Forever an Eaton: Bittersweet LoveSweet Deception

by Rochelle Alers

  Her hands came down, her fingertips biting into the muscle and sinew covering his shoulders. Her body was throbbing, between her legs was thrumming an ancient rhythm that forced her to move.

  “Griffin! Please stop.” Her whispered entreaty became a litany of desperation. “Don’t torment me.”

  Griffin pressed a lingering kiss to Belinda’s quivering thighs. He couldn’t believe she was begging him not to torment her when that’s exactly what she’d been doing for thirteen years. Well, he was going to end the torment—for both of them.

  He positioned his rigid flesh at the entrance to her femininity. Like a heat-seeking missile locked on its target, he eased his sex into Belinda, registering the gasps against his ear. It was his turn to gasp when the walls of her vagina closed tightly around him, holding him captive in a sensual vise from which he didn’t want to escape.

  Griffin pushed gently, in and out, setting a strong thrusting rhythm Belinda followed easily.

  He pushed.

  She pushed back.

  He rolled his hips.

  She rolled her hips.

  Still joined, Griffin went to his knees, slipped his hands under her hips and lifted her legs off the mattress. Together they found a tempo that bound their bodies together, making them one.

  Belinda stared up at her lover, awed by the carnal expression on his face as she felt his sex swell, becoming harder and plunging deeper into her once-chaste body. She and Griffin had become man and woman, flesh against flesh. He’d become her lover and she his. The flutters began softly, growing more intense and seeking an escape.

  “Griffin!”

  She screamed his name in strident desperation, making the hair on the back of Griffin’s neck stand up. Heat, followed by chills and another swath of heat shook him from head to toe, finally settling at the base of his spine. He affected a slow, rocking motion that escalated to powerful thrusts punctuated with groans overlapping moans of ecstasy when Belinda and Griffin succumbed to a shared passion and they surrendered all they were to each other.

  Collapsing on the slender body beneath him, Griffin waited for his breathing to return to normal at the same time Belinda’s breath came in long, surrendering moans. She was exquisite—in and out of bed.

  Belinda pushed against Griffin’s shoulder in an attempt to get him to move off her. “Darling, you’re crushing me.”

  Rolling off her, Griffin reversed their positions, sandwiching her legs between his. He smiled up at her moist face. “Am I really your darling?”

  She offered him a small, demure smile. “Yes. But that’s because I’m your baby.”

  A soft chuckle rumbled in his broad chest. “That you are.”

  Belinda sobered quickly. “If we’re going to sleep together, then I’m going on the Pill.”

  “You don’t trust me to protect you?”

  “It’s not about trust, Griffin. It’s personal. If I did become pregnant, then it becomes my responsibility.”

  Griffin didn’t have a comeback to her decision to take responsibility for contraception. It was her body, and he had no right to tell her what to do with her body. And, he also wanted Belinda to trust him—with her life and her future.

  “Are you sure?” he asked.

  Belinda nodded. “I’m very sure. I want to plan for my children. If and when I decide to start a family I’d like to get pregnant in the fall and deliver as close to the summer as possible. Then, I’ll have two to three months to bond with my baby before the start of the next school year.”

  Griffin stared at Belinda in disbelief. She was more anal that he’d originally thought. “What happens if you don’t get pregnant in the fall?”

  “I’ll wait and try again the following year.”

  He wanted to tell her that her view of family planning was asinine but didn’t want to say anything to jeopardize the fact that they’d taken their relationship to another level. Asinine or not, he loved Belinda, enough to agree to almost anything and everything she wanted.

  Belinda moved off Griffin’s body and lay beside him. Turning on her side, she settled back against him, enjoying the feel of his arm around her as she pressed her hips to his groin and they lay like two spoons. The slight ache between her legs was a reminder of certain muscles she hadn’t used in a long time. She emitted a soft sigh as she closed her eyes and shifted into a more comfortable position.

