by Rachel Woods
“Why did you laugh?” Noelle stared at his silhouette profile.
“Just thinking about what I originally thought when I saw you and the guy talking.”
Pulse racing, she asked, “What did you think?”
Beanie said nothing.
Noelle fought panic as the silence between them lengthened. “You didn’t think I was meeting up with some secret lover, or something, did you?”
It was a risky question. She might be opening up a brand new can of worms, but she hoped the question would act as a segue to a different topic, a more salacious topic to steer her husband away from what he’d witnessed between her and Grady at Dizzy Jenny’s.
Beanie exhaled and said, “I might have thought that.”
“Well, you shouldn’t have,” Noelle said, determined to invoke a more amorous mood. “You’re the only lover I want, and that’s not a secret.”
“Is that so?” Beanie asked, stopping the SUV at a red traffic light.
“Absolutely.”
“Prove it,” said Beanie, his tone enticingly teasing.
Noelle laughed out loud. “What?”
“You heard me,” Beanie said, grabbing her left arm, placing her hand between his legs.
Through his pants, Noelle felt his erection, huge and stiff, and was instantly turned on, hot and wet just thinking about taking advantage of her handsome husband. Reaching over the console, she fiddled with the button on his slacks and pulled the zipper down.
Beanie slid an arm around her waist, pulled her onto his lap and positioned her between his legs. Sitting on the very edge of the seat, in the middle of his thighs, Noelle stared through the windshield at the road stretching before them.
“Grab the wheel,” Beanie ordered.
Confused, Noelle stared at the steering wheel.
“The light is green,” he said. “Take the wheel.”
“Are you serious?” Noelle asked as she realized that the car was moving, but Beanie was no longer driving. He was busy grabbing the hem of her dress, pulling it up to her waist.
He struggled to pull her panties down past her hips. “I’m a little busy right now.”
Heart pounding, Noelle put her left hand on ‘10’ and her right hand at ‘2’.
“Raise up a bit,” he said.
Using the wheel to steady herself, Noelle lifted up from the seat a few inches, half-standing as she gripped the wheel, trying to keep the car steady.
Beanie pushed the panties down to her knees. He slipped a finger inside of her, and then another one, hooking both fingers toward the front of her vagina, caressing that sensitive spot while his thumb moved in a slow, circle around her clit. A throbbing ache started to build, and involuntarily, Noelle moved her hips, rubbing against his thumb, hesitant at first, until the sensations begin to intensify. She moved faster, not quite in a frenzy but almost there as she felt the orgasm, surging, rushing forward from deep within her.
Gasping, Noelle clutched the steering wheel, closing her eyes.
The SUV veered to the left.
“Pay attention to the road, Mrs. Bean,” Beanie instructed.
Shuddering, Noelle opened her eyes. She jerked the wheel to the right, trying to keep the SUV on the road while Beanie removed his fingers, grabbed her hips and lifted her higher.
“What are you doing?” she asked, trying to keep the wheel steady.
“Open your legs just a bit.”
Her nipples hardened, and the warm, heavy ache between her legs increased as the feelings began to consume her.
The SUV glided off the road and down onto the shoulder, the chassis rocking slightly.
Beanie laughed and took the wheel again. Guiding the SUV toward a row of Seagrape trees, he parked the SUV and cut the engine. “I thought you were supposed to be keeping us on the road.”
Noelle didn’t reply, too engaged in frantically moving her hips back and forth, rubbing against his penis, practically seething in anticipation of the orgasm.
Beanie lifted her up again and then lowered her onto him, grasping her hips. Slowly, slowly, Noelle felt him sliding into her, stretching her. Moving her hips back and forth, up and down, in circles, Noelle leaned over the wheel as she set the rhythm, fast, slow, even slower, and then faster.
Clutching her hips, Beanie moved her up and down on his penis, forcing her to keep up with his breakneck pace before abruptly bringing things almost to a complete stop. As Noelle grabbed the steering wheel, he plunged deeper and harder. Soon, she felt a sweet, pulsating, electric implosion, deep within her. The convulsions continued, spiraling, surging through her like bombs exploding.
