The Marriage Pass

by Briana Cole

  Reagan moaned and smiled. “That was good, babe.”

  Dorian nodded. It sure was. He hadn’t expected that. His mind lingered on the odd request only moments before. She had wanted him to tell her he loved her? Crazy. No need to bring it up. The moment was over. And Reagan must’ve known damn well he wouldn’t comply because she didn’t bother repeating it herself, now that they both were relaxing in contentment.

  The water had chilled on his legs, so Dorian stepped out of the tub. He grabbed one of the plush hotel towels from the rack and wrapped it around his waist.

  “Where are you going?” Reagan threw a leg over the edge of the tub as well and slid her body up against his. Her arms circled around to massage his chest. “I thought we could order some dessert.”

  “Yeah, that sounds good.”

  “And after,” Reagan stood to her tiptoes to lick his ear, “we can go for round two.”

  The thought of slipping back between Reagan’s thighs had Dorian’s body springing to life once more. He could only grin as she sidestepped him, not bothering to wait for a response. She strolled back into the bedroom, naked and still dripping wet, and Dorian watched the movement, nodding his approval.

  Yeah, she knew the effect she had on him. He had to appreciate Reagan because the woman knew how to please a man in all the right ways. Damn, Myles hadn’t been lying after all. If only, they . . . The thought had a disappointed frown touching his lips. If only a lot of things. If only.

  Dorian stepped into his slacks and half listened to Reagan call down for room service. When she was done, she lay naked on the bed and patted the space beside her. Dorian took the hint and sat down. She scooted closer, letting her body brush up against his.

  “So, tell me something, Dr. Graham.” Reagan traced his abs with a lazy finger. “Who is Mrs. Graham doing tonight?”

  A slither of anger had Dorian’s jaw clenching. He remembered Shantae prancing out of the house in her tight-ass dress and couldn’t even stomach the thought of what, or who, as Reagan put it, she was doing. Truth be told, he still wasn’t 100 percent comfortable with their little arrangement. But to him, the pros outweighed the cons. He never would have said “once a cheat, always a cheat” because he had certainly proved that theory wrong. He had changed. But if his wife permitted one night off from marriage, what kind of fool was he not to accept such an opportunity? Even if it meant affording her the same liberty. And Shantae was probably right. He could almost feel his love strengthening even now, and yes, he was missing his wife. Absence was making his heart grow fonder. Dorian just had to continue battling the uncertainties, because that did nothing but piss him off.

  He glanced down at Reagan, and she seemed to be struggling to swallow a grin. “Don’t talk about my wife,” he said with a frown.

  Reagan sat up on her elbows, her breasts bouncing with the movement. “I don’t see why not,” she said. “She’s my sister, and that is the agreement, right? Wouldn’t you want to know who was in her guts while you were in mine?”

  It took all of Dorian’s strength not to slap Reagan. No, he had never hit a woman, but the urge had never been stronger to, either.

  Needing something to do with his hands, Dorian reached for his shirt and slid it over his head. He rose and began searching for his shoes. Mere seconds before, he was gearing himself up for night-long sex sessions. But whether intentionally or unintentionally, Reagan had known exactly what to say to cool the sexual tension down several hundred degrees.

  “I know you’re not leaving,” Reagan said, recognizing his brisk movements. “Really, Dorian?”

  “Nah, you tripping,” he said, his voice laced with restrained anger.

  “You might as well stay,” Reagan taunted. “I’m sure Shantae isn’t even done letting whoever eat her out like a Golden Corral buffet.”

  Dorian didn’t even realize he had moved until he felt Reagan beneath him on the bed. For a brief moment, the thought invaded his senses. Shantae with her hands on the back of some man’s neck as he feasted on her. Shantae with her lips around the other man as she pleased him in ways he had to damn near plead from her. His beautiful, innocent wife being licked and dicked down by some nameless, faceless man who could only feel victorious the moment he saw Shantae come over and over because he had discovered that sensitive spot.

  Then the haze cleared, and Dorian saw Reagan’s flushed face as she lay on the mattress still pinned underneath his heavy frame. He let her go and could only stare at her as he willed his anger to subside. What have I done? He looked down at his own trembling hands. They no longer felt like his.

