by Trent Evans
He was in nothing but a ratty gray T-shirt and a pair of warm-ups that appeared to be at least ten years old. He’d never looked more gorgeous than he did slaving away in the kitchen. The place was filled with the mouth-watering aroma of chicken, already simmering. Troy had a homemade chicken soup recipe so good, she was certain she’d be prepared to offer just about anything to him — including her own ass — just to get him to make it. Fortunately, such extreme measures weren’t needed.
Her wince as she shifted position on her pillow reminded her that he’d already cashed in on her ass yesterday. Literally.
Now and then, he’d glance at her from the kitchen, chopping vegetables, the big muscles at his shoulders and upper back bunching in that incredibly appealing way that made her want to bite into them.
You’d think after yesterday your jets would’ve cooled down by now. Slut.
A delicious shiver coursed down her spine as she remembered the way he’d marched her to the guest house, her mind still spinning — and her ass still throbbing — from the humiliating, and yet deeply arousing punishment he’d meted out to her in front of three other people.
The memory was seared into her mind, the way she’d cried out as he’d thrown her onto the bed like a rag doll, her bottom protesting at even the rasp of soft cotton against her scorched skin.
Her clit tingled as the image of his blazing eyes. How they’d gazed down at her, pinning her in place as surely as any steel manacles, as he’d held her down, one hand clamped to her tit, the other around her throat, her legs bent so far back she wasn’t sure they weren’t behind her ears.
She closed her eyes, licking her lips as the sensation flooded through her again, her still-sore sex growing slippery at recalling how he’d taken her like a ravening beast. Each thrust had seemed more brutal than the last, the filthy language pouring from his gorgeous red lips only fanning her twisted desire further. Relentlessly, he’d pounded her, only letting go of her throat now and then to slap her face, or pull her hair as he thrust his tongue deep into her gasping mouth, making tears well in her eyes as he nipped her lips. He’d told her to squeeze her whore cunt tighter, to take his cock, to be his good girl or she’d get her ass fucked next.
Please God.
It made her smile, even as the thought caused her to shake her head, trying to ignore how turned on she was from simply reminiscing about how right it had felt having her brains fucked out yesterday. He’d made her dress in front of him afterward, his cock rising again as his seed leaked from her tingling, burning cunt. He’d left her walking funny, her pussy as sore as it was already craving more of him, no matter how brutally he wanted to take her.
She was ready for all of it — and more.
Even the long six-hour drive home proved too much for his self-control, one detour taking them up a deserted logging road where he’d dragged her from the car by her hair, and forced her to her knees, the slap of his hard cock against her lips accompanied by his growled, “Open that mouth, bitch.”
Finally home, long after dark, he’d taken her twice more, deep in the night in the sanctuary of their marriage bed, the second time slipping into her while she was near delirious with exhaustion. She’d lifted her bottom to him as his hands clasped brutally tight to her hips, the broad head of his cock sounding the depths of her sorely used pussy until they’d both collapsed, utterly spent in both body and mind.
“You know what I’m going to ask you, don’t you?” He leaned a hip against the end of the granite island, wiping his huge hands with a white dish towel.
“Yes, my pussy hurts. No, I don’t regret it.”
Troy threw his head back as his laughter boomed through the kitchen and dining room. She loved the way he laughed, his big Adam’s apple bobbing in that thick, muscled neck.
“I’d be lying if I said I was sorry to hear about your sore kitty.” His grin was ear-to-ear.
“Meanie.”
“Nothing to say about what happened?”
“Which part?”
“What did you think…about everything?”
She didn’t understand why she was suddenly so reticent to talk about it.
“Overwhelming was the understatement of the century.”
“And?” His dark eyebrow lifted ever so slightly.
Her pussy tightened at the sight, reawakening the tenderness in her tissues.
The eyebrow raise was one of his “tells.” It meant either he was keenly interested, or she was about to be fucked. Or get her ass blistered. Maybe all of the above.
Please?
But she suspected something else.
“You really do want to move, don’t you? You were serious.”
“We’re talking about what you want, Lace. What you think.”
“That’s not an answer.” She knew she was running risks, but she couldn’t help herself.
His voice dropped an octave. “I want to hear it. Honestly, tell me.”
“I was scared to… in front of someone.”
“Your cunt was running like a river.”
Her blush bloomed hot at her cheeks, both of them knowing what her body’s reaction meant. It should have terrified her, but as she’d stripped in front of them, it had felt… accepted. Expected.
Was it possible the seductive ethos of the entire place had already sunk its claws into her? Maybe she was more of a slut than she admitted to herself? The fact was, not only was it a twisted, illicit turn-on to be watched, she’d wanted her husband to do even more than spank her, more than show her off like a prized pet.
She’d wanted him to take her right then and there, no matter who was present to witness it. At that moment, she’d rationalized it, told herself it was just lust, endorphins, a crazy, one-time thing.
But recalling it even now had her nipples hard as stone, her mouth dry, her panties already growing sticky and wet. She had to ignore it now though. This was about more than the fact she apparently had latent — but deep-seated — exhibitionist tendencies.
Or is it that you liked being forced to be an exhibitionist?
