by Briana Cole
“What do you think?” she asked, turning to face him and sitting her hands on her hips. The question was a tease.
Dorian nodded. “Nice,” he said. “Going out?”
“I have a date.”
He didn’t know why he felt some kind of way. She needed to go out. Anything to get her claws out of him. “Okay, that’s cool. Myles?” He kept his voice nonchalant.
“Nah, someone else.”
“You know he came by the office the other day.”
Reagan picked up the matching cream blazer from the bed that Dorian recognized as Shantae’s.
“He asked me to tell you to call him.”
“Okay.” She appeared completely disinterested.
Dorian leaned on the doorjamb. “Changed your mind about him?”
“I didn’t say that.” Shantae used her manicured nails to fluff her curls once more. She was intentionally being evasive, he could tell. And it was beginning to frustrate him.
“Don’t wait up for me,” she said with a smirk and squeezed by him in the doorway. Dorian had expected her to rub up against him, was almost wanting her to, but she managed to get by without so much as a touch.
The doorbell rang and Dorian decided to follow her down, just so he could see who the hell she was going out with. Not that it was any of his business, but she had the man coming to the house, so he had every right to know.
“You wanna get that for me?” Reagan asked, stopping at the bottom of the steps.
“Why you say that?”
“I mean, you’re following me like you my daddy, trying to check out my date for prom so get the door, boo.” She leaned on the back of the couch and crossed her arms over her breasts. Dorian noticed that mischievous grin as if reflecting on some inside joke.
“You a trip, girl,” he said, shaking his head and walking to the door.
He wanted to be angry, but all he could do was stare at the man standing on his porch, basking in the glow of the porch light. “What the hell are you doing here?” He hadn’t meant for the question to sound so harsh.
Kenny chuckled as he stepped into the foyer. “Damn, man, why you say it like that? Nice to see you too.”
Dorian covered his jealousy with a grin. “Nah, man, you know that’s not how I meant it,” he said. “Just didn’t expect to see you. Why you ain’t tell me you were coming by?”
“Because he didn’t come for you,” Reagan chided, stepping between them. To throw salt on the wound, she wrapped her arm around Kenny’s waist and tossed another grin in Dorian’s direction.
Dorian wanted to remind her of what she had said about his friend not being her type but figured that would be a little inappropriate. She clearly read the thoughts on his facial expression because Reagan rattled on. “I know what I said, but after Shantae did her little matchmaker thing, I just had to get to know this man.”
Dorian glanced to the stairs. “Shantae, huh?”
“Yeah, when she came by the office that day looking for you, I asked her about her sister,” Kenny said, throwing an arm around Reagan’s shoulders. “I figured she could slide me ol’ girl’s number, and she did. Tell her I said good looking out.” He looked down at Reagan. “You ready?”
“Yeah, here I come. Let me grab my purse and I’ll meet you outside.” Reagan waited until Kenny had left before she turned back to face Dorian. “What’s the matter, sweetie? Jealous?”
Hell yeah. “No, you grown, girl,” Dorian answered with a nonchalant shrug. “Do your thing.”
Reagan’s eyes narrowed and disappointment had her lip poking out a bit. “What if I told you I plan on having sex? Would you be mad?”
She was digging the knife in deeper. Dorian grabbed her arm and navigated her to the kitchen out of earshot of the stairs. He assumed his wife was still in the shower, but he couldn’t be sure.
“Why are you doing this?” he asked in a hushed tone.
“What am I supposed to do, Dorian? Just sit idly by and listen to you and Shantae with y’all boring-ass sex? I have to sit in my room lonely as hell and please my damn self, listening to her and wishing it was me. So, I’m going to find somebody who will tighten me up. I have needs too.”
Dorian didn’t have a response, so he just watched her.
Reagan blew out a breath, and changing her tone, she reached out to caress his arm. “I won’t do it, baby, if you don’t want me to,” she whispered seductively. “Promise me you’ll make love to me tonight and I won’t even go. He means nothing to me.”
