by Tina Ness
I feel the sweat begin to bead up on my temples and my neck as the tantalizing stimulation continues. He lowers down my body while his teasing fingers glide over each of my hips and thighs, arousing each nerve under his tender touch.
“Oh, baby,” he moans, and I open my eyes only to see that wide naughty grin. “I could never get tired of seeing how wet I can make you.”
I smile and bite my lip before closing my eyes and placing my head back onto the bed.
His magic mouth begins its tender play on my inner thighs while his hands slide up my belly before reaching my tingling nipples. He taps them lightly, matching the tempo of his mouth on my soft flesh. I can’t hold my hips down any longer; they rise up and his movements quicken.
“Holy shit, Marshall, I’m—” I grab ahold of his hair as my body convulses in a fit of astounding orgasm.
He looks up at me and slows his tempo as I start to come down. I’m panting from the unexpected fit of bliss as I try to speak, but that’s when he goes in for the kill; his tongue takes one long swirling lick up my sex before he suctions hard onto my clit. My hands twist into the sheets, my vision goes fuzzy, and my mouth is so dry I can’t swallow. Then another orgasm more intense than the last comes in full force, until again he slows his motions, keeping me just on the edge of bliss as I steadily descend.
“How about one more?” he says. Before I can process his question—no, I’d have to call it a statement—his fingers dip into my sex and he places the other hand just above my pubic bone and pushes down. At first I’m not sure what he is doing, but as the foreign sensation continues, I realize really quickly that this man of mine knows a whole lot more than I do; he is a fucking sex god. My third skyrocketing climax begins, and his hand leaves my stomach before once again he fastens his mouth over my clit.
This time dry throat be damned! I yell his name while every inch of me screams in pleasurable delight.
“I want you inside of me,” I pant.
He brings his body up to mine and slides his rock hard readiness along my swollen, wet womanhood, making me shiver.
“I didn’t wear you out yet?” he says, before reaching over into his nightstand drawer. I manage a little smile, but sheer desire has me so wound up I feel like I could spiral off into the universe at any moment.
His length fills me full, the intense feeling momentarily making me wonder if I do have another one in me.
Turns out I have two more left in me before total exhaustion takes us both.
***
Sunday, July 4
As much as I don’t want to leave today, I know I have a few things to get ready for tomorrow’s presentation for the new club.
Marshall calls Rich first thing in the morning to see how everyone is doing, to make sure everyone is safe, and to make sure that the girls have been in no way exposed to any of this. The fact that he calls Rich is a clear indication that he’s not too happy with Aubrey for leaving him in the dark all of this time.
I know I’m doing the same thing by keeping my visit from the detective and the article from him, so before I leave I make good on my promise (to myself) and tell Marshall. It causes a good amount of his tension to return when I tell him about Francis’s other charges, but I’m glad that we are finally talking openly about the sources of our pain.
Chapter 29
Monday, July 5
Max and I meet at the coffee shop to go over every last detail of our presentation for the very last time before we head to the meeting. The old two-story brick building already looks much better than the last time I saw it. Missing bricks have been replaced, and the old, worn-out grocery store sign has been torn down and replaced with a classy marquee sign that juts out from the building to create an overhead shelter from the Minnesota elements. The inside looks fresh as well. The exposed pipes have been covered, the holes in the walls have been patched, and a fresh coat of primer has been applied.
We are greeted by Vince and Melanie and taken back to the office where we first met. My nerves kick into overdrive as I spot a board leaning against the wall with one of the other potential designer’s plans. The pressure is on now, and I feel the anxiety rising to my face. I can even see the nerves wash over Max. I’d hoped one of us could hold it together.
I begin the presentation by fumbling like a nervous idiot. I slowly begin to relax as I speak, and my confidence returns one hundred percent when Melanie points to the oversized martini glasses and club sign telling me it was better than anything she could have ever imagined. I then present our ideas for the brightly colored photographs to be the artwork—the pièce de résistance that had them both beaming with excitement.
An hour later as we wrap up the presentation, I want to hit myself for wasting all these years not doing what felt so good, so right, what made me feel so alive. I’m destined to do this.
“We’ll call you as soon as we decide,” Vince tells us as we exit their office. But before we even make it to the front of the building, they both come out, racing to the door. “Heck, no need to make you guys sit and wonder. You got the job. That is, if you want it.”
Without any hesitation we agree.
Max and I share a little victory dance in the car—well, as much of a dance as you can manage in a car, mostly just raising the roof and cabbage patch moves that would make most people roll their eyes at our cheesiness.
I’m eager to share my news with Marshall, but I decide to wait and let myself calm down a bit first. I don’t want to come off like the childish fool I would sound like. My voice will be a few octaves too high and shaking with joy for a while.
