Текст книги "Contrite"

Автор книги: Kathy Coopmans

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CONTRITE

BY

KATHY

COOPMANS

© 2015

Contrite © 2015 Kathy Coopmans

Cover Design © 2015 Sommer Stein

Photography © 2015 Kelsey Keaton, K. Keeton Designs

Cover Models: Tessi Le’Anne and Nathan Weller

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission by the author. All rights are reserved.

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to eStore and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book contains graphic scenes of physical and sexual violence. Please continue reading at your own discretion.

 

To Yamara, Karrie, and Heather.

Always remember that if you fall, I will be there to pick you up.

 

Chapter One

I’m standing in the Atlanta Airport fidgeting and pacing back and forth as I wait for my husband Turner to come walking through the gate. It’s been a week since I have seen him; to some that may not be a long time, but to me it’s been forever. This is the longest we have been apart since we started dating in our sophomore year of college. Both of us were studying to be accountants and now we have our own small firm in a small town on the outskirts of Atlanta.

Usually when Turner goes away on a business trip I go with him. However, my brother Zack and his wife Krista just had their first child– my handsome nephew, Nolan. I had to be there for his birth. I couldn’t miss seeing my brother’s first child come into this world, and I am so glad I didn’t. The look on Zack’s face when he showed Nolan to me from the nursery window is one I will never forget. It was a moment of pride for my entire family, one I simply cannot describe.

My dad stood beside me with tears of happiness welling openly as he observed my brother holding his son. When Nolan was placed in my father’s arms for the first time, I cried right along with him as he cooed at the baby. I have never seen my dad cry, not even when my bitch of a mother left us all ten years ago to move on to bigger and better things . . . her words, not mine. Zack and I haven’t talked to her in two years.

She showed up one day on my doorstep. I freaked the hell out when I answered the door and there she stood, draped in diamonds and some fancy designer dress, pulling me in for a hug like we were best friends. Turner hated her, and to this day I still don’t know why she was there. To brag about how she was happily married to some guy with lots of money, I suppose. She went on and about how happy she was, how she missed us all so much, and how she made a mistake by leaving us. She said she wanted to start over. I told her there was no chance in hell that I wanted anything whatsoever to do with her again.

When Turner asked her to leave and never come back again, she fake cried all the way to the damn door. Now we have no idea where she is, not that she was around much, anyway. She should be the poster child for the worst mother. No, I take that back. She is the worst mother. But today is all about the man who I call ‘my world.’

I shiver just thinking about him and how much I have missed him. Turner Calloway stole my breath away eight years ago when he walked into class and sat down right next to me. I was the shy, timid nerd girl who just wanted to be happy and to make my father proud.

After my mother left, I took care of my dad and brother the best way I knew how, cooking and cleaning and doing everything else my selfish mother should have been doing. Dad and Zack were constantly riding my ass about going out and doing something. I never wanted to. Sure, I had friends, and they usually came over to my house. I just didn’t want my dad to ever be alone. I went to school and came home, and even when I went to college I still lived at home. Dad tried to convince me I needed to get out and experience the college life. Nope. Not me. I just wasn’t interested, until the day I laid eyes on Turner.

After two weeks of talking back and forth to each other in class, he finally got me to give him my number, and we’ve been together ever since. My dad about shit himself and practically shoved me out the door when I finally told him about Turner. Instead of being the typical dad who claims no man is good enough for his daughter, my dad was the opposite. He fell in love with Turner just as I did.

My older brother Zack, not so much. He’s only older by 18 months but he acts as if it’s a decade. He grilled Turner and even threatened to kick his ass once if he ever hurt me.

Turner’s response was, “Dude, I have a woman worth spoiling. For years she was yours to protect and now she’s mine, so back the fuck off.”

That was all it took to win Zack over, and the two of them have been best friends ever since. Heaving a heavy sigh, I keep my eyes on the door of the terminal and wait for them to open. All I want to do is leap over all these people and into the arms of my man.

Finally, the doors open. I can already feel his arms wrapped around me and his lips moving reverently against mine as I get lost in handsome, green-eyed, dark-haired Turner Calloway.

