by Shelly Ellis
He reached for the zipper at the back of her dress and tugged it down with a yank that made her wonder if he had ripped the zipper off its track. He dropped his hand from her neck and groped her bottom, grabbing a handful.
“I’m gonna enjoy smacking that ass when I get you on all fours,” he growled before kissing her again, then nipping at her neck and earlobe, lashing her with his wet tongue.
It’s just one night, she told herself, as he tore one of her dress straps off her shoulders and panted in her ear.
It doesn’t mean anything, she thought as he began to unhook her bra. He reached underneath one of the cups and grabbed her swollen breast. This time, she did wince.
Leila was doing this for Evan, for her children. She had no other choice.
Tears began to prick her eyes, but she fought to hold them back.
“I was going to do this in the bedroom, but I don’t know about you, Lee—I can’t wait for that shit,” Dante said, wrenching his mouth away from hers. “We can do it right here.”
He pushed her back against the sofa so that she landed on one of the padded arms and almost fell to the carpeted floor. He hiked the hem of her dress up to her waist.
“Condom. Condom!” she muttered against his lips.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he said with a grin, before climbing between her legs. “Don’t worry. I’m not putting it in yet,” he insisted, though his erection pressed between her thighs then the crotch of her panties. He kissed her again, grabbed her wrist, and dragged down her hand. “But you’re gonna have to help me out, baby.”
She fought the urge to recoil from him. Instead, she wrapped her hand around his manhood.
“That’s right, baby,” he whispered against her lips. “You’re doing a good job,” he urged as she began to slowly stroke him, hating every second of it.
“Just wait ’til Ev hears about this,” Dante groaned as he closed his eyes and threw back his head.
At his words, she froze. Her body went stiff as if she were zapped with a Taser.
You son of a bitch, she thought, tightening her hold around him into a crushing, viselike grip. She yanked—hard—and Dante’s face contorted with pain. He let out a girlish scream. He dropped to his knees and grabbed his crotch as soon she released him seconds later.
“You . . . you fucking bitch!” he said, still on all fours, gulping for air. He raised his gaze and glowered at Leila with outrage, looking like he wanted to strangle her. “Are you fucking crazy? Were you trying to rip my dick off? What the fuck was that?” he shouted, gradually standing upright, grimacing as he did it.
“No, what the fuck did you mean by ‘wait ’til Ev hears about this’?” She hopped off the sofa arm, lowering her dress hem. “This was supposed to be a secret. I told you I would only do this if this stayed between you and me! That’s what I said!”
She watched as Dante closed his robe and retied the terry-cloth belt. He limped toward the kitchenette, not answering her.
“Oh, my God.” She slowly shook her head. “You were actually going to tell Ev about this, weren’t you? You were going to shove it in his face?”
Despite being in pain, Dante laughed. He leaned down, opened the refrigerator, and removed a soda can.
“Were you going to tell him while he was still in jail, or wait until he got out . . . give it to him like a ‘welcome home’ present?”
Dante placed the cold can on his crotch. “What’s the point of a win if you can’t do an end zone dance, huh?”
Leila balled her fists at her sides. She should have known Dante would do this. He was a man with no ethics, no heart, and no soul. She was a fool to make any agreements with him. It was the equivalent of making a deal with the devil.
She grabbed her purse from where it had fallen to the hotel floor along with her coat and made her way across the living room.
“I’d think twice about this if I were you, Lee!” he called out to her, stopping her in her tracks. “From what I’ve heard, the prosecutor has a pretty good case against your boy. They have my testimony and the testimony of a few other people who saw him threatening me at a restaurant in D.C. less than two months before the shooting. They said he grabbed me and he pushed me. Even a cabbie saw him threaten my life.” He set his soda can on the coffee table and shoved his hands into his robe pockets. “Ev could go away for a long time. Are you sure you want to be responsible for that?”
She turned around to face him. “I’m not responsible for it—you are, you petty asshole! And even if I did have sex with you, I know now there are no guarantees with someone like you. You’re a snake,” she snarled. “Your word means nothing.”
“Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me,” he sang.
“You are a piece of shit, Dante . . . and if someone finally does manage to kill your ass one day, it’s well deserved.”
He raised his brows. “Better hope I didn’t get that on tape, sweetheart.”
She was tired of sparring with him, with arguing with him. She felt like a fool and just wanted to go home and wash the sensation of his tongue and kisses off her skin. She wanted to scrub her hand with soap and scalding hot water one thousand times. She strode to the door.
“See you in court, Lee!” he called as she swung the hotel door open. “I’ll be the black man who isn’t wearing an orange jumpsuit.”
He laughed as she slammed the door shut behind her.
Chapter 2
C. J.
At six thirty a.m., like clockwork, C. J. Aston opened her eyes to her darkened bedroom. She felt the soft bedsheets against her face and saw slivers of light coming through the drawn bedroom blinds. She hadn’t been roused by an alarm clock. She had something better to wake her up.
“Good morning,” she murmured dreamily as she felt her fiancé nuzzle the back of her neck.
Terrence Murdoch didn’t return her greeting but instead shifted the hand that had been resting on her hip for most of the night to her breasts. He massaged her through the cotton of her T-shirt at first but quickly raised the hem and let his fingers graze over her bare skin, running his thumb over her nipple, making her tingle all over, making her skin prickle with goose bumps.
She turned to face him and, in the dark, could faintly make out the outline of his handsome face. She ran her hand along his cheek only inches away from the eye that had been mangled in a car crash almost a year ago. He usually hid his eye from the rest of the world, but he didn’t hide it from her. She raised her head to kiss him, opening her mouth, letting her tongue intermingle with his.
This is how they had woken up every morning for the past month or so, since she had moved back to Chesterton permanently and moved in with Terrence. She would wake up to find him kissing her bare shoulder or she’d be moaning in her sleep only to open her eyes to find his head between her thighs. They’d make love, share a shower afterward, eat breakfast, and she’d head to the newsroom where she was reporter for the Chesterton Times while he’d head to the gym. C. J. had noticed lately, though, that after they had made love, Terrence would linger in the bed a lot longer. He would stare at the ceiling with his brow furrowed and his face grim. She knew he was thinking about his brother, Evan. She knew thoughts about his family and the future weighed heavy on Terrence’s mind.
But right now, he seemed to be solely focused on her.
Terrence tugged her T-shirt up from her waist and over her head. She was naked underneath and felt the cool air in their bedroom on her skin. She tried to tug her arms out of the sleeves and toss her shirt aside, but he stopped her movements, holding her bound arms over her head on the bed.
“Don’t move,” he ordered in a harsh whisper.
She instantly went still.
He withdrew his hands from her shirt before grazing them over her breasts. He lowered his mouth to each of the nipples, in turn flicking his tongue over them and suckling them, making her moan. He shifted his mouth to her stomach, leaving a wet trail of licks and nips, and he descended lower and lower.<
br />
She longed to touch him but didn’t dare move her arms from above her head.
This was all part of the fun, as Terrence would say.
Besides, he was the one who had taught her about the joys of sex, the one she had given her virginity to. She trusted Terrence totally.
When he spread her legs open, she was almost squirming in anticipation. He lowered his mouth between her thighs and gently blew on her clit, startling her, making her cry out. He then began to lick and suck, and her cries grew even louder. She was squirming so much, he had to hold her hips in place to keep her from falling off the bed.
After a few minutes of delicious agony, he drew his mouth away. Every part of her—one part in particular—was throbbing. By then, she was practically panting to have him inside of her. Ever so slowly, Terrence climbed on top of her. Even in the dark, he could see her eagerness. He started to chuckle.
“You ready for me, baby?” he asked.
“You know I am, Terry. Just do it!”
He kissed her cheek, her chin, her forehead.
“Come on,” she whimpered.
He laughed again.
