Message from a Mistress

by Niobia Bryant

  The crowd roared….

  Jaime came crashing back to reality as she free-fell through wave after wave of her climax. “Pleasure,” she gasped, her nipples hardened and thrusting as she worked her wrist to slide the dildo up and down along her walls.

  “Good God, I needed that,” she sighed in between pants as her heart thudded wildly.

  Jaime’s body slumped with pleasure-filled fatigue.

  As her walls continued to contract and release the rubber dick still deeply implanted within her, Jaime rolled over onto her side and clutched the pillow tightly before she fell asleep.

  Renee’s chin dropped to her chest. She jerked her head up and looked around wildly at her surroundings. “Huh? What?”

  She was sitting on the living room sofa with a bottle of Windex in one hand and paper towel in the other, dozing off. She shook her head at herself as she set the items on the table before rising to her feet.

  She had intended to complete her goal of cleaning her house, but the last thing she remembered was sitting down to free the glass insets of her wooden coffee table from fingerprints.

  Hard to do when she was drunk.

  Thankfully the nap had helped her. Renee leaned back. She had plenty she could be doing, but at that moment the big comfy sofa felt damn good.

  To hell with the chores.

  To hell with the report she had due.

  To hell with her BlackBerry and waiting on calls/e-mails/ texts that might or might not come through.

  To hell with preparing for a fish fry that might not happen because one of the bastards was leaving his wife.

  “No, not one of them. Me,” Renee said, remembering the look in Jackson’s eyes that morning.

  “We need to talk. We have to talk.”

  Renee knew she should be plundering Jackson’s things looking for clues, but she was afraid of what she would find.

  Ding-dong.

  Renee rose to her feet and made her way to the front door. She raked her fingertips through the short curly locks of her hair as she opened the door. “Hello, Arnie,” she greeted their tall white mailman of the last five years.

  “Howdy there, Mrs. Clinton,” he said, his voice amplified like he had a mic. “Got a package for you.”

  Renee stepped back as he set it on the floor just inside the house. “Thanks, Arnie,” she said, eyeing the large cardboard box. “It must be the clothes I ordered for my son.”

  “They never stop growing, do they?”

  “No, they sure don’t.”

  “Okay, have a good one,” he said with a brief wave before he turned and made his way down the walkway.

  “Um, Arnie,” Renee called out, following an impulse.

  “Mrs. Bell moved to—today,” she began as he turned around to face her.

  “Yes, ma’am, we got her change of address form weeks ago,” he said, using one bent finger to push his glasses up on his nose.

  Weeks ago, Renee’s brain screamed although she kept her face calm. She nodded. “Jessa always plans ahead. We’re going to miss her around here, but I know she’s going to love her new house. I can’t wait to visit her.”

  “Yeah, Saddle River is a really nice town,” he said.

  Renee’s heart soared to pick even that much info from the unsuspecting postal carrier. Thank God for living in a small town, she thought as she plotted a way to get her address.

  “I know when we went to visit her I was just blown by the whole area,” she said.

  “I’m not really familiar with the residential part, but my wife loves the mall there,” he said, placing his hands on his hips.

  “Oh my goodness! It makes Richmond Hills look like the projects…especially Jessa’s house!” Renee exclaimed, hoping she didn’t overdo it.

  “Well, I’m happy for Mrs. Bell,” he said. “I better get going.”

  Damn. “Okay, thanks, Arnie,” she called out to him, even as she grappled with the disappointment of not getting Jessa’s new address from him and feeling some relief because it would have meant deciding whether to hunt Jessa down.

  Renee closed the front door, leaving the box in the foyer, and she made her way to the bar. She eyed the dozens of bottles as she lightly bit down on the side of her thumb.

  Jessa Bell had moved to Saddle River, which was just thirty minutes away. The whore hadn’t run very far. In fact, it was close enough that they might run into each other at the right social events.