Collapsing back against Beanie, Noelle closed her eyes as the pulsating tremors slowly subsided.
Chapter Nine
Disgruntled and disgusted, Eamon Taylor glared at Kevin Cook, slouched on the couch, drinking his third Felipe beer, and Matt Delaney lounged in the recliner, nursing his second.
If Kevin and Matt weren’t his classmates, Eamon probably wouldn’t have had anything to do with them. He had nothing in common with the spoiled Americans, who felt they were entitled to whatever they wanted, when they wanted it, whether it belonged to them, or not.
Especially Kevin. He was the worst.
Matt actually wasn’t so bad when Kevin wasn’t around to influence him. Kevin, however, was an arrogant prick, pissed because he hadn’t been accepted to a pharmacy school in the states. Despite St. Killian University’s reputation as the "Caribbean Princeton," Kevin thought the university wasn’t good enough and felt he was slumming. Often, Kevin made disparaging comments about the university, claiming he would have a hard time getting a good job with the school on his resume.
Lazy bastards, thought Eamon, sitting on the scarred surface of the old coffee table his aunt had given him. Kevin and Matt only stopped by when they were broke and had run out of beer. Tonight, though, he was glad they were here. He needed to talk to them.
After getting a Felipe beer from the refrigerator for himself, Eamon sat on the opposite end of the lumpy couch and explained his predicament.
The job at Palmchat Pharmacy had started out well, very promising. Eamon had been nervous the first week, but Dr. Bean and his other co-workers were genuinely nice and helpful. Excited to have him join the team, they seemed committed to making sure he did a good job, which, in turn, would help the pharmacy and its customers.
Eamon had been nervous, but eager to show Dr. Bean he was focused and capable of being an important asset to the company. There was a learning curve, of course, but Eamon had been a quick study. He was efficient, effective and productive, maintaining speed and accuracy. With the customers, some of whom were initially hesitant about a new pharmacist, he proved to be patient and understanding.
The second week mirrored the first week, with one exception.
On Friday of the second week, he received an email with a very suggestive message …
You did well today … I’ve love to find out how well you would do me
Eamon had deleted the email, thinking it was a dumb joke perpetrated by his classmates. Then another email showed up in his inbox the following week, similar to the first email but with an obvious threat.
You looked so good today. I couldn’t stop thinking about how good we could be together. I want you so bad. When I’m with my husband, I wish he were you. I want to meet you somewhere so you can make all my fantasies come true. Let me know when we can meet. Don’t ignore me, Eamon. Or, I will destroy your life.
Another email followed that same week with a slightly different threat after the proposition. I can make your life a living hell.
And then there was the latest email. I need you to make me feel good. You’re the only one who can do this, Eamon. I need to know what your answer will be. Keep ignoring me, and I will ruin you.
Along with the threat, there had been an attachment. Against his better judgment, Eamon had opened it.
He wished he hadn’t.
“Let me see the attachmen
t,” said Kevin, sitting his beer on the coffee table. Eamon stood, went into his bedroom and retrieved the folder where he kept copies of the emails. Back in the tiny living area, he tossed the offensive attachment to Kevin.
“Let me see it,” said Matt, after Kevin started to smile and snicker.
“It’s not funny,” Eamon said, glaring at Kevin.
Still laughing, Kevin handed the color copy to Matt. “Dude, is that shit real? What the hell?”
“Yes, this shit is beyond real,” Eamon said. “And I need to know what the hell to do about it.”
“Bro, I hate to tell you, but this photo isn’t real,” said Matt, staring intently at the color photocopy of the email attachment. “You can tell it’s been doctored. I won’t even say Photoshopped because that would be an insult to the software. Very amateurish.”
“I know the picture is fake.” Eamon snatched the email from Matt. “That’s not the point. The point is the message she’s conveying.”
“The message she’s conveying is that she wants you to bone her.” Kevin shrugged. “Doesn’t seem like a problem to me.”