  Turning, he headed for the door, listening to her coughing and sputtering as she struggled to drag oxygen into her throat. If he had looked back, he would have seen Reagan’s lips turning up in a satisfied smirk as he made his panicked retreat.

  Chapter Ten

  Dorian woke up with a migraine and a guilty conscience. He knew he had fucked up last night. Bad. He sat up and leaned on the leather headboard, squinting against the harsh morning sun spilling through the blinds. He had caught snatches of sleep, but every time he dozed off, he pictured Reagan. Damn, he had enjoyed the sex way too much, and it seemed like his body had been awake all night, itching for hers. But it was now the next day, the hall pass was expired, and he would just have to put all thoughts of Reagan out of his mind. At the end of the day, he still had love for his wife. But he had to admit, he did feel bad for the way things had ended the night before.

  Dorian reached for his phone on the nightstand. He opened a new text message, and his thumbs breezed over the keyboard to compose an apology.

  GM. SORRY FOR WHAT HAPPENED LAST NIGHT. I DIDN’T MEAN TO HURT YOU. I THINK I WAS JUST ANGRY. IT STILL DOESN’T MAKE IT RIGHT AND I FEEL LIKE SHIT ABOUT IT. I HOPE WE CAN MOVE PAST IT WITH NO ILL FEELINGS.

  Dorian hit Send and then, remembering, he added THANK YOU FOR A GREAT TIME and sent that message as well. He set his phone back down and turned to cuddle with his wife.

  To his surprise, her side was empty. In fact, it was still neatly made with only a few wrinkles from his apparent tossing and turning. Dorian listened and frowned when he was met with silence. Where the hell is she?

  He tossed his legs over the side of the bed and made his way across the hardwood. They hadn’t really set ground rules for the morning after, but still, Dorian thought it strange that Shantae had stayed out all night.

  Dorian trotted down the stairs and paused to listen again, slightly relieved when he heard running water coming from the guest bathroom. The water shut off and Shantae emerged, wrapped in a thigh-length red terrycloth robe and a shower cap on her head. She trickled drops of water across the floor as she walked into the kitchen.

  “Hey,” Dorian greeted, his eyebrows still drawn together in confusion.

  Shantae glanced up and a warm smile brightened her face. “Good morning, babe,” she said. “Do you want some coffee?”

  He didn’t like it. She sounded too damn chipper. He was tempted to ask what had her ass floating on cloud nine. But then he knew he couldn’t. Those were the rules. Besides, he already knew if she had revealed even a fraction of a detail, it would piss him off. He thought again about his reaction to Reagan, and that extinguished a little of the anger that was threatening to build.

  Instead, Dorian took a seat at the island, his eyes on the open bathroom door. Steam was still emanating from it. “Why did you take a shower in the guest bathroom?” he asked, his eyes now on Shantae’s back as she busied herself with the Keurig.

  Shantae lifted a shoulder in nonchalance. “Just didn’t want to disturb you,” she said.

  Dorian waited, half expecting her to elaborate or at least explain where she had slept, but Shantae did neither. Just turned with two mugs of coffee in hand and slid one across the granite countertop to him.

  “After breakfast, we probably need to head on over to my parents’ house,” she was saying after taking a sip.

  His mind drew a blank. He was still
watching and waiting, trying to see if he noticed any visible changes. He was almost willing her skin to show some evidence of where the man had kissed her or touched her. Of course, there was none. Like it never happened. Hadn’t she said that when they shook on the agreement?

  He glanced up to see Shantae giving him a curious frown. “You okay, babe?” she asked.

  Hell no, he wasn’t. But it wasn’t like he could voice that. “I’m good,” he answered instead. “What were you saying about your parents’ house?”

  “Remember? She asked us all to come over for dinner to celebrate my dad’s retirement,” Shantae reminded him. “We agreed to this the other week.” He didn’t remember. She noticed and added, “Before the bachelor party.” Now he did. “You know how my mom gets when we’re late. Plus, I can help her out so I don’t have to hear her mouth. And we might as well take the Christmas presents over there while we’re at it.”

