Suit

by Jettie Woodruff

  I topped off my look with red lips. I tried pink first, but it clashed too much with my shirt. The red wasn’t bright, more like magenta. A hint of purple. I slipped my foot into the bulky boot and checked myself in the mirror. Other than a tiny scar above my left eye, the scar wrapping around my knee, and the stupid boot, I looked fine. Actually, I looked hot. The high-class bra that I chose did wonders for my cleavage. Tucking the tail of my shirt in helped with that, too, tightening the thin material.

  “A belt,” I called to my reflection. I walked to my closet with something thin and sparkly in mind. My weight shifted from my sore leg and my fingers grazed the few belts. Humph, I didn’t like belts. I didn’t have much to choose from. Nothing that I had in mind, anyway. An idea hit me and I flicked my gaze toward the dresses. “Ouch,” I said, grimacing from the sudden pain in my neck. After a moment of searching, my gaze located the perfect dress. A strapless one.

  The smell of bacon tickled my nose as soon as I opened my door. I knew for sure that I didn’t like meat. The stench irritated my stomach, and for a moment I thought I might need to turn around and go back to the bathroom. The opened door on my right kept me from it. Rowan’s room. I curved up my lips in an instant smile, but only for a second. Her bed was unmade and empty. The giggling from the next room brought back my smile.

  I peeked my head in first, seeing them both below the polka-dotted comforter, laughing with a stuffed giraffe.

  “Good morning, girlies.”

  Rowan and Ophelia quieted and turned to me. “You look pretty, Mommy,” Rowan commented.

  “Ahhh, thank you, baby,” I said as I lumbered toward them.

  “I like your lips,” Ophelia also complimented.

  “Thanks, Phi. You girls ready to hit some home runs?” I asked as I sat on the edge of the queen-sized bed. Lucky girls. I never had a bed until I moved in with Mrs. Porter.

  Wait. What? Who the hell’s Mrs. Porter?

  “I’m going to hit a ball in the hole.”

  “Oh, yeah, youth golf,” I said while my hand brushed a lock of hair over her shoulder. I was irrevocably in love. “Let’s go brush our teeth, so we can get ready. Daddy’s making breakfast.”

  “I don’t like Daddy’s breakfast,” Rowan admitted.

  I giggled and patted her leg. “I’m not sure I’m any better,” I confessed.

  “Yes, you are,” Ophelia assured me with a bobbing head. “You’re way better.”

  “I might need some help remembering how to do it.” Both girls agreed to help with the cooking, revealing proud smiles and nodding their heads. I rushed them toward the bathroom to brush their teeth. Joy swelled in my heart. Besides the fact that Paxton was a dick, and we had some sort of fucked-up something going on between us, I felt amazing. And I was in love. In love with the most precious little girls on earth.

  I picked out a cute little blue-jean skirt with a purple shirt. Funny characters in different colors. The top had pink glitter letters that read, Inside Out. I had no idea what that meant, but it was cute. I giggled with the girls when I heard Rowan tell a joke as I passed the bathroom.

  “Why did the bubblegum cross the road?”

  “Cause it stucked to the chicken’s foot,” Ophelia replied with the quick, correct answer. “I already knowed that one.”

  “Rats.”

  I walked into Rowan’s room, scooping up a stuffed animal with ease. Hardly any pain at all. I opened her closet, caught off guard. I’m not sure what I’d expected. I mean, they weren’t twins or anything. Hell, they didn’t even have the same mother. Why did I expect them to be in matching outfits? Nothing in Rowan’s closet matched Ophelia’s, and that bothered me, but why?

  “What are you doing?” Paxton asked from the door.

  Caught off guard, I swung my gaze toward him, his expression wary. Just like mine had probably been when I found out my girls didn’t wear matching clothes. “Helping out. I’m getting their clothes.”

  “They’re playing ball. Uniforms. They’re on the couch.”

  “Oh, yeah. Of course.”

  “Are you wearing lipstick?”

  “Well, I have a lot of it. I assumed I always wore it.”

  “No. Never. Not unless I made you.”

  “Oh, well I better go wipe it off, then.”

