Mind F*ck

by Dawn, Kimber S.

  “Rhett, I—“ she whispers. But she stops. She stops her words. Again. This is the second time this week she’s done it,too.

  I nuzzle her neck with my nose and bring my hands up to cup her face.“What? You what, Lexy?”

  “Nothing,” she mutters before picking up the pace in rocking hard against me.

  I keep my eyes on hers and reach my right hand from her face keeping my left in place, in hopes it’ll keep her eyeson mine. “Rock harder. If you won’t say it with your words, then say it with your body. Fuck—“ I stop myself before quirking my eyebrow then narrowing my eyes on hers. I finish, “No. Love. Love me harder with your body, if you won’t tell me with your words.”

  Then she does. She takes. And I give.

  I give because I do love. I love her like fucking crazy. I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve her. Look at her.

  She slips her black cami over her head before sinking her nails into my shoulders and rocks against me like her life depends on it.

  And all I can do is watch in utter amazement.

  Goddammit, look at her.

  I feel her impending orgasm, building and gaining speed. The muscles in her back tense beneath my fingertips as my hands cradle her, and I can feel her getting closer to her peak. “That’s it, just like that. God you’re sexy.” My words send a shudder through her, and I never take my eyes from her as I thumb her clit. Hers flutter shut the harder my thumb works her.

  “Take it, Lexy. Open your eyes and take it. I want your eyes on mine when you do. I want to see what it looks like on your face. In your soul.” Her eyes almost flutter shut, but I use my words to keep them open...just as her cunt grips down on my cock. I feel her thighs slip, soaked with our cum, and I shove the words out, “I fucking love you, Lexy. Goddammit. I fucking love you.” As our sweat slicked foreheads rest against each other’s, and we both fight for breath I wait for her to respond.

  “I know you do, baby. I know you do.” And that’s all she says. That’s all I really should have expected to hear though, I guess in hindsight.

  If I had to describe what this woman does to me, I honestly don’t think I could...even if my life depended on it. She’s a balm. I watch her layer the lasagna noodles with tomato, meat, and cheese mixture as I step into the kitchen from outside.

  A balm I didn’t know I needed to heal.

  Turns out prison can and will truly fuck you up, if you let it. I chuckle asking her when I’m close enough behind her to grab her hips, “Whatcha doing in here?” I get even more tickled at her when I see her focusing eyes move from the lasagna to me, standing behind her over her shoulder before cutting to that classic don’t-mess-with-me-buddy glare of hers I’ve come to love.

  “What’s it look like? I’m cooking. You said you were craving Italian, so I’m making Italian.” She nods to the cutting board beside her. “Here, cut up some lettuce for the salad for me, baby.” After I briefly kiss her bare shoulder, I do as she demands and start slicing up tomatoes beside her. And after a minute of listening to her tell me about all the different road blocks in front of her and her dream of becoming a nurse practitioner, I look out over the place we’ve made home. I can hardly believe it. When I bought this place one week after starting the new construction on Dean’s Estate, if you would have told me less than six months later, that I’d be in the kitchen, cutting up shit for a salad, with my girl, I would have laughed at you. I would’ve never believed you, that’s for certain. I guess giving up on life doesn’t necessarily mean life is going to give up on you. “When does your dad’s fight land?” Lexy asks me, pulling me from my thoughts as she pops a cube of cheese in her mouth.

  “Around midnight. He was delayed in Atlanta.” I hand her an olive on my fingertip and she winks at me like a little devil, smirking, before biting down on my pointer finger. Hard.

  “Ouch!” I swat her ass, and she pouts and rubs the sting away a little too long.

  She loves my hand across her ass, she’s just exaggerating. I didn’t put much behind it—and I know my own strength.

  Unlike her. Miss biter.

  That’s what I call her, too. “Alright, Miss biter.” I laugh, tucking my hurt hand to my chest. I flick my eyes to her bottom before looking back at her and catch her smiling. “My swat wasn’t that bad, and you know it.” I fetch a bottle of red wine from the chiller, then hold it up, “You want a glass, sweetheart?”