  Dorian nodded absently. He watched his wife as she moved about the kitchen, still talking lightly about that evening’s dinner. Her ass jiggled under her robe and her skin was still damp from her shower. He could almost smell the fresh body scrub seeping from her pores. He thought again of what Reagan mentioned the night before. He had tried his best not to focus on what his wife was doing during the hall pass, but for some reason, Reagan bringing it up was really digging at his heart. Was that jealousy? Was he, the recovering serial cheater, actually jealous? That was a new one.

  “Let’s not do this anymore,” Dorian blurted out. He noticed Shantae’s confused stare and he realized he must have interrupted her, right in the middle of whatever the hell she was talking about. Which was now even more validation that he hadn’t been listening to a word she said.

  “Not do what anymore?” she asked.

  Dorian stood up and rounded the island, pulled his wife into his arms. He was right. She smelled fresh, all evidence of the previous night completely scrubbed away. Still feeling the rakes of guilt on the recesses of his subconscious, Dorian lowered his lips to hers. For a moment, he held the kiss, feeling her receptive tongue welcoming the contact. He swallowed her moan as her arms circled around his neck. Breaking the kiss, Dorian could only sigh in frustration as he lowered his forehead to hers.

  “What’s wrong, babe?” Shantae asked, lifting her hand to his face to stroke his cheek.

  “Shantae, let’s not do this anymore,” he said. “The hall pass thing. I think I’m done.”

  Shantae pulled back to meet his gaze. “Why? Is something wrong?”

  “I’m not saying that. I’m just saying I don’t think we need to do it anymore.”

  Shantae turned back to the counter to resume stirring the pancake batter. “I would think you, of all men, would appreciate the opportunity,” she said.

  “What do you mean, ‘me of all men?’ ” Anger began to rise as he waited for her response.

  Shantae ignored him. “Look, we’ll talk about this another time,” she said instead. “I’m not trying to argue.”

  “I thought you said this was an experiment anyway,” he said, unable to control the irritation seeping through. “That if we didn’t want to do it anymore, we didn’t have to.”

  She kept her back to him, but he saw her body beginning to tense. Good, let her get mad. He didn’t care. “Why don’t you go ahead and pack the gifts in the car so we can be ready to go to my parents’ after breakfast?” Her tone was level. “We can talk about this later, Dorian.” His whole name. Not babe, or even D.

  Anger had Dorian turning and heading back upstairs. Something was wrong. It wasn’t supposed to be like this the day after their hall pass. They were supposed to be in bed, fucking like rabbits to re-stake their claim on each other. At least, that was what he figured was supposed to happen anyway. He snatched his pants from the chair and pulled out a pack of Black & Milds. He lit one up and took a deep drag, filling his lungs with the smoke.

  Exhaling, he remembered his earlier text to Reagan and grabbed his phone to see if she had responded. She hadn’t. Dorian opened another text message and used his thumb to type. SO YOU NOT GOING TO RESPOND? AT LEAST JUST LET ME KNOW YOU’RE OK. I AM SORRY.

  The flying envelope icon swooped across the screen, indicating the message had been sent. He sat his phone down and took another puff of the Black, listening to the distant clink of pots and pans drifting up from the kitchen. A thought crossed his mind and Dorian suddenly felt a mix of excitement and fear. He would see Reagan in just a few hours anyway at the dinner. He didn’t know what to expect, but he hoped like hell evidence of last night’s actions wouldn’t reveal themselves today.

  Shantae’s parents had downsized after their daughters left the house and had recently moved into a newer, Craftsman-style bungalow outside of Tyrone. The neighborhood was reminiscent of a picturesque Pleasantville, complete with wide front porches and tapering pillars.

  Dorian wheeled Shantae’s Jeep Cherokee against the curb and parked beside the mailbox. He watched as Shantae put on the last little bit of her makeup. It had been a quiet ride over, and the air was clearly thick with repressed tension he hadn’t even realized had heightened.

  With a sigh, Dorian laid a hand on Shantae’s arm, pausing her movements. “We good, babe?” he asked.

  Shantae didn’t even look his way, but he caught her lips turn up into a little smile. “Of course. Why wouldn’t we be?”

  “I just didn’t want us to fall out about the conversation from earlier.”