I freeze on the spot when I see him walk through the door. When he lifts his head and scans the area, his eyes land on mine, and the crooked smile that made me fall in love with him is where my eyes stay focused. As his pace quickens and he approaches me with a toxic and lethal stare, I can’t help but smile back.

“Jesus Christ. I fucking missed you so damn bad.”

He scoops me up in his arms and twirls me around burying his face into my long blonde hair.

“I missed you too, lover boy,” I reply, smiling as he keeps his head buried in my hair.

“You smell so damn good, Clove,” Turner whispers softly in my ear. “Let’s get the hell out of here so I can get a proper welcome home from my wife. Shall we?”

Turner gives me that crooked smile as he places me back down on the floor.

“Sounds good to me,” I say, knowing exactly what Turner has in mind for us when we get home.

I cannot think of one time where my husband has not worshipped either all or some part of my body before we made love. Sure, he likes to fuck hard and fast, but not before he makes me squirm or beg for him to take me after his skilled hands and mouth have had their fill of whichever body part of mine he is fascinated with at the time.

“Tell me again why we live in a big city?”

Turner’s tension fills the air of our small luxury SUV. I lean my head back against the headrest and reach over and run my hand through his hair to try and ease his stress as we sit in bumper-to-bumper afternoon traffic. I have always loved the color of his hair. It’s somewhere between brown and black, and so thick.

“That’s enough, Clove.” Turner startles me when he says that and jerks his head so I have no other choice but to drop my hand. He’s gone from night to day in a damn nanosecond.

“Chill out, Turner. God. We drive in this every day. What’s got you so wound up, anyway? You love it when I run my hands through your hair,” I say agitatedly.

He just lets out a small huff as he rubs his hands up and down his face.

“Look, I’m sorry, okay? It’s just the last thing I want to do after flying across the damn country is to sit in this damn car. I just want to get you home and get you underneath me.”

He brings his hand over and skims underneath my shorts as he runs his hand along the seam of my panties.

“Open your legs for me, Clove,” he says seductively, keeping one hand on the steering wheel and his eyes on the road as the traffic starts to move.

My legs willingly open and he rubs across my aching sex. I long for him to touch me. All my agitation flies out the damn window when I see the hunger in my husband’s eyes. I’ve only been thinking of myself and how much I have missed him, never thinking of the fact that he missed me, too.

“Pull your shorts down and let me see that beautiful cunt of yours,” he demands, and I whip my head around and look at him in shock because he knows I hate that word.

“Turner, why would you say that?” I push my legs back together but he doesn’t remove his hand.

“Shit. I don’t know what’s gotten into me. All I know is that I missed you like fucking crazy and if I don’t touch you soon, I am going to fucking explode over here. Please pull those shorts down and let me touch you,” he whispers.

I have no idea why my sweet, caring husband has been a damn cranky bastard since we left the airport. He rarely ever raises his voice to me, let alone uses the one word in front of me I absolutely despise. That “C” word is about the most degrading word I have ever heard.

Maybe he’s just as irritated about our separation as I am and jet leg is starting to kick in. I don’t know what his problem is. Turner has never been one to hide his feelings about anything, especially with me. I shimmy my shorts and black lace panties down my long legs. Good Lord. For the first time since we bought this fancy vehicle I am thankful for the dark windows as I sit here splayed out naked from the waist down in the middle of the afternoon on a busy interstate in downtown Atlanta. It does give me a little bit of a thrill doing something we have never done before.

“God damn, baby, I am one lucky son of a bitch. That pussy is so damn beautiful.”

I gasp as he cups me completely and he starts running his hand all over the top of my freshly waxed core. “So smooth.” His voice is getting ragged and the pleasure of him rubbing me starts to speed up my heart rate as I close my eyes and squirm lower in my seat. “You missed me, didn’t you my love?”

I know he is talking but I am too caught in up what his hand is doing to my body as he slowly continues to take his fingers and draw small patterns across my skin. I moan as he reaches the petals of my lips. Being teased like this is torture like you would not believe.

