Rayne
S omething was wrong, and it left me confused. One minute Chad was slowing down to turn into the strip center where his gym was located and the next, he stomped on the gas pedal and sped past the parking lot. This wasn’t right and I hadn’t a clue about where we were headed.
I gripped my seatbelt tightly and hesitantly stared at him. The expression on his face almost scared me. He looked determined and pissed off. He had no right. I was the one with beer on me, who couldn’t eat her dinner because of his ex-sex kitten, and who had been forced to witness her abominable behavior. Me. Not him—except maybe the dinner part. If he wasn’t such a slut, then maybe tonight would have gone differently. Maybe we could have eaten dinner and had a pleasant conversation. Instead, I shivered slightly from the cold, wet t-shirt that clung to my skin as he kept the AC turned up, because August in South Carolina still brought muggy, hot temperatures and humidity that should be illegal.
“Chad, what the hell is going on?” I demanded he answer me. If he thought I had a sanctimonious attitude before, he was in for a very rude awakening.
“We need to talk.”
“You know kidnapping is considered a federal crime?”
“You know being a bitch will get your ass beat?”
“Now abuse? Your rap sheet is growing.” I growled, but at the same time I found myself slightly energized and turned on by the fight. I wondered what it would be like to have him spank me with his large calloused hand, the same hands that had become strong and rough from using weights for the past decade.
Not that I would let anything happen between us.
His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, squeezing it, rubbing back and forth as if he was picturing strangling someone. Probably me. “I would never abuse you or any other woman, and you know it.”
“Do I?” I did, but I wanted to be contrary and argue, to pick a fight when it would probably be best if I remained quiet. But I did know him. I had watched Chad for years now, and even though he jumped from bed to bed, woman to woman, from what I could see, he never laid a hand on them with any intent to hurt them. Of course, I didn’t know what happened behind closed doors. I might have stalked him a little, but I was not a peeper.
I saw one corner of his narrow lips curl upwards. “I think you know me more than you let on.”
He was either fishing or believed he had some blackmail material on me. My own brother believed I hated Chad, so if Bryan thought I hated him, there was no way Chad had an inkling of the feelings I had long ago buried. Passion and lust were one thing. Those bubbled up to the surface without preamble, but any real feelings I had for him would never see the light of day again. They were gone, disappeared and forever lost.
“I’ve known you for the past twelve or so years. Of course I know you, and I know all of the stories. I think the latest wager was that you had fucked over 100 different women. Then again, someone said that it was probably closer to 200.”
“That’s hitting below the belt.”
“Why would I hit you below the belt? It’s the one attribute that keeps you surrounded by people. If you didn’t have your dick, you’d be a sad and lonely man.” I couldn’t stop myself from antagonizing him. My brain told me to abort, but my mouth refused to listen.
“You really believe that, don’t you?”
“If the shoe fits…” My words tapered off to allow him to finish the anecdote himself.
He was quiet after that. Too quiet. I found myself anxiously waiting for him to explode, to yell, to do anything except stare out of the windshield and drive.
When he turned down a residential street, I knew exactly where he was taking me. His house. But why? This was his lair, his domain. The playing field was already uneven, and this made everything weighted in his favor. Fuck my life.
****
Chad
When I decided to drive her to my house, I wasn’t thinking straight. I knew we needed to hash it all out, but the closer to my house I got, the more I started to think that this whole clusterfuck of a situation could work in my favor. But I had to calm down and think clearly if I wanted everything to flow according to my will instead of hers.
And by the end of the end of the night, maybe we could both find a little satisfaction in each other. I could see the lust burning in her eyes. I also saw the way she rubbed her thighs together, as if she were trying to relieve an ache between them. If she let me, I’d help her feel better and oh so good.
But first, we had to clear the air, and I still wasn’t sure why she had called me in the first place. I knew she called about work, but I hadn’t heard anything and there wasn’t much I could help her with. It all gave me more questions than answers and left me confused.