  “No. Thank you though.” She goes back to focusing on her lasagna. Layer after layer. And as I do the math in my head, I think back. And beside the few glasses, okay—seven. She consumed seven glasses of wine from the time she and I walked into my birthday celebration, until the time we went to bed...after swimming in the hot tub until six am when the sun rose. And no, before you even ask—I did not sleep with her that night. I did, however take what was rightfully mine the verynext night though.

  Then the following weekend, we moved up state about half an hour from Dean’s Estate to a little bungalow cabin I used a chunk of my money from Shelia and Cecileto put down on. And it’s seemed like ever since about the second or third week after we got settled in to my—well, now our—log cabin, she’s bloomed into this woman that I can’t keep myself from falling even more in love with every day.

  It’s like I said: she’s a balm. One I didn’t know I needed. It’s funny how loud it is when reality slams it’s foot in your throat. Painful, almost to the point of taking your breath away, but later...or so I’m hoping, it’ll be funny.

  “How long’s it been since you had a glass of wine, Lex? When I first moved in the pool house, you were drinking almost three glasses a night. What’s up? You been feeling okay?” I take a sip and think about Lexy and what she does to me. She makes me whole. She makes it all alright. It’s like, when I got out of prison. The person I was—he doesn’t even exist any longer. The hurt part of me, the side of me that wanted revenge. Revenge for Scarlett. It’s like the hate’s slowly turned to nothing. I see it. I can almost picture it bruising over time. And Lexy—she’s like the balm that blots it all out.

  As long as she’s all I see, then I’m okay. The sound of her phone receiving an incoming text breaks my train of thought, bringing me back to my question. “How long’s it been since you had a glass of wine, Lex?” And I’m asking out pure curiosity alone, people! I glance up and find her just looking at me. Green orbs filling with tears, and her face is completely blank. No emotion. She takes five calm breaths—then she crumbles.

  I watch her chin wobble for only half a second before her face falls apart and tears spill over her lashes before finally falling into the lasagna. “Honey, no. No. I’m sorry,” I whisper as I set the knife on the cutting board then rush to her, wrapping my arms as tightly as I can around her. “What’d I say, Lexy?” I ask.

  But I don’t hear her because I’m not paying attention.

  And I’m not paying attention because as soon as I see who the text is from, everything else around me goes unseen.

  Unseen.

  Unheard.

  And forgotten.

  All I want to know is what the fuck Liam Dean thinks he’s doing texting Lexy. That, and how does he think he’s gonna get close enough to her to talk to her. Again?

  Long time, no see, baby girl. I look forward to seeing you again soon.—L.

  Motherfucker, not before you die. Not a minute before you fucking die.

  “What the fuck is that, Lexy?” my tone is dead serious. “Again? What’s he mean by again?” And then...I swear to God people, I wouldn’t have believed it either if I wasn’t there. But the girl did it. Somehow, someway, she took her words and twisted them up, then spat them at me...decimating my entire bloody world and fucking my mind past fucked with each of them as they cut deeper than the one before.

  “I’m pregnant, Rhett.” Her words sputter out around her tears, “And I-I don’t know if you’re the baby’s father—or Liam. He c-came by, b-before your...your birthday. H-he, and he wasn’t happy. I’m sorry. Fuck, Rhett, I’m
so sorry. I couldn’t look at it. I couldn’t think about it. I just wanted him and what he did to just go away!”

  She needed a distraction. One I knowingly became.

  For her.

  Idiot.

  I hardly remember pulling out of the driveway on my way to Travis’ penthouse, a few floors up from Liam’s. Ornow Summer’s. And even if I have to go to her fucking place too, I’m getting some answers tonight. To every one of my questions concerning Liam Dean.

  I don’t even think I realize what’s going on, or what’s said when the front door to the cabin slams, ricocheting the dull sound as if it was finality. I didn’t mean for it to come out like that. I sigh, glancing down at my lasagna.

  “Shit,”I mutter. After a few more beats, I move toward the bathroom.

  I’ll take a bath. Then come back to the lasagna. One thing at a time, Lexy.

  And that’s what I do.