Dorian watched her reach for the pack of cigarettes she kept on the counter and fire one up. She knew he didn’t allow smoking in the house but at that point, he didn’t even care to address it. She took a deep drag on the stick and he could only watch Reagan through the smoke.
He knew he needed to let her go with Kenny, but he didn’t want her to have sex with him. He wanted to do it, but he couldn’t. He just couldn’t. Not again. Especially now knowing where her head was. Reagan was on some true love shit, making oogly eyes at him every chance she got. She had even tried to kill herself a week ago. She was dangerous. And a small piece of him was honestly flattered.
Dorian still hadn’t answered when he heard footsteps on the stairs. Though he and Reagan were leaning casually over the island, guilty instinct had him snatching back and turning to the cabinet to pour himself a drink. Reagan stabbed out her cigarette in a nearby ashtray.
“Oh, Reagan, you’re still here,” Shantae said, entering the kitchen. She was in a long T-shirt that brushed her knees and the same red terrycloth robe that had apparently become her favorite.
Dorian’s back was to them, so he didn’t see Reagan look his way, but he felt her staring. He pretended to be engrossed with selecting the liquor he wanted from the various bottles lining the bar.
“Yeah,” Reagan said, rising to her feet. “But I’m about to go, so I guess I’ll see y’all later?” A question explicitly directed at Dorian. She waited, expecting him to answer. He didn’t.
“Probably not,” Shantae said. “I know how late you come in, and my ass is about to crash.”
Reagan nodded. “Okay, well, see y’all in the morning.”
Dorian remained silent as she walked away, and he didn’t turn around until the front door had shut behind her. “So, Kenny, huh?” he asked, attempting to be as casual as possible.
Shantae shrugged. “Yeah. I didn’t think you would mind. He asked me for her number, so I gave it to him. Kenny has always seemed like a nice guy.”
“He has a girl.”
“Well, they’re just going to a movie, I think. She’s not going to marry him.” Shantae circled the island and leaned up to peck Dorian on the cheek. “Good night, sweetie. You about to order food?”
Dorian nodded, deciding against that drink. There was only one thing on his mind, and she had just strolled off with his friend. His second friend at that, since she had stuck her claws in Myles from the beginning. But unlike Shantae, he would be waiting up for her ass to return that night.
Only two kinds of men sat waiting up for a woman. Either the woman’s father, or the woman’s significant other. And since he was neither, it seemed childish for him to be watching the clock from his perch on the top of the landing, especially when he was sleepy as hell and kept nodding off. Still, he forced himself to stay awake and continued to wait as the time crept by. He was embarrassed and ashamed, but he damn sure didn’t move.
At a little after 2:00 in the morning, Dorian heard the front door open and the heavy dragging steps of feet in excessive inebriation. He rose from his position and paused when he heard another set of footsteps. Reagan’s giggle was giddy and flirtatious, followed by the sound of sloppy kissing.
On a last thought, Dorian peered into his bedroom to make sure Shantae was still asleep. She was. Had even gone as far as to put on her satin eye mask, so she was pretty much comatose until morning. Just to be sure, he pulled the door closed before tiptoeing down the stairs to confront the drunk couple. No wa
y in hell were they about to have sex in his house.
The two had made it to the couch and were now tonguing the hell out of each other. Dorian stopped short and had to squint hard before he realized the man wasn’t Kenny but some dark-skin guy with muscles bulging from underneath a plain white T-shirt. By now, he had hiked Reagan’s dress up around her waist and laid her back against the leather cushions. Then, like a hungry man indulging in his first meal, his mouth was all over her, slurping and sucking on her beautiful folds while her legs wrapped around his neck. A delicious moan slipped from her lips as she arched against him.
Dorian felt his basketball shorts tighten as he recognized the rapid succession of euphoric expressions that played on Reagan’s face. He remained in the shadows, enraptured by the scene and figuring both of them were way too engaged and too drunk to notice he was there. That’s when Reagan’s eyes opened and met his in a direct gaze. He froze. Then her lips turned up in a smile, and she lifted one hand and beckoned for Dorian to come over.
