by Briana Cole
He started to respond but stopped when he felt her featherlight kisses on the back of his neck. His manhood was completely awake now, throbbing between his legs and damn near begging to be unleashed on the young vixen. “We can’t do this,” he moaned, though he was too weak to move.
“Shh. One last time, Dorian. Then I promise I’ll be gone for good. You owe me that much, don’t you?”
She was right. He felt compelled to give in because of the shitty way he had treated her. It would ease the guilt. Or maybe that was just his excuse to entertain the forbidden fruit one last time. Either way, he found himself lifting her into his arms and carrying her up the stairs while their tongues wrestled with each other.
The first door at the top of the landing was his and Shantae’s bedroom, and he had to stop at the threshold. Damn, it was bad enough to fuck Reagan again, but in the bed he shared with his wife? The shit was foul.
“In there,” Reagan urged, climbing down from his arms. She backed into the bedroom, keeping her eyes trained on his while removing her clothes. Completely naked underneath, she lay back on the satin sheets and spread her legs wide. Taunting him. Beckoning him. When Reagan threw her head back and shut her eyes, for a brief moment, she looked just like Shantae. Their features were oftentimes so similar that the right angle, the right lighting could damn near make someone confuse the two. But right now, in this moment, this was Reagan, and he wanted to ravish her just one more time. Needed to for his own peace of mind and even more for his guilty conscience.
He was across the room in two strides, her delicate folds twirling on his tongue. She moaned and grasped the back of his head, encouraging him to feast more, deeper, faster. Pretty soon, Reagan was emptying herself of that delicious nectar while her screams echoed through the walls.
“I need it rough, babe,” she said breathlessly as Dorian fumbled with his belt buckle. “Don’t make love to me. Save that for Shantae. Fuck me. Punish me. I deserve it.”
Dorian did as he was told, snatching her to the edge of the bed by her legs. He entered her hard and grimaced when she yelped in pain. “Am I hurting you?” he asked, stopping in mid-stroke.
“Don’t stop,” she whimpered, using her feet to guide his hips. He was rough, animalistic, gripping her wrists to pull her against his rapid thrusts. Reagan gasped and braced for the assault, arching her back as he began pumping once more. His other hand reached between her legs, which brought her crying out as she rode the next orgasm. She was screaming his name like a sweet melody on her tongue as she chanted I love yous in various octaves.
The headboard banged against the wall in tune to their freak show and Dorian quickened his pace, feeling the edges of his own orgasm surfacing.
He mumbled a slew of curse words of his own as he gave one final thrust before emptying himself, the release leaving him weak. He collapsed on her back, exhausted.
“Damn, babe,” Reagan said through a shaky breath. “Damn, I’m going to miss you.”
Dorian chuckled. He was damn sure going to miss her too.
After they cleaned up, Reagan helped Dorian change the sheets and light some candles to mask the stench of sex. Then they stood at the door and hugged one more time. “You take care of yourself,” Dorian said.
“You too, big bro.” Reagan winked at the comment and, giving him one final kiss, stepped out into the night.
Chapter Twenty-three
Dorian glanced up at the knock on his office door. His new receptionist, Emily, stood in the doorway with Shantae by her side. The young college student was no Claudia, but she was a temporary replacement since the older woman had retired. Dorian had to say that he wasn’t surprised when she had presented her resignation only days after the knock-down, drag-out fight. He didn’t even blame her. Things had gotten way out of hand, and his professional reputation was stained. Plus, his friendship with Kenny was permanently damaged.
“Dr. Graham, your wife insisted on surprising you,” Emily said with a wistful smile.
Dorian nodded and rose to greet Shantae. “That’s no problem, Emily. Thank you.”
Emily nodded and left, closing the door to give the couple some privacy.
“Hey, babe,” Shantae said after they exchanged an intimate kiss. “I think your little receptionist has a crush on you.” She giggled as Dorian waved his hand.
“Please. Ain’t nobody thinking about that girl. I’m interested in you. What’s up? This certainly is a pleasant surprise.”
