Текст книги "Contrite"
Автор книги: Kathy Coopmans
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Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 15 страниц)
Chapter Seven
I’ve managed to get through the grocery store without breaking down or running into anyone I know. I remember to call Trent to let him know I am on my way home and even muddle through a big fat lie by telling him I would prefer to stay home and watch movies and just chill after our hectic workweek. There is no way I am prepared to face anyone in a public setting with him. I just don’t have the confidence in myself to do it.
“Shit!” I scream in my car as I am driving down the road toward my house.
God, how could you be so dumb, Clove? I need to outsmart him and act like nothing is wrong. Turner and I have never stayed in two nights in a row, especially on the weekend, and if he’s been studying us as closely as I think, he knows that. He has to. No, I am just going to say I missed being with him last night. He’s a schemer and a very good liar . . . I just have to remind myself of this and play his game. I can do this. Well, me and the bottles of wine I bought can do this.
I reach across into the passenger seat and pat the bag holding the wine. Smart thinking, buying three bottles of my favorite wine. I hope like hell I get drunk and pass out in order to avoid any type of sexual activities taking place with him. I know that it has to happen sooner or later; it’s just that I am choosing later. At least for tonight.
My palms are sweaty and my entire body is in turmoil as I pull into the drive and hit the button for the garage door. When I see Trent step out the back door and into the garage, I swallow the knot in my throat and pretend that it’s Turner coming toward me. Love. That’s what I keep telling myself as I step out of my car and he brings me into his arms.
“I missed you and I’m starving.” He presses himself into me.
“Starving for what?” Bile rises up from my stomach as he presses his hard erection firmly against my stomach.
“Starving for you,” he replies in a sex-tinged voice.
“Oh.”
Before I can say anything further, he backs me up against the car, pinning me with his rock solid body.
“When was the last time I told you that you have the most beautiful eyes?” He leans in and kisses right beside my left eye gently. “The perfect nose?” He kisses the tip of my nose. “A mouth that was made for kissing?” He nips at my bottom lip. “And tits that were made for sucking?”
He bends down and bites my nipple through my shirt.
“A pussy that is so tight and hot and fits my cock just perfectly?” he finishes, reaching down and cupping my core through my shorts.
He sounds just like Turner when he talks that way. For a brief moment I can pretend it really is him, but when I look deep into his eyes as he brings them to mine, the illusion is shattered. Those are not Turner’s eyes staring back at me; those eyes are of a man who is possessed by some unknown demon, eyes that are eating me alive as he gazes into mine.
He must have been snooping while I was gone and read the birthday card that Turner gave me last year saying those exact same words. Knowing he is waiting for an answer, I tell him the truth as I skate my arms up his torso and clasp them behind his neck.
“Last year for my birthday, I do believe.”
I focus on his lips instead of looking him in the eye. I am so petrified right now that my insides are shaking. I just want to scream for him to get off of me, but I can’t.
“I am going to put these groceries away. You go upstairs and get naked and wait on our bed for me, because I have been dying to fuck you deep, hard, and fast ever since you walked out that door this morning.”
Oh shit, oh no. I’m not ready for this. But I pull up on my tiptoes and bite hard on his bottom lip as if to tell him I can’t wait. Ducking underneath his strong arms and making my way into the house, I run for the stairs only stopping when I reach my bedroom, and stare at my bed.
I pace back and forth, chewing my fingernails nervously. I feel weak and helpless but I have to persevere. I have no sense of direction here. What the hell am I going to do? I am so weak. Why? Why is this happening? I do not want to give myself to him. I’m in hell, absolute fucking hell, and I have no way of getting back to my piece of heaven.
I take a deep breath and slowly pull my shirt over my head, tossing it on the leather chair in the corner, then reach behind me and unclasp my bra slowly, dragging it down my arms as if I am stilling time. Tossing that along with my shorts and panties, I place one leg and then the other onto the bed. Before I can even turn myself around, I hear a low growl coming from the doorway.
“Stop right there, Clove.”
Shit. I am naked and on all fours with my ass in the air. Take a deep breath, Clove. Love, remember?
I hear the hissing sound of a zipper then the soft thud of his jeans hitting the floor. Drawing in a long breath to calm my shaky nerves, I turn my head slightly to see him standing there naked and stroking his cock. I am so fucked and I do not mean in a good way either. I just can’t seem to pull my eyes away from him. For some unknown reason it is turning me on watching him stroke himself with fire in his eyes as he watches me watch him. He’s telling me that he likes it, too. I don’t want to like it. I want to hate it as much as I hate him.
