by Brooks, Anna
She nods and her mouth falls open when I circle her wet clit with my thumb. Everything about her feels amazing. Her skin is soft, her tits are the perfect weight, and her pussy is hot and wet.
I spread her lower lips with my index and middle finger, then reach down with my other hand and fuck her with two fingers. I’m entranced at how wet she is; my hand’s already soaked. I keep the same slow pace, in and out, then up to gently circle the tight bundle of nerves, and back down to fuck her with my fingers.
She starts to moan louder and grabs my arm with one hand while the other steadies her against the dresser. “Oh God, Brandon . . . I—I need more.”
“Yeah?” I pump faster and harder, still keeping her spread so I can watch.
She begins to get even tighter around my fingers, and her thighs shake. I add a third finger and give a few slaps to the top of her pussy. Our eyes connect in the mirror, hooded and full of lust. She digs her nails into my arm and falls forward while calling my name.
“That’s right. Brandon. It’s me that’s doing this to you. I’m the one that makes your body shake. Me, Mary. Only me.”
Chapter 9
Mary
“Here, Betty. Sorry, I forgot to bring them over yesterday.” I set the bag with her books down on the desk. After Brandon had left this morning, I called Betty, and we talked on the phone a bit about him being back in my life.
“Thank you, dear.” She smiles and rubs her hands together before reaching inside to pull the book out. Her eyes scan the pages, and I think she forgets I’m standing here.
“Bye.” I laugh.
She waves without looking up, and I continue on my way to do the laundry. The motel is relatively empty this week, so my workload is light. I only have two rooms to clean, and I’ve already done everything except wash the sheets. Using disposable gloves, I put them in the washer and sit on the lone chair in the dimly lit room. I keep things to do in a small box in order to pass the time. A few crossword puzzles, magazines people have left behind, and a couple of cheap romance novels. I even got the urge to knit one day, but the needles and yarn are in a tangled pile at the bottom of the box because I couldn’t figure it out.
I open the book I’m about halfway through and try to get lost in the words. The hero in this story is an FBI agent, and like always, Brandon’s face is in my mind. And after what he did to me this morning, I’m now hearing his voice when the hero says all the things he wants to do to the heroine.
Brandon touching me was unbelievable. I’ve never been so turned on in my life. Granted, my sexual experiences are lacking, but still. Not only is he the most attractive man I’ve ever seen, but his touch is indescribable. Watching him watching his hands, and the look of pure desire on his face was the hottest thing in the world. And to know I was the one putting that look on his face was what threw me over the edge. Like the last time he came over and gave me a mind-blowing orgasm, he left. He’ll be back, though.
If only I could stay in my little bubble and avoid the reality of our past, everything would be perfect. I can’t do that, though. Brandon is not a very patient man, which is why I’m surprised he even let me go this long without talking about things more and laying everything out so we can move on.
Shit.
He’s afraid I’ll run again if he pushes too hard. Of course. It makes sense.
The buzzer sounds and I set my book down, only two pages farther than when I opened it. I throw the sheets in the dryer and decide to leave them and finish later.
“I won’t run again,” I tell myself on the way back to my room. The only reason I did in the first place was to protect him and his family. Now I don’t need to. Scott is in jail. But how do we pick up the pieces and put everything back together?
“What happened to your face?” Betty’s angry voice makes me jump.
“Crap!” I hold a hand to my heart. “You scared me.” I was so lost in my own world I didn’t even notice that I’d walked back to the desk.
“I didn’t notice it earlier. What happened?”
“I fell last night.”
Betty scrunches her eyebrows and shakes her head as if she thinks I’m lying.
“I swear. Joe came over and I drank a little too much. I rolled off the bed and hit my face on the nightstand. Honest.”
Her features relax and she nods. “Okay. I believe you. How is Joey? He didn’t stop to say goodbye this morning.”