“You don’t think these emails are a problem?” Eamon stared at Kevin, pissed at his smug indifference. “Are you serious?”
Kevin shrugged again. “I’d do her. She’s hot. Kind of Naomi Campbell-ish. A total MILF.”
Matt snickered.
Eamon shook his head, confounded by Kevin’s flippant obtuse attitude. “Did you really just say that?”
“Look, just do the bitch,” Kevin said. “What do you have to lose?”
“His job,” said Matt. “Maybe.”
“All the more reason to give her what she wants,” Kevin said. “The way I see it, you owe her a fuck.”
Eamon was speechless for a few seconds. “Wait. Did you just say that I owe her?”
“Look, let’s cut the shit, okay. She gave you a job you didn’t deserve. A Handweg handout,” Kevin said. “And now it’s clear why you got the job. Because she wants a Handweg put out.”
“I got the job because I was the most qualified,” Eamon said, blood roaring through his head, pissed that Kevin was still so damn bitter about not getting the assistant pharmacist position.
“Yeah, but the most qualified at what?” Kevin scoffed, scowling. “Getting her off?”
“Son of a bitch …” Eamon stood, anxious to slam his fist in the middle of Kevin’s sunburned face.
“Guys, chill, okay …” Matt jumped up and stepped in front of Eamon, his expression pained as his head whipped back and forth between Kevin and Eamon. “Don’t come to blows over this, please.”
Eamon turned away from Kevin, staring toward the kitchen. Matt was right. Wasn’t worth it to beat Kevin’s ass right now. The last thing he needed was an assault charge, which he was sure he’d get because Kevin’s punk ass would press charges against him. Neither did he want to prove his Handweg relatives right. His cousins always accused him of thinking he was better than them, but they’d promised him that, one day, he’d be exposed for what he really was—just another island thug.
Sighing, Kevin ran his hand down the back of his sandy curls. “Look, if the emails really bother you, then just go to Human Resources. File a claim against the bitch. Get her fired.”
Eamon took a deep breath, grabbed his beer from the coffee table and took a swig. “I thought about going to HR, but she’s well respected in the company. She’s a superstar. Everybody loves her. If I’m gonna bring a claim against her, I need solid proof.”
Matt said, “The emails should be all the proof you need.”
“Maybe not,” Kevin said. “You can’t really prove she sent the emails. They didn’t come from her email account.”
“They didn’t?” Matt asked, looking confused.
“How do you know that?” Eamon demanded, studying Kevin, looking for deception in his shifty gaze.
Kevin blinked. “Well, because … dude, you showed me the email.”
“I showed you the photo attachment,” Eamon said. “I never showed you the actual emails. So, again, how do you know the emails didn’t come from her account?”
“He probably figured because, you know, she’s smart …” Matt stammered, a pained expression on his flushed face. “She wouldn’t send anything from her real email account.”
“I’d like to hear Kevin’s answer.” Eamon persisted, regretting his decision to refrain from punching Kevin. “How do you know—”
“Dude, it’s like Matt said,” Kevin said. “She’s a smart woman. She’s not stupid enough to email you from her real account. She’s gotta have plausible deniability in case you go to HR. That way, she can say, hey, I’m being set up. I didn’t send these emails. This is a fake email account.”
Eamon exhaled, worried, knowing Kevin was right. “So what the hell can I do?”
Shaking his head, Matt said, “Dude, what she’s doing is harassment.”
Kevin nodded in agreement. “It does suck, bro. Sorry for making light of it, okay? Kinda is a huge problem and I guess I don’t know what you can do. Going to HR might be your only option, as risky as it is.”
“Well, I’ll tell you what I’m not going to do.” Eamon took another long swig of his Felipe beer. “I’m not going to lose my job because of some horny bitch. She’s not going to fuck with me and get away with it.”
As he finished his beer, Eamon caught the worried look Matt shot at Kevin, but he didn’t care what they thought about him. He was sure they secretly viewed him as a Handweg hoodlum and expected him to be aggressive and intimidating. Their opinions didn’t matter. What mattered was his life and everything he’d worked so hard to obtain.