I could be wrong, but I saw her rub her thighs together again. In my experience, it meant she clenched her muscles to relieve the pressure that had started to build. Maybe it would be better if we worked on satisfaction first and then moved onto talking.
Fuck! It had been entirely too long since I sank my dick into a woman. That was probably the only reason I wanted Rayne as bad as I did right now. My cock was so hard, it literally pained me to keep it in my pants. The jeans I wore were stiff and tight, which was not good for a hard cock of my stature—or any size for that matter.
Pulling into my driveway, I threw the car into park and almost groaned when I saw how Rayne licked her full pink lips. Somehow, I managed to keep it to myself though…barely.
“What?” she asked suspiciously. I knew she wasn’t as innocent as she pretended to be for her brother. I’d seen the way she worked a man and flirted with him, and contrary to what her brother Bryan wanted to believe about his sister, I had seen her leave with a guy a time or two when we were at the same events. I wasn’t saying she could compete with my numbers, but she wasn’t a sweet and innocent angel either. Not that there was anything wrong with that.
Except…it bothered me the way she casually threw my past in my face time and time again, the way she joked about the number of women I had been with. Normally, I didn’t care what anyone thought or whispered, however, for whatever reason, my conscience wanted to scream at me and make me feel guilty for having fun and showing women how to have a good time. I got pleasure, she got pleasure, what was the harm in that? None.
“Get out,” I ordered.
She huffed and snorted at the same time, mocking me. “And if I don’t want to? If I demand that you take me home right now?”
“Not going to happen, Sweetheart. We have some things to hash out and I would probably be best it if happened in private. And no offense, but I’ve yet to find an apartment complex with thick enough walls that you don’t hear everything your neighbors are doing. So get out of the fucking car, get in the fucking house, and we are going to have ourselves a little chat.”
Her eyes dropped to my crotch, and I swore my dick twitched. “Talk or talk?” The very smirk I used, the one I practiced in the mirror every day to master when I was a freshman in high school, appeared on her face, and she had it down pat. Damn, that was sexy. I thought I was playing her, but it wouldn’t be the first time I’d been wrong.
Remember who she is and keep it together, man,’ I told myself. I couldn’t forget my purpose. “Get inside the fucking house, Rayne,” I ordered her again. Hearing my words, I saw the fire of defiance explode in her eyes. I needed to get rid of some of my tension, and at this point I didn’t care how I did it.
“Fine.” Her eyes smoldered with irritation and hate, but there was something else I saw in that fire. My mother once told me that there was a fine line between love and hate. I think Rayne probably dug that line a little deeper. She may lust for me, but that didn’t mean she liked me much, if at all.
When she got out of the car and slammed the door again—maybe she really did need a spanking—I hit the button on the key fob twice to both lock it and set the alarm. Then, to piss her off more, I took my time strolling toward the door to unlock it to allow my guest inside. By the tim
e I made it to her, she stood beside the front door on the large porch with her arms crossed over her now stained pale pink t-shirt, tapping her foot incessantly in annoyance. Why was it so much fun to make her mad?
“You rush me, but then want to take your fucking time? Just hurry up and unlock the door. I smell like beer and I want to change,” she said.
“Into what clothes?” I pushed open the door and she walked in first as if she owned the place, but then she stopped and spun around. “What?” I asked when she didn’t say anything.
“Clothes?”
“Whose clothes?”
“Yours or your sister’s. I don’t care who they belong to at this point.”
I shut the door and leaned against it casually, belying how I actually felt. The way she brought up my sister and demanded Megan’s clothes, struck a nerve with me. I could feel my anger at her growing again. “After the way you’ve treated Megan, I’m not letting you breathe on her shit much less wear it. I’ll get you something to wear. You stink, so you may want to take a shower.” I pushed passed her and traipsed down the hall to my room.
With Rayne, anything I gave her would make her look like she was drowning in the clothes because not only was she short, she was thin with a nice rack and a perky ass. Petite and tiny, like a cute little koala you wanted to squeeze and love…only this one had claws and fangs. But even knowing my clothes would swallow her, I still refused to give her anything that belonged to Megan, who kept clothes at my house for whenever she might need them.