  “Are you all right?” Griffin’s breath swept over the nape of her neck.

  Belinda frowned. “I’m good. I’m really good.”

  “No flashbacks from yesterday?”

  Griffin hadn’t broached the subject of the school shooting because he wanted Belinda to open up to him on her own. But she hadn’t, and he feared she’d suppressed the horrific incident. He wanted and needed her to talk about it before their charges returned home. If Belinda had a meltdown in front of the girls, he feared it would prove damaging to their continuing emotional healing.

  “No. That’s not to say I won’t have nightmares later on.”

  “Do you plan to talk to a counselor?”

  “I don’t know. I’m praying I don’t lose it when classes resume.”

  “I think you should consider seeing a counselor.”

  “I don’t need one when I have you. I’ve revealed things to you about my past that I’ve never told anyone. And I’m counting on attorney-client privilege that you won’t repeat it.”

  Griffin laughed. “What goes on in the bedroom stays in the bedroom.”

  There came a prolonged silence, as Belinda mentally relived the two hours before the police negotiator was able to defuse what could’ve been a massacre if the student had panicked.

  “I was more afraid for the kid with the gun than for myself and the other students,” she said in a soft voice that Griffin had to strain to hear. “He had become a victim in a situation not of his choosing.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  “He’s what I call an outsider. He doesn’t fit in with the nerds or with the jocks. He was taken in by a boy who wanted him to shoot a female student because she wanted nothing more to do with him.”

  “If your school has metal detectors, then how did he get the gun past the security checkpoint?”

  “Someone passed it to him through the window. He must have lost his nerve because he fired shots at the ceiling and windows rather than at his intended target. After I called 911, I tried to convince him to throw the gun out the window. He started crying and fired off another round. We lay on the floor under desks until a SWAT team surrounded the school building and a police negotiator called the classroom and tried to convince him to release his hostages.”

  “How did it end?” Griffin asked.

  “He gave up his friend who’d set up the hit, then asked to speak to his mother. I don’t know what she said to him, but he removed the clip from the gun and tossed both out the window. The police stormed the classroom like marines hitting a beach, and that was more traumatizing than someone with a gun who hadn’t the nerve to step on a bug. I hope wherever he winds up that he’ll get some help.”

  Griffin splayed his fingers over her belly. “Let’s hope his parents can convince a judge that he’s not a criminal, but a troubled youth.”

  Turning over, Belinda stared at her lover. “He’s a good kid, and one of my best students. His mother is a single mother with five kids who works two jobs to keep her family together. Do you think you can—”

  Griffin stopped her when he put his hand over her mouth. “No, baby, I will not take on his case. I’m shaky at best when it comes to criminal law. What I’ll do is call a friend who’ll occasionally take pro bono cases to see if the boy has been appointed a public defender.”

  Belinda trailed her fingers down Griffin’s smooth chest to his belly and still lower to the flaccid flesh be
tween his muscular thighs. “Thank you, darling.”

  Griffin felt his sex harden quickly when Belinda caressed him in an up-and-down motion. A swath of desire left him gasping as he struggled to force air into his lungs. Her hands and fingers worked their magic, squeezing and manipulating his erection until he feared spilling his passion on the sheets.

  Somewhere between the vestiges of sanity and insanity, he managed to extract her hand, slip on protection and entered Belinda in one, sure thrust of his hips. He rode her fast, hard and when they reversed positions Belinda, bracing her hands on his chest and thighs, took him to heights of passion he’d glimpsed but never experienced. It ended when they collapsed to the moist sheets, both struggling to breathe.

  Belinda stared at Griffin through half-lowered lids when he slipped off the bed to discard the condoms. She went into Griffin’s outstretched arms when he returned. They lay together, limbs entwined, and fell asleep.

  Chapter 10

  Belinda avoided watching television because she didn’t want to be reminded of the incident at her high school. Her mother had called to say reporters had come by when they were informed that the teacher whose classroom was under siege was the daughter of Dr. Dwight Eaton.

