I thumb through Instagram and Snapchat. Blah, blah, blah. Nothing new.
Since when did I become so boring?
I decide to text Zoe.
Me: Hey, game night still on for tomorrow night?
The phone rings immediately with her name on the screen.
“Hey,” I answer.
“You know I have two kids. That means one hand for each one, plus it’s bath time.” I hear splashing in the background. “To answer your question though, yes, our house. Are you bringing someone?” She laughs, and I roll my eyes.
“Shut up.” I rise from the couch and rinse out my bowl, placing it in the dishwasher.
“You ready to talk yet?” she asks. “CAIDEN!” she screams, and I pull my phone away from my ear for a second.
I hear his laughter a second later.
“Stop it. You’re scaring Mommy. Do you want me to have a heart attack?”
“What’s a heart attack?” he asks.
“What’s he doing?” I ask.
“The kid thinks it’s funny to see how long he can hold his breath.”
“A Houdini in the making.” I walk back over to my living room and sit down on the couch.
“No. He’s a doctor in the making. Isn’t that right?”
“I want to be like Daddy when I grow up,” Caiden says followed by more splashing.
“What about Mommy?” Zoe questions and I can’t believe the best entertainment for me on a Friday night is listening to my cousin and her young son.
“Mommies are boring. Daddy plays with tools.”
“His own tool,” Zoe mumbles.
I laugh.
“If you played with it I wouldn’t have to.” Vin’s voice comes through the line, obviously having joined their little party.
“Now you come up when he’s almost done,” Zoe says sounding annoyed and then taking me off speakerphone.
“You’re so much better at it than I am.”
I know without being there that Zoe is rolling her eyes at him.
Then again, like with Victoria and Reed, I’m forced to wait while they make-up or at least whisper to one another while kissing noises sound through the phone.
“Your son is in the room,” I say.
“Chelsea,” Zoe answers to Vin when he asks who she’s speaking to.
“Hey, Chels, game on tomorrow. Want me to fix you up tomorrow night?”
“Tell Vin, I’m good.”
“She’s good. Her ex is back in the picture.” Zoe’s tone is one of amusement. Like this is all a big joke, but she’s not sitting here trying to keep herself cooled down enough not to get herself off while watching a DVD of her and her ex.
“What? She isn’t bringing him, is she?” Vin asks.
“No,” I say.
“Maybe,” Zoe overrides my answer.
“Shit babe, hurry this up, we need to practice. That guy and his sports trivia knowledge used to beat us every time.”
I smile remembering when I used to win game night for that brief moment Dean was in my life.
“Um, Vin, you’re missing a few key elements there. I think you’re killing brain cells from playing with your tool so much,” Zoe quips.
“I know, I know. I’m supposed to put him on the cross and burn him, but I
have some empathy for the guy. What happened couldn’t have been easy for him.”
“That didn’t mean he had the right to treat Chelsea the way he did,” Zoe fights my battle for me.
“Hey,” I try to interrupt.
“He was going through a hard time,” Vin argues.
“Seriously? You’re going to take his side?” Zoe’s playful tone has turned serious.
“Hey, Zo,” I interrupt again.
“There are no sides. They’re divorced,” Vin says. “Come on bud, out of the bath.”
“One more time,” Caiden says.
“No. Do not let him keep going under and holding his breath,” Zoe says using her mom voice.
Nothing good can come from this. Mark my words. Nothing.
“What’s the big deal? I’m right here,” Vin says.
“Hey, Zoe, I’m going to let you go,” I say, fiddling with the seam on my pajamas.
“No, no, Chels. Hold on a second.”
“Oookkkaaayy.” I sigh.
“See look, he’s still down there. Are his eyes open? They are. He’s challenging us.” Zoe is none too pleased.
“He’s playing,” Vin says with a chuckle. His voice seems to hold a little bit of pride.
“Playing my ass.”
Then I hear a big tumble, Caiden wailing, and their arguing voices.
“See, I told you,” Zoe snaps.
Click.
I hang up. I’m not going to make my Friday night worse by listening to two married people argue about their child.
Read. I can totally pick up a book. I rise from the couch once more and pull out my iPad, scanning through the new release charts for a book.
“No romance,” I murmur to myself, my finger scrolling down past all the covers with abs and couples hugging and almost kissing. “Fiction,” I sing-song, clicking on horror. I like horror.
I read a few blurbs and finally settle on one. After downloading it, I open the first page and start reading, trying to lose myself in a story about a killer of women. Single women that no one will miss. Huh.
I plop my iPad on the couch beside me and zero in on the glass doors under my television.
“Bad idea,” I say to myself, shaking my head hoping some sense will fall into it. My feet land on my warm rug. “The hell with it.”
My hand is poised on the handle of the glass door when my phone rings. I glance down, intending to ignore Zoe, but it’s my other cousin, her brother, Mikey. He’s always good for a laugh and a good time.
“Hey cuz.” I flop back down on the couch, hoping this call will improve my mood.
All I hear is loud music pumping and screaming in the background.
“Get dressed, I’m sending a car to you.”
“I’m in my pajamas. Why don’t you afterparty here? And bring some Mickey D’s with you.”
“Hell no. I got a 911 call from Zoe that entails getting you out of your pajamas, preferably into a dress, and out of your place. The car will be there in ten minutes.”
“Where are you?” I ask, already heading toward my bedroom.
“The driver knows where I am. The doorman has your name. Stop sulking because I’m gonna be really pissed if I have to leave this bar and the girl I’ve been warming up all night to come get your ass.”
He hangs up.
I pause in the doorway of my bedroom, my gaze moving to the glass doors once more.
“Yep, I’m not going to destroy it, so I might as well ignore it.”
I head into my bedroom to forget Dean and dance my ass off. The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else, right?