Grabbing a faded gray t-shirt that had one hole near the bottom seam and another on the shoulder, I figured Rayne could make do with it if she wanted to wear something other than her beer drenched clothes. It was one of those shirts you knew should probably be thrown away, but it was too comfortable to get rid of. Based on her lack of height, it would be a dress on her, but I was a gentleman; I also grabbed a pair of old running shorts that had a string in the waistband she could pull tight.
I thought about how angry it would make her to take my time. She was a sight to behold when she was angry, and I had started to appreciate it at some point during this whole mess. I sighed. When we finally had it out, I didn’t want to be arguing over stupid shit like clothes. Balling them in my hand, I pulled out and an extra towel, and I hurried down the hall and stopped short. She still stood in the middle of my living room with its tan walls and brown leather furniture, but she was looking at something on the mantle of my fireplace. I didn’t know what it was though since she planted herself about five feet away from the fireplace. “Rayne?”
She jumped. I spooked her—or busted her—and a tiny squeak escaped her lips, which made me grin. Spinning around with her hands out in front of her like she was prepared to fight off an attacker, my smile disappeared quickly. Considering we were standing in the middle of my living room alone, with no one in the house except us, that was an odd reaction. “Rayne?”
“Huh? Oh, sorry. Are those for me? Uh, thanks,” she muttered and rushed over to take the items from me.
I held them tightly, frowning as I searched her face. “Are you all right?” I asked.
“Never better. Just cold. Can I take that shower now?”
“Sure. First door on the right.” I waved her down the hall, and when she disappeared into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her, I went to my mantle and tried to figure out which picture she had been staring at so intently.
My mantle was made up of a large block of wood to make it appear as if it was floating, and on that, sat several pictures in frames. Family and friends in various poses. Some were professionally done, and some were snapshots taken by me or someone else. A single moment in time frozen in a frame. Something had caught her eye, and it could have been anything from the way they looked like they had just been thrown up there without order to a picture itself. I couldn’t be sure.
If my little brother, Theo, had been there, he would have rearranged them all since they were spread haphazardly across the dark oak. My brother was the perfectionist of our family, and he hated disorder.
He was an inch shorter than me, with less muscle since he preferred yoga to weightlifting, and he kept his blond hair long and in a manbun most of the time. Other than that, we had the same eyes, the same coloring, and the same smile. Growing up, people thought we were twins. Maybe that’s why he decided to grow his hair out. There was a time when he hated being anything like me.
But now, other than his messy manbun, everything had to be perfect. Pictures had to be straight, pillows fluffed, bed made, and every single thing put where it should be. My haphazard mantle always gave him fits. He would straighten everything, lining the pictures up in a neat row in descending frame height. And then at night, when he was no longer looking, I would mess them up on purpose. I loved seeing his face turn red as he rushed to fix them again and again.
Theo was about to graduate with his PhD in chemistry. He liked equations and things that could be explained, but then again, he was like that as a kid as well. It was also the reason he could easily create stink bombs, a water balloon canon, and a few other toys he used on unsuspecting victims as a child. Personally, I believed he had a touch of OCD, but considering he played with chemicals on a regular basis, his idiosyncrasies were a good thing.
Which brought me back to the present. I studied the different pictures on my mantle and I couldn’t figure out which picture had Rayne frozen in place. I guessed it could have been her starring off into space or something else, but she had started to act funny when I returned with her change of clothes.
It seemed like a lifetime before I heard the sounds of running water cease, and even longer before she finally emerged with her hair wrapped in a towel and the t-shirt swallowing her whole. She reminded me of when my sister would wear one of my dad’s t-shirts to bed. They were so long, Megan almost tripped over them, but she loved wearing them.