“I love your voluptuous ass. So round and tight and so damn perfect.”
Keeping his hand on his dick, he stalks over to the edge of the bed. I tilt my head forward and close my eyes as I feel his hands start to touch and caress my legs. They make their way up until he is cupping handfuls of my bottom. I can’t stand to look at him and I can’t stand myself right now as he digs deeper with his fingers until both of his hands are sliding up and down and along the crack of my ass. Then, he stops. I feel the bed dip and his hands move down until one finger is sliding through my folds.
“Spread for me, baby. Let me feel that sweet, tight, hot pussy of yours.”
And I do. I spread my legs as far as I can and lay my head against the silky comforter.
“Jesus Christ. Your fucking pussy is perfect,” he growls.
His finger makes its way to my clit, where it presses firmly. I buck. It’s as if he has pushed the ‘on’ button as he plays with it, swirling his finger around and pressing in at the same time. I’m panting hard as he spreads my folds with his other hand. His movements on my clit are repetitious and my body is blazing from his expertise.
The fucker is good at this, and he knows it. I’m just as sick and twisted as he is by enjoying and wanting more of what he is doing to my body. He’s driving me crazy with desire. I hate my body for betraying my mind. I deserve to live in hell, but fuck me if this doesn’t feel so damn good.
He removes his finger from my clit and I whimper as he chuckles behind me. He replaces it with his thumb and slides two fingers inside of me, curling them upward. I scream as he finds my sweet spot and applies soft pressure as he begins to move them in and out of me.
“You like that, baby?” he whispers at the base of my ear.
I had gotten so lost in his touch that I never realized his face was this close to mine. I feel him now as he lies gently on top of me. He stops his amazing yet torturous fingering.
“Do you want me to continue, Clove?” he asks, his voice dripping with cruelty.
“Yes, Turner,” I plead.
At that, he pushes his fingers back in, continuing his carnal assault.
“FUCK!” I roar.
I throw my head back as his fingers work at an agonizingly fiery pace. He knows exactly what to do with those hands of his, and he’s flawless with them.
His breathing is just as fast as mine is. I am losing my fucking mind and my will not to give this man my orgasm. But I can’t, he’s just too good. Somehow, he is a master at setting my body on fire.
Oh, how I don’t want to give him this! It’s killing me to not let go, but the brutal yet first-class finger fucking that he is giving me has me choking back sobs of unwanted ecstasy. In the end I give up, letting out an ear-piercing scream as I climax uncontrollably.
Before I can even recover, he is positioned behind me. I can’t help myself now; I want him to fill me with his dick so desperately. I am digging and clawing at the comforter, physically aching with how badly I need him to fuck me. I am hungry for more of him and my heart races faster than it ever has as I press my ass into his cock.
“Fuck me now, Turner!” I demand. “Damn it . . . you better fuck me hard like you said you would.”
And then it happens. He slams his glorious cock into my already drenched pussy.
He eases himself back out so just the head of his dick stretches my opening. God, does it feel so good. This man knows exactly what he is doing and he knows he does it well. He leans down and puts his weight on my back and I love it.
“You,” he says. “I am going to fuck you and bring you so much sexual pleasure. You just stay on all fours with that sexy as hell ass in the air and let me take care of business back here.”
His voice is rough and full of promise. My legs quiver as he removes his mouth from my ear. A loud hiss escapes his lips as he plunges into me again. I scream and throw my head back.
“Fucking hell, Clove. Tight, wet, and fucking warm. You ready, baby? Hold the hell on because you’re about to get fucked raw.”
The penetration is deep and delicious and I cannot get enough of him screwing me this way, hitting me deep and hard as his hands grab handfuls of my ass. Extending my right hand a little higher on the bed to help hold myself up, I take my left hand and slide it onto my clit and squeeze the folds of skin between my fingers, moving my hand from side to side and up and down.
“That’s it, Clove. Touch it and make yourself come nice and hard all over my cock.” His sultry voice echoes around the room. “You like being fucked, don’t you Clove? You can’t get enough of it, can you?”
His grunts and groans tell me he is loving what he is doing, too, as he thrusts in and out. I have never been fucked like this before, ever. My orgasm starts to build and I know when it hits, it’s going to hit so hard that I am going to scream like I have never screamed before.