I drive Max back to his car at the coffee shop. Before I leave the lot, I take out my phone to send a text message to my sister, my mom, and Krystal, telling them the news. I decide to call Marshall after I get home. When my screen comes to life, I find a text from Marshall and a few other well-wishers.
I melt as I see his words:
I hope everything went well for you. I’d wish you luck, but you don’t need it. You’ve got this, Beth!
Next I send a text to Krystal, Rose, and my mom that I’m officially the designer of the newest (destined to be the best) nightclub to grace the North Shore of Minnesota.
My phone makes noise after noise on my short drive home, but I refrain from even looking.
I pour myself a large glass of Pinot Noir, wishing I had champagne and someone to share a toast with right at this moment. I snuggle in on the sofa to read my text messages and to call Marshall.
Marshall’s voice comes over the receiver. “Hey, gorgeous, how did it go today?”
“I got the job!” I squeal. So much for keeping my voice level. “They hired me on the spot.”
“I knew you would get it. Anyone who wouldn’t want to hire you would be a fool.” I giggle at his confidence in me.
“Well, let’s keep the good news rolling. I have some news that I know you’ll like.”
I wish so badly that he was here so we could share our news together, so he could hug me, toast with me, and I could see his expressions as we share our good news. “You’re not going to make me beg for it, are you?” We both laugh.
“Jett was arrested last night in Duluth.” A chill of mixed joy over his arrest and the horror of the fact that he was in my hometown last night makes me shudder.
“Apparently he had reached into a cash register and grabbed a fistful of money at a local pub when he though no one was looking. I guess the cops chased him through the city. He was driving some old beat-up piece of junk, so clearly he had blown his money and that’s why he had gotten so desperate. He is also being linked to several other burglaries in Wisconsin where he’s been living, so hopefully they can put him away for a while. So Aubrey and the girls are safe.”
“That’s a relief. Cheers to great news all around,” I say, raising my glass in salute, then taking a sip. A sudden knock at my front door has me almost spilling my wine in my lap.
“Someone’s at my front door; hold on.” I look
out my front window only to see Detective Damico standing there. I’m instantly nervous.
“Marshall, I need to let you go. Detective Damico is here.”
“Breathe, baby; it’s okay.” Geez, even through the phone he knows I’m about to freak out.
“Call me when he leaves,” he says before we disconnect.
It’s going to be good news, I tell myself as I open the door.
“Ms. Murphy,” he says with a nod, “I have something of importance to share with you. May I come in?”
So much for small talk; right to the point it is. “Of course, please come in.”
We walk into the kitchen and take a seat. Please don’t tell me he made bail. I can’t handle the thought of that creep being anywhere but behind bars. Thankfully, he continues his let’s-get-right-to-it mentality.
“Ms. Murphy, as of last night your case has taken a turn. Francis Ray Moe has been trying to convince us that he was hired by a guy he met at a bar to rough you up, that he was promised some sort of inheritance money in return. He told us the guy’s name was,” Detective Damico searches his notes for the name, “Matt Hall. Does that name mean anything to you?” “No,” I say, shaking my head.
“Well,” the detective goes on, “we had no luck finding anyone by that name, but last night we got a lucky break. We picked up a guy caught stealing out of a cash register calling himself Matt Hall. Only it turns out Matt Hall wasn’t the guy’s real name.”
No, no, no, it can’t be—please don’t let it be.
“His name is Jett Reynolds. Does that name sound familiar, Ms. Murphy?”
What? No! We weren’t even together when I was attacked. Please let me be dreaming. Please let me wake up from this nightmare.
“Ms. Murphy?”
I body starts to tremble as I speak. “I’m not sure on the last name, but yes, Jett is my boyfriend’s—” my lip quivers with the word boyfriend and tears flow in an instant, “it’s my boyfriend’s sister’s ex-husband’s name.” Tears begin to roll in a steady stream as my world comes down around me. When Marshall finds out that Jett had anything to do with my attack, he will be crushed.
“Ms. Murphy, are you okay?” the Detective asks as sincerely as I’m sure he’s able.
I just nod.
“There’s more—would you like me to go on?”
Again I nod.
“Jett admitted to hiring Francis. Jett said his sister Jada had informed him that she had spotted Marshall and a woman together in downtown Duluth. After that, he tracked this boyfriend of yours, Marshall,”—again he looks at this papers—“Roderick, which led him to you. He said he saw you two together at a hotel.”
Which means he had been watching us. When? Out on Marshall’s balcony? Bile bubbles up in my throat.
“He said he had only asked Francis to scare you and send you running to Marshall with his message to give him his family’s money. Jett said Francis went crazy when he saw who you were and told him how he’d met you before and that you had attacked him and apparently you hit him with a giant bag. Is this accurate, Ms. Murphy?”
Any other time I might find it laughable that my purse was considered a giant bag, but instead I just nod in agreement.
“Jett says he didn’t know anything about the night of your attack, he had never intended to have you hurt, that he had already cut ties with Francis by then. Oh, and that red truck you spotted was Francis’s; he was the one you saw in the parking lot that day.”