Chapter Eight
I fall into the booth, sweaty and exhausted and in desperate need of another drink.
“Are you working on your moves at home or something?” Mikey falls in right next to me, waving his hand to his friend who’s ventured to the bar instead of our booth. “Grab two.”
His friend nods. A friend who’s gotten handsy with me a few times on the dance floor, but he’s not bad looking. If I would just stop thinking about that DVD and Dean, I’d probably take him home with me.
“Who’s your friend?” I ask Mikey, sitting up straighter.
“Nope. Hands off.” He shakes his head.
“What? Why?”
“Because I’m not listening to another friend whine about you blowing them off.”
“Who me?” I act offended although he only speaks the truth.
“Yeah, you.” He laughs and sits up straighter, playing with the triangular advertisement in the center of the table. “So?”
“What’s with everybody’s so’s?” I grumble.
“Because you make us draw things out of you like a prisoner of war.” He looks up at me through his thick eyelashes.
“What does everyone want? In a city of millions, he happens to be the one tax attorney who volunteers to do pro bono work for the foundation I’m working at. End of story.”
His eyebrows lift.
“What?”
“Nothing.” He raises his hands up in front of him.
“That look isn’t good on you. I’d lose it for the ladies.”
He chuckles. “It’s a bit of a coincidence, no?”
I shrug. “Coincidences happen all the time.” His eyebrows lift again. I pluck the advertisement out of his hands. “You’re not one to hold back your thoughts.”
“You don’t want to know my thoughts.” He chuckles and leans back into the booth.
“Well, from tonight’s conversation, there’s Vin’s side and Zoe’s side.”
“Vin has a side? Usually that man is either on Zoe’s side or right down the middle.” He pauses for a second. “Strike that, he’s always on Zo’s side.”
He smiles, and I laugh. Truth is, I don’t want to know what side he’s on because there is no side to take.
“Seems Vin sees Dean’s side.”
Mikey shrugs, his gaze diverting to the packed dance floor.
“You, too?” I stare at him slack-jawed.
Mikey glances back at me. “I’m a guy, Chels.” He shrugs. “Don’t get me wrong, I mean, how it all went down was horrible and I hated seeing you so heartbroken afterward, but the guy’s hopes and dreams were shattered.”
“And that grants him permission to ruin our marriage?”
He places his palm up in the air. “I’m not saying what he did was okay, I’m just saying that I get the self-destruction. I think what you need to figure out is if it really is a coincidence, or if he knew you worked at RISE.”
I sit there blinking at him for a second, unnerved with what he’s suggesting. “No way. Why would he purposely seek me out?”
A smile lifts his serious lips. This is not why I came out tonight, but like any big family, mine doesn’t understand what privacy is very well.
“Maybe he has regrets? Maybe he wants you back? Maybe he wants to make things, right? I’m not him, I can’t say. But when Zoe called me tonight and gave me the low down, it all just seemed a little too coincidental to me.” He shrugs again and shoots me a look like, ‘hey, but what do I know.’ Obviously, a shit-ton more than me.
Why didn’t I suspect foul play from him? Because I’m too busy being enamored with him.
“Well fuck a duck.”
Mikey laughs and his friend slides into the booth, bringing along two girls, all their hands full of beers.
The girls instantly cozy up to Mikey and his friend. Feeling like a fifth wheel, I figure I’ll call it a night.
“I’m heading home.”
Mikey sits up to attention. “I’ll get you home. It’s late.”
I stop outside the booth and shake my head. “I’m the older cousin, remember? I can get home myself.”
“You sure?” he asks as the girl’s hand rubs along his stomach.
“Yeah, stay put.” I tuck my purse under my arm.
He slides out of the booth giving me a kiss on the cheek. “You have your pepper spray?”
I giggle at
his assumption that I can’t handle myself. “I’m good. See you tomorrow night.” I kiss his cheek. “Don’t bring her,” I whisper in his ear.
He just shakes his head at me.
“Have a good night.” I wave and then walk off while his friend eyes me one more time like he’s committing my body to memory.
Then I vanish into the throngs of people and head back to my place that suddenly feels very lonely.
* * *
I’m not home for more than five minutes before I’m back to where I was hours before. My time out of the house was a nice reprieve from the burning desire to watch the DVD.
“Fuck it.” I plop down, grab the Rambo DVD, the plastic creaking in protest when I open it. Before thinking twice, I put it in the DVD player, head to the couch with the remote and press play.
The music starts, and I roll my eyes as a smile crosses my lips remembering how much work Dean put into it. Lights of the Las Vegas Strip shine out the window of our hotel room.
There’s me naked on a bed with a sheet over me, holding my hand out with my ring on it for his viewing.
“Say your name,” he jokes.
“Chelsea Bennett,” I say, my voice innocent and lovesick.
“Wrong.”
He yanks me by my ankle down the bed and I giggle not protesting one bit. “Do you need me to spank you?”
The camera shakes from him laughter.
“Please,” I pretend to beg.
“Say your name,” he repeats, and I hold my arms out.
“Mrs. Dean Bennett,” I say on the video.
I inhale a deep breath and suddenly I’m that girl again. Naive and pure and a true believer that my forever just got etched into some imaginary book of destinies. That Dean and Chelsea Bennett would live happily ever after.
Maybe that’s why the crash back down to earth was so painful.
“What do I get for saying it?” I tilted my head to the side into a sex kitten look with hooded eyes.
The sheet slides over my lower half and there’s my much younger pussy on display, freshly waxed. Ah, the good old days.
His hand comes into view, his middle finger running up my folds, his thumb pressing lightly against my clit. My gasp audible.
“Already wet.” Although he’s behind the camera, I can still remember his satisfied smile.