  As thoughts and worries accost my brain, I soak in the tub until there are no tears left. Then I dress in a warm sweat suit, curl up on the couch with my Kindle and my phone, and call Mary. Her baby will be a year old next month. Gosh where does time go? She answers and I hear Charles and baby Mia in the background, playing.

  “Hey, hon. How’d you like Priest? Mom said it was good. Didn’t she?” In case you were wondering, smut books work wonders distracting you. And I do mean, wonders.

  “Girl it was so hot. I really thought the whole preacher thing had been conquered, but I was wrong. Jesus, was I wrong,” she says, then I hear her hand covering the receiver. “Charles, no! Mia, stop begging your daddy for chocolate like a puppy. Charles, stop giving it to her!”

  I wait in silence for her to finish tending to things on her end of the line. And after a minute, she comes back on the line and we commence going through the book we both loved and never wanted to end.

  Goodness, there’s something sexy about a man with a clerical collar. In a book, anyway.

  Why is everything so much better in books? I wonder for the first time in a very long time.

  Well, since Rhett.

  Her voice is low when she asks, “How are you feeling?” Of course, I told her. She’s my best friend.

  “I’m okay. I guess. Liam texted again, rambling the same crazy shit.” I sigh and let my head fall in my hand. “I don’t know what I’m going to do about him.” I quieten for a moment. And I sense her waiting on me to finish...

  “Lexy? What happened?” her calm voice calls me out.

  And I fall apart. A-freaking-gain. “He knows. Rhett knows about the pregnancy.”I can barely shove the words out past the sobs.

  “Oh shit, sweetie. How?”

  I mutter and it sounds like a pathetic excuse, even to my own ears, “I told him. He asked why I didn’t want any wine, then looked down and saw one of Liam’s texts, and the next thing I knew, he was gone.”

  “Oh,” she whispers. We both know I’m screwed.

  “When’s the paternity test again?” Her question adds more fuel to the firestorm of hell already in the pit of my stomach.

  “Tomorrow morning,”I respond.

  “Okay, well then tomorrow for lunch, you and I will go into town. Eat at our favorite little soup and salad bistro—just the two of us. Sound like a plan?”

  “Sure. Sounds like a plan.” I huff. “Hey, let me get off this phone. I need to try and eat something, I guess.”

  “Okay, Lex. Call me as soon as you know something, okay?”

  “I will. Can’t wait till lunch, tomorrow. Love you, Mare. Bye.” I have a few bites of the lasagna, but I do good getting that down.

  My stomach was already in knots. The conversation with Rhett did nothing to help the feeling of impending doom that grows with everyeerie text I receive from my ex- husband. When it comes to Liam, knowing something is very important. Knowing something, is better than knowing nothing.

  And all I’ve known is absolutely nothing where Liam Dean is concerned...for way too long.

  I know my ovulation cycle like the back of hand. Hell, I’ve had to know it. It’s kind of hard not to know when you can get pregnant when you’re faced with a conception calendar month after month. And even though the chance is lower of Liam being the father, because I didn’t start ovulating for two more days after he barged in that night, I still had to know. Against all the odds, and at risks I’m not willing to admit to, I called my fertility specialist. The same one who tried to help me for years to conceive a child with Liam, as soon as I suspected I was.

  And now here he was, the exact same man I was sitting in front of this morning, begging for this child to be Rhett’s and not Liam’s this time. It’s funny. A little ironic, don’t you think?

  “After going through everything, I’ve faxed the paperwork over to your lawyers like you requested as soon as the results were back. There’s a ninety-eight-point-seven percent chance, the father is not Liam Dean.”

  And oh my God...I don’t think I can breathe. “Ms. Mayer, based on all the other tests, I can confirm that you’re the parent of a strong, healthy fetus, who seems to be growing and developing at a rate that is perfectly normal for your gestation which is...”

  My vision blurs with tears as I watch him flip through my chart.

  Liam’s not the father.

  Oh, thank God.

  I say a quick prayer. Pleading, begging the Lord for this chance with Rhett.

  Just one more chance.

  I pull up our texts from last night as Dr. Payne flips through page after page.