I bite my lip, contemplating how to word the situation. “Well. Brandon stopped by this morning and saw the bruise on my face about four seconds before he saw Joe, still in my bed.”
“Oh, no.” She leans forward in full out concentration mode now. “What happened?”
“Brandon kind of went ballistic. I’ll have to get a hole in the wall fixed.”
“Is Joe okay?”
“Yes. And Brandon didn’t actually hit him, just slammed him against the wall.”
Betty sits back and crosses her arms. “What are you doing, Mary? Two men?”
“No!” I yell, astounded she could think that of me. “No. God, Joe and I just hung out. I told him that I couldn’t see him that way anymore. He ordered a pizza and we drank beer. He ended up crashing on my bed. It really wasn’t a big deal.”
“Hmm.” She picks the book up and leans back in her chair.
“What? What’s hmm?” I ask, crossing my arms.
“Nothing, dear. I’m just waiting for you to realize that when you have a man in your life who cares about you as much as Brandon obviously does, him walking into your place with another man in your bed is, in fact, a big deal.”
“Joe’s a friend.”
“Mary, Mary. I’ve seen Brandon. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. Wait until you see it.” She shrugs. “I’m happy for you.”
Sometimes I think she’s starting to go senile because I don’t understand a word she just said. “Okay. I’m going back to my room.”
“Bye, dear.”
“Bye.”
The sunlight hits me and I use my hand to make a visor over my eyes. I turn the corner and falter in my steps when I see Brandon leaning on the bricks outside my door, one leg bent, his arms hang loosely at his sides. His aviators hide his eyes, but I can feel them burning a hole through me. I pull my shoulders back and stop in front of him, crossing my arms.
“Hi,” I say.
“Hey.”
“What are you doing here?” Again, I want to add. He left for work only a few hours ago.
“Let’s go to lunch.”
“Yeah?” I smile.
“Yeah, Mary. Come on,” he laughs. “I don’t have a lot of time.”
“Okay.”
He puts his hand at the small of my back and gives a little shove in the direction of his car. After he opens my door, I take a deep breath as he walks around to his side.
“Where to?” he asks.
“Oh, I don’t care. Wherever is close since you’ve gotta get back.” Fear starts to rise as I realize I’m going out without a hat and sunglasses on. And it’s not four in the morning.
“All right.” He nods and backs out then reaches over and takes my hand in his, intertwining our fingers.
The familiar touch calms me and sends goosebumps across my skin. His hands are magical. Everything about him is, really.
“So, this morning.” I feel like we should talk about it. “Joe is just a fr—”
“Don’t. I don’t want to think about it.” He pulls his hand out of mine and it joins his other on the steering wheel, white-knuckled fists form as he squeezes.
Silence fills the car as we pull into the parking lot of a small diner.
“Fuck,” he whispers. Unbuckling his seat belt, he turns to me. “I don’t know what the hell to do here, Mary. I don’t want to scare you away, but I don’t want to let you out of my sight. Part of me wants to lock you in a room and fuck the guilt right out of you. And the other wants to throw you over my knee and punish you for what you put me through. And yet another part wants to p
ull you over to me right now and watch as you ride me. But I’m afraid if I do any or all of those things, I’ll fuck up any chance I have to keep you.”
His rough words shock me for a second, but then I realize what he’s really saying.
“I’m not leaving.”
I reach up, grab the back of his head, and pull him toward me. His fingers brush a few stray hairs off my face and he leans down to press his lips on my forehead. My eyes close and my hand tightens on his head. Any touch from him makes me crazy; it consumes me. All the years of trying to remember don’t do it justice. Open mouth kisses trail down, and he kisses my bottom lip, then my top, before pulling back and resting his forehead on mine.
We look into each other’s eyes for a moment before he chuckles.
“What?”
“Do you remember that time Travis caught us making out in my car?”
I laugh right along with him. “Oh, my God, yes. The little shit.”