At this point I have long since stopped struggling with my emotions. I know that later my regret and remorse are going to eat me from the inside out, but right now, I don’t care. I’m gasping for breath as my fingers feather lightly over my pulsing clit while Trent’s movements set off every nerve ending in my body.
“The walls of your sweet pussy feel so damn good when my balls hit your ass, babe.”
He pulls almost all the way out and then slams in again, stilling himself. It causes me to lose my balance and fall forward on the bed. Without missing a beat he hauls me back up by the waist and continues drilling into me, harder and faster now, hitting every sensitive spot I have.
I almost feel a ‘pop’ as the pressure that has been building up inside me explodes. An overwhelming feeling passes through my body like a warm and powerful wave and I cry out. Trent continues his heartless assault on my aching pussy, fucking me for reasons known to only him. He’s relentless as he keeps going and going.
“FUCKING HELL!” he roars as I feel him detonate as well.
He kisses me feverishly all along my shoulders and upper back, languidly circling his semi-hard dick inside me.
I collapse onto the bed and he goes down with me, losing our connection. All of a sudden, I feel his fingers spreading me wide as he inserts two. The unexpected intrusion makes me flinch. His fingers glide lazily in and out while neither of us speaks a word.
My eyes go wide as I realize what it is he is doing. He’s marking me! His fingers aren’t in me for my pleasure; they’re in me because he doesn’t want his seed to come out.
I’m brought back to Earth by the sickening recollection that the fingers coaxing and soothing me are not my husband’s fingers; they are the fingers of another man. I’ve just allowed myself to be fucked like a damn dog in heat. A warm, putrid feeling erupts in my mouth, and a burning sensation forms in my throat. Oh, Jesus, get him off me and make him stop. I am so thankful that he cannot see the torment and disgust written all over my face.
Lying here with his arms now securely around me in the middle of a warm Atlanta afternoon, a lonely tear slips past my defenses as I try to picture my Turner being the one holding me. It’s impossible. I can’t, because the one who is pressed up against me and holding me so possessively looks exactly like him.
“You doing okay?” he finally asks.
“Wonderful,” I lie through clenched teeth.
“I seem to lose all control of myself with you, Clove. It’s like you’ve hijacked my fucking brain and it’s screaming at my cock to bury itself inside you. I need my daily fix of you. You have no idea how lo . . .”
He almost slipped and gave something away! What the hell was he going to say? A plan enters my jumbled mess of a brain. I am not the type of woman to just sit here and let my brother do all of the work, so tonight, I am going to push this crazy, distorted excuse for a human being into hell with me and see how he fucking likes it.
Chapter Eight
He’s fallen asleep beside me and I can hear the faint sounds of his snoring. I lift his arm off of me and place it back down as carefully as I can, then roll to the side of the bed and withdraw myself from it.
I spin on my heel and look down at him. I’m no better than this manipulating, screwed up asshole is, I think to myself as my gaze travels up and down my bed. Turner’s bed. Our bed. I want to burn it, burn it with this piece of shit lying here naked with a smug look on his face as he sleeps. I hate him. Not as much as I hate myself right now for what I let him do to me, but I still fucking hate him.
I turn and rush into the bathroom¸ smacking my elbow into the doorframe, not even caring about the pain that is now flaring up my arm. I welcome it. I deserve it. I deserve every ounce of the pain that is hitting me everywhere.
Stepping into the shower, I turn on the hot tap but a blast of cold water hits me across my face and the front of my body. I still don’t care. I shiver and shake, sinking to the bottom. The overwhelming pressure lets loose as I curl myself up in a ball on my side.
Oh God, I so wish I could run to my father and tell him everything. I just want him to hold me in his arms and tell me that everything is going to be all right. And yet I know I can’t. He wouldn’t be able to control himself like Zack; no, my dad would grab his shotgun and kill that beast for the simple fact that I am hurting.
I am suddenly aware that extremely hot water is pelting my skin, stinging my backside. I gradually stand up and adjust the water to a comfortable temperature. With shaky hands, I reach for the soap and begin to scrub my body everywhere, placing particular attention on my most private area. I need him off of me a-fucking– gain, and no matter how much I scrub and try to cleanse myself he’s still there. He’s never going to come off of me, ever, so I stop just before I tear off my skin from rubbing so hard and stand under the spray to rinse away what I can of him.
I look down to see the last bit of suds escaping down the drain, so I shut the water off. I stand there for a few more minutes trying to gather my thoughts before stepping out and grabbing a towel from the towel holder that is built into the wall. It’s yet another reminder of Turner’s thoughtful design when we hired the contractors to redo the bathroom.
He is literally everywhere in this house, and suddenly, I can’t take it anymore. I can’t do this. I just can’t. I need to get out of here and help my brother find the only man that I will ever love and just hope like hell that he is able to forgive me for everything I have done.
I quickly brush my hair and pull the wet strands back into a ponytail. I apply lotion all over my body and add just a little bit of a shiny gloss to my lips. Without even taking a glance at Trent laying on the bed, I grab some clean panties and bra out of my dresser, then step into my closet and grab the first thing I lay my hands on. It turns out to be a very old, pale pink sundress. I pull it over my head, adjusting the straps as I walk out of the room, closing the door behind me.
I practically fly down the stairs in a frenzy, snatching my phone from the counter and stepping outside into the blistering Atlanta summer heat. I adjust one of the patio chairs to face the door so I can watch for signs that Trent is about to appear. Plopping myself into it, I swipe my phone and take a deep breath before hitting Zack’s number. I hold the phone up to my ear.
“Please answer,” I whisper.
After three rings it goes to voicemail. I know my voice sounds shaky and scared as I leave my message.
“Zack. I– I don’t think I can do this for much longer. Please call me back, and please tell me you have found some answers.”
I disconnect the call and toss my phone on the patio table. Leaning forward, I place my face in my hands and my shoulders sag in defeat. I don’t know how long I stay that way as I try and calm my racing brain and my aching heart. The sound of my phone ringing is what brings me back. It’s Krista calling. When I answer, I am greeted by Krista’s frantic voice.
“Oh dear God, Clove! I have been trying to call you for over an hour, please tell me you’re doing okay,” she begs.
“I don’t know, Krista. I feel like I don’t know anything, anymore. This is a nightmare and I can’t seem to wake up no matter how hard I try.”
She must hear the frantic shakiness in my voice because she starts crying.
“Krista, don’t cry. Please.”
“I don’t know what else to do, Clove. Don’t keep all of this to yourself. You know I am always here for you. Always. Right?”
“I know you are, and I love you even more for it.” And I do love her. All this has been dumped on her just like the rest of us. “You just had a baby and the best thing you can do for me right now is to take care of yourself and my handsome little nephew.”
After a few moments, her sobs start to subside and a small laugh escapes from her mouth.
“He is quite handsome, isn’t he?” she says with pride.
“He’s the best.”
I close my eyes and images of my nephew with all of his hair and big eyes come to my mind, making me feel somewhat more peaceful.
I wish I had the ability right now to be able to talk to Krista face to face about my feelings. Not really knowing how long I have been out here or when Trent is going to wake up, Krista and I make plans. She is going to call me first thing in the morning and ask if I want to go shopping with her and the baby
I really need someone to talk to about all of this, someone besides my brother, who I cannot tell the most intimate details of what is happening between Trent and me. I need someone who I know will not look at me with pity because that is the last thing I need right now. I need someone who can help me get through this, and Krista is that someone.
An inexplicable unease creeps all the way up my spine when I enter back into the house. Gripping my phone tightly, I walk across the kitchen floor and stand at the bottom of the stairs. I hear Trent’s voice and yet I cannot make out his words, as they are muted and distant. I stand there for several minutes debating whether or not to climb the stairs and try to listen in. Before I know it, my feet are moving ever so slowly up until I hear his muffled words.
“I don’t give a shit.” He pauses. “Dad. I have to go before she comes back in here.”
Dad? Are you fucking kidding me? Their dad? What the hell is going on? How any of them could be so fucked up as to do what they are doing is beyond me. My eyes go wide and I don’t have time to think as I hear him walking out of my room and making his way down the hall. I leap two stairs at a time and skid into the kitchen across the hardwood floor, almost falling on my ass in the process.
“Clove, babe.” His voice echoes from behind me just as I am reaching up to pull a glass out of the cupboard. I compose my unsteady voice as best I can.
“In here.”
“You wore me out.”
His gaze searches my face while his hand rubs across his chin. I don’t give a thing away as I stand there calm and collected and drain the contents of my glass of water.
“You’re a little red. Were you outside?” he asks casually, his eyes never leaving my face.
“Yeah. I was out back sitting in the sun and kind of lost track of time.”
I turn and set my glass in the sink and walk his way until I am standing directly in front of him. I cannot seem to read his thoughts. Roaming my hands up his chest and around his neck until my hands clasp together, I kiss him tenderly on the lips.
“So I wore you out, huh?” I smile as I pull myself back an inch or so.
“You’re a smart ass, you know that?”
He places his hands on my hips and closes the small space between us.
“Who? Me?” I shrug. His smile widens. “I just find it funny, is all.”
“Is that right?”
“It is. I could have sworn you said you were going to fuck me raw. Which you did, by the way. However, I do find it funny that you’re the one who got worn out.”
“We’ll see who wears whom out later then.”
He releases his grip and with a slight swagger to his walk, he moves past me to open the fridge. He grabs a beer, twisting the cap off and flicking it into the sink before taking a healthy swig. Satisfied, he sets it down on the counter then leans back and crosses his arms over his naked chest.
“So, lazy day today then, huh? You’re sure you don’t want to go out?”
Hell, no, I don’t want to go out with him!
“We can go out if you really want to.”
“Nah. I think I would much rather stay home and have my wife all to myself.”
His eyes rake over my body savagely, raging with fire.
There is no way he is touching me again, so I walk to the small wine cabinet and pull out my first bottle of wine of the day. I don’t care if it is the middle of the afternoon, I plan on being drunk by dinnertime and passing my ass out. The thing is, while the thought of him touching me again has my skin itching all over, the worst part is the fact that I want him to.
************
“You’re drunk.”
Trent leans into me as we sit side by side on the couch, his lips close to mine.
“So?” I ask. And then hiccup.
“You’re cute when you’re drunk.”
I frown.
“And I’m not when I’m sober?” I inch my face farther away from his.
We have been sitting here watching some shoot-em-up action movie for the past few hours and now the credits are rolling on the giant flat screen television sitting above the fireplace. It hasn’t been used since last winter when Turner and I . . . no, I can’t let my mind wander like that, not when I am drunk like this or I may give myself away.
“You’re more than cute when you’re sober, Clove, and you know it.”
He says the last part as if I’m some stuck up snob. I wrinkle my nose.
“I don’t think I’m cute, you ass.”
“Well, you are.” He grazes his hands down my bare legs. “Your legs are so smooth and long. You’re gorgeous, Clove.”
His voice sounds so sincere. Even in my drunken state, I can tell that lies and deceit come easily for him. He smoothes his hand back up my leg in languid circles, stopping at the edge of my dress which comes to a few inches above my knees. Keeping his gaze fixated on his every move, he scales up over my dress and leisurely over my stomach and breasts until he reaches my face.
He caresses my cheek as if he is memorizing every single one of my features then runs his hand around to the back of my neck and up into my hair, which is now out of its pony tail and hanging loosely down my back. My body goes weak as he pulls his fingers through the strands from root to tip and then back up again. The feeling is pleasurable and so calming that I close my eyes and drift. It is such a loving gesture that I can’t help but melt. I need to gain my strength back and get away from his hypnotizing words and hands.
“You really are exquisitely beautiful, Clove,” he whispers.
I lean my head back against the couch and his hands drop from my hair.
“You really know how to sober a girl up,” I say breathlessly.
“Not my intention at all, babe. Just speaking the truth.”
We stare into each other’s eyes for several seconds, and fuck if I don’t see just a smidge of remorse there. For some reason Trent seems to have a soft spot when it comes to me. I can see it painfully trying to break out while he sits here and stares at me.
He’s a riddle that I can’t seem to figure out, and then I see pain in his expression and I understand even less. Is he being forced to do this? And by who? His father? I glance away from him to look up at the clock and see that it’s dinnertime.
“You hungry?”
I try and read his expression when I look back at him but it’s blank as he stares at the television.
“Yeah. I could eat.”
“I’ll go call us in something, then.”
Shifting my body so I can stand, I grab my empty wine glass and his empty beer bottle and make my way into the kitchen. I set both items down on the counter and with shaky hands I pour myself another glass of wine, downing the entire glass before pouring another. I set the second glass on the counter and after calling for the takeout, I send a quick text off to my brother.
WHERE IN THE HELL ARE YOU?
Almost instantly my phone rings, and when I look at the screen and see it’s Zack, my heart leaps out of my chest. I lift the phone to my ear, but before I even get the chance to say hello, it’s snatched out of my hand and I am pinned to the counter by Trent’s large frame as he answers the phone in my place.
“Hey, bro. What’s up?”