“If you want me to tell you that I loved it there? Yes, I did. Could I see us living there? Yes, okay?”
“Being punished in front of them. That obviously wasn’t too much either. Quite the opposite, if I know my wife.”
“No.” She rubbed a hand across her mouth, her face blushing hot. “No, it wasn’t.”
His grin was a million watts now. “So, what’s the problem then?”
“I… there isn’t one.” She touched her lips, then closed the laptop, unsure how to navigate this. Somehow, even talking about the possibility was filling her with a growing excited, panicky feeling that she couldn’t explain.
Yes, you can. So, fucking say it.
“You’re really going to tell me there’s nothing wrong?” Troy’s smile faded, and he strode over to her, his fingers whispering against her cheek. “Tell me, girl.”
“There’s… unfinished business.”
“What kind? Your job?” Troy sighed, then slid into the seat next to her. “You don’t need to work anymore if I take this job. In fact, I wouldn’t want you to.”
“The sex kitten curled up on her couch waiting for her man to get home?”
“I was thinking more like chained up naked at the foot of my bed, but it’s a start.”
She shook her head, looking away before he saw in her eyes how much that image had her heart racing, the heat already rising between her thighs.
“It’s not as easy as just leaving.”
“Yes, it is. But something’s holding you back, keeping you here.” He reclined in his chair, crossing his arms. “Or someone.”
Her gaze snapped to his. Her heart was in her throat, but part of her was glad he’d already guessed.
“It’s a… big deal. He’s part of our lives, Troy. He’s your best friend.”
“We going to play twenty questions here, or get to the point of this?”
“Sara isn’t right for him. Even
you see that now.”
“Just because I see that doesn’t mean there’s a thing I — or you — can do about what’s going on with them, Lacey. We can’t rescue him. And even if we could, we shouldn’t. He’s a big boy.”
“I know that. I know.” She rubbed her eyes, trying to find the words, needing to tell him now more than anything. Yet, she was terrified, knowing how big of a step it was even saying what she knew deep down to be the truth.
“Not only is she not right for him…” She took a deep breath, then blew it out slowly, staring at the tabletop. “There’s only one woman who is.”
Troy’s eyes went so wide she could see the whites. But she had to keep going.
“How can I leave, no matter how much I might want to, when part of me — part of us — would be left behind? How do I uproot myself and plunge my life into something I don’t even fully understand yet… when someone we care so much about is still here?”
He watched her for a long moment, his lips pursed, his gaze narrowing ever so slightly. “We’re talking about moving across the mountains, not across the galaxy.”
She was so stunned, she wasn’t sure what to say for a minute. That he hadn’t exploded at her spoke volumes. It spoke… everything. Was it possible? Could she dare think he’d even consider such a thing?
You’re crazy. He’s crazy.
“He needs us, Troy. He’s hurting. I know it. You know it.”
His nostrils flared as he breathed in and out, once, twice, a third time, glancing at her, then looking away again. He glared out the dining room window as he said it. “Here’s what I know. I know that I should be pissed, or threatened, or something. This whole idea is batshit crazy. He is my best friend. Whether or not he’s hurting, or needs us, well… what the fuck do I know?”
Oh no.
Her heart froze at the cool veil that had dropped over his gaze. She rarely saw it with him anymore. He was shocked. Or enraged. Probably both. And why wouldn’t he be?
You basically just floated the idea that you had feelings for someone you’re both friends with. How do you expect him to be, you selfish twit?
She knew it in her bones that she’d fucked up. Badly.
He stood and she reached for him, taking his hand. He didn’t pull it away, as she feared — but he didn’t clasp it either.
“Troy, where are you going?”
“I don’t know.” He let go of her and walked out to the kitchen, turning the oven burner off. He stood there for a moment, shaking his head slowly, one hand splayed atop the counter. “I need some… time to think.”
Then he disappeared down the hall, the hot, silent tears already streaming down her cheeks.
Chapter 22
She’d managed not to go to him, knowing it would only make things worse. She’d even convinced herself to stop crying, even as she heard the roar of Troy’s truck as it pulled out of the driveway. He needed his space.
Space to wonder how he managed to marry such a whore.
The thought stung like a whip, and she cursed under her breath. It was too easy to think that way, to sink down into despair, but one thing kept her from doing it. The reason her husband was driving down the road at that moment. The truth he wasn’t ready to confront yet.
A familiar ringtone sprang to life, Hunter’s crooked smile popping up on the screen. She took a deep, shaky breath, picking up her phone, willing herself to salvage a shred of composure. He didn’t need to know she’d likely just blown her marriage into a million tiny pieces.
“Hi, Hunter!”
“Hey, Lacey.” His voice had an odd flat note to it.
“So, what’s up? You bailing on watching Hayden tomorrow?” Her Mom was bringing him back later that night, and she couldn’t wait to hold her son in her arms again. Being away from him that long had left a nagging ache in her heart that nothing else could soothe.
She needed her baby boy.
And the truth was, it would probably would be a blessing if their friend canceled. Maybe seeing Hunter anytime soon was not the best solution for the dumpster fire she’d just made of things.
“It’s over.”