“He made me take him to the store and buy him that damn video game.”
“I know. Your mom thought you were being a nice brother.”
We both laugh for a second before he suddenly stops and rests his temple on the headrest. “You know I always wanted you, right?”
My laughter fades but my heart beat speeds up, and I shake my head.
“I did. But my dad told me that I had to stay away from you until I was out of high school. He didn’t want me to mess up our friendship. So, all those years I pretended. It was so hard. Hell . . .” He laughs. “I was fucking hard as a rock every time you were around.”
“I . . . I always thought you thought of me like a little sister. I mean, until what, we were seventeen when we kissed for the first time? ”
“No way. I was about thirteen when I first wanted to kiss you.”
“When you saw your first porno?” I giggle.
He smiles. “I guess so. I don’t know what it was exactly; I just knew I wanted you for more than a friend. It felt wrong at first because you were like a sister, so I ignored it. When I was a little older, my dad pulled me aside and gave me the warning. Saw the way I was looking at you.”
“What warning?”
He sucks a deep breath in through his nose, and he exhales through his mouth. “He knew you were sneaking in at night.”
I gasp and sit back.
“I know. I thought we were sly enough. But I should have never underestimated him. He said he knew, but he also knew things were rough for you at home. He threatened that if I ever tried anything with you, he would not allow you to “sneak” in anymore. And I didn’t want that for you. Plus, I didn’t trust myself.”
“I can’t believe he knew. No,”—I shake my head—“I can, actually. What I can’t believe is he allowed it.”
“That was what he said.”
“What do you mean?” I undo my seat belt and curl my legs under me.
“When I was looking for you, I went off on a tangent. Well, I went off a lot looking for you.” He pauses and looks away from me for a minute. “I blamed myself, said that if I’d made you mine then you never would have left. Blamed my dad for not allowing me to do so. Blamed everyone else. I found reasons to blame people.”
How could I do this to him? I’m so selfish. “Oh, Brandon.”
“That was when he laid it out for me. It had nothing to do with me. It was all about you.”
“Huh?”
He smiles and picks up my long ponytail to twirl the strands a few times. “He . . . and my mom, they loved you like a daughter. They trusted me to an extent, but they were afraid of you getting hurt, said nobody was good enough for you . . . and at the time that included me. I was pissed. Didn’t talk to him for a month after that.”
“I’m so sorry. God, I ruined so much.” I squeeze my lids closed, hopeful to dampen down the anger I feel at myself.
“He was right, though.”
They snap back open. “What? How?”
“I was a horny teenager. Yes, I loved you. Yes, I wanted to be with you. But at that point in our lives, we weren’t ready to go there. I hate to admit it, but he was right. We were much better off growing our friendship, and then, I thought we’d . . . I dunno, take it to the next level after high school. But then . . .” He shrugs and rubs his chin. “Does that make sense?”
“Yeah, it makes perfect sense.” Looking back on it, I can understand where his parents were coming from. Teenagers do dumb shit; they make mistakes. Look at what I did. As an adult now, I never would be such a coward. The teenage me thought it was the best, most brave decision in the world.
A vibration from Brandon’s phone makes me jump, and he curses when he reads the text.
“I’ve gotta go.”
“Yeah, no. It’s fine.”
“Sorry.”
“You’ve got a job. I understand.”
“I’ll make it up to you.”
My lips pull up into a smile. “I don’t doubt that for a second.”
* * *
He really was in a hurry because when he dropped me off, he gave me a quick kiss and sped away. I open the bag he brought me for lunch the other day and heat it up. The smell of sesame chicken fills my small room, and it makes me smile. A genuine, happy smile. I love Chinese food. Brandon and I ate it all the time. We had the number to the delivery place memorized and they knew us by name. I haven’t had Chinese since I’ve lived here. Ramen noodles don’t count.