  Paxton couldn’t hide his reaction. He smiled. A genuine smile. I saw it with my own eyes. He strolled toward me, quickly replacing the grin with a smirk. Even in the short time I knew him, I could tell the difference. The smell of his cologne reached me before his body. Intoxicating.

  “What’s this?” He indicated the makeshift belt. His fingers lightly slid over the sparkling studs while his eyes lingered on my breasts.

  “I borrowed it from another outfit. It needed something.”

  “I like it. Glad you’re going to be with me.”

  I frowned, perplexed no doubt, taking over my expression. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing, it’s a compliment.”

  “Mom! Mom! Rowan won’t give me my shirt. I’m number five. Mom!”

  “I’ve got it. Let’s eat. We need to get going,” Paxton said close to my lips, right before he kissed me. Tongue and all. He retreated when Ophelia screamed again.

  “You kiss me a lot,” I said, eyes holding his.

  Paxton didn’t respond to that. He gave me a peculiar glance and walked away.

  I stared after him. Well, mostly his ass. Paxton could wear jeans. Damn, could he ever wear jeans. I shook my head, wondering what the hell was wrong with me—besides the fact that my brain wasn’t right. Puzzling emotions mixed with a longing, and I knew it was for him. There was something there. We did have some sort of pull toward each other, bigger than what Paxton had thought. I didn’t know how I felt about that.

  I hung the clothes that didn’t match Ophelia’s back in Rowan’s closet with a heavy sigh and a shake of my head. Day by day. That was all that I could do. That was my only plan.

  Paxton and the girls were seated at the table when I joined them. One would think if the husband sat at the end of a six-seating table and chairs, his wife would sit at the other end. Not in the Pierce house. I sat on his right and the girls sat across from me, digging into scrambled eggs and bacon. I had learned my place at the table the first time I ate there. Or that I remember, anyway. All of that was gone. Nothing but a blank brain with little information to go on. What I did recall made no sense. At all. Why couldn’t I remember my life before now? All I had was the here and now with family that I didn’t understand. It seemed hard to believe this was all there was to me. Why was my brain remembering my childhood and not my adult life? I made a mental note to ask Dr. Mirage about that at my next visit.

  “What are you doing?” Paxton asked.

  I snapped out of my zoning out into space and looked at him, blinking away the vision. I shook my head and spooned a few eggs to my plate, omitting the bacon. “Nothing. I was just thinking.”

  “About?”

  I tilted my head and smiled. No, it was probably more a smirk, the same smirk that I always got from him. “Does it matter?”

  “Of course it matters. What were you thinking about?”

  “Okay, fine. I was thinking about my mom and my sister.”

  Paxton rolled his eyes and bit into wiggly bacon.

  “You have a sister?” Rowan questioned with excitement.

  “No, your mother doesn’t have a sister. It’s her head injury talking. Eat up. You have a ball game to win.”

  “I’m gonna hit a ball in the hole, Daddy,” Ophelia said while adding her two cents. She wanted the attention, too.

  I smiled over at her, biting the corner of my wheat toast. “I think you like golf, Phi. Maybe that’s going to be your sport.”

  “Ophelia. Her name’s Ophelia,” Paxton reminded me.

  “Yeah, right. The Mayflower.” It just came out. I didn’t even mean to say it, and I sure as hell didn’t mean to flaunt the attitude. Too late.

 
Paxton’s fork clanked to the glass plate in front of him, his glare matching his attitude. “Can you help me in the kitchen for a second?”

  The cloth napkin dropped to the table and Paxton got up, chair scraping the floor and daggers shooting through my injured brain. Oh, boy… He was pissed. I followed him away from the girls, knowing I was in for something. I just didn’t know what. Maybe a tongue lashing. Maybe a fingering punishment. Who knows?

  He stood over the sink, staring out at the endless ocean. “You’re not going,” he said without turning around.

  “Going where?”

  “Anywhere. To watch the girls today. You can stay home and try to remember your place.”

  “Why? That’s stupid. I want to go. I want to watch them play.”

  Paxton turned to me that time. Two steps and he was in my face. “And I want you to remember who the fuck you are. You can’t seem to do that no matter how many times you’re told.”

  “I don’t even know what you’re so pissed off about. Jesus Christ, lighten up. How can I remember who the fuck I am if this head injury keeps blocking my memories?”

