by Jess Bentley
Chester peeks in through the bathroom door. “Janie I... holy shit, girl, you are drop-dead gorgeous in that dress. Um…” he blinks, and then remembers what he’s here for, “there’s this man that wants to see you…”
My heart stops for a moment. Chester has the door opened just enough that I can see a face behind and above him.
“Yeah,” Chester says when he sees my open mouth and wide eyes. “Hey, Toia! Let’s go sneak a cocktail off the bar.”
Toia holds up a finger, and pulls a pin from between her lips. “Almost,” she says. “Everyone… just… hold… there.” She stands back to look me over, and bids me turn one way and then the other. Finally, she smiles, and mutters something in a foreign language. Maybe Russian. She speaks three other languages, so who knows? “Beautiful,” she says quietly.
“I agree,” my father says as Chester lets him into the room.
“You made it.” The words catch in my throat. Chester and Toia leave us alone. “I wasn’t sure you would.”
“Your, ah… father-in-law managed to get me here.”
“Reginald?” I want to laugh, and I almost do. “Wow.”
For a long moment, we just stare at one another. I’m six years old again, just for a few heartbeats.
He looks me over, and his eyes settle on my belly. “So, it’s a girl?”
I had been waiting to tell him. Someone must have gotten to him first. Probably Chester. He can’t keep his mouth shut about anything. “It’s a girl.”
“I don’t want mess up your dress, so maybe — ”
I’m off the little podium Toia had me standing on, my arms around my father, before he can finish the sentence. The smell of him fills my nose and memories cascade through my head. Sitting on his lap. Getting into his car after school. Burying a goldfish and crying into his shirt when the deed is done.
“I missed you so much.” The tears are going to mess up my makeup, but I don’t care. Toia’s some kind of makeup sorceress; she can fix it.
“I missed you, too, baby girl,” Dad says, holding me tight.
Eventually, he lets me go, and I let him go.
“I met Jake,” he says. “His, ah… driver picked me up from the airport. Seems like he’s head over heels about you. How are you feeling about all this?”
Nervous laughter takes me over. “Yeah. How am I feeling? That’s a good question. I have no idea, honestly.”
He chuckles with me, and nods slowly. “That’s about right.”
“Did you bring me back any wisdom from France?” I ask him hopefully. About now, I’d take a fortune cookie.
“Ah… well, in France they say that ‘love is the dawn of marriage, and marriage is the sunset of love.’” He smiles ruefully. “Does that help?”
“Are all French proverbs nihilistic?” I ask him.
Dad laughs, and shrugs. “Pretty much.”
“Then how about your own advice?”
He’s thoughtful for a moment. “You’ll have to try. Every day. No matter what comes up, you can never stop trying. Because if you do…” he breathes, and blinks rapidly before clearing his throat. “It takes work. Between any two people. But I think you’re probably up to the task.”
It’s good enough. Work is something I understand. Better than another bit of gloomy French “wisdom.” My nerves actually do settle down just a bit.
There’s a knock at the door. “Almost time, babe,” Chester says. “You ready?”
“Almost,” I call back. “Um… Dad, since you’re here, do you think I could ask you to do me a favor?”
“Sure, Janie,” he says. “Anything.”
Ten minutes later, the music starts. The doors open. All eyes are on me, and I can see Jake at the altar, his mouth falling open.
I hook my arm in my father’s elbow. It’s an old, outdated tradition. Total bullshit. Like he’s giving me away? You don’t give away a daughter, you give away cattle.
And yet, there’s a flutter in my stomach as we step out into the aisle together and he walks in step with me and damn it, Toia just fixed my makeup. She used the waterproof stuff, at least. It’ll last.
The ceremony is short and sweet. We’re both eager for Barbados, where we will live in bliss for two beautiful weeks after this affair is over and done with. But before that, we both have a few things to say.
“Janie Hall,” Jake breathes, just as nervous as I am, “I stand by what I said two months ago. I don’t deserve you. But I promise that I will always work, hard, to be the best man that I can possibly be. I will love you and keep you in my heart — you and our daughter — first and foremost above all other things and all other people. You have made me a better man, and I will spend the rest of my life repaying that debt.”
I can barely speak, and it takes me a moment to catch my breath.
You can do this, Janie Hall.
“Jacob Ferry,” I begin, my hands shaking in his. “I promise you that I will be… difficult, at the best of times.” The assembled guests chuckle at that, and I wait for it to pass. Jake is smiling. “I’m used to charting my own course in life, alone. I thought that I had it all planned out, too. And then… well, things got a little derailed. I know that we will have more ups and downs. I know that we will have to work hard. But I promise you that I will never stop working, never stop trying. I love you, Jake Ferry. And I will love only you, from this day until my last.”
There isn’t a dry eye in the place. I feel my attention being pulled back to the audience and my mother is looking at me, with something akin to real pride in her eyes. She’s not only proud of me, but there’s something else there. Is she proud of herself? Relieved? I just want my mother to be all right. She’s flanked by my twin brothers, and holding one of their hands each. It’s only then that I realize that her plus one is a minus one: George isn’t here. Could that mean he’s gone?