The buzzer on the microwave goes off and I don’t even sit down to eat it. Delicious. Even better than I remember. This seems to be a common occurrence. Things being better with age. I wonder what else has changed so much that I’ve missed out on. Just as I begin to feel sorry for myself, a knock at the door pulls me out of my thoughts.
I look through the peephole and immediately feel nauseated. This has to be done, though. Each click of the locks and slide of a chain is like nails on a chalkboard. And when I finally get to the last one, I take a huge breath, let it out, then another, before slowly releasing it. Trying to gain some strength.
I twist the knob and pull open the thick wooden door I bought as a security precaution. “Hi, Steve,” I practically whisper.
He smiles up at me from his wheelchair and grabs my hand to pull me down. My arms wrap around him, and his signature Stetson cologne hits my senses and takes me back to childhood. The same arms that are around me now are the ones that helped me learn to shoot a basket, defend myself, and pick myself up when I fell.
I squeeze him a little harder and blink back tears that I refuse to cry. He pats my back, and I take it as my cue to pull away, even though he’s the only other person on the planet who’s ever made me feel safe.
“Look at you,” he says, smiling. “You’re even more beautiful than I could have imagined.”
I laugh and give his shoulder a little push. “Stop.”
His face is somber for a minute. Still a handsome man, same dark hair and blue eyes like the Parker brothers, but his hair also has some streaks of gray and the lines around his eyes tell me that he’s had years of happy times. “Can we go inside and talk?”
“Yeah. Come in.” I hold the door open for him while he expertly manipulates the chair into my small space.
I push the chair as far as it will go into the corner and sit down opposite him. Waiting for his eyes to finish analyzing my home.
“You’ve somehow turned a cheap motel room into a really nice place. I like it.”
“Thank you.” My voice betrays the confidence I’m feigning by sitting up straight and looking into his eyes.
“It was never your fault. Nothing was your fault.”
I hang my head in shame . . . in guilt, regret, embarrassment.
“There was not one single moment that me or anybody else put any of the consequences on you. I survived. I came out a little different than I was before, that’s all.”
I finally look up at him, and he gives me a tight smile.
“I’m sorry. For . . . everything. Calling Brandon ins
tead of the police first, dropping the phone and drawing attention to myself, fighting him, you getting shot, me running . . . I’m just sorry for it all. I thought I was doing the right thing.” I pause and grab his hands. “He threatened me. Right after he shot you. I was scared. I did what I thought was right.”
He pats my hand. “I know you did. And I also know about your parents.”
I nod. “I always figured you did.” One of the secrets I kept from Brandon was that I overheard his dad talking about my parents on the phone one time. He was using police lingo, so I only assumed. Turns out, I was right.
“What you didn’t figure was that I was just waiting for the right time.”
“What do you mean?”
“Mary, I’d been investigating them for years. Knew everything. But we were waiting for a break.” He releases my hand and raps his fists on the handles of his wheelchair. “They got away, though. Your parents. We were waiting until Scott Smith messed up, then we were going to bring them all in. But they got away, and Smith flew under our radar until that night.” He presses his lips together and shakes his head in disgust. “I was the one who messed up, Mary. I never should have let you go back to that house. I should have had you living with us. It’s my fault.”
I slink back in the chair and process what he just told me. He knew. And not only that but he was investigating them.
“And I also never would have forced you to go back there. Despite what I told Brandon, I would have let you stay over anytime. I liked when you stayed over ‘cause I knew you were safe. I was doing what I thought best for you by pretending I didn’t know. I was afraid if your parents caught wind of it, they’d take you away.”
“Steve. That’s . . .” I grab my hair and pull the elastic band out then gather my hair and put it back up, giving myself a moment to gather my thoughts. “I had no idea it went that far. But please don’t blame yourself. It was all my parents.”
He points at me and his smile is infectious. “You listen to your own advice, missy. I won’t feel guilty if you won’t. Then we can all move on and put the past where it belongs. Deal?”