  Belinda, sitting on a high stool in Griffin’s kitchen, rolled her eyes even though Roberta couldn’t see her. “Mama, why is the media trying to turn this into a Columbine? And what the hell are they talking about when they said the school was under siege? I’m not attempting to minimize what happened but shouldn’t everyone be happy that no one was killed?”

  “Bullets and carnage sell newspapers and commercial airtime, not feel-good stories. You should know that, Lindy.”

  “I do, Mama.”

  “If you do, then you should know the entire country is looking at us, because most of the school shootings have been in rural areas, not a major urban city like Philly. What I’m afraid of is copycat idiots who want either their names in the paper or are looking for martyrdom. It seems as if there’re more fools out here than sensible folk.”

  “I think you’re right.”

  “I know I’m right, Lindy. Now, how are you getting along with Griffin?”

  “We’re good.”

  “I didn’t ask about Griffin. I asked about you, Belinda Jacqueline Eaton.”

  Belinda took in a quick breath. It wasn’t often her mother called her by her given name, and it was even rarer when she referred to her by her full name. “I’m getting along very well with him, thank you very much. In fact, we’re going out to dinner tonight.”

  “I’ve always liked Griffin. It always struck me as odd why he hasn’t settled down.”

  “Maybe you should ask him the next time you see him, Roberta Alice Stewart-Eaton.”

  A soft laugh came through the earpiece of Belinda’s cell phone. “Of all my children you were always the most vocal one, Lindy.”

  “Didn’t you raise your daughters to speak their minds?”

  “Yes, I did. Outspoken or not, I’d like to see you married so you can give me a few more grandchildren.”

  “It’s not going to happen, Mama, until Sabrina and Layla turn twenty-three.”

  “Twenty-three is not a magic number, Lindy. Things will begin to change next year when the girls turn thirteen and become young adults. Staying home with their mom and dad playing Scrabble or Uno will no longer hold their interest. It’ll be the mall, movies, the beach and sleep-overs. You’ll have to make an appointment just to see them once they start driving. After that it’ll be college, football games, fiancés and marriage. And where will you be? Sitting home waiting for someone to knock on the door to tell you that he’s the man you’ve spent your life waiting for? I don’t think so, Belinda.”

  Belinda couldn’t stop the smile spreading across her face. “I get your point, Mama.”

  “If that’s the case, then I’m going to hang up because my man is waiting to take me away for the weekend.” Roberta had cancelled Sunday dinner because her granddaughters were away.

  “Have fun, Mama, and tell Daddy if he can’t be good, then he should be careful.”

  “I will,” Roberta said, laughing. “Enjoy your night out.”

  “Thank you. Enjoy your weekend.”

  Belinda ended the call and slipped off the stool. She went still when she saw Griffin standing at the entrance to the kitchen. How long had he been there, and how much of the conversation with her mother had he overheard?

  She flashed a brittle smile. “I’m ready.”

  Griffin approached Belinda, his dark gaze unreadable. They’d spent the past three days “playing house.” They slept and took turns cooking. He’d returned to Philly to finalize the relocation of GR Sports Enterprises, Limited. All of the files were in cartons and labeled with their contents. He’d contracted with a bonded moving company, and the cartons were delivered earlier that morning. Griffin knew he had to go through every sheet of paper to ascertain what he would keep and what would be shredded.

  Unlike many sports attorneys and agents his client list was limited to six. It was a number he could manage without taking on a partner, and it permitted him the option of being very selective. There were athletes who’d solicited him to represent them and he’d turned them down—some because of a history of substance abuse or run-ins with the law, or those who wanted him to become a miracle worker when they requested astronomical salaries that were out of line. His baseball-attendance clause was legendary. If a ballplayer put fans in stadium seats, then they were guaranteed a share of the profits. He’d done well for his clients, and the money he earned from negotiating their contracts and endorsements afforded him a very comfortable lifestyle.