Clearing my throat, I gestured for Rayne to sit on the couch, and I clenched my fists when she brushed passed me, her breasts pressing into my upper abdomen slightly. She was so short, but such a tiny package managed to pack a huge punch. She knew how to throw her weight around, which typically left people feeling a little bruised and battered.
“Want to tell me why you called?” My tone came out sharp and demanding as my gut clenched from desire. When she left me to go into the bathroom to take her shower, I warred with myself on whether I was going to throw her on the couch to fuck her senseless, carry her to my room for the same reason, or if I was going to talk to her first…sex, maybe later. But as I stood there staring at the pictures, trying to get inside her head, I realized something. My sister had been right. I was getting in over my head, and if I continued, I would drown.
Already, I second guessed myself on everything because of some whispered words spoken after she passed out drunk. And tonight, the expression on her face when I pulled over and threatened to kick her out, plagued me. I began to think that crossing the line while we were both cognizant and sober, would pull me under. I couldn’t risk it. Not for her. She was the last person I ever wanted to care about: mortal enemy number one.
She narrowed her eyes and cocked her head to the side. Pulling the towel off of her head, her fingers raked through her wet onyx locks that gleamed in the light from the tall lamp standing beside her by the couch. No words came and I shifted from one foot to the next. I wondered what she thought about. I figured she probably wanted to rip me a new one for bringing her here, since she always appeared ready to verbally kick my ass.
Releasing a heavy sigh, she picked at her cuticles, dropping her gaze to her fingers. “Did you tell me everything you know?”
“Why?”
Her eyes darted to the door and then up to me. “Can you please sit down? You’re going to give me a crick in the neck.”
I did as she requested and sat on the opposite end of the sectional. She sat closest to the door, and I sat closest to the kitchen. My house had the open floorplan so many people craved the
se days, with bamboo floors and a gourmet kitchen. When I bought the house, it had been run down, and I made it into a house I would want to share with my future family. Large backyard complete with pool, an oversized deck big enough to have two picnic tables fit with room to spare, and a grill that was used at least once a week during the summer months. “I sat. Now talk.”
“You sound like a caveman. You talk. Me listen,” she quipped nervously.
“Rayne,” I warned.
“Did you tell me everything?”
“Why?” We were back where we started, dancing around in verbal circles.
She started to pick at her cuticles again like it was a nervous tick or bad habit. “This week has been…slightly odd.” She sounded hesitant as if she were trying to understand the situation herself and unsure where to begin.
I lifted my brow in question. “How so?”
“I walked into our conference room and everyone immediately stopped talking. I also spoke with Justin last week. Everything seemed all right, but I found out yesterday that he gave a project I was supposed to be working on to someone else in the office.”
“Did you ask him about it?”
“No, but—”
“So, you’re basically letting your imagination make you paranoid.”
“No. Will you listen? I’m not done.”
Sweeping my arm out, I said, “The floor is yours.”
Her chest expanded when she breathed deeply, and my eyes watched it inflate and deflate, her breasts moving up and down, and I was unable to look elsewhere. “You know that we’re rebranding.” She held up one of her fingers and warned me, “Don’t interrupt.”
“Okay, I won’t.”
“The amendments supposedly came from me, had my signature, but they weren’t done by me. We know all of that, but Justin got a phone call from one of our vendors this week, and apparently this isn’t the first one. Orders have been placed for things we don’t need. We’re a small firm that deals with environmentally conscious products. I handle the marketing side of things, so why would I order 50,000 pens with our old logo on them? Or why would I order only three reams of paper for the copy machine. I mean normally the office ordering is handled by the HR manager who also acts as the office administrator. She’s been out—well, now we have a new one that’s being trained—so I have been the one in charge of ordering office supplies, but I wouldn’t do stupid shit like that. Especially since we’re getting a new logo. Why the hell would I order pens with the old logo? And three reams of paper? That’s not even a case. And why would Justin think I would do stupid shit like that?” I could hear the panic in her voice as she continued to ramble on.
Redeemed: Book Two of the Love Seekers Series Page 15