“Yes, Turner,” I practically scream as his hand surely but steadily floats its way down to brush across my nether lips. He wastes no time, sliding his fingers up and down and tracing the edges, teasing and causing me to moan and beg him to put his fingers inside.

“Damn, Clove. I can feel how wet you are. You need to get off, babe? Do you want me to plunge my fingers inside this sweet smelling pussy? This car is full of the smell of your arousal. I am so fucking hard over here right now that if I wasn’t in such a big hurry to get you in our bed and pound the ever-loving shit out of you, I would pull over right now and fuck you so hard you would know I have been there every time you walk for the next damn week.”

His deep, throaty words bring me out of the dream I was having of Turner and his magic hands. Before I can say anything about how his dirty talk has me so turned on, he pinches my clit and tugs so hard that the pain actually causes pleasure to run through my entire body. I scream his name but he doesn’t stop the torture at all; he continues to rub me until I know I am drenched.

“You are going to be so much fun to fuck, my receptive wife. Do you like this, Clove?” he questions as he brutally slides his finger inside. I clamp down and wiggle to try and get him to plunge in deeper. I have never been very verbal when we make love and Turner has never touched me like this in our car either, but I quickly toss that aside as my husband starts sliding his finger in and out, getting me wetter than I have been in a very long time.

“Oh, God.” I arch my back and press my hips into his hand harder.

“Hell, yeah. Give me that orgasm, babe. Let me have it all over my finger. I am dying to taste you. You like me finger fucking you and having your sweet smelling pussy all over my fingers?”

“God, yes,” I moan.

“Don’t come for me yet, babe, we’re almost home.”

I barely register what he is saying to me as he continues on with his blissful torture.

All of a sudden I feel the loss of his fingers and I open my eyes as I notice we are pulling into the garage of our two-story Cape Cod style home. Turner cuts the engine and the garage door closes behind us and I look over to him in the semi dark. His hands are gripping the steering wheel and he exhales nosily, turning his head and looking at me with a burning blaze of fire and desire in his eyes.

I squirm in my seat. I have never seen my husband look at me like that before and for some reason, it turns me on. I feel myself becoming even wetter with desire for him to touch me again. As if he knows exactly what I am thinking, he loosens his grip on the steering wheel and gets out of the car. I watch him round the front of the car and like a predator that is ready to kill his prey. He swings my car door open and painfully grabs my legs, swinging them around as he kneels onto the garage floor.

He yanks me straight into his face. Half of my ass is hanging off the seat and my head falls back against the console with a thud. I scream as he throws my legs over his shoulders and buries his tongue deeply inside me.

My back arches and my legs start to shake as he starts out with slow, hard strokes and then speeds up gradually. I grind my aching flesh into his face. He has never gone down on me like this before.

“Oh, Jesus. Turner. God, yes. More!” I pant. I am just on the cusp of coming when he pulls his face off of me.

“You want more, Clove? I’ll give you more. I am going to make you come like you have never come before. Now come all over my fucking face, sweet girl.”

Jesus Christ. I am gone when he sticks his tongue back into my opening and swirls it around against my walls. After he licks and sucks me to the best orgasm he has ever given me, he doesn’t stop. He nips at my c lit with his teeth and pulls and releases over and over while he shoves two fingers inside me, curving them upward to hit the spot that has me screaming and begging him to give me the release I so desperately need.

My clit feels like it is turning inside out and my pussy is clenching, desperate to release. I finally do and I don’t even recognize my own voice as I scream my husband’s name so loud, it’s piercing even to my own ears.

I instantly feel his loss as he places my legs down. When I start to become more alert, I open my eyes and gape at the beast of a man who is staring down at my glistening pussy.

He’s observing it as if it’s the first time he has ever seen it. “So beautiful. Christ Almighty, this is all mine. Keep them spread, Clove. I am far from done with you,” he rasps.

He pops open the button of his jeans and unzips them, then pulls them down along with his boxers. His incredible cock pulses, looking even bigger than I remember, and it’s only been a week. I observe every part of his glorious body, taking in every inch of what has got to be the most finely chiseled piece of perfection. My desire is to touch him, but as I reach my hand up to familiarize myself with the sex God standing before me, he takes a small step back, barely out of my reach.