“Fine,” she grumbled, lowering her arms from over her head and shoving him off her and onto his back, catching him by surprise. “If you won’t do it, then I will!”
She then straddled him and lowered herself on top of him. He slid smoothly inside her, and she groaned at the familiar sensation. She braced her hands on his broad shoulders and began to rock her hips.
Within seconds, the cocky smile disappeared from Terrence’s face. He closed his eyes and bit down hard on his bottom lip, guiding her hips as he increased the tempo of their lovemaking, grinding against her. She got lost in the sensations of the moment, gazing down at him in the dark, feeling herself drawing close to orgasm, only to have everything flipped—literally. This time Terrence flipped her back onto the mattress and again onto her stomach.
Before she had the chance to ask him what he was doing, he raised her hips so that she was in the kneeling position and he crouched behind her. She only had a few seconds to brace herself before he entered her again.
She cried out his name and fisted the bedsheets in her hands. As he pounded into her, C. J. could hear the headboard thumping against the bedroom wall and the mattress squeak beneath them. She spurred him on, shouting for him to keep going, not to stop. She could feel herself drawing close again.
When she did come, she screamed. She had long ago stopped being embarrassed by the noises she made while in the throes of passion. Terrence’s release came soon after. He squeezed her hips and let out a long, tortured groan as he swelled inside her. He collapsed on top of her seconds later, sending hot blasts of air against her ear and neck. She fought to regain her breath, too. They lay that way for quite a while—in a crumpled, sweaty heap on top of the sheets. She glanced at the alarm clock on his night table. When she saw the time, she let out a panicked squeak. It was 7:16! Had that much time really passed? She was going to be late.
“Terry . . . Terry!” she said, reaching behind her and nudging his shoulder.
“Huh?” he answered drowsily.
“I’m sorry, baby, but I’ve got to start getting ready. I have to be out of here by eight if I’m going to make it.”
“Shit, that’s right . . . you’ve got that job interview today.”
She nodded . . . well, she attempted to nod. It was hard to do with him still sprawled on top of her.
He sighed and reluctantly rolled onto his back. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to slow you down.”
“Oh, believe me,” she said with a smile, kissing him again before she hurriedly rose from their bed, “you don’t ever have to apologize for what you just did! I enjoyed it immensely. Unfortunately, if I try to enjoy more of it, I’m never going to make it down the Dulles Toll Road and to my interview on time.”
He nodded absently, reached for his eye patch, and put it on, making her frown. She turned on a nearby table lamp, filling their bedroom with bright light. She grabbed a scrunchie for her hair.
“You’re going to get out today, too?” she asked, pulling her hair into a ponytail, preparing to head to their bathroom. “Got some stuff lined up? Meeting one of your boys?”
Terrence shrugged. “I don’t know . . . maybe.”
She squinted. C. J. didn’t like the equivocal tone of Terrence’s voice or the unfocused look in his eye.
Terrence had a history of depression and had battled lows in the past: one after a car accident that almost killed him, and another when they had briefly broken up. She worried the dark mood would sweep over him again. Though C. J. knew she was already running late, she sat back on the bed and gazed at him.
“You have to get out of the house, honey. You have to do things. Live your life. That’s what your therapist said, right?”
He rolled his eye. “I don’t need a pep talk, C. J. I’m fine.”
“No, you aren’t fine. I know you aren’t!” She reached out and cupped his face. “I know you’re worried about Evan, but—”
“How can I not be? My brother’s locked in jail with murderers and rapists, and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it! He’s always had my back, C. J. . . . always!”
She nodded. “I know, baby.”
“He’s never raised a hand to anyone! He pays his taxes on time. He’s never been charged with anything before. He’s the fucking last person who should be locked up!”
“Evan is going to be okay. It’s all going to be okay!”
“You don’t know that,” he argued, making her drop her hand from his cheek.
“You’re right. I don’t . . . but I have to believe it. You do, too! And if we’re proven wrong and the worst case scenario happens,”—she leaned forward and kissed him again—“your family will handle it. You’ll work through it. I’ll help you. We’re family now, too, right?”
