“Never,” she managed to squeak out. “Getting my ears pierced was enough.”
“Such a contradiction, Jenna. All silk and color when we met, to those suits the rest of the time with the fucking hot underwear. Which are you?” His voice was muffled against her pussy, and the vibrations of his words and the whisper of his breath made her drop her thighs wide, raising her knees to plant her feet flat on the mattress, granting him full access.
“Both,” she said on a puff of air. She wished she could think straight and tell him something more of herself, share with him.
“Dripping, sweetheart.” No mistaking the satisfaction in his tone. “So wet, all pink and then nearly crimson the deeper I go. Beautiful.”
He ate at her, his clever tongue tantalizing her clit, then lancing into her opening, running the length of her cleft before returning to torment her knot. His hands pushed beneath her ass, lifting her to further invasion by his mouth, pulling her buttocks apart so her rosebud felt both the coolness of the air and the contrasting heat of her juices as they ran down to saturate it. The need built, her climax storming the bulwarks of her efforts to stave it off and continue relishing his efforts. But it hit, rolling over her like a sensuous wave, and her thighs closed hard around Bryce’s head as she blindly tried to prolong the moment. He lapped at her ever so gently as she came down; still, it was almost too much for her quivering clit and she shuddered against it.
He rose up over her boneless form, a dark shadow blotting out the light, his cock again sheathed in latex. She reached to take him in hand and guided him to where he fit the best, the length and breadth of him opening her distended tissues. This time it was the rocking of the age-old dance, the mating dance, and she focused on pleasing him, marking every push and pull, thrust and retreat, using her inner muscles to caress and squeeze him until he stiffened in her arms. She thought she could feel the heat of his ejaculate right through the condom, and wrapped him up, willing him to wring out the final vestiges of pleasure.
When he returned from the bathroom and pulled her close again, she decided to say it. “That was special, babe. Different for me. I can’t tell you—”
And he kicked her to the curb. Can’t do this, Jenna. We’re done. Reliving it hadn’t made it better or any clearer. What they had seemed nothing special or different for him, and even if it was, he’d backed away and put infinite emotional distance between them with just a few words, gutted her like a fish. Furthermore, she had been so devastated she’d reacted in a totally uncharacteristic manner. Bryce was right to chastise her for not owning her safety. Running into the dark, miraculously hailing a cruising cab—she of all people should know better, so it just underscored how deeply she’d let him in. She’d had plenty of warnings to run like hell, but her need for him conveniently pushed them all aside.
Sucking in a shuddering breath, she refused to cry. Men weren’t worth tears—something she’d learned early on. She stared unseeingly into the darkness and waited for dawn. Something needed to break besides her heart.
Chapter Two
Dragging herself out of bed a few scant hours later, Jenna stood in the shower, allowing the nearly scalding water to pour over her, eyes closed, one hand on the tiled wall, the other on the glass shower door. Not thinking. She’d done enough dissecting of her recent romantic debacle and was moving on. Reaching for the body wash and a sponge, she washed mechanically but thoroughly and then felt for the bottle of shampoo. The instant the scent permeated the steamy space her gorge rose and she snapped the top shut, the plastic container slipping from suddenly numb fingers. It bounced on the floor of the tub, clattering to a stop on her left foot.
It was Bryce’s shampoo, purchased for him so he could use his familiar products when he stayed overnight with her. And the fragrance made him quite real, present, the pain of loss making her nauseous. Jenna managed to turn the water off and shut her thoughts down with the action. No sense in washing her hair anyhow seeing as she was going for a swim right away—a long, long swim. Sliding open the glass panel, she stepped out and snatched up a towel to wrap around her and a smaller one to turban her sopping hair. It was a simple matter to scoop up the offending bottle and toss it into the trash, followed by an inoffensive bar of the unscented soap Bryce favored.