What the hell am I doing? He didn’t know. But at the moment, he really didn’t care to rationalize his actions. All he knew was he was hard and felt like lead between his legs and the way Reagan was licking her lips, he knew she was willing to satisfy him.
Dorian pulled it out of the waistband of his shorts and Reagan wasted no time taking it between her lips from her upside-down position. She moaned, either from the taste of him or the vicious beating the man was putting on her, but she sure as hell didn’t let the discomfort of the position stop her. Dorian had to bite his lip to keep from moaning his damn self.
She let go of him long enough to catch her wave, her legs shivering in the aftershock of her orgasmic bliss. Turning, she bent over in the direction of nameless man, and Dorian quickly flipped her around. He would be damned if this man got the pleasure of Reagan first. “You need to leave,” Dorian told the man. All the while his hungry eyes were ravishing Reagan’s body. Obediently, the man cleaned himself up and left them alone.
Reagan arched her back in Dorian’s direction, encouraging him to take everything she had to offer. He obliged, entering her roughly from the back.
She felt deliciously foreign and familiar all at once. The way she welded against him was like it was made just for that.
It was hot and the smell of sex was strong in the room. Skin slapping skin and restrained grunts acted like background noise for their little sinful deceit. The man came first, straining and cursing against the euphoric bust. Dorian was whispering and spewing curses in a voice even he didn’t recognize. His possession had taken full control, and for the time being, Reagan was all his. The sight was enough to take Dorian over the edge. His knees gave out and he collapsed on the sofa, completely spent.
Reagan sat down on the cold leather of the couch, her dress still bunched up at the waist. “Thank you, baby,” she said, leaning on Dorian’s shoulder. “You don’t know how much I needed that.”
Dorian sighed, willing his breathing to slow down. “Who the hell was that anyway?”
“Hell if I know.”
“What happened to Kenny?”
The question had Reagan laughing. “I sent him home,” she said. “Told you he wasn’t my type.”
Dorian debated if he wanted to ask the question that was burning in his mind and decided to anyway. He had to know. “Why did you stop seeing Myles?” He braced himself for the answer, already dreading the words she had yet to say.
“Because that’s your friend,” Reagan answered, looking up at him. “I just couldn’t keep doing that to you. I love you too much.”
Relief had Dorian’s smile spreading. Marriage aside, he was just happy Myles wouldn’t be getting any more of what was his. And as twisted as it was, as much as he tried to avoid it, that’s what Reagan was now. His.
Chapter Eighteen
“Ma, you sure you okay?” Dorian asked for what seemed like the hundredth time. Even through the phone, her cough sounded worse, and painful. He didn’t like the sound of that.
“Son, what did I say?” Teresa cleared her throat. “Your mama is tough. Don’t you forget it.”
Her voice didn’t carry as much authority as he was used to, but he would let it go for now. Better to not stress her about it. He would make a point to talk to Rochelle, see if anything had changed since their last conversation.
Dorian sat back in his chair. His mind was consumed with thoughts of Reagan. Here he’d been thinking he was content with the stability of marriage. The first taste of something new and fresh, it was as if he had been a starving man all along.
“Son, you listening to me?” His mom brought his attention back to the conversation. Dorian silently cursed himself. Damn, he was really distracted.
“I’m sorry, Ma. What did you say?”
Teresa sighed. “I was saying did you get that situation worked out? You know, the one that had you over here pissed at the world, but you didn’t want to tell your mama because you were afraid I would worry? But you got me worrying anyway? That situation?”
Again, another vision of Reagan brought a smile to his face. “Yeah,” he answered. “I got it all under control, Mama. Promise. You don’t have to worry about me. I’m supposed to be worried about you.”
“You know that’s not necessary. You just take care of yourself, okay?” She sounded genuinely concerned. “I’m serious, Dorian. I don’t want you getting into any trouble.”