Lacey looked at her phone, unsure she’d actually heard it. “Um, what?”
“Called from Tampa. She’s not coming home.” He grunted, the bitterness and hurt she heard in the sound like a dagger to the gut. “Sending movers to pack up her stuff next week, I guess.”
“Oh, Jesus, Hunt…”
“I… maybe part of me knew it was a lost cause, you know? I mean, I know I should be raging and breaking shit, and… I just feel numb.”
Lacey didn’t have the heart to tell him what she felt. For while she hurt for him — and she knew it would be a while before the full weight of the break-up would begin to weigh on him — the dominant emotion she felt? It was relief.
For everyone.
You’re being selfish. Stop thinking about you for one fucking second.
“Hunter, I’m so sorry. I… it makes me sad to hear this, but… I’m not shocked, either.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
She almost whispered it, needing to be gentle with him. “I could see this coming… for a while. I’m sorry.”
“Would’ve been nice if you’d shared your, whatever it is — feminine intuition — with me. If you saw this coming, why didn’t you say anything to me?”
“That’s not what I mean, Hunt—”
“Christ, you told me to tell her.”
Ah, shit.
“Now, wait — that’s not fair. I didn’t tell you that to make things worse. I told you to tell her that because she needed to know.” The words tumbled out of her mouth, and as soon as they were away, she was wincing inside. “Would you be better off living a lie?”
He grunted. “That’s supposed to be my decision to make, isn’t it?”
“It is — I mean, it was.” She rubbed her forehead. “Shit. What I’m trying to say is that—”
“It’s fine, Lace.”
Oh, but it wasn’t. She could feel it, a sinking, roiling weight in her belly. They’d never once fought. They’d never so much as exchanged cross words — and the feeling was absolutely awful. She hadn’t a clue what to do at that moment, finding herself in truly uncharted waters.
Neither one of them said a thing, the line growing heavy with the awkward tension. Her mouth was dry, her tongue practically sticking to the top of her mouth.
“Look.” He made a frustrated sound. “Lacey, I need to—”
“Hunter, I’m sorry. You’re right. This… isn’t about me. It’s about what I can do for you. I’m… here for you. Whatever you need, okay? I mean it.”
He mumbled something she couldn’t quite make out, then sighed heavily, his voice listless. “I better go. I don’t… want to make things worse. Fighting with… yeah, I need to go.”
“Hunter, wait a—”
Then the line went dead.
Lacey looked at her phone, shaking her head in disbelief.
“Shit!” She scrunched her eyes shut, pounding the phone’s screen against her forehead. “Lacey, you’re like the fucking wrecking ball!”
* * *
The collection of beer bottles at their table was somewhere between impressive and embarrassing.
Green, purple, and red neon flickered overhead, and thankfully the music was about as low as one could expect in a dive bar on an early December Thursday night.
Maria, their cute, dark-haired waitress, didn’t even ask them anymore if they wanted more beer. Bless her heart, she just kept bringing them, and they kept drinking them.
Hunter was sprawled back along the bench side of their table, his arms extended along the top of the seat. Troy leaned forward against the back of the red vinyl chair he’d reversed before sitting in it. It wasn’t even sticky against his forearms, something for which he intended to tip Maria generously for once they’d had enough for the night.
“Troy… um, Lace and me. We had a little tiff, I guess.” Hunter
wiped his forearm along the tip of his nose, for some reason not wanting to use his fingers to scratch the itch.
Drunk logic.
The ex-Ranger, despite the prodigious amount of alcohol he’d already ingested, miraculously seemed almost sober. The lines in his face, especially around his eyes, took on a craggy appearance under the low, flickering glow of the neon. He looked worn — and a little lost.
“What did she say when you told her the news?” Troy tried not to blurt it out, unsure in his well-oiled state exactly how much his voice was carrying. Not that anyone in that shithole would be listening.
“I was kind of a dick to her about it. I think she was trying to comfort me.” Hunter scrubbed his face with a palm, looking up at the ceiling as he shook his head. “I was a little bitch, to be honest with you. Butthurt about how she’d worded what she was saying. I’m embarrassed as fuck, actually.”
“Forget about it. I’m going to go out on a limb and guess.” He tipped his beer bottle toward his friend. “She wasn’t exactly, ah, broken up about it?”
Hunter leveled his bleary-eyed gaze at him. “How the fuck did you know that?”
“I know my wife. Trust me, Hunt, if I had to guess, I’d say she’s been beating herself up ever since about it.” He set his bottle down. “Because she cares about you, probably more than you know. And she isn’t the only one.”
“You gonna get fucking mushy on me?” Hunter grinned. “I’m not that drunk, you prick.”
“Fuck you.” Troy drained the rest of his beer. “Point that matters here is this: we are here for you. You want to go out and get blotto? Call me. You want to crash with us for a few days? Call me. You aren’t on a solo mission here. No way, no how.”
“What if I wanna track down Sara and beg her to take me back?”
“Walk alone, friend.”
Hunter laughed, slamming his beer down on the table as he held a hand up to his face, as if he might spew his mouthful of brew. “You asshole.”
“You deserve it for saying something that stupid — joke or not.”