Choosing a pair of yoga pants and a loose T-shirt, she dug into her underwear drawer for some cotton panties and a racer-back bra. She hurriedly dressed and then made her bed before scurrying around to scoop up the clothing discarded from the night before. The underwear went into the trash beside the toiletries and the rest of the outfit into her dry cleaning bag. She thought coffee might be a plan while she waited for a cab to arrive—it had occurred to her that her car was still parked at the bar—so she had time for it to perk. There was nothing like old fashioned perked coffee, intensely different and better than the drip version. She needed the comfort.
Her hands moved automatically through the familiar process and stilled when reaching for her cup. Bryce’s large, widemouthed black mug sat smugly beside her smaller, pink one with the little white and blue flowers around the rim. Slamming the door of the cabinet, she reached to turn off the element on the stove beneath the perk. Had he noticed the tiny efforts she had made to make him a part of her life? Had she? Pathetic. Life felt bleak and like it would drag on forever.
At no time had she left anything personal at his home, despite the fact she’d slept there probably eighteen nights out of the twenty nine they’d spent together. She kept a change of underwear in her purse as well as a big makeup case, her intuition warning that Bryce wouldn’t welcome her stuff in his home because of what it would represent. So if her fucking intuition was so fucking smart…ah, of course...her heart was stupid. False hope. False optimism. She’d never learn, despite the fact it had truly felt different. She headed out the door to await the taxi, purse in one hand, the bag containing her swimsuit and towels in the other.
Her car crouched alone in the parking lot, the tavern not yet open for business. She reflected she was perhaps lucky it was still there. The time it had been stolen was from a lot like this. It had been found the next day, just a block past the station, parked backward on the opposite side of the street, and all the windows open. The police officer who took her there looked at her strangely but said nothing other than to have her identify it and produce documents establishing it was indeed hers. She hadn’t even been required to attend the station again. Knowing Bryce had used his influence and saved her the trip caused her to brush off the frustration with the practical jokesters. Kids. She was just grateful they hadn’t trashed it, just used up most of the gas. Now she wished he hadn’t been so freaking helpful. It made her remember that afternoon and she sagged in the driver’s seat after throwing her purse and gym bag into the back.
She’d left the bridal shower early. Getting drunk and disorderly wasn’t her thing, especially that early in the afternoon. It turned out to be more of a bachelorette party. She’d dressed up in an outfit very different than her work attire and gone to show her support for a colleague. Uncomfortable with the group of younger, enthusiastic women and uninterested in the male strippers, she made an excuse to leave, although no one appeared to even notice she’d left.
Finding her parking space empty was definitely not a highlight. Fortunately the police station was only a half a block away, although apparently not close enough to be a deterrent for grand theft auto. She’d hiked it there, wearing her bridal shower finery and far more makeup than she usually affected.
The tight, silky dress in swirling patterns of red, orange and black with a deep vee in the front and an even deeper vee in the back didn’t allow for a bra, so she’d opted for inserting cups beneath the fabric to support her breasts and hide her nipples. The effect was startlingly sexy. The black stilettos weren’t optimum for walking but she’d made it in record time, fuelled by the fury of loss and indignation. Her anger made her hot, a good thing, seeing as she’d left her light wrap in the car because the ea
rly spring weather was still cool. The one saving grace were the nylons, attached to a lace garter belt, dark with an old fashioned seam up the back of the leg to compliment the fifities style of the vintage dress, which meant she wasn’t barefoot in those stilettos and risking blisters.
Maybe it was her attire that day, but the officer at the desk had hustled to find her a chair and helped her fill out the proper reports with exaggerated assistance. It seemed a tad outside civil servant behavior. Jenna knew she was attractive—she’d been told it most of her life, not that beauty had been much more than a burden. Instead, it attracted all kinds of men, and Jenna simply lacked the ability to choose wisely. Subsequently, she toned her looks down, typically wearing light makeup, securing her hair in casual knots on her neck, and her job helped with the decorous dress code. She had a closet full of well-made, expensive suits, dress pants with classic shirts, and demure shoes. Her underwear was a different matter, and she owned a few va-va-voom outfits for special occasions, few of which actually took place, aside from the occasional party or her nights out with her two friends.
