by Opal Carew
“What’s her name again?”
“His ex-wife? Her name’s Whitney. And she and I have become fast friends. In fact, she’s as cool as I don’t know what.”
“Okay, then who’s this latest girl on Kinkfest?” Burt asked.
“Her name is Karen. I sent her a note because she was a friend of a friend of a friend. I swear I didn’t know she was literally fucking Marcais. After I found out, I sent her another note telling her that I was his ex because I didn’t want her to feel as if I’d been trying to play her.”
“That’s fair. Thoughtful, actually,” Burt said.
“Well I agree, or I did agree until she told me that she thought I looked familiar. She’d seen pictures of me on Marcais’ Facebook page.”
“Excuse me?”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Whitney told me that he was probably still on Facebook doing dirty, but was hiding it from me, but I didn’t want to believe it in spite of all the other crap I knew he’d done. Marcais swore from the moment we got together that Facebook was off limits for him. So why would he let this Karen chick be friends with him there, but hide it from me?”
“Let me guess, because he had a bunch of other chicks on there, too, right?”
“Right.” More than right. In fact, Karen had told her that she’d been seeing Marcais for quite a while and how wonderful he was and how sad she was about the fact that the military was sending him overseas and how she’d miss him and blah, blah, blah.
“Damn it, Burt, I swear it seems every time I think I’m progressing, healing and moving on, I get some new piece of information that keeps this man as front and center in my life. He’s like a wet booger…just stuck on me and I can’t wipe him off! Why can’t it be over already?”
To hear Karen talk of how they’d fallen so deeply for each other while he’d been living in Solie’s house had cut her anew. Never mind the fact that they were supposed to be a monogamous couple. It made the acid churn in her stomach to know that a woman Marcais was cheating with had fallen in love with his monkey ass. Just like Solie had fallen in love with him.
“You know what’s going to happen, Sol. Marcais is going to drop this Karen girl like a hot rock as soon as he finds out the two of you had a conversation. Why? Because she was supposed to be a secret. The only one who didn’t know it was her. If he doesn’t dump her now, he’ll dump her as soon as the next one is in place. That’s the MO. It’s what sociopaths do.”
“Doesn’t make me feel any better, Burton.”
“Just remember that to a man, pussy is very different from love. She was just a lay.”
Solie knew Burton was right and she almost felt sorry for Karen. Almost.
But her compassion for the other woman was damn near on empty because Karen admitted that she’d known Marcais was in a relationship with someone else…with Solie. But she hadn’t given a rat’s ass. Instead, she’d spent time with Marcais anyway. Slept with him anyway. Got hooked on him anyway. Took pictures of her having sex with him anyway.
“Mac bring you lunch today, Sols?”
“Yep. It’s homemade clam chowder.” She spooned up a big bowl while talking to Burton. Now, sat down at her desk, took a bite and moaned in appreciation. Fog had rolled in and it had gone from sunny to chilly. The thick creamy soup, made hearty with a ton of seafood, potatoes, savory spices and herbs, warmed her tummy.
“Good to hear you’re not skipping meals. It’s a bad habit and it’s something you do way too often.”
“I’m working on it, Burt. Seriously.”
“Work harder. I’d hate to have to dole out more punishment.”
She giggled when he said, “Then again, you have such a perfect ass I may have to make up something to get you in trouble just to get my hands on you again.”
Burton. Was. Flirting!
And she had no idea what to do with it, other than acknowledge the wiggle in her tummy that signaled an impending bout of giddiness.
Then she remembered what they’d been talking about.
“You know what, Burt? I wonder if Karen knows that Marcais posted pics of them on the internet having unprotected anal sex.”
She closed her eyes and shook her head trying to dislodge the image—Marcais’ thick cock disappearing into Karen’s willing body. The woman had held herself open for him, little pools of sweat gathered at the base of her spine. Her own fingers dug into her flesh. One of her fake fingernails had been broken, while the others were coated with glittery-blue polish. Marcais’ cock had been slick with her juices. And no condom.