He’d fought damn hard to get out of Handweg Gardens, the island ghetto where he felt like a prisoner, longing to escape the oppressive expectations of a community doomed to poverty. Marginalized and disenfranchised, the residents of Handweg were content to accept their sorry state, depending on the government for handouts. Even without role models to encourage him, Eamon had decided he wouldn’t end up as a Handweg statistic.
“She’s not going to ruin my life,” Eamon vowed.
“No, Dr. Bean probably won’t ruin your life,” said Kevin, pulling something from his pocket. “But, I know someone who can.”
“Who?” asked Matt. “Sarah?”
“No, not her,” said Kevin, tossing what he’d removed from his pocket at Eamon.
Eamon made the catch and stared at the small envelope. His name was scrawled in a looping script he recognized.
“I was asked to deliver that to you,” said Kevin, a slight suspicion in his narrowed eyes.
Shoving the envelope into the back pocket of his jeans, Eamon said, “As I was saying, Dr. Bean is not going to fuck with me and get away with it.”
As Kevin and Matt provided him with more of their unsolicited opinions about his predicament with Dr. Bean, Eamon thought about the envelope in his pocket.
Later, when he was alone, he would read the letter even though he knew the words would be disturbing and frightening …
Chapter Ten
Noelle Bean slumped down in the chair at the desk in her office.
Famished and frustrated, she made a few clicks with her computer mouse to open a database software she needed to update. Work today had been insane. Crazy busy. She’d barely had time for lunch, let alone a quick break to catch her breath in between verifying prescriptions, administering flu shots, working the pharmacy consultation window and filling hundreds of prescriptions.
Right about now, all she wanted was a Felipe beer and a foot rub, compliments of Beanie who would most likely make his way up her legs and in between them. Giggling, feeling a bit naughty, she let her mind wander to their date night three days ago. Their blistering hot sex in the car had been just the beginning. At home, they’d engaged in more lovemaking after Sarah Linde had left and they’d made sure the boys were still sleeping.
Staring at her computer, Noelle sighed. She was anxious to get home, but she ha
d a few more administrative duties to wrap up before she could leave. Her staff today—two pharmacy techs and a part-time pharmacist who came in when Eamon Taylor wasn’t scheduled to work—had left an hour ago.
After inputting information into the database, Noelle opened a Word file to create a memo for—
A knock on the office door made her jump. Startled, Noelle looked over her shoulder.
Grady Palmer stood in the doorway.
“How the hell did you get in here?” Noelle stood, trying to remember if she’d set the alarm after the last pharmacy technician had left for the day. She thought she had. It was part of her normal routine, but she'd been so busy she might have forgotten to lock the door. Or, had the tech told her that she would lock it on her way out?
Didn’t matter. Grady Palmer was here now, at her job. On her turf. She would have to defend her space. In Handweg Gardens, where the gang mentality still thrived, certain roads were the unofficial territory of certain gangs or criminal factions. You couldn’t just take a leisurely stroll without explaining why you were walking down that block. Grady Palmer had to know he couldn’t walk down her street.
Grady smiled at her, the same menacing smile he’d given her two months ago when she’d seen him for the first time in fifteen years.
Noelle had been at the bank to order more checks for her mother, who wasn’t computer savvy and didn’t trust online banking to pay bills, when she’d seen him. Leaning on the trunk of her car, a red mid-sized sedan she’d bought to run errands, he was smiling and sinister.
Staring at him in disbelief, Noelle had thought her heart might stop. Grady Palmer. She hadn’t seen or heard from him in fifteen years. What the hell could he possibly want? And why now? She’d been back in St. Killian for five years. Aside from one or two old acquaintances, no one from her old neighborhood had tried to contact her since she’d returned.
Grady Palmer had been a foreboding presence that Thursday afternoon. Like a storm cloud encroaching on a lovely day, he was a menace she’d hoped never to encounter again.
But, there he’d been, demanding and intimidating, trying to get her involved in some wicked scheme on behalf of the violent island gang organization he belonged to—the PC-5.