  Silence. A red face. And rage.

  “Go to your bathroom. Now.”

  His tone was subtle. Composed. Calm. That wasn’t the part that scared me. It was the look in his cold-green eyes that caused my own voice to tremble.

  “W-why?”

  “I’m going to remind you how Pierce women talk to their husbands.”

  “There’s more of us? More of you? Shit. Sorry. That’s not what I meant to say. Let’s just go eat breakfast and forget this. It’s nothing. I didn’t mean to disrespect you. I just don’t see what the big deal is. Why can’t I call her Phi?”

  “Because that’s not her name. Would you like to see her birth certificate?”

  Actually, I did want to see it, but I knew that wasn’t the answer he wanted from me. “Whatever. Can we just finish breakfast and go?”

  “I just said—you’re not going.”

  “Don’t be like that. I said I was sorry. I need out of this house, too, you know.”

  “Then turn around and go to your bathroom. I’m about to teach you another rule around here.”

  “What?”

  “Go. I’ll be there in a second.”

  This was the stupid part. The part that totally baffled me. The first thing I noticed when I walked away mustering up as much deviancy as I could, was the rhythm. The impulsive throb right between my legs. It was like my body knew what lay ahead, reacting as if it had been accustomed to the routine. My brain…Not so much. I had that anxious, adrenaline rush where I could hear my heartbeat in my head. Quick, rapid beats, matching the pulsating between my legs. The palms of my hands dampened and my entire body trembled with apprehension.

  And anticipation.

  “How’s it going? You guys okay?” I asked as I passed the girls.

  “Rowan got more eggs.”

  “Well, you got more bacon,” Rowan tattled right back.

  “It’s fine. Eat until your tummies are full. I’ll be right back.”

  Sticky, strawberry jelly took precedence over me. Rowan started it, and Phi followed suit, forgetting I existed. I continued on my way to my bathroom, afraid yet excited. From the feel of the commotion going on between my legs, I was certain my body knew what was coming. Even if my mind didn’t.

  Chapter Eight

  I don’t know what went through my mind while I waited, butt resting on the countertop. I knew from the rising pain in the back of my knee and my ankle that I needed the crutches. Being stubborn only prolonged my recovery. Instead of thinking about Paxton opening that door, I thought about crutches. My mind tried hard to block it out, but without really knowing, I had a gut feeling what was about to happen.

  The worst case of paranoid-freaking-out hit me when the doorknob turned. My heart pounded like crazy, and blood rushed rapidly through my veins. For a second, I thought I might be having a heart attack.

  “Did you miss this? Can’t wait any longer? Is that what this is about?” Paxton asked in a quiet tone, eyes narrowed while he strolled toward me. Toward me and my pounding heart, my dry mouth, and my overactive sex drive. Jesus. I truly was a glorified whore.

  “I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

  He quieted me with a warning look, one that I could easily detect in his green eyes. “I think you know exactly what I am talking about. I think you’re being defiant because you know. You know because this is all an act. Most of it.”

  Of course I didn’t speak. Not that I could have, had I tried. Paxton did things to me. Things I couldn’t explain. My body reacted to him like—like danger. A thrill seeker. That’s how I felt around him. Like jumping out of a plane. The ecstasy of it overpowering the danger.

  Breathe…

  Breathe…

  Breathe.

  I literally had to remind myself of that mundane task, truly worrying I might die if I didn’t. My eyes moved to his hands. He tugged the tail of my red shirt from my shorts. I reminded myself to breathe again. It was the look. The expression on his face. The instant bulge in his jeans. It was the lust. That’s the thrill I chased. Lust. Pure lust.

  The jingle of the buckle on my belt came next. Paxton took his time, sliding the strap out. He took just as much time sliding the zipper down. The scrape and grind of the metal echoed in the room. He dropped to his knees and tugged on my shorts. He slid them over my hips with a slight struggle, wearing the same lustful expression. My knees trembled and my hands gripped harder, white knuckling the countertop for support.

  “Turn around,” Paxton ordered in the most sexy, sultry tone I’d ever heard, or could remember.

  I almost couldn’t handle it. He was right—I was a slut. Hands down. I was a slut, and I could think of no other way to put it. I wanted this. I wanted him to spank me. Why? What the hell was wrong with me? I wanted this?