Shantae lifted a to-go bag with two Styrofoam boxes inside. “I was hungry and figured you were too. Lunch?”
Dorian grinned and began moving items on his desk to make room for the food. He was neck-deep in a new project, but it was after 1:00 and his stomach was growling.
“How are you feeling?” he asked as they ate. Shantae had complained of stomach pains and nausea earlier that week. He tried to keep the hope out of the question, but he knew it was more than obvious why he was asking.
Shantae stabbed at her salad with a fork and forced a thin smile. “I’m not pregnant, if that’s what you’re getting at,” she said.
Dorian stared into his food to hide his disappointment. “You sure?” he asked. “I mean, you took a test or something?”
Shantae nodded, keeping her eyes downcast.
“Aw, baby, I’m sorry. You know we can keep trying.”
“What if I don’t want to keep trying?” Shantae murmured.
Dorian’s face deflated. “You don’t want kids?”
“That’s not what I’m saying. Maybe we should just wait awhile. It’s becoming a bit nerve-racking.”
Dorian opened his mouth to respond when another knock came at the door. He swore under his breath. “This damn new assistant,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Come in.”
He turned just in time to see Emily enter with two police officers on her heels. “Sir,” she said, tossing a fearful expression to the cops. “They insisted on seeing you.”
Dorian’s heart quickened and he already knew his legs felt like rubber, so he didn’t even bother standing.
“Dorian Graham,” the taller officer said, reaching to his waistband.
Dorian recognized the gesture. He had watched one too many episodes of Cops and Law & Order to not know what they were there for. The question was why. He remembered the fight with Kenny. The one he had neglected to tell Shantae about. Damn, had his ex-friend really filed assault charges or some shit on him? Fear had him speechless as he looked from his wife to the police.
It was Shantae who stood up, her hands on her hips. “Officers, what do you want with my husband?”
“Are you Mrs. Graham?” the officer asked.
“Yes.”
That was enough to have Dorian standing to intercede. They were there for him, and the last thing he wanted was for Shantae getting in trouble. Especially over some shit he caused. Maybe he could talk to Kenny. Try to reason with him that this shit was beyond extreme. “Officers, I’m Dorian Graham. What is the problem?”
Dorian caught a glimpse of the handcuffs at the officer’s waist as he took a step forward.
“Dorian Graham, we need you to come with us. We just want to ask some questions.”
“Listen,” Dorian held up his hands as they continued to move in his direction, “Kenny and I just had a little misunderstanding. I’ll be happy to give you my side of the story.”
The officers exchanged looks before one spoke up. “No, Dr. Graham. I’m afraid this has nothing to do with Kenny. You are a person of interest in the assault of Reagan Reynolds.”
Chapter Twenty-four
Dorian felt the beginnings of a migraine at his temples. He took another breath to calm his nerves and frustration before repeating himself for the sixth time. “Listen. I don’t know what you’re trying to do here, but you’re not going to make me confess to something I didn’t do. I didn’t hurt that girl.”
The officer that had been persistent in his interrogation was Officer Williamson, an aging black man w
ho seemed to direct his caseloads’ worth of anger toward Dorian. He sat across the table, drumming his fingers on a manila folder. He had long since stripped out of his blazer and now had the sleeves of his button-up rolled to the elbow due to the excruciating heat in the tiny room. Or maybe the heat was due to Dorian’s panic. The longer he sat in that room, the more he felt he wasn’t leaving outside of a pair of cuffs.
“Listen, dude. I get it.” Officer Williamson sat up, lacing his fingers together. “You’re one of those guys with everything together. You got the wife. The big house. The fantastic job. Right?”
Dorian kept his lips shut. He was a cop’s son. He could tell he was being led into a trap, so he didn’t even bother responding.
“And wifey’s fine-ass sister comes over and you just figured, what’s the harm, right? She’s young and stupid. A ho. Who is going to believe her?”