  He sent one first:

  Lexy, I meant it when I told you I loved you. I meant it from the bottom of my heart. I need you to accept that. I need you to accept the fact that you can be loved. You’re...well, you’re fucking lovely, babe. *insert cocky laugh here* I’ll love this kid, just as much as I love you, whether it’s mine or not, okay, Lexy? It doesn’t matter to me. I have too many fucks to give now, because of you. Just give me a day or two. You soak in the fact that I love you. And get your little butt used to it. If I was half a decent boyfriend, I’d send you a pic of my ninety percenter to prove it to you. But right now, I’m working on being an even better fiancée. Maybe husband? You know what, just don’t say anything. Don’t reply to that—Not yet. I will ask you to do this for me though, meet me in our spot, tomorrow. You bring a blanket, and I’ll bring my guitar and a picnic. This way I can at least tell our little one that I did get you on a date once. Even if it is just once. Is three pm okay? Please say yes.

  I texted him back, immediately after reading it last night.

  Yes.

  “Eleven weeks and two days.” The doctor looks up from the chart at the same time his words pull me from my thoughts. “Sound about right?” He chuckles after I nod, then he stands from his desk before walking around it and holds out some prescriptions. “One for your pre-natal vitamin. One for some nausea medicine, just in case. I’d like to see you here once a week until further notice. Doctor’s orders. Are those understood?” He smiles kindly.

  “Yes, sir. And thank you!” I’m positively beaming when I step out of the doctor’s office. It’s June and the heat is already so high the weather forecasters are declaring this will be the warmest summer yet. I remember the due date Dr. Payne gave me on my firstOB visit last month. December 28th. That’s a good birthday.

  As soon as I’m out of the doctor’s office, I forgo texting Mary and instead, I text Rhett first:

  Don’t respond. Just know this—I can’t wait till three o’clock today. I do love you, Rhett. And I do want to do this. With you. And our child. I’ve just left the docs, Rhett. Congrats. You’re the father. See you at three, under the tree. :* I love you, baby.

  Happy thought after happy thought floods my frontal cortex as I slide into my Range Rover. I turn the key in the ignition and when I hear the song on the radio, I instantly turn it up, jamming out, then slide the truck into reverse. Blaring ‘Get Ugly’ by Jason Derulo. Mouthing every lyric.

  I don’t see him. Nor do I hear
him. I don’t even sense him—which is odd now, looking back on it. I spent how many years of my life orbiting around him and him alone? I’m just saying...I should have felt it. Like you feel it when you lose someone you love, or so that’s what I’ve heard. I should have felt Liam behind me in the back seat.

  But I didn’t. Not once.

  I glance in my mirrors, both side, then review, and I never sawhim. Not even once. I steered the truck onto the interstate, merging with traffic. And I’d barely gotten a mile when his voice cuts through the cabin of the truck just as a blade nicks the flesh covering my carotid. “Well, helloooo, baby girl.” His voice is whiny. Nasally. And when I hear him call me by that name, I have to concentrate in order to hold back the gag. “You miss me?” He taunts, sliding the blade from one collarbone to the other, then back to my throat. “What are you doing leaving the doctor’s office, Lexy? Hmm?”

  I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I also refuse to answer him. “It’s alright. You don’t have to tell me. I know people—the nurse in the front office to be specific. So, eleven weeks, huh?”

  I can barely keep my hands on the steering wheel, I’m shaking so hard. When I finally am able to find my throat, I swallow, then shove out the words as fast as I can, and it isn’t for me. I’m not pleading for my life, not any more.

  I remember I’m carrying Rhett’s child, and that fact, to me—is like a warm cozy blanket. One that no matter what—Liam Dean will never be able to take away.

  Unless he hurts my baby.

  So, no. When I plead with Liam, I’m not pleading for my life. Not like before.

  Now, I’m pleading for Rhett. For me, Rhett, and our new baby growing inside me. “Liam, please. Don’t. Whatever you do, don’t hurt the baby,” I beg. The tears streaming down my face stings and I keep trying to brush them away so I can see the road.