“You may kiss the bride,” the officiant says, and I’m thrown back into the moment and subsumed in Jake’s eyes, as he leans in to me and his lips meet mine for one slow, electric moment. It’s not a deep kiss, it’s very chaste compared to our kisses in the past, but the feeling behind it is stronger and more loving than ever. It says so many things: I’m going to do my best for you. I’m not changing for you, but I am healing for you. Your love is bringing me back to the person that I was before life took me and changed me.
When we walk back down the aisle hand in hand, the congregation standing, their hearts joining us, I’m as excited as I’ve ever been. But I want to be sure my mother is all right. Sure, she had pride in her eyes, but the pride was fragile. New. Why is George gone? Is he gone for good? Or just sitting out the wedding?
As we lay in bed together for the first time as husband and wife, Jake looks at me, and again it seems like his eyes open up, that layers of pain have been washed away somehow. His body melts into mine, and one strong arm holds me while the other traces circles on my eager skin. He kisses me, tenderly, but with fire this time, and it threatens to consume me. I feel it building inside me too and soon we are sitting up, hands clinging, grasping, touching. Our mouths are voracious, tasting, licking, kissing whatever part we can reach.
As he kisses my neck, and my shoulder, it feels as if my neck and shoulder are kissing him, just as my mouth is. His lips trail down to my breasts and he takes each hard nipple in between his teeth and runs his tongue over them, and the fire burns hotter. One hand snakes its way between my legs to my slit, and easily slides in between my slippery folds. I groan as he moves his fingers inside me as the heel of his hand presses against my throbbing clit. I reach for him as well, eager to wrap my fingers around that rigid, thick, heavy cock. The warmth and softness of the stretched skin is matched only by the hardness of him, and I gratefully squeeze the proof of his desire as he moans deeply.
“Janie,” he grunts. “Fuck me now. I have to be inside you.”
“Yes,” I whisper, and climb on top of him. I lower myself onto his hard shaft, each inch stretching and filling me until I’m
whole with him. “I love you,” I breathe as he bucks softly inside me. Our eyes meet and he quickens his pace until we’re both sweating, contorted, crying out. When he’s ready to come, he lifts me with his hands and slides me down his cock slowly and tantalizingly until he shoots inside, and the warm wetness fills me over and over and I come around his cock.
It’s as close as I’ve felt to another human being.
”I love you, Janie, you know that?” His eyes search mine, intent and grave. “Never forget that. And I’m going to do everything I can to earn your love for keeps.”
“You have it,” I say, and slide off him to occupy the space beside him on the bed. “You’re my husband now.”
His eyes close and he touches my skin softly, running his hand along my arm and side. My skin gathers to his touch, goosebumps rising as he strokes me.
As we lay there in the afterglow I wonder about my mother again.
“I wonder where George was?” I say. “I didn’t want to ask mom at the wedding.”
“Yeah he didn’t make it, did he?” He turns his head to look at me.
“You didn’t do anything, did you?” I ask suddenly.
He laughs. “No. But it’s still a good thing, right? In fact, maybe we should offer your mother one of the guest houses so she’s not so dependent on George in the first place.”
My heart leaps. “Do you mean it?”
“Of course!” he says. “I want you to be happy, and when you worry about her, you’re not. If we have her close, with a good security system — ”
“And a support system,” I interrupt.
“Yes, and a support system,” he says, “she’ll know that she’s not at the mercy of a guy like George. And she can get all the care she needs.”
I snuggle close to him. “I knew deep down you were the man for me,” I say. I breathe in his scent, filling my nose with him, and let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”
“Thank you for making my life complete,” he answers softly, and I feel ready to take on the world.
BOSSY
Copyright © 2017 by Jess Bentley
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Chapter 1
JAYSON
I look up from my laptop at the sound of Sophie and Harper giggling loudly. Again. How can a man get any work done with those two carrying on? I’m about to chew them out when their conversation catches my attention.
“…has an excellent pre-med program, but they’re in Virginia. Maybe I should go to a university somewhere around New York City. William & Mary is so far away.”
“You’ll be fine, if that’s where you decide to go,” says Harper. “Selfishly, I’d rather have you in New York, but you have to do what’s best for you no matter what anyone says.”
“NYU has a good pre-med program too.” Sophie nibbles on her lower lip, clearly undecided. “And you? Are you going to NYU in the fall?”
As I’m listening for Harper’s answer, I click some random keys into the search bar so she won’t know I’m eavesdropping on their conversation. “I’m not sure. I might return to Adamsville and finish my botany degree, or I could go to another school. Maybe a couple of universities around New York.” Harper shrugs. “My decision depends on your decision.”
“Would you be happy at Adamsville?” asks Sophie. “You said it was an all-girls’ school, full of girls you don’t have anything in common with anymore.”
“Which is exactly why I’m thinking about other options,” says Harper, ruffling Sophie’s glossy black hair.
“Quit it,” says the girl, a hint of whining in her voice. “You know I hate when you do that.”