  My breath became trapped in my lungs when his hand moved to my bare ass. A faint whimper slipped between my lips as he fisted my powder-blue, lacy thong and lifted. I wasn’t expecting his next maneuver at all—his hand slapped hard on my right ass cheek. Another whimper escaped my tight lips, this one sounding more erotic. The thin strap in the crevice of my buttocks was plucked again like a violin string, followed by another sharp slap. I didn’t know what it was—the amplified sound, the way our eyes kept meeting in the mirror, the mystified yet lustful way he stared back, or what, but it had moved up a notch to phenomenal. Here I was at the hands of monster and I liked it. I loved it, in fact, and I wanted more. Even the stinging on my ass stung with electrical jolts. He had turned me into a thrill-seeking slut. A Paxton addict.

  “Does that make you wet, Gabriella? Hmm?” Crack! Another blow in the exact same place. “You like it when I bend you over like this, don’t you, Gabriella?”

  I didn’t answer with words. Not because I wasn’t able, but because I didn’t know if I was allowed. Just because Paxton asked a question didn’t mean I could answer. Especially when he had me in this positon. Under his control.

  He peeled the lacy strap from between the crease of my rump, intensifying my arousal. Another slap stung on top of stinging. Seven was the lucky number. My ass burned, and I loved it. After the last sting to my ass, he placed his hand over it, calming the burn with soothing, caressing pleasure.

  My world spun out of control; my body longed for more.

  Paxton pulled me to his chest, pumping his hardness into my tingling ass. He looked at me in the mirror, but not really at me. Not my eyes, anyway. He seemed to be avoiding them intentionally. It didn’t much matter, though, because I didn’t look at him, either. I couldn’t. His hand reached around and slid through my pulsating slit. My head dropped back to his chest, my eyes closed, and I moaned. One lustful, erotic whimper.

  “Jesus Christ, Gabriella,” Paxton exclaimed.

  I didn’t respond to that, either. Not even an opened eye. I kept both of them closed, praying to God almighty not to let h
im stop. I couldn’t take much more and he knew it. God and Paxton.

  “You want to come, baby?”

  “Please,” I begged through a moan. It wouldn’t have taken much more. Two minutes of attention to my throbbing nub. That’s it. Was that asking too much? Not in my book. Paxton’s, yes.

  He stopped. The bastard stopped. “Get ready, we need to go. Don’t fuck up. The ball field isn’t far from here. I can have you back here in five minutes.”

  With one more run through my crazy-mad slit, he retreated.

  “You sure?” I questioned as I stepped over that line, the one I knew I would be crossing before I said it. My hand did what his did. I reached around and stroked an erection harder than steel. Our eyes did meet in the mirror that time. His had a taken-aback gleam. Mine begged for more, full of desire.

  Paxton didn’t stop me. Not at first. His eyes closed and his hips thrust into my hand. Jesus, he was hard.

  “Fuck, Gabriella,” he said with raspy words into my hair.

  “Put it in me, Pax,” I pleaded while paying special attention to his bulging head, hiding behind his jeans.

  The pain in my ankle shot to my knee, and then my hip when I found myself on my knees, right in front of him. It was quick. Lightning fast. Paxton spun me, jerking me to my knees by my hair. He released his cock and had it in my mouth faster than I could blink.

  That was quick, too. I swear it didn’t take thirty seconds. Paxton held my head, darting in and out of my mouth. Quick and deep. Clear down my throat.

  “Aahh,” he called shortly after. One finger slid in the corner of my mouth, his hips stabilized at the end of a thrust, and he pumped hard with his hand. I was instantly pissed. I’m not even sure I tasted him at all.

  “Mom, Rowan spilled her orange juice on the floor,” Ophelia called from the door. “Mom?” she said again, sounding more like a question.

  Paxton brushed a lose strand of hair from my forehead and smiled down at me. “Don’t call me Pax. Go clean up the juice. I’m going to run back to the work garage for a minute. Get ready.”

  He did take my hands and help me to my feet. He kissed my neck while he repositioned the string in my ass. One hard pull. I started to speak, to protest his stupid, one-sided ways. A shhhh and his lips stopped me.