Finally, ever so slowly, a smile broke across his face. “I was smart to ask you to marry me.”
“Yes, you were! And I was smart to say yes.”
He chuckled and tossed back the bedsheets. She watched as he slowly rose to his feet, letting her eyes travel over his naked body—the smooth, coppery skin, the sinewy muscle, six-pack abs, and sculpted backside. She would never get tired of staring at this fine-ass man!
“Take your shower and get ready for your interview,” Terrence muttered. “I’ll make breakfast.”
* * *
C. J. rushed into the kitchen thirty-five minutes later, shoving her feet into a pair of high heels. As she drew near the granite kitchen island, Terrence extended a cup of espresso toward her. He retrieved a pan from the burner and used a spatula to scrape a pile of scrambled eggs onto a plate already covered with toast and bacon. He set the plate on the kitchen island next to a fork and knife.
“Dig in, babe.”
C. J. did as he ordered. She grabbed one of the slices of bacon and popped it into her mouth. She then adjusted the lapels of her new business suit jacket and gestured down to herself. “How do I look? Do I look okay?” she asked between chews.
He glanced at her and nodded. “You look fine. Why?”
“Why?” she repeated with widened eyes, making him chuckle. “Are you kidding?”
“I just mean you look good!” He shrugged. “Why wouldn’t you? Don’t you always?”
“You’re sweet—but a liar! Sometimes I look like a hot mess! Unlike you, Mr. Former Supermodel.” She gestured toward him and sighed. Terrence had put on his prosthetic eye and was now wearing a T-shirt and sweats. “You haven’t even showered or shaved, and you look like you just stepped out of an issue of GQ!” she lamented before drinking more of her espresso.
He laughed again, leaned down, and kissed her cheek. “You look great. You’re just nervous. That’s all.”
“Well, I should be! I have an interview with one of the biggest newspapers in the country!” she said, digging into her breakfast. “I’m going to talk to one of the editors I’ve admired for years!
I wrote a paper in college on his Iraq War coverage, you know.”
“Yeah, I know.” Terrence nodded as he dumped the rest of the eggs onto another plate. “You’ve told me—several times.”
“I just don’t wanna mess this up. It’s a great opportunity, Terry. It’s my chance to finally break out of small town news.”
“And you won’t mess it up,” he said before shoving a forkful of eggs into his mouth. “You’ll do fine. I know you will.”
C. J. wished she had as much confidence in herself as he did. She puffed air through her cheeks and glanced at the digital clock on the microwave behind Terrence. Her eyes nearly bulged out of her head. “Damn! I better get going or I’m going to be late.”
“You’re not going to finish breakfast first?”
“No time!” She grabbed a slice of toast and another slice of bacon and folded them together. “I’ll have to eat this in the car.”
“Good luck!” he called after her as she grabbed her leather satchel from one of the kitchen bar stools and ran toward the front door.
“Thanks!” C. J. said before blowing a kiss to him over her shoulder. She unlocked the door and swung it open. When she saw what was in the condominium’s hallway, she slammed the door shut.
“Shit!” she spat. “Goddamnit!”
“What? What’s wrong?” Terrence said, walking out of the kitchen into the living room.
C. J. waved toward the door. “There’s a news crew waiting out there with a camera and everything.”
“What? How the hell did they get in the building?”
“I don’t know. I guess someone let them in the front door. But none of that matters now. They’re here, and I bet they’re waiting to talk to you.”
Since word had spread about Evan’s attempted murder charge, several of the local stations had tried to gain interviews with Terrence and his sister, Paulette, to discuss the case and the volatile sibling rivalry between Evan and Dante. So far, both had staunchly refused to talk. Even though C. J.’s editor had begged her to try to convince Terrence to give an exclusive interview to the Chesterton Times, she had also refused. But the Murdoch family’s silence only seemed to make the local news outlets more persistent. They called the condo constantly, and one news crew had even shown up at Terrence’s gym.