I allow my attention to return to the laptop, letting their conversation fade into the background. The words on the screen blur, and I realize it’s hopeless. I can’t concentrate. I planned to finish this project before we landed on the island, so that I could fully enjoy this vacation, but the girls are so distracting.
I snap the laptop shut and turn to stare out the window of the Satyros jet. In truth, it’s not the girls who are distracting me. It’s Harper. Harper, who is most definitely not a girl. Her body with its new soft curves, the full breasts that could so easily fit into my palm. Her messy bun, which she put up carelessly and still fell so perfectly around her face. Her flaring hips, her round ass in the soft blue jeans she wears.
I imagine running my fingertips over the soft seams of her back pockets, as I pull her close. Maybe grip her belt and jerk it against me so she can feel how hard I am from just looking at her. Her green eyes would darken with passion just before I press my mouth to hers to taste those sinfully full, pink lips.
I groan softly, doing my best to wipe the images from my mind. It’ll never happen. Harper will never be in my bed, because she treats me with friendly distance and nothing else.
My wife.
I brood about that word. It’s maddening. Sure, Harper is my wife in name only, but for months now I’ve been wondering how stupid I was for marrying her when I can’t touch her. I can pinpoint the exact night when I suddenly realized my wife was an attractive, desirable woman: we were at a party for some charity function, and she was wearing a stunning red dress. The silk caressed her curves, making me notice just how much she has changed in the three years since we were married. Harper went from an unsophisticated college girl to a polished, poised woman. My woman.
Except she’s not my woman. Our marriage is going to end in three months. The end of summer. Sophie will head off to university, and Harper and I will go our separate ways. The whole goddamned plan was my idea, after all. We even signed a contract, to make everything official.
What a moron I’d been.
Harper, unsurprisingly, is preparing to move on. I’ve known for a while now. In fact it’s hard to miss, with various college catalogs appearing here and there around the apartment. She’s checking property in the boroughs, and I even watched over her shoulder one night as she surfed Craigslist and other proper furniture stores, adding different things to her wish list.
She clearly has no doubts about ending this farce of a marriage. For me, the business deal is simply coming to a close. She fulfilled her part, and I have to do the same.
I groan softly again, but this time it’s at the idea of letting her go. I never go back on my word, but the idea of letting Harper walk out of my life pains me. She’s my wife. And I’ve finally figured out what I wanted from her, just in time for her to become my ex-wife.
No.
I won’t allow it. I want her. I want the wedding night we should have had, the one I deprived us of, along with three years’ worth of lost nights.
Somehow, I have to find a way to make Harper want to stay.
Chapter 2
Harper
This is the first summer anyone from Jayson’s family came to the island since the jet crashed three years ago. It’s been even longer since I set foot on the soft, white sand of the beaches here, but it’s Sophie I worry about. On the flight to the island, she was calmer than either I or Jayson expected. The last time she’d flown that route, the plane crashed. And poor Sophie was the sole survivor.
I’ve been trying to keep her attention focused anywhere but the travel. Being on the island has to bring back overwhelming memories. How could it be any different?
Our conversations mostly revolve around college, because Sophie’s so excited about it. I’m excited for her too, of course. I’m happy knowing she’s not such a little girl anymore. But if I’m honest, it does hurt a little knowing I’m not needed for much longer.
Sure, I might be too young to be Sophie’s mother, but I’ve acted the role for the past three years. Some of it has sunk in.
The one shining light about Sophie becoming more independent is that this means
the sham marriage to Jayson is coming to an end.
Finally, I can get on with my life and build a new one. I just want to find a man to hold me in his arms at night and warm my empty bed. I might even have babies of my own, one day. The thought of that, at least, lessens the sting of Sophie growing up.
I ignore the small voice in the back of my head that whispers a suggestion for the as-yet-unknown husband. Someone with nearly black eyes and the longest lashes ever. I turn my attention to Sophie, putting my arm around her waist. She’s too tall now for me to sling an arm around her neck like I used to do. “Are you okay?”
Sophie nods and smiles bravely, though there are traces of sadness on her face. “I’d forgotten how beautiful the island is.”
“Me too.” A collection of elegant, ancient buildings line the hills of the island leading up to the summit, where one villa stands alone — the Satyros home. Together, we walk across the sand from the landing strip, toward the waiting car. The villa is a couple of miles away, but even from this distance, it’s visible. Up close, it’s even more magnificent, with pale walls and a red tiled roof. The grounds are immaculate, and I can’t wait to explore it and dig my fingers into the earth. I miss the feel of soil between my fingers, though Jayson’s never been too keen about me gardening. When I asked about making a small garden at his New York home, he coldly pointed out more duties to keep me busy, leaving no time for such things. A few indoor houseplants in my room had to do. Succulents, a leggy pothos, and an orchid that I was waiting to bloom had to be enough.
Sophie slides into the car first, and I go after her. A sound of surprise escapes me when Jayson sits down beside me, instead of taking the seat across from us. When he makes no move, I scoot closer to Sophie. He follows. Gritting my teeth, I tell myself the ride will be over quickly.