Dorian wanted to reach across the table and shake the man. “No. Man, that’s not what happened at all. Aren’t you listening to me?”
“So, you saying you didn’t sleep with her?”
“No, I’m not saying I didn’t sleep with her. I’m saying I didn’t hurt her.” Dorian’s voice rose in irritation.
Officer Williamson nodded and rubbed the hair on his goatee. For a moment, it looked as if he was actually believing Dorian’s story. “So, tell me this, Dorian,” he said. “How did she get the bruises?”
“What bruises?”
“So, you didn’t give her any bruises?”
Dorian’s mind flashed back to the sex. Sure, he had been rough, but he didn’t remember leaving any marks. “Reagan asked me to give it to her rough,” he said, still confused.
Officer Williamson flipped open the folder and slid it across the table so Dorian could take a good look. He snatched back in horror. There were photos. All of Reagan’s body in various angles. All emphasizing the blue and purple discoloration on her chocolate skin. Close-ups of her thighs, her arms, her wrists. There was even a side angle capturing her jaw that had swollen up twice its size.
Dorian shook his head, sliding the folder back across the table with enough force that the pictures went scattering to litter the floor. “Man, I don’t know who the hell did this,” he fumed, gesturing to the photos. “But it damn sure wasn’t me.”
When the officer remained silent, Dorian rushed on. “Did y’all check into her baby dad, Terrell?”
“Who?”
“Her son’s father. She sometimes was afraid of him. He may have done this shit, man. I don’t know, but it wasn’t me.”
The officer shook his head. “I think she would know if her son’s father did this to her. She specifically said you.”
“Nah, I didn’t.”
Officer Williamson cocked his head to the side on a frown. “Now, I thought you said she asked you to give it to her rough.”
“Not this shit. I don’t know who did this. She didn’t look like this when she left.”
“Right. It does take a moment sometimes for bruises to show up.”
Dorian stood up, his chair toppling to the floor. He felt like he was suffocating, and fear had him pacing the tiny room like a caged animal. What the hell had he gotten himself into? He could lose everything. His practice. His wife.
The sudden memory of Shantae’s face in his office when he was taken away almost left him nauseous. Pure and utter shock had marred her face, followed by disgusting hatred that could only be expressed in her eyes. She hadn’t bothered to utter a word. What the hell was he going to tell her? Was she even going to believe him?
“Look.” Dorian turned from where he had been hovering in the corner. His voice had changed to one of pleading desperation. “Man-to-man. This girl is crazy. She attempted suicide and had to be hospitalized. She’s a cutter. Did you check her arms?” Dorian pointed to the inside of his elbow. “Look at her arms and you’ll see the cuts. She did that shit to herself. I know I fucked up by having an affair with her. But I’ve never hurt her. I swear on my life.”
Officer Williamson nodded, but kept his face neutral. “Why would she be doing this to you, Dorian? What does she have to gain?”
“She just wants to ruin me. A fucking nutcase scorned. She got upset when I told her I wanted to work it out with my wife, and now she’s trying this revenge shit.”
“I see. So, she’s crazy?”
“Yeah. That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”
“And still you slept with her again?”
Dorian blew out an annoyed breath. He knew what it sounded like. Shit was bad. “Are we done with the questions? Can I go now?” he asked.
Officer Williamson nodded as he rose and began gathering the pictures in a neat stack. “Thank you for your time, Dorian. We’ll be in touch. Oh, and I’m sure this goes without saying,” he added. “If I were you, I would refrain from trying to contact Ms. Reynolds.”
Dorian wanted to roll his eyes. Like hell he was going to refrain. They would be lucky if they didn’t find Reagan’s body somewhere after this setup she pulled.
They offered to drive him back to his office to get his car, but Dorian didn’t want to be around the police a second longer than he had to.
By the time he finally emerged from the station, it was well after 7:00. The sky was dark with a gentle wind chilling the air. Dorian had his phone on him, and he used it to call an Uber. Then he sat on the steps of the station to wait. His fingers itched to dial Shantae, but he already knew she wouldn’t pick up. It was probably for the better anyway. This was a conversation they needed to have face-to-face. He just prayed she was willing to hear him out and that their marriage could survive in the end.