It was forever branded into Solie’s brain.
A brain she wished she could just pluck from her head, sit down somewhere else and let it cool off for a while. Because in addition to the hurt, Solie was mad as hell.
Her dude—correction, former dude—had had unprotected sex with another woman, taken a picture of it, and was stupid enough to post it online. And yes, the date on the photo was before Solie had broken it off for good.
“It doesn’t matter, Sols. As soon as he finds out that Karen spoke to you, she’s history.”
The next day, Burton was proven right.
After her typical early-morning wake-up ritual of showering, throwing on whatever she felt like, then practically dunking her head in a pot of coffee, Solie walked into her office. Karen’s note was the first one in her email inbox. The woman had sent her a message telling her that Marcais was angry because the two women had spoken with one another. He was livid that Karen had told Solie the truth. And after he’d told the woman off as if she were some two-bit crack whore, he’d blocked her on Kinkfest and all the other social media sites.
Poor thing. Solie almost felt bad.
Until her phone rang just before lunch.
It was her doctor.
Marcais was the gift that just kept on giving…which unfortunately included a sexually transmitted disease.
An angry and hurt Solie transformed into a nuclear-hot Solie. The doctor had to report her condition to the state and the state would report it to the Center for Disease Control. After firing off a note to inform Marcais that he’d infected her, Solie headed to the pharmacy. One hour and a massive dose of antibiotics later, Solie pondered an issue that had been tapping at her brain since the doctor had called earlier.
She knew that Marcais was not going to return her calls or her texts. How could she make sure he got tested and treated? There had to be a way to keep him from pretending that none of this was happening.
Mind made up she made a few calls to some friends who happened to be stationed at the same Army base as him. Shortly after, Solie was voice-to-voice with Marcais’ First Sergeant. And she didn’t hesitate to lay out all the dirt, down to the last detail.
Thankfully, the sergeant was willing to help Solie out. The man wasn’t happy that one of his soldiers was smack dab in the middle of such foolishness, had passed her cooties and played her dirty. Not to mention that particular soldier was soon headed out of the country to get away with it all.
But not anymore. He was going to have to face the music now that his command was aware of what he’d been up to.
Yep. Karma was one saucy bitch…and today she was Solie’s best friend.
Sitting in her office like a zombie, Solie stared at a blank computer screen with the events of the day playing over in her mind like a bad B-movie. She picked up the phone and called Mac, who was quickly angry on her behalf.
And though she felt a bit better after Mac threatened to slip a castration pill into Marcais’ food somehow, it didn’t make the tight knot in the middle of her chest go away.
She needed something, someone else.
An hour later her doorbell rang.
She opened the door and her mouth dropped wide open.
It was Burton, who promptly informed her that dinner was on its way before shooing her into the living room.
Mac came in right behind him with her arms full of said dinner. She pecked Solie on the cheek and disappeared in
to the kitchen
Solie’s eyes were instantly filled with tears. “You guys are too much.”
“We care about you, woman. Now sit.” Burton pointed to the couch and gave her the I-dare-you-to-argue look.
Burton turned on a movie that they’d all seen a million times so they could talk if they wanted to. Fifteen minutes later, Mac shoved a plate into her hands. The last thing she wanted was food, but she didn’t fuss. Besides, she just didn’t have the bandwidth for a fight. At all.
With dinner done and some blow-’em-up action movie exploding in the background Solie broke down and the tears poured out of her.
Pulled into Burt’s lap, Solie found herself wrapped in strong arms as he whispered his care and concern into her ear.
The anger melted away, leaving a pool of bubbling pain in its place. And for the second time in as many days, Solie bawled her eyes out and soaked the front of Burton’s shirt.
God, she was so damn tired of crying over someone who wasn’t worthy to sniff her farts. Someone who was currently pretending as if she’d never existed. Someone who was a total douche canoe.
This was it. The last time she would give the memory of Sir Hell the power to level her. As of now, she was done.