Bryce, along with a few of his colleagues, strode through the door to the back of the station where she assumed the rest of the staff worked, laughing at something one of them said. Before her fascinated gaze, he tipped his handsome head back and nearly roared his mirth, a giant even among the big men around him. Because his clothes fit so well, she appreciated his fine body before his eyes met hers. The sudden silence amplified as he shut down his laughter and smiled at her. Smiled. And she was lost.
He came to see what her “problem” was, efficiently easing the helpful officer out of the way, assuring her the force would do their best to find her car, explaining that it wasn’t uncommon for vehicles to be “boosted” from that particular lot. His eyes narrowed when he invaded her space and he asked her how much she’d been drinking, the wine she’d consumed at the shower scenting her breath. Before she could reply, he offered her a ride home. Throwing caution to the winds, Jenna had accepted and accepted a whole lot more once he followed her into her house. She accepted him into her home and her body, never once regretting being picked up and fucked within the hour of meeting him. She’d just hoped she had made a better choice than she’d done in the past when he continued to ask her out.
Well, making good choices obviously wasn’t her forte. There was obviously a shelf life for women where Bryce was concerned. A “good until” date. She became aware her phone was ringing in the depths of her purse, but decided to ignore it. She wasn’t ready to talk to anyone. She didn’t want to hear the “I told you so” from her friends, not that they’d say it out loud, or wouldn’t be kind to her. And it wasn’t like Bryce would be calling. She made a mental note to delete his number and corresponding ringtone. Okay, back to not thinking and to moving on. Whenever something triggered her memories of him she would just have to power through it, but there was no sense in keeping anything around to make it more difficult. And she wasn’t sifting through them again—she’d ignored the cues and paid the price.
Upon arriving at the gym, she parked well away from the entrance, determined to get as much physical activity in before she ate the deep dish apple crumble and pint of treacle ice cream she planned to purchase on the way home. Comfort food—better than medication and cheaper, too. She didn’t recognize anyone in the change room, a blessing for certain, because she could envision herself bursting into tears at a kind word.
The soothing, cool water of the enormous pool enveloped her as she swam lap after lap, the repetition of movement coupled with the sense of floating during rest periods stabilizing her brain and soothing her heart. Jenna swam until she feared she wouldn’t be able to push her body up out of the pool, but the exercise had done its job. Maybe she’d forgo the dessert and count on another swim the next day instead. Her brain was regulated and she was too tired to feel the desolate pain. For now.
Feminine chatter in the change room diminished when she entered, once again wrapped in a towel following yet another shower in the adjoining bathing facilities. Seeing no one they knew, the women went back to their conversations. Breathing a sigh of relief at their preoccupation with one another, Jenna quickly dressed and ran a comb through her hair, eschewing makeup.
“Jenna?” Oh shit. She turned to see a vaguely familiar face.
“Hey! I didn’t know you were a member here! Didn’t recognize you with your hair in a towel.”
Her stomach clenching with resignation, Jenna forced a smile. It was Karen Mancuso, married to Darren, Bryce’s freaking partner. She must have done something really bad in another life to deserve this chance meeting. “Hi, Karen.”
“You’re an early bird. By the time I get the kids organized and to my mom’s, I’m lucky to get here when I do. Especially on a Saturday.”
“I can imagine.” Well, she couldn’t, but Jenna never allowed herself to think about children because she wasn’t able to have any, something else she didn’t share. That didn’t stop her from wishing she could or watching the offspring of others with enjoyment. That included watching non-human offspring, and a shard of pain lanced through her clenched stomach when she remembered the foals with their moms in the fields last evening while she and Bryce—“It’s good you can get away,” she told Karen, cutting off the memory.
The other woman tied her running shoe, bracing her foot on the bench beside Jenna, red ponytail swinging sideways. “I better get at it before I have to get back to the little urchins. I’ll see you at the party this Saturday?”
Jenna tried to focus. “Party?” Bryce had said nothing about any party, so either he planned to dump her beforehand, or intended to let her know about it closer to the date. Come to think about it, they had never made any plans for anything past the actual day or the next evening. Shelf life. Spoiled and discarded.