“You want this, Clove?” Turner asks as he strokes himself. “You want me to fuck that tight, sweet pussy of yours or do you want me to fuck that hot mouth?”

I gulp and stare up at the man who I know is my husband, yet seems different in the few short hours since he has been home. Even though I want to take him in my mouth, I spread my legs even farther, which seems to be enough of an answer for him. He lets go of himself and bends down, taking his shoes off along with his pants and briefs, and scoops me out of the vehicle. He slams the door shut and sits down on a workbench with me still wrapped tightly around him.

Without any warning at all he grabs his dick and slams inside me so hard, my head falls back. I swear to everything holy I black out for a second, but I am instantly awakened as my husband drives his massive cock into me like this is the first or the last time he is ever going to have me. I thrust my pelvis back and forth and grind down on him as hard as I can while clenching his dick the best way I know how.

We have never before had sex so animalistic. I tilt my head back and groan. In response, he grabs my thin t-shirt and rips it right down the middle, then unhooks the front clasp of my bra allowing my heavy, aching breasts to hang free. He cups one in his big hand and brings his mouth down on the other, sucking on my already pebbled nipple while biting down and then pinching my other nipple in between his fingers.

“Oh, fuck! I am going to come, Turner. God, I am going to explode all over you!”

Releasing my breast from his mouth, he brings his lips to mine and ravishes me with a brutal kiss. Our tongues and teeth clash, and I scream his name into his mouth as I come all over him. Within seconds, he heaves himself up into me as far as he can get then stills us both as I feel his warm juice spill inside me.

We are both breathing so damn hard it takes us several minutes to be able to calm down. Turner has always been such a careful lover, always tender and putting my needs before his own, but this was definitely the best sex I have ever had.

I sit here and stare into the eyes of my handsome husband and really look at him. Even though he made sure to satisfy me more than he has ever done before, now I cannot help but wonder what in the hell happened to my gentle Turner while he was gone. The man staring back at me doesn’t look like the same man who left me a week ago. No. This man has a blank expression on his face; his eyes are as vacant as they come.

Chapter Two

“Turner?” I ask softly. “Is something wrong?”

His brows furrow as his eyes bore heavily into mine, mystified. I quickly climb off of him, instantly feeling the loss of his connection. That must be what finally snaps him out of his stupor.

“Fuck! Clove, baby. I am so damn sorry.”

I watch my loving and caring husband put his face in his hands and his shoulders sag. I sit down next to him on the bench and place my hand on his shoulder.

“Talk to me,” I say tenderly. He lifts his head slightly.

“It seems like all I have ever done since you picked me up is say sorry. But I am sorry, Clove. I didn’t mean to take you so rough like that.”

His eyes plead with mine as he looks at me.

“Turner.” I place my hand on his chin to hold his gaze to mine. “Did you hear me complaining? I loved it, honey. Rough, smooth, slow, fast. It doesn’t matter to me. That just showed me exactly how much you missed me.” I nudge his shoulder slightly. “Don’t ever apologize for wanting to take me like that ever again.”

We sit in silence for several minutes before he stands up and retrieves my shorts and panties out of the car and hands them to me along with my flip-flops. Then he picks his jeans and boxers up off of the garage floor and pulls them on, leaving the top button of his jeans open. With a smirk on his face, he tentatively takes a few steps toward me.

“So you liked it rough like that?” He reaches out and pulls me close to him. I place my hands on his strong, sturdy chest.

“I did.” I whisper.

“I did, too. Thank you for forgiving me for my little space out a few minutes ago. It’s just . . . God, Clove. If I ever did anything to hurt you, I would never be able to forgive myself.”

“I am not some fragile flower who is going to wilt and die if you hold and squeeze it too hard, Turner, so quit beating yourself up. I actually loved welcoming you home in that way.”

I lay my head on his chest and listen to the steady beat of his heart, but the tone of his voice when he said he would never be able to forgive himself makes me think that Turner is trying to convince himself of that fact more than he is trying to convince me.

“So tell me about this conference? Was it boring?” I question Turner as we are eating dinner.

