Not For Sale

by Tasha Fawkes

  Our lovemaking was frantic, hurried, and deep. She pulled me closer, surged her hips upward with every thrust, trying to pull me deeper and deeper inside. I braced my weight now on my hands on either side of her shoulders, looking down to where we were joined, watching our hips meet, pause and then pull apart. I glanced away, saw her breasts bouncing with our rhythm, and surged deeper.

  In a matter of seconds, her face flushed deeply, she closed her eyes and threw her head back, and I did the same as I felt my climax burgeoning. She gave a low mewl and then I felt her inner muscles contracting against my dick, and only then did I let myself go.

  I’d never felt such a powerful orgasm, and the sensations continued to pulse through me as I felt the hot surge of liquid pulsating along my dick and then the release.

  I rode the waves of my climax, amazed at how powerful and quickly I had reached the moment. Ever so slowly, the pulsations ebbed and I collapsed down onto her, still nestled deep inside, her own rhythmic contractions slowly ebbing.

  Only then, gasping for breath, my heart pounding, did I feel Megan suddenly stiffen beneath me.

  The moment was over. Now we had to face the repercussions of our deed.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Megan

  I lay in bed later that evening, staring up at the ceiling, sleep eluding me. To say that I was still struggling with what had happened between us was an understatement. The understatement of the year. I had always had feelings for Scott, and perhaps even back in high school I had fallen in love with him. And now?

  My body thrummed with sensations every time I thought of him, hovering naked over me in the bed at the B&B, his muscles rippling, the half-lidded eyes, pupils dilated with desire, his cock; hard, engorged, veins on its surface elongated and throbbing with the pulse of his own desire. The feeling of him sliding inside, filling me with his length. It was something I had fantasized about most of my younger years, but then, after my dad died, other more important things filled my mind. Like surviving.

  I couldn’t shake the feeling of guilt that hovered over me, not on my shoulder, but definitely hovering. He was spoken for. He was engaged. He wasn’t dating me. He had made no mention of a future for us together. And yet… and yet, I felt like I needed to… felt compelled to, take advantage of any moments I could have with him. I recalled that animated movie about the dinosaurs, where this… I didn’t even know what kind of animal it was supposed to be, said, ‘You complete me’… silly I knew, but that’s how I felt about Scott.

  I’d not had a serious relationship since him, and that hadn’t even been a relationship. We were best friends, though I’d always wanted more. A lot more. But back then, I knew that Scott wasn’t ready to commit.

  And now?

  It seemed Scott still struggled with commitment. To Kristin. To me. Even with all his faults, and didn’t we all have them? I loved Scott Holbrook. I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t stop it. I had tamped it down, so deep down for so long that I hadn’t thought I’d ever be in this kind of a situation.

  The moment I had seen him sitting behind that desk when I went in for my interview had triggered a resurgence of nostalgia, of better times, happier times. Right down to my nipples, my groin, my heart, my body had felt suffused with heat and joy and relief. I had been so proud of myself for hiding my true feelings, but how much longer could I stay silent? I thought I had been doing a pretty good job of keeping my long buried feelings for him hidden over the past days.

  Maybe not. He had acted on his own: no signals, glances, no suggestive remarks coming from my direction. So, what was going on in his head? Did he love me, or was I just an easy lay for him? At itch to scratch?

  Making love with Scott was something that I had never imagined would happen. I wasn’t sorry for that. I wasn’t sorry about it at all. It had been wonderful, and I didn’t regret any second of what we’d experienced together.

  What I was sorry about was the circumstances of our coupling.

  Such an old-fashioned word, but apropos. And with that came another more somber realization. I caught my breath as realization dawned. I was “the other woman”. I would be the one viewed as the homewrecker. The interloper. The seductress. The slut. The bitch who ruined everything.

  But that wasn’t me! I loved Scott—I knew that now. I had always loved him. No more pretending. But who else would see it that way? Not Kristin. Not her friends and family. Not Scott’s dad. And what about Scott? What did he think? What was he thinking about me at this moment?