  Shantae’s shoulder rose and fell in a nonchalant shrug. “It’s cool. You said what you had to say, Dorian. I said what I had to say. As far as I’m concerned, the conversation is over.”

  Dorian frowned. In his mind, the shit was far from over. But rather than voice that thought and risk sparking another argument, he leaned across the console and placed a kiss on Shantae’s cheek.

  They gathered the two shopping bags of wrapped presents and walked up the short driveway, entering the house through the side garage. Immediately, the delicious aroma of soul food assaulted Dorian’s nostrils, and he inhaled deeply. The instrumentals to what sounded like Earth, Wind & Fire’s “September” wafted through the speakers of a small radio on the counter. Shantae’s mom, Barbara, was humming along to the tune while she busied herself at the sink, wrist-deep in fresh collard greens. She turned at the sound of the door and her smile bloomed before quickly being replaced by a frown. Dorian could only chuckle at how much the expression mirrored Shantae’s, from the full pouty lips to the slight slant of her hooded eyes as they narrowed in annoyance. She looked festive in her knee-length red quarter-sleeve turtleneck dress, black tights, and flats with barely an inch of heel. At sixty-four, Shantae’s mother looked damn good with merely a few wrinkles to enhance her distinguished look.

  “About damn time,” Barbara said, removing her hands from the water long enough to dry them on the dish towel. “Shantae, get over here and finish cleaning these collards while I work on the sweet potato pie.”

  “Good afternoon to you too, Mama,” Shantae said, even as she moved to the sink to do as instructed.

  Dorian set the bags of gifts on the floor and shrugged out of his coat. A quick survey of the kitchen showed covered dishes and trays littering the laminate countertop and breakfast table. Pot roast, macaroni and cheese, rice, cornbread, deviled eggs . . . Apparently, Barbara had gone all out for her husband’s celebratory dinner, whipping up all of his favorites. But no Reagan. He didn’t realize he was holding his breath until he felt the exhale releasing pressure from his chest.

  “How are you, Mama?” he greeted, crossing to give Barbara a peck on the cheek.

  “I’m good, Dorian,” she said. “So glad y’all came.”

  “Mama, you know we weren’t missing Daddy’s dinner,” Shantae chimed in.

  “I know that. It’s not you I’m concerned so much about. It’s that sister of yours.”

  The mention of Reagan had Dorian freezing.

  “Why you say that?” Shantae said, rolling up
the sleeves of her burgundy sweater.

  Barbara shook her head and clucked her tongue, as if chastising the woman in her head. “She claims she is working, so she just drops that baby of hers off over here and leaves. All times of the day and night. She won’t answer calls, and you never know when you’ll see her again. Like TJ is in there with Papa right now because she came over here and left him. No clean clothes, no nothing. That was two days ago. Haven’t even heard from her.”

  “Are you really surprised, Mama?” Shantae’s voice elevated with the rhetorical question. “She doesn’t even call me unless she wants some money. You told her to come today, though, right?”

  Dorian waited and watched Barbara shrug. “I did. Now if she’ll come is the real question,” she said with a sigh. “You know how that girl does. Just here, there, and everywhere and shuffling my grandbaby with her as she finds herself.” She bent her fingers in air quotes as she said the last part.

  The conversation was making him uncomfortable. Of course, he hadn’t told Shantae any of what he and Reagan discussed last night. Hell, she didn’t even know they had been communicating at all. And to make matters worse, Reagan had apparently just dumped her son off this weekend, why? So she could lay up with him. That made him feel disgusting.

  “Dorian, baby, can you take those gifts to the living room and put them under the tree?” Shantae asked.

  “And put the coats in the guest bedroom,” Barbara added. “Charles is around here somewhere with TJ if you want to find him.”

  Dorian nodded at the mention of Shantae’s father. Charles was a kindred spirit, so a little conversation and maybe a drink before dinner with him sounded like just what the doctor ordered. Lord knows he needed it.

  He found Charles in the living room, lounging in his recliner while a little boy fiddled with Legos at his feet. Both sets of eyes turned in Dorian’s direction as he entered through the barn-style sliding doors. Shantae’s father smiled in greeting, while TJ turned his attention back to the task at hand.