  Renee couldn’t imagine attending an event and having to sit by while her husband was there with another woman. Just as she knew she would never allow her children to go play “happy family” with their father and his mistress. N-E-V-E-R.

  Renee dropped her head into her hands because she wasn’t an ignorant twenty-year-old looking to give out baby mama drama, and she firmly understood that after a divorce she had no right to dictate to Jackson about where he took his children.

  She looked up at her reflection in the mirror behind the bar. “Surely Jackson wouldn’t try to take Aunt Jessa and make her Stepmama Jessa?”

  And that’s why she had so much more to lose and to deal with if Jackson was Jessa’s lover.

  Renee felt anxiety flood her. How embarrassing would that be, to stand at the doorstop and watch her teenage children climb into Jessa’s flashy car to head to their father’s love shack in Saddle River? “Oh, hell to the no,” she said, walking behind the bar to grab a bottle of Cîroc vodka.

  Renee carried that and a shot glass up the stairs to the bathroom. She poured and then downed two shots out of the never-opened bottle as she drew a bath. Stripping off her clothes, Renee sipped another shot as she studied her own reflection in the full-length mirror.

  “Not half bad for a mother of two teens,” she said with another sip as she turned and studied her tall and solid frame. She loved that the effects of her workout regime were evident in her toned arms, legs, and relatively flat abdomen.

  She jiggled her still firm and high breasts and circled her hips like a belly dancer. “Humph. I remember when all this had a Negro running,” she told herself, doing a little two steps as she sipped away.

  And she knew if Darren wasn’t gay that she could’ve whipped some of her skills on him and had that young man’s nose wide open.

  Darren.

  At times she forgot or belittled that she almost had an affair of her own.

  At times she forgot or diminished that Darren had turned her on from the first day he walked into her office for the interview.

  At times she forgot or blocked out that the only thing that saved her pussy from Darren was his homosexuality.

  Darren had been so fine and so much Renee’s type that she never wanted Jackson to meet him because she knew if he flat-out asked her about him that she might blush from head to toe.

  And so, knowing that as much as she loved Jackson, another man had drawn her attention and sparked her fire, then how could she not believe that another woman could do that for him?

  And how did that affect her ability to forgive him?

  Renee tipped her head back and swallowed the liquor with a wince. She was sick of all the questions. Sick of all the uncertainty.

  And as she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror with the shot glass still to her lips and filled with memories of lusting for her younger assistant, Renee was feeling particularly sick of herself.

  Aria stepped out of the bathroom stall and danced to the music thumping against the walls. She washed her hands in the stylish and modern bowl sink as she checked to make sure her hair and make-up were still on point.

  A night out on the town was just what she and Kingston needed. Usually he resisted her urgings to dine at a trendy New York eatery and then find an upscale and vibrant spot to have drinks and a few dances. But not this Friday night.

  Aria even planned on blogging about her night out with her hubbie. With one last wink at herself, Aria walked through the blacked-out revolving glass door.

  “Long time no see.”

&nbs
p; Aria looked up at the sound of the voice and she paused at the stranger standing before her.

  “Do I know you?” she asked with a polite but decidedly distant smile as she took in the short, obese, freckled man standing in the darkness of the corner.

  “Oh sthit you know me,” he said with a lisp, his tongue seeming to be attached to his full bottom lip as he spoke.

  And then Aria remembered. He was one of her tricks from those crazy-ass summers with her country cousin Jontae. But she covered it well, still feigning ignorance even though she clearly remembered that she and Jontae had run a double on him, slipped him some X and then bounced with his jewelry, his loot, and his leather coat when he fell asleep.

  “I’m sorry, but I think you have me confused with someone,” she said in her best “black girl who clearly went to an Ivy League college” voice. “Have a good night, though.”

  Aria’s heart was straight pounding as she turned to walk away. She gasped and closed her eyes when his pudgy hands closed around her upper arm. She snatched her arm away. “Do I have to call security? I said I do not know you,” she said, being sure to maintain her Valley Girl accent.