My skin prickles with goosebumps, and I can’t help but wonder how many times I’d been watched. Did he know where I lived? He must have if I was followed to the music festival that night.
The detective leaves a short time later after filling me in on all Jett’s other pending charges, then assuring me that I’m safe with both Jett and Francis behind bars and not to worry—he will see to it both men get put away for as long as possible.
If I’m so safe, why don’t I feel safe? That’s because I’m not safe—not safe from the one thing that I fear most—the fear of losing Marshall. I pace back and forth in my kitchen, working up the courage to tell Marshall that because of him, Jett had hunted me down; that if Aubrey would have told him about Jett’s calling her, I may have never been attacked.
I finally take a seat out on my back deck, hoping that the fresh air will help calm me down. I press the button to call Marshall, and he answers on the third ring, only by then I’ve already lost it; the fresh air has done nothing to calm me for what I’m about to do.
“Hey, Beth,” he answers.
“Ma—Marshall—I, I,”
“Oh, my God, Baby, what is it? What happened?”
I try again, but only a sob escapes.
“Beth, please talk to me. What the hell happened?”
“Umm,” I take in a deep breath and rise from my seat.
“Baby, you’re freaking me out here; please talk to me.”
You think this is freaky, wait until you hear what I have to say. I need to just say it. Get it out there, then we can work on getting past it all. What if there is no getting past it all? My breathing gets heavier by the second.
“Ok—here it is: Jett was involved in my attack.”
“What? How?—What do mean?” The pain has already reached his voice.
“Our first date, that night in the parking lot when Jada saw us together, she went to Jett and told him how she’d seen you with a woman. Jett saw it as an opportunity to get to you, by getting to me. He hired a guy in a bar to scare me and to come back to you with a message to hand over Sarah’s share of the money, only the man he hired was one I had made pretty mad in the past when he’d made a pass at me and I’d hit him in the head with my purse. Jett claims he didn’t hire him to hurt me, only to scare me.”
I can hear my blood pumping in my ears; I can feel the tension through the phone and can taste the salt of my tears as I sit back down and wait for his reply. A loud bang on the other end startles me, and I’m not sure if it was Marshall hitting something, throwing something, or a car door.
“Marshall, what was that noise?” I ask, suddenly afraid of what he might do. He was quick to blame himself for not following me on the night I was attacked, and I can’t imagine this time will be any different.
“Dammit, Beth, I never thought,” his voice catches, “I never imagined, that being with me would put your life in danger.”
“And why would you? It’s not your fault Jett blew his money and decided to try and steal from the people he used to call family.”
“I should have paid him off when I had the chance. This is my fault—my decision put you and my sister in danger.”
“Please don’t blame yourself. This isn’t your fault.”
“I’m sorry, Beth, but you’re better off without me.”
“No, Marshall. Please don’t say that. We need each other!” I sob.
“No, Beth, you’re wrong, you don’t need me; you need someone who can protect you, keep you safe, and I have failed to do that for you.”
“You do that for me, Marshall; don’t you see that?”
“I’m sorry, Beth, but I have to go; I need some time to think.”
“No, Marshall, please don’t hang up.”
“I’m sorry,” are his final sad words before our call ends.
Chapter 30
Friday, July 9
I’ve given him four days; I finally decide I’m calling him tonight. I gave him time to think. How long does it take to realize that no matter what happens, when you love someone you’re supposed to be together, to work through the crap together?
The work at the club has started slower than I’d like, especially when I need to get my mind off Marshall. Melanie and I are going to do some shopping next week for paint colors and flooring, which I’m looking forward to, and the following week is light fixtures and bar design hunting. This project I have a feeling is going to be a hard one to top when it’s all over. Nothing near my hometown area will ever compare. This job has already made me r
ealize moving away from my hometown is necessary.
Much to my surprise, Marshall answers on the first ring. That’s reassuring.
“How are you doing?” I ask.
“I’m alright, but more importantly, how are you? How’s the new job going?”
“I’m doing okay. The new job is going really well.” Okay, enough of the chit-chat. “Are you in Duluth, Marshall?”
The line is quiet for several long seconds before he answers, “Yes.”
“Well maybe you should come over, so we can talk.”
“Beth, you need to let me go. Your life was put in danger because of me, and I can’t forgive myself for that. You need someone who will keep you safe.” There’s pain laced within every syllable he just spoke.
“Please, Marshall, can you just come over so we can talk this through?”
“I can’t do that; I can’t see you. This is too hard as it is.”
“Well, of course it’s hard, because it’s the wrong decision. The easy decision would be the correct one. How can you just throw this all away?”
“I’m doing what’s best for you.”
“Hell if you are. What’s best for me is you.” There they are—those unshed tears I’ve been storing for days.
“Please stop crying.”