Would she hurt awhile longer? Probably so. Denial would get her nowhere. But would she allow all her thoughts and emotions to be focused on the searing pain of betrayal? Hell no.
So Solie let it out and cried until she had no tears left. Cried until she was so worn out she fell asleep in Burt’s lap. The last thing she remembered was hearing Mac say that Landon had come to pick her up. She’d sweetly pecked Solie on the cheek as Burton tucked her into bed.
And Solie passed into a world of dreams filled with darkness, lava and fire with he who should not be named at the receiving end of a red hot poker up the ass.
Ah, justice.
Chapter Three
The bedroom was always chilly this early in the morning. Today, Solie didn’t feel any of it. Soothing energy rolled off of the man next to her—a man who’d tucked her in last night and stayed with her to make sure she was okay.
And Burton’s presence warmed her from the inside out while his solid body warmed her from the outside in.
Yep, best of both worlds.
Solie ducked her head under the covers, mashed her face into his chest and wrapped her arms around him.
She took a deep breath. Fabric softener from her blankets and the natural masculine scent of her best friend filled her until she was drunk-n-drowsy. This wasn’t the first time one of her friends had slept over, however this particular buddy had never slept in her bed. Especially not with her in it.
As she snuggled closer, the first thought that came to her muzzy mind was…safety. Not in a physical sense, though surely Burt could take care of her in that way, but this was more of an inner peace. A “my head and heart are safe with this guy” kind of thing. It was a knowing that unfurled in her belly. Rang in her head. Filled her up.
And the second thought? Well, that was easy—damn he’s hawt!
“Solie? Wake up, honey.”
Solie stretched with a half-smile-half-frown. “No wanna wake up. Comfy.”
Burton’s arms loosened as if he were about to get up. It was obvious he didn’t really want to when his hold tightened again.
And the thought that he wanted to stay exactly where he was made Solie feel all manner of gooey inside—something she’d never quite experienced with that other guy. She wondered why considering that she’d loved Marcais. Truly loved him. But there was a piece of herself that she hadn’t truly given over. Perhaps she’d known all along that he was playing her while a part of her soul hoped she’d been wrong.
“This is interesting,” Burt whispered against her hair before dropping a gentle kiss on the top of her bed-head. “We’ve been friends for years and now, I—”
Solie stiffened, unsure of whether to eagerly anticipate what he was going to say, or prepare to flee. Burt stopped mid-sentence, took in a deep unsteady breath and blew it out. Arms tightened more around her body, then he let go and got out of bed.
Solie sat up, pulled the cover to her chin and pulled her knees up to her chest. Suddenly she felt so…cute.
“Why the blush, Sols?”
She didn’t answer. Instead she simply shrugged and kept her mouth shut. This kawaii thing wasn’t something typical. After all, she was a bitch on wheels every day, all day long as she ran her company. Sexy? Sure. Kick ass? Yep. Cute? Not so much. But there was no disputing that Burton just seemed to bring it out of her. Or maybe it was the Hello Kitty shorts-and-tank top pajamas she wore. A set given to her by the very man peering down at her from beside the bed.
God, something about Burt rang her bell. And right now, she didn’t really care what it was or why. In spite of the emotional roller-coaster she’d been on, there was one truth she didn’t bother to dispute—she trusted this man. Completely.
He’d been her friend through all her ridiculous bullshit even while in the midst of his own heartbreak. While Mac was going through her on-again-off-again divorce with her husband, Landon, Burt was there. He was the genuine article when it came to loyalty minus naiveté or games.
And here he stood in her bedroom looking all kinds of yummy in a pair of tented—whoa, wait, tented!—boxers and a fabulously formed bare chest sprinkled with fine black down that arrowed to a very, very happy trail.
Oh my God, definitely tented boxers.
Burton’s hair was a mop of jet black waves, cut short on the sides and a little longer on top. She almost smiled at the way it stuck up all over his head, glossy and inviting to her fingertips. Eyes so clear and crystalline blue they brought to mind one of those deep pools at the top of a glacial mountain under a clear sky.
Had she noticed how gorgeous he was before? Sure. But she’d never allowed herself to dwell. He’d belonged to someone else…and so had she.
But now she looked her fill after having spent the night being consoled in his arms. And Burton Khrys was just…wow.
And did she mention the tented boxers? The package beneath the fabric seemed long, thick and inviting. And it was all for her? Then again, maybe he always had some serious morning wood and it had nothing to do with her at all?
“Stay there. I’ll be right back,” he said.
A certain something about Burton—a something she’d been able to ignore before—seemed so close to the skin that it was almost tangible. And when he left the room, it left with him. And just that quickly, she missed it. Him. Whatever.
Six minutes later—but who was counting right?—Burton walked back into the bedroom and brought the scent of toothpaste and that certain whoosh of masculine energy with him.
He motioned with his head and said, “Scoot.”
She immediately moved over and he set a tray down in front of her. Burt snatched some tissues out of the box next to the bed, pressed them into her fingers, and then put his attention back on the tray.
Solie looked down at her hand and back up at Burton.
“You’re going to need it, Sol.”
She was going to need tissue? This couldn’t possibly be good.
Before she could ask why, he picked up her favorite porcelain mug and a small glass of half and half off the breakfast tray. A splash of cream soon joined what smelled like Italian roast coffee.
He handed the hot mug to her and said, “No sugar for you. Do you need to test your blood sugar first?” Yep—a gentleman who, beneath the skin, was not a gentle man. And she loved the contrast. Always had.
Solie tried not to compare him to her former dude but it was impossible. Why? Because Marcais knew she was diabetic but had never once asked if she needed to check her blood sugar or anything else, for that matter. Instead, he’d bring her all manner of sugary crap as gifts, then get mad at her when she couldn’t eat it.
Okay, squash that. Back to the present.
“No, I’m fine. My doctor told me that a lot of times my fasting b
lood sugar doesn’t really measure how well I’m doing. It’s what happens after I eat that tells her whether my body is doing what it should or not.”
While she made small talk, Burt was busy grabbing a little brown bottle off the nightstand, retrieved a single tablet and pressed it into her palm.
“Thank you,” she said as she popped the medicine into her mouth and chased it down with a gulp of coffee bean heaven. She moaned as she swallowed and then peeked over the rim of her mug at her friend. As she sipped, Solie almost smiled into the brew at Burt’s lopsided, but totally smug, grin.
He was racking up brownie points. And he knew it.
Cheeky bastard.
With the tray moved over to the dresser, Burton sat down right in front of her and looked her square in the eye. Her cup paused halfway to her mouth.
“Listen, Solie. I know when you look at me you see someone who’s been active in the BDSM community for years, someone who enjoys impact play and being a basic mean old man…”
Old? He was one year older than her? She raised an inquisitive brow, but didn’t interrupt.
“I also know that you know me better than anyone else. And I have a proposition for you, none the less.”
A prop-a-what? Was he serious?
She braced herself. Hard. But not out of fear like with Marc…
No. Nope. Keep it here, Solie.
And she would remind herself a million times a day if that’s what it took to move on toward healing.
“I know you’re on the rebound. But if I can take your pain, any of it, Solie, I want to do that for you. You could use the release, the catharsis.”
Well he was right on that particular point, but there was more to this than Burt’s desire to help her relieve the big ball of emotional tension she’d been carrying around. So she sipped her coffee and waited for the other shoe to drop. And God, she hoped that particular shoe was her size—nine medium, thank you very much.
“I’ve always been honest with you, Sols. It’s been a long time since we discussed any feelings for each other, and understandably so. We’ve both been in relationships with others for years. I’m grateful because it allowed us to be good friends with no physical baggage between us. Still, you know I’ve found you attractive in every way, for a very long time. My timing is shitty, I’m sure, but it’s the truth.”