  I sighed, the ceiling absorbing my sighs. I was the other woman. The fling.

  But was I really? Was it possible that Kristin was the fling? And not even a fling. Since the beginning I had suspected that everything about their relationship wasn’t exactly… normal, but I hadn’t seen this coming.

  I should’ve known better and it was wrong. In essence—in truth—Scott and I were cheating on Kristin, but that moment, when he turned to me with that look in his eyes, that connection I had felt so deep inside, the resurgence of my sexual desire for him, had blown everything else out of the water. I ached for him. Not only my body, but my mind. The moment he kissed me, all thoughts of Kristin and those niggling feelings of self-doubt and recrimination had disappeared.

  I wasn’t exactly proud of myself, but I had to admit that the sex between us was—to fall back on another cliché—earthshattering and mind blowing, to put it mildly. And to be quite honest, if I had the chance to do it again, I would. In a heartbeat. That’s how much I wanted to be with Scott. Not just my body, but my head—my memories, my sense of peace and satisfaction with life when I was around him. It had always been that way. He’d always been so stolid, so strong. So attuned to my emotions and senses.

  But my logical, rational brain told me repeatedly that I had had no right. I had no excuse for agreeing to sleep with him. At the vineyard, when I realized what he implied, I could’ve simply shaken my head, demurred, and reminded him of his engagement to Kristin. I could’ve told him it wasn’t right, that we shouldn’t… but I had simply nodded.

  And to be honest with myself, I knew that if the opportunity—situation—came up in the future, I should turn him down. But would I?

  So, my thoughts kept me awake. I wasn’t sure if I was disappointed in myself. I knew I should be, but at the moment, I wasn’t, not really. After all, making love with Scott was something that I had longed for seemingly forever. I knew that what I felt in my heart was true. But ethically and morally? Well, that was a question for psychologists, not my heart. Nevertheless, I knew that if my mom found out, she’d have a thing or two to say about it. She might even be disappointed in me. So, I determined that she wouldn’t.

  I kept returning to the moments where we had lain in bed after our wild, intense, and emotionally and physically jarring session of hot, steamy sex. It was as if both of us had been starving. For what, I wasn’t sure. Affection? Or had it been basic instinctual, sexual desire? It had to have been more than that, didn’t it?

  After our near frenzied first lovemaking session, Scott had made several comments, one whispered, so low that I had barely caught the words. I thought he whispered that he wanted to be with me. His tone had been wistful. As much as I wanted to hear those words, and believe them, I couldn’t help but wonder if he was possibly using me as a substitute for the affection he apparently wasn’t receiving in his relationship with Kristin.

  Could that be it? Could I have just served as a convenient distraction, playing a lustful role as a means for him to retain his last days as a bachelor before he married her? Would any woman have filled this void he felt, or was it truly me? Megan Bryan whom he desired?

  Another issue niggled at the base of my brain, despite my attempts to stomp it down. If Scott was screwing around on his fiancée, then what did that say about Scott? Was he just a jerk, or was he a man in pain, a man lost, a man cast adrift without an anchor to stabilize him. Did it matter? Did it really matter that he’d screwed me, despite my feelings for hi
m, and not a hooker or some skank he’d picked up at the local bar? Cheating was cheating. Period.

  It was questions like these, not to mention my memory of every moment we had spent together at the winery, that had me lying awake until after three o’clock in the morning. I decided that the only way to get some answers was to come right out and ask him what the hell was going on.

  I wasn’t going to be the other woman. I wasn’t going to be a convenient one-night stand, his fuck-buddy, nor did I have any intention of becoming a mistress.

  If only things were that simple.

  ***

  It was four o’clock the following afternoon when Scott met me at the diner in my neighborhood. I knew there was no chance that Kristin would be in the area, and I didn’t want to be seen talking to Scott in or around his house or his neighborhood. Kristen had told me yesterday that she had some things to do this afternoon with her mother down near San Diego, so she wouldn’t need me today, though I was to continue following up on arrangements, making appointments and blah, blah, blah.

