The women said he wasn’t selective. I wasn’t too old. Too graying. Too anything. He’d do me, they teased.
“Who said such a thing?”
I still as if I’d been moving which I wasn’t. I’m even holding my breath.
“Uhm…” Did I say all that out loud?
“Those biddies you were sitting with, is that who spoke such a thing ‘bout me?”
I roll to look at him over my shoulder, meeting his eyes which toss axes back at me. I don’t have the strength to spar with him although fighting is one of my strengths. I can pick and poke at the best of them, making certain I always have the last word. But not today.
“They told me you weren’t discriminatory, and I would be good enough for you.”
He huffs, shaking his head and I notice he holds his tux jacket over his arm. The belt and tie drape his forearm as well. His hand curled into a fist at the edge of his belongings is huge and I wonder for a second if he liked holding me last night. Did he even know he did it?
“What does it matter?”
“Forget it,” I snort-huff, knowing it’s unattractive and realizing I didn’t care. I don’t care because I’ll never see Chester Chesterfield again and he isn’t attracted to me anyway.
“No, I want to know. Who cares what those ninny-know-it-alls think?”
My head rolls back to peer at him over my shoulder once again. “It isn’t that I care what they think. It’s that I cared to have sex with you, and you didn’t care to have sex with me.”
“Who said that?” he huffs.
“Well, you…” I stare back at him. He said we didn’t have sex. Isn’t that what he means?
“I want a real answer. Why sex with me?”
“Because I haven’t had it in over a decade, okay? Not with a real man. A man who wants me. One virile and brooding and solid thick in the…you know…” I wave a hand toward the general direction of his…you know.
“Say the word?”
“Pardon me?” I blink at him, but he’s holding firm. One word.
I’m not saying that word.
Well, what does it matter?
Fine, I’ll say the word.
“Dick. Fine, there. Satisfied? I wanted your dick.”
He chuckles with a shake of his head, and I close my eyes, mortified. I have no idea what he looks like underneath those tuxedo pants. He could be all of a pencil, sharpened down to just above the eraser for all I know, but the description from the ladies got out of hand and then I wanted him in my hand. I wanted to know what it would feel like to hold and be held. To caress and be caressed. To be penetrated by a man—not someone like Karl—and Chester seemed like the perfect specimen.
Suddenly, I hear the drop of the belt and feel the strain of the mattress near my feet. My eyes open and I watch as he tugs his t-shirt over his head by the back collar, removing the white material like a curtain for the opening act. On display before me is a broad chest with a bit of dark hair and a thick trail leading lower. He tosses it on the floor, and I want to admonish him for being untidy, but I can’t think as he begins to crawl over me.
His brawny body blocks out the sun like a thunderous cloud and I want him to rain down on me. He covers me but doesn’t press down. His body remains on all fours, a predator over his prey, and I’m ready to scream devour me. I’m so turned on and he hasn’t even touched me. It’s just the look of him, the feral appeal of him. His nostrils flare, and he licks his lips. My heart races and my breasts heave under the sheet hardly covering me.
“You sure about this, darlin’,” he attempts to whisper but that rugged sleepy tone returns, and the depth thunders down to my toes.
Yes. No.
I shouldn’t do this.
But who am I kidding, I’m Scotia Simmons. I want to do this, and I always do what I want. Holding my head higher, despite the throbbing, I answer.
“Definitely.”
** End Sneak Peek **
Sneak Peek: Been There Done That by Hope Ellis, Book #1 in the Leffersbee Series
Available Now!
NICK
12 Years Ago
“They should be here soon,” Sheriff James said.
The hospital intercom overhead came to life, squawking something undecipherable.
I didn’t stir. Now that the adrenaline had worn off, I was numb. Numb to the squeaking of nurses’ soft-soled shoes that passed outside the open doorway of the family consultation room. Numb to the dreaded hospital smells—both the antiseptic and what they wiped away. Numb to the updates from the doctor with the pitying eyes and the heavy weight of Sheriff James’s stare.
Even the torn, bleeding flesh of my fingers and knuckles no longer stung. I’d entered an alternate universe, a different reality that mercifully blunted the pain of this one. I could almost believe that my mother wasn’t several hundred feet away in a hospital bay.
Maybe the past three hours hadn’t happened . . .
It was an empty hope.
Just as well. It would be a shame if I had no recollection of the first and only time I’d gone apeshit and done exactly what I wanted to do.
I could claim I hadn’t known what I was doing—temporary insanity—but the truth was I’d relished every downward swing of that bat as it shattered mirrors, bent chrome, dented metal. I’d been euphoric as I braced myself and tipped over the row of motorcycles, using my legs to finish what the bat started.
The jarring impact of each blow singing through my arms had almost compensated for an entire year of feeling helpless as I watched my little family capsize into dark waters.
“They should be here soon,” Sheriff James repeated. He’d sat in the corner for the last hour or so, mostly silent. His face was expressionless, but his voice was warmer than I would’ve expected considering he’d had to fish me out of an enraged mob of Iron Wraith bikers.
I grunted. I didn’t have the energy to work up any other response. All-consuming rage and sorrow had wrung me out, left me empty.
As if on cue, there was a flurry of activity in the doorway.
Ezra and Ellie Leffersbee, faces full of worry, skidded to a stop. They were bizarrely dressed. Mrs. Leffersbee was as undone as I’d ever seen her outside her home. A dark scarf covered her usually perfect hairdo. Grooves from the fabric of a pillowcase imprinted across one cheek. The hem of a frilly nightgown peeked out from under her coat. Mr. Leffersbee wore mismatched sweats, socks, and sandals. It was not the attire anyone would expect for a bank owner and one of the richest men in the county.
Seeing them here, people who knew me and cared, brought huge relief. And shame.
Mrs. Leffersbee said my name in a sleep-roughened voice and started forward, but Sheriff James stood up, raised a hand.
“Ezra. Ellie. If I could have a minute with you first.”
Both Leffersbees shot one last glance in my direction before they followed Sheriff James out into the hallway. I lowered my head, unable to meet their gaze. The sight of my bloodied hands filled my vision again. Revulsion churned in my gut. A distant memory pulled at the back of my brain, then registered.
My father.
I hadn’t seen him in many years. Not since my mother had finally had enough of him and the tirades that usually accompanied the end of his workday at the mill. Since then, it had just been us, thank God. But I could remember my father in this very position, head bowed with regret, fists bruised. Telling us he’d finally lost his job after getting into a fight with another millworker. Again.