“Fuck, yes, it was boring. I hate those damn things and you know it. The state has made a few changes but not anything we can’t go over at work tomorrow,” he says as he knocks back another beer.

I’ve lost count. He drank three in less than an hour while I was making dinner. Turner usually has a beer or two a few times a week; maybe more if we go out on a date or with our friends, but nothing like this. And he’s hardly eaten any of his dinner. It’s his mom’s fried chicken recipe, his favorite. He usually devours everything on his plate and most times goes back for more.

I’m not paying attention to a word he is saying as I sit there listening to him drone on and on about the conference he went to. It’s like he’s flinging shit out of nowhere just to have a conversation about something he said we would discuss tomorrow. I use the time to study him covertly. It’s not big things, but subtle changes in his mannerisms that for some reason have put me on edge, like how he gestures certain ways with his hands. And, not one time since we have sat down has he looked at me when he speaks.

Panic starts to set in and I try not to let it show. Is he hiding something from me, or am I just paranoid because we have been away from each other for the first time? I don’t know what to make of his strange behavior. Is he having an affair? Oh, God. No, please don’t let that be it. I watch him get up and put his half-eaten plate into the sink and pull another beer out from the fridge. He slams the door shut with his foot and I jump from the sound.

“I didn’t mean to scare you, love,” he says as he walks up behind me and cups one of my breasts in his hand. I feel his warm, beer-scented breath against my neck. “You ready for round two, Clove?”

He pinches my nipple between his fingers and it stings. What is up with that? It’s not that the pinching hurts so much; it actually feels good mixing a little pain with the pleasure. It’s just, that’s not what he does. Turner loves to bring my breasts to his mouth and suck until he has them nice and hard, and then he likes to run his hands over the top of the hard peaks.

My mind just isn’t focused on sex right now, I guess. I have never turned my husband down when he wants it, but I’ll be damned if I am going to have sex with him right now. He just doesn’t seem like himself.

All these dark and gloomy thoughts run through my head. Night and day. Black and white. I sneak a peek at him through my lashes. Yup, I’m pretty sure this is the same man I dropped off at the airport a week ago, I joke darkly to myself. So why is he acting so strangely? I turn my head away from him and pick up my plate to take it to the sink.

“I need to clean up the kitchen. Why don’t you go relax in the living room and find a movie to put on? I’ll be in shortly and we can watch before we go to bed.”

“Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. Let me just grab another beer and I’ll get out of your way.”

He walks past me and I watch him like a motherfucking hawk. My husband is hiding something from me, and I am going to dig around until I find out exactly what it is.

Fifteen minutes. Just fifteen damn minutes is all I spend in the kitchen, and by the time I walk into the living room, Turner is lounging on the couch watching a ball game, all thoughts of our movie night apparently erased from his memory.

I watch him covertly from behind the sofa as he lies on his back staring at the screen. Am I being paranoid? I have no clue what has happened to my husband, but the thought of him being with another woman has my gut twisted and my heart breaking. I have given my all to this man. Is he cheating on me? And why? We’re together all the time. Turner dotes on me. He’s romantic; he’s kind. I have so many questions. I can’t just come out and ask him. I love him so much that I know I wouldn’t be able to survive a blow like that. It would destroy me.

“Oh, Turner . . . my world, my love. What in the hell is going on?” I whisper.

I continue to stare at the man who owns my heart and think back to the sex we had in the garage. The feeling of pure, raw, primal fucking is what has me shuddering and aching between my legs. Turner has never been like that with me before. Not one time has he talked to me the way he did today. I am not going to lie by saying I didn’t enjoy the dirty talk, but shit! When he said cunt, I have to admit I was a little shocked . . . no, I was more like stunned, at his language.

Turner is not boring by any means. I quiver at the memory of the things he can do with his tongue. Today, he dove right in, just as usual. One thing I can say about my husband is that he has a huge appetite for sex, always has, but what I don’t understand is why it was so rough.

Not that I didn’t like it, because I did. It was the best sex we have ever had, hands down. So intense, like neither one of us could get enough of the other. I have never seen Turner come apart like that. The wild side of me that I never even knew I had wants more of that kind of sex. I would love for Turner to take me any way he wants me, to pound into me over and over again until I am so sore that I can barely walk the next day.