  “You look very chic.”

  Belinda nodded. “Thank you.”

  When Griffin informed her that he’d made dinner reservations at Barclay Prime, a popular steak house in Rittenhouse, the former neighborhood of Philadelphia’s blue bloods, she’d decided to wear a tailored light gray wool gabardine suit with a darker gray silk blouse. Her accessories were a single strand of pearls and matching studs in her pierced lobes. Griffin was drop-dead gorgeous in a chocolate-brown suit, white shirt and checked tie.

  He winked at Belinda. She wore the straighter, sleek hairstyle he favored because it made her appear more sophisticated, womanly. Whenever she affected the curly style her personality reflected her more playful side.

  Reaching for her hand, Griffin brought it to his lips, kissing her fingers before he tucked it into the bend of his elbow. “We have to leave now.” He’d had to work a minor miracle to secure a reservation on such short notice. He’d become a regular customer since he dined there with his clients, their friends and family members.

  Leaning into him, Belinda rested her forehead against his ear. “I have something to tell you,” she whispered cryptically.

  Griffin froze. Was she going to tell him what he’d been waiting to hear? Each time they made love he had to bite down on his lower lip to keep from blurting out that he’d fallen in love with her.

  He gave her a sidelong look. “What is it?”

  A mysterious smile played at the corners of her mouth. “I could very easily get used to playing house with you.”

  Griffin couldn’t help smiling. It wasn’t what he wanted to hear, but it was close enough. “I’m very happy to know that.”

  Belinda blinked once. “Do we have to stay in character while in public?”

  His smile faded. “What are you talking about?”

  “We’re going out together and how do you want me to relate to you? Am I a friend or something more?”

  “We are what we are.”

  “And what’s that, Griffin?”

  He glared at her. “We are lovers,” Griffin spat out, enunciating each word.

  * * *

  We are lovers.
The three words stayed with Belinda during the drive from Paoli and into Philadelphia, while Griffin parked his sport-utility vehicle in a garage on Chancellor Street, and it reminded her of their status when she and her lover were seated in the lounge waiting for a table.

  Griffin caressed her hair, smoothing wayward strands clinging to her cheek. “Have you ever dined here?”

  It hadn’t surprised Belinda that Griffin was on first-name basis with the maître d’ and waitstaff. She stared at a spot over his shoulder, refusing to look directly at him and still smarting from his brusque response to her query as to their status. It was Griffin who was the cause célèbre whom paparazzi photographed with actresses, models or recording artists.

  Fortunately for her, her fifteen minutes of fame was thwarted by the school superintendent’s refusal to disclose or verify the names of his teachers or students to the press, leading Belinda to believe it was a student or a parent who’d leaked her name.

  “No. This is my first time.”

  Resting an arm on the bar, Griffin stared at Belinda’s tight expression. “I’m sorry.”

  “For what, Griffin?” Belinda decided she wasn’t going to make it easy for him. She wasn’t going to establish a precedence of having him snap at her, only to apologize later when he didn’t have to use the tone from the onset.

  “I’m sorry for the way I spoke to you. I had no right—”

  “You better believe you had no right,” she countered. “I told you before I’ll not be talked down to or yelled at. Why is that so difficult for you to grasp?”

  “Dammit, Belinda! I said I was sorry. What do you want me to do, get on my knees?”

  Pursing her mouth and appearing deep in thought, Belinda gave him a direct stare. The sooty shadow on her eyelids made her eyes look seductive and mysterious. “No, Griffin. I don’t want you to crawl. It wouldn’t be good for your image.”

  “What image?”

  “Griff, darling. Is that you?”

  Belinda and Griffin turned at the same time to see a woman in a stretch-knit black dress that was at least two sizes too small for her voluptuous body. Her balance was compromised by four-inch stilettos, a platinum wig circa 1760 and breast augmentation; layers of nut-brown pancake makeup failed to conceal an outbreak of adult acne.