“The party, silly. Bryce’s promotion party. I know you two have just met, and you don’t know copspeak yet, but it’s a big deal.” Karen put her foot down and bounced in place, vibrating with energy. “We’re all going and it’ll be fancy. Give me a chance to dress up and show off my efforts.” She gestured to her visibly toned form. “Took me a year to work off the baby weight.”
Trying to fob Karen off without lying, or worse, telling the truth and causing a reaction and all sorts of speculation, Jenna nodded enthusiastically. “Of course. Silly me. How nice you can dress up.”
Karen leaned a bit closer. “Give me your number so I can give you a call, if that’s okay. The minute I saw you with Bryce I admired your style. You can pull off anything and I don’t have a clue. He used to always pick ‘em just this side of skank, you know? You’re a refreshing change and you’ve been with him like a long time and—”
Jenna cut her off. It was one thing to mislead this woman, who, despite her rather judgemental statement about women clearly liked Bryce and was interested in his happiness, but quite another to let her go on about him. He was a private person, or she’d know more personal things about him, and quite frankly it hurt to hear Karen share things he should have shared with her. Shared, if their deal had been going anywhere, which it hadn’t been, so no wonder he hadn’t.
“Actually, Karen, I won’t be going to the party. Bryce and I aren’t…” Jenna wasn’t sure what to say—they weren’t dating anymore? Weren’t going out anymore? Weren’t fucking anymore? At Karen’s immediate reaction, her blue eyes widening, freckles standing out across the top of her cheeks as she paled, Jenna continued, “But if you want some fashion advice I’d be happy to help. Retail therapy is what I do.”
In a quiet voice, all vivacity leached from it, Karen said. “I’m sorry. Truly. You’re different, Jenna. None of us know you very well but we all remarked on it. And he—”
Jenna laughed. A painful attempt at a laugh, but it shut Karen down. “A month isn’t very long, Karen. Still want my number?”
“Uh, sure.” Karen spun to work the combination on her locker and returned with her phone. She programmed Jenna
’s number in and thanked her before putting the phone away and hustling to the gym, casting a look back over her shoulder. Jenna knew she’d never call, but it seemed important to offer it, maybe to prove Bryce hadn’t gutted her. Pity was a false commodity. All the same, the pinch of regret that she wouldn’t get to know Karen better, or any of the other women connected to Bryce’s buddies, created a little flicker of anger to mask it. She’d felt comfortable in that circle. Bryce shouldn’t have introduced her to it and taken her back to connect with them several times. Prick.
Her faint indignation served to carry her through nearly the remainder of the day. She went home, without stopping to buy a caloric disaster, and cleaned her home, starting in the bedroom. Anything remotely connected to Bryce went into the trash and she carried the bag out to deposit it into the can at the back of her house. The contents chinked against one another to remind her of what she’d disposed of, the indignation faded and the cold, painful feeling returned. She collapsed on the couch with a glass of red wine, wondering how she might fill the rest of the afternoon and her evening.
Her phone vibrated at regular intervals but she ignored it, glad she’d remembered to turn off the ringer after deleting Bryce’s information. Her conversation with Karen had more than met her need for social contact for the next millennium. The afternoon wore on and her belly reminded her it had received no sustenance all day but she ignored that, too. In time its protests subsided and the next glass of wine, followed by another, made everything numb.
The pounding on her front door pulled her from an exhausted sleep. Jenna squinted at the clock on the far wall, but the deepening shadows in the room put its dark face in gloom and thwarted her.
“Goddamn it, Jenna! Open the fucking door or I’m coming in.”
She was on her feet, the empty wine glass falling from its placement on her chest to shatter on the glass topped coffee table. She unthinkingly reached for the stem, bizarrely standing upright, and sliced the palm of her hand on the razor sharp end. Shaking, she turned the switch on the closest lamp and the ensuing warm yellow light enabled her to see that she’d cut herself a good one. Not deep enough for real concern, but annoying. Stupid.
Mistake (Siren Publishing Classic) Page 3