  I had arrived at the diner first, unlike the first time I had met Scott here. I sat in a corner booth, able to look out my window and those along the front of the diner. I watched cars drive by, pedestrians in pairs or alone, each with their own lives, their own problems, their own worries. I felt nervous. It wasn’t that I was embarrassed as much as I just wasn’t sure where I stood in all this. As I—there… I saw Scott walk around the corner up ahead and wait at the stop light. He must have parked in the lot by the library just around that corner. Then he crossed the street, glancing in the direction of the diner. My heart gave a traitorous leap of excitement. Shit. I couldn’t allow myself these emotions. He was engaged. He was soon to be a married man, and a father no less.

  Sobered, tamping down my selfishness, I decided then and there that regardless of his answers to my questions, I had to put an end to this. Unless he broke up with Kristin, we had to put an end to this. It had just gotten started, physically at least, but we couldn’t let it happen again.

  He brushed inside the diner, a miniature bell tinkling over the door at his entrance. He cast his gaze over the patrons and then found me sitting in the corner. He smiled and made his way toward me. I glanced down at the diet sodas. I had ordered one for him too, the outside of the glass oozing drops of moisture as he sat down. We stared at each other for several moments.

  “Are you all right?”

  I nodded. What had prompted that question? The sex hadn’t been that rough—and then I realized he was asking about my mental status, not my physical state of being. I felt the heat of a flush travel up into my cheeks.

  “You wanted to see me.”

  It wasn’t a question. I couldn’t tell what he might be thinking. “I’m fine.” Such inane comments, like awkward strangers. And yet we kind of were, weren’t we? A lot of water had traveled under our bridges in the past decade. I reached for my glass, clasped it tightly so it wouldn’t slip and lifted it to my lips, ignoring the slight trembling of my hand. I took a sip, relishing the bubbles as they slid down my throat and calmed me. I decided to jump right in.

  He didn’t touch his glass. Mine returned to the table. I briefly glanced out the window and then back at him while he waited for me to speak.

  “Scott, I have a couple of questions for you.” He nodded. “I need complete and total honesty here, understood?”

  He frowned, leaned back in the booth and nodded again. “Of course, Megan. What is it?”

  “Why did you sleep with me?”

  His eyes widened in surprise, and he offered a tentative smile. My heart skipped a beat, but I viciously tamped it down.

  “You really need to ask?”

  I nodded. “Was it just to keep me sticking around? So that I wouldn’t quit? Working for Kristin so that we could… well, you know.”

  He said nothing for several moments, his gaze lingering on my face to the point I felt another flush warming my cheeks. He swallowed, once, then again, before he opened his mouth to speak. He abruptly changed his mind, fingering the silverware on the napkin in front of him on the faux-wood Formica tabletop.

  “Is it what you wanted? A quickie before you tied the knot with Kristin?” I didn’t say the words harshly, but nevertheless, they prompted a reaction.

  “Not at all, Megan,” he said, his voice strained. “Not at all. You have to believe that.”

  I wanted to soften, really I did, but for the moment, I had to maintain an emotional distance. “I do?”

  He winced and fiddled with the collar of his polo shirt as he heaved a heavy sigh. Even from across the table, I felt a sudden sense of frustration emanating from him. He closed his eyes, but when he opened them, I saw uncertainty and confusion.

  “I suppose you have a right to know, especially after what happened at the winery.” He glanced out the window and back.

  I waited, striving for patience. My heart pounded. I lowered my hands into my lap so he wouldn’t see them trembling.

  “I’m telling you right now that I don’t apologize for that,” he said quietly. “I wouldn’t take that memory back for all the money in the world.”

  I felt uncertain. What was happening? His hesitance triggered the beginning of a hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach. “Scott, what is it?”

  “Well, in a nutshell, my dad has blackmailed me into marrying Kristin.”