A single tear slowly falls down my face as I envision another woman touching, kissing, and making love to my husband. The pain is too much to bear.

I need to stop thinking this way; there is absolutely no way that Turner would destroy everything we have and the future we’ve planned. Children, grandchildren . . . I refuse to believe it. He would never cheat on me. Turner Calloway is an honest man. Why have these thoughts even popped into my head in the first place?

I tilt my head to the side as I run my hand through my hair and then place it over my heart. It’s beating so damn fast. I’ve never had a panic attack before, but this sure as hell feels like one. I am overwhelmed by the fear-inducing unknown as my heart races, pounding relentlessly in my chest. I start to hyperventilate, feeling as if I could throw up at any moment.

I scurry backwards out of the room as fast as I can before Turner even realizes I was there. Upon entering the kitchen I bend over the sink, trying to regain my composure. I breathe in and out several times to calm myself down and my heart rate gradually returns to normal.

The quicker I get these ludicrous ideas out of my head, the quicker I can get back to the happy woman I was when I left here to pick him up. I know this, so why do I have the nagging sensation deep in the pit of my stomach that I should investigate a little further?

I push away from the sink and on silent feet go to grab Turner’s carry-on bag from where he left it by the front door. I rush down the hall to the laundry room with it and set it on the small table I use to fold laundry. My husband is in the habit of leaving loose change and receipts in his pockets, so I carefully check each one. As I am pulling out a pair of jeans, a card falls to the floor.

“The Cigar Bar,” it reads.

What in the hell would he have this for? He hates the smell of cigars with a passion. Just when I thought I’d pushed my insecurities to the back of my mind, I find this. I don’t understand at all what’s happening here. My brain is short-circuiting and I need someone to hit the reset button. I grab the edge of the washing machine to steady myself, but I feel like all I am doing is stumbling over a cliff. The card slips through my fingers and falls to the floor as I press the heels of my hands into my eyes.

My legs give out and I slide down to the floor, shaking my head back and forth as pain rips through my chest. Am I reading too much into this? Maybe Turner was tired from his trip and just needed to unwind and relax. Damn it all to hell, my head is spinning and I feel like I am about to lose control.

“It’s only a couple of strange things, Clove. Why are you letting this get to you?” I say out loud.

I think for a moment about those words, but you know what? I know my husband. There is no fucking way he would go to a cigar bar, and there is no fucking way he would sit around and drink the way he did tonight . . . unless there was something very, very, wrong.

Fuck me, I am going to find out. But how? There’s no one I can share this with; they would all laugh in my face and think I am being ridiculous. Most of my friends are jealous of the way Turner treats me. Even after all of these years, he still opens my car door for me, and kisses me goodnight and good morning.

So many times I have seen this man looking at me with simple adoration. Every single time I catch him at it, we have a routine. ‘Why are you looking at me like that?’ I’ll ask him. And his answer is invariably, ‘I’m admiring the most beautiful woman in the world. Is that all right with you?’ ‘It’s always all right with me,’ I smile.

But not today. Every time he looked at me today, all I saw was a man who looked like he had never seen me before.

Damn. What is wrong with me and my crazy thoughts? I rub my temples and try to think. Knowing the truth would be so much better than this torture, so I pick up the phone and send a text to the one person who I know will listen to me. My brother, Zack.

I text him, telling him I really need to talk to him. I sit my phone on the floor next to me and wait on his reply. After a few moments, he texts back.

Are you all right?

Yeah, fine. I just need to talk to you about something is all.

All right. Call me tomorrow. Night, and love you, sis.

Love you, too. Give my little nephew a big kiss from me.



A chuckle escapes my lips at his smiley face, but all too soon my thoughts drift back to Turner. Straightening up, I tell myself that even though his behavior is a little strange, there are not sufficient signs of an affair, though the evidence certainly seems to point to one.

I scoop the card up off of the floor and slip it back into his bag, and try and put his clothes back inside exactly the way they were. I set it back where he left it. Fuck it; he can clean the damn thing out himself.