The Uber dropped him off back at the office, and not even bothering to go up, he immediately went down into the parking deck and hopped in his truck.
More than anything, he was scared. Dorian recognized the feeling of fear clutching his chest, strong enough to give him pains. What if Shantae didn’t believe him? Worse, what if the police didn’t? He could rot in jail over Reagan’s crazy ass. He really had never thought himself a violent man, especially when it came to women. But dammit, if the police weren’t on his ass and Reagan wasn’t already battered, he was tempted to give her a reason to bring up some charges. Because he wanted to beat her ass to the point she was unrecognizable.
Shantae’s car was in the driveway when he pulled up to the house. It was dark, with the exception of the porch light and the light shining through the curtains in the master bedroom. Time to get it over with. Dorian took a breath for strength and to calm his racing heart before opening the garage door.
His steps were slow and deliberate as he made his way through the kitchen and up the stairs. He braced himself, half expecting to have to duck from some object Shantae was going to hurl his way. To his surprise, she was sitting up in bed, scrolling through her phone. She looked up when he entered the room and, without a word, sat her phone on the nightstand, crossed her arms over her chest, and glared at him.
Dorian’s mind went blank, but he knew he better start talking while he had her attention. “Know this, Shantae. I did not attack your sister. I swear.”
Shantae nodded, her voice calm. “But did you sleep with her?”
He wanted so badly to lie. Already had one lingering on the tip of his tongue. But the more he watched Shantae, the more he knew she wasn’t about to believe shit other than the truth. Anything else would be an obvious lie, which would probably lead her to believe Reagan.
“Let me explain—”
“Yes or no, Dorian? Did you sleep with my sister?”
Dorian’s shoulders fell in defeat and he nodded. “Yeah.”
Shantae pursed her lips and snatched her eyes away. Dorian wasn’t sure, but he thought he saw the first glimmer of tears before she turned her head.
“It started out with that damn hall pass, Shantae—”
“Oh, so I guess it makes it better?” she snapped. “Because I seriously doubt it was a one-time thing.”
Dorian didn’t answer, which was answer enough.
“Oh, my God. Dorian, how could you do this to me again?” she went on. “Didn’t you cheat enough when we were dating? You promised me you would never hurt me again. Especially after we got married.”
Dorian hated that he couldn’t read her. She was teetering somewhere between anger and hurt, but how far the pendulum swung in either direction, he just couldn’t tell. She was doing a damn good job of keeping her composure, which was hurting his heart even more. She was on another level. She was just too damn . . . calm. Dangerously calm.
“Baby, I just need you to believe me,” Dorian said.
“About what? That you didn’t beat her or that you’ve been having an affair with her?”
Dorian grimaced as she slapped him with the facts. It sounded even worse. “Both,” he said finally. “If there was ever a time I needed you, it’s now. We got us, remember?”
“No. Fuck you and fuck us, Dorian. Get out.”
He couldn’t bring himself to move. He knew what she said, but the thought of leaving seemed so permanent, and his marriage couldn’t be ending like this. “What?” he stalled.
“You heard me, get the fuck out!” Shantae yelled, and this time, she picked up the table lamp and threw it in Dorian’s direction. He ducked as the ceramic shattered against the wall within inches of his head. The shade bumped his shoulder on its descent to the floor, with the other broken shards cluttering at his feet.
Shantae had turned her back to him but he could see she was holding her arms to calm the subtle trembling. She sniffed but still didn’t turn around or say anything else.
Dorian started to head toward the guest bedroom but thought better of it. Shantae needed space. And if he could be honest with himself, he didn’t trust her right now to be in such close proximity to where he slept. Not bothering with any clothes other than the ones on his back, Dorian trudged back to the garage. A hotel would suffice for the night. That would give him time to think and privacy to call Reagan to see what the hell she had to say.