  I sat stunned. I frowned, swallowed, and waited for my heart to stop pounding. It was difficult to sit still. My pulse quickened, and not in a good way. I felt sick to my stomach. “What?”

  “I don’t love her, Megan. In fact, most of the time I don’t even like her.”

  “Then why in the hell are you marrying her?” I hissed, striving to keep my voice low though I wanted to shout. “Scott, what the hell?”

  He sighed heavily, shaking his head as he stared down at the table. His voice softened with regret and recrimination. Finally, he continued, his voice low. “A few months ago, I was out drinking with Craig. I bumped into her at a bar…”

  I didn’t need more explanation than that. Scott had always been one to take advantage of… opportunities.

  “I’ve known Kristin—distantly—for a long time. Her dad and my dad have been business partners for years. Anyway, we bumped into each other, I had one drink too many, she provided the invitation and…”

  I said nothing. I felt bad for him, really I did, but for any guy to think with his dick and not his head, while—

  “Anyway, about a few weeks later, she walked into my office and told me she was pregnant. I told her that if the baby proved to be mine, I would be more than happy to provide support, but as it turned out, she went to my dad. Basically, he told me I would marry her or he cut me off.”

  “What?” I gasped again. This I couldn’t understand. For Scott, the stakes were much higher. From his perspective, losing a multimillion dollar—probably more like a billion-dollar inheritance—was probably the worst thing in the world that could happen to you.

  “I have no choice, Megan—”

  I interrupted. “Of course, you have a choice!” I gasped. “But you’re choosing to be miserable hobbled to a woman you don’t love for the sake of your inheritance?”

  “It’s not just that anymore.”

  His fingers idly turned the sweating soda glass around and around on the table, much like I had done the last time we were here.

  “Like I said, I don’t have much of a choice. I did it and now I have to do the responsible thing. I got her pregnant. I refuse to become like my father, running away from responsibilities. Like he did with my mother.”

  I hearkened back to our high school days and remembered that Scott had followed his dad on more than one occasion, caught him, or at least spied on him, sleeping with a myriad of other women. Mistresses, hookers, casual pick-ups from bars… I could understand such feelings. I could even think it honorable for Scott to want to take responsibility for knocking the woman up, but—

  �
��I’m sorry I slept with her.” He looked up. “But I’m not sorry for sleeping with you. I do apologize if I hurt you, though. It was selfish of me, and I… I should know better by now.”

  I still couldn’t believe it. All of it. It seemed fishy to me. “Are you sure you’re the father?”

  He shrugged. “Not one-hundred percent, but the timing is right.”

  “What about a paternity test?”

  He nodded. “That was my first thought too, but I’ve been advised to wait until the baby’s born for safety’s sake.”

  I frowned. “Advised by whom?”

  “I called her doctor and then I made some other calls on my own.” He offered a slight shrug. “While it can be done, there is a risk. I don’t want to risk any harm to a developing baby whether it’s mine or not.”

  “And you can’t schedule the wedding until after the baby is born?”

  He shook his head. “Not if I want to keep my inheritance.”

  “What’s the rush? People shack up with kids all the time.” I didn’t know what to think. He didn’t respond for several moments.

  “I won’t blame you, and I will understand if you want to leave,” he finally spoke. “If you want to quit like you wanted to do the night of the engagement party, I’ll let you go. Believe me, Megan, I wouldn’t blame you a bit. I know how difficult Kristin can be. And after what we did at the winery… well, I can’t let that happen again.”

  So in essence, he was on the same page as me, but hearing the words come from his lips and not mine felt… disappointing. I felt an instant surge of pain, but then realized he was right. We shouldn’t have done it, but there was no going back now. I didn’t want to be ‘the other woman’. As difficult as it would be, I decided that it would be for the best.

  “I’ve reassessed my decision to quit working for Kristin,” I said quietly. “I’ll see this through to the end. But you’re right, we can’t have a repeat of the vineyard.”