Dorian had to laugh. He was a grown-ass man. Maybe he liked a little trouble. But he would cut off his left foot before he said something like that to Teresa Graham. “Yes, ma’am,” he said instead. “I love you, Mama.”
“I love you too, son. I love you so much.”
They hung up before Teresa could lapse into another coughing spell.
Dorian took care of a few action items on his to-do list in preparation for his consultation. According to the chart, Ms. Nicole Peach was getting a complete round of cosmetic procedures from head to toe, ranging in the ballpark of upward of $200,000. Hopefully, she wasn’t like Ms. Davis.
One thing that disgusted him about his profession was folks trying to talk themselves into getting procedures they didn’t want just to make someone else happy. Dorian had thought about the idea of getting an in-house counselor to speak to his patients. Of course, it would be a free service, but he thought it would be worth the investment. That way he could feel at peace when he wheeled these people into the surgery room. Not that he’d had a disappointed patient yet. He prided himself on his knowledge, skills, and abilities.
“Dr. Graham.” His assistant Pam buzzed him on the intercom phone. “Your two o’clock has checked in and is back in the exam room.”
“Thank you, Pam.”
Dorian gathered his things and carried the woman’s file with him. He was still studying her preliminary forms as he gave a few knocks on the door before opening it.
“Okay, Ms. Peach, I’m . . .” Dorian glanced up and damn near stumbled when he saw, not a Nicole Peach but Reagan sitting on the exam table. She had disrobed, her clothes in a neat folded pile on the chair by the window. Her hands rested in her lap, her legs crossed at the ankle. Her breasts, which had already had enough work and looked absolutely perfect, sat at attention in the chilled room.
Dorian quickly closed the door behind him and leaned on it. “Reagan, what are you doing here?”
Reagan’s smile bloomed. “Hi, Dr. Graham,” she said, clearly engrossed in her role-playing. “The form said I could put a false name if I didn’t feel comfortable putting my real name.”
Dorian was amused. “True. And what can I do for you, then?”
“I’m here for my consultation,” she said. “I have an appointment, Dr. Graham. Or should I call you Dr. Feelgood?”
“Well,” he said, leaning against the door, “show me what you want me to do.”
Reagan hopped down from the table and took a step in his direction. “Well, for starters,” she said, grabbing her breasts, “these are much, much too bi
g. They’re heavy. Don’t you think? Feel them.”
Dorian chuckled and obediently cupped her breasts. He kneaded them gently, his face scrunched like he was deep in thought. “I think I see what you mean,” he said. “Though I must say, I rather like the size. A perfect mouthful.”
“Really?” Reagan’s head cocked to the side as if in surprise. “Okay, what about this?” She did a pirouette on her bare feet, turning to give Dorian a full-on view of her backside. “Too big? Too little?” She did a little wiggle.
Dorian was getting harder by the second. This was some sexy-ass foreplay.
“I think that’s perfect too, Ms. . . . What did you say your name was?”
“Peach.”
“That is certainly fitting. Well, Ms. Peach, I think your peach is also perfect. I’m tempted to take a bite.”
Reagan was clearly enjoying her little tease as she stepped back out of his reach.
“Okay, well, last one,” she said. She hiked up her leg and rested her foot on Dorian’s lap. Using her toes, she gently massaged him awake until he stood firm against the pressure. She slowly rubbed her leg, from her ankle up to her thigh. “You don’t think these legs are too . . . I don’t know. Open?”
Dorian had had enough. He rose then and clicked the lock on the door. “We should do something about that,” he said, beginning to unbuckle his belt.
Reagan laughed as she backed up and let him lift her back on the table. “Oh yes,” she purred. “We should definitely do something about that.”
Chapter Nineteen
He had fucked up. Bad. Reagan was addictive, and Dorian couldn’t get enough of her.
Weeks later and he was making up excuses to leave work, just so he could go home and sex her senseless before his wife got home. Much to Claudia’s disdain and Kenny’s confusion, Reagan had even started coming up to his job throughout the day. Sometimes multiple times a day.
“Bringing you lunch.”