  She was trying not to go ghetto on his ass, but she couldn’t hold it back much longer. If he didn’t release her, she was going to crack his nuts and bust his damn jaw. Straight up. One thing about Club Visions, there was a metal detector at the door. So it was just her and him, and Aria swore she could take the fat fucker.

  He shoved his hands into the pockets of his dark denims.

  Her eyes dropped to watch him closely.

  “Onceth a shtrick always a shtrick,” he said snidely with his heavy tongue before he started to make his money fly up and rain in her face.

  Aria’s eyes flashed, but she kept her anger in check because her husband—her future—was waiting for her and this clown—her past—wasn’t worth fucking up her happy home because she wanted to flip and whip his fat, high-yellow ass.

  She turned away and he grabbed her arm again. “Hell no, bitch, you gone give me money or some ass. Choice is yours.”

  Aria snatched away again and roughly pushed his chest, repulsed by the feel of his jellylike breasts beneath her hands. He stumbled backwards.

  “What the fuck is going on?”

  Aria flew to Kingston standing at the end of the hall. “I don’t know if he’s drunk or high, but I told him he has me confused with someone else.”

  Kingston took her and pushed her securely behind him. “Man, you put your hands on my wife,” he said in a cold roar, his eyes filled with rage before he took two steps forward and two-pieced the man’s fat jowls.

  Bad-dap.

  The man fell back in the corner, his fat tongue truly hanging out of his mouth now. Aria, feeling somewhat guilty, stepped forward and grabbed Kingston’s arm to hold him back from striking the man again.

  “Kingston, your hands! Don’t hurt your hands,” she exclaimed, knowing his love for his medical profession wouldn’t let him risk injuring his moneymakers.

  With one last glare at the man struggling to rise to his feet, Kingston locked his hand with hers and pulled her through the growing crowd and out the door.

  Thank God, Aria thought, because she was acutely aware of the eyes on them.

  She was glad when the valet brought their car around and they were snuggled safely inside on the plush butter-soft leather seats.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, reaching over to clasp her hand and massage her wrist with his thumb.

  “I’m fine,” she told him, her heart still racing.

  “I wonder who the hell he thought you were?” he asked as he steered with one hand.

  She shrugged. “I guess it’s true everyone has a twin out there in the world,” she said lightly. “But I’m cool. And you handled business. So let’s forget about it, baby. We can go somewhere else or we can head home and get into some other things.”

  Kingston shifted his hand down to squeeze her thigh through the silk jersey of her charcoal gray wrap dress.

  She still felt that nervous anxiety from the close call, but she was glad she had changed his focus.

  “So now that we’re married for a couple of months we have to keep all the sex at home?” he asked, pulling to a stop to look over at her.

  Aria laughed huskily as Kingston leaned over to kiss her. “So what you saying?” she asked softly as he licked her bottom lip.

  “I still want my lady in the street and my freak wherever the mood hits, you know.”

  Aria brought her hands up to grasp the sides of his handsome face. “What did I do to deserve you?” she asked in total honesty as her past seemed to chase her.

  “Just being you…and the promise to give me some beautiful babies with your face and my eyes.”

  Aria opened her mouth and then closed it. In that moment she wanted so badly to tell him the truth, more than ever before. Maybe it was the trust and love she saw in his eyes. Maybe it was the fear that she should reveal more about her past before someone else did. Who knew?

  She just didn’t want the secret between them any longer, and she knew that ultimately it wasn’t fair to him….

  Aria sighed as she moved away from the window of their laundry room. She hadn’t found the courage that night to reveal her secrets to him, and with her fears that Jessa had used those secrets to destroy the foundation of what she hoped was a solid marriage, her worst fears had come true.

  She moved back to the hamper with Kingston’s dirty clothes and began to check the pockets of all of her husband’s clothes. She had no guilt or qualms over her chore because it wasn’t her first time.

  In truth, in the beginning of their relationship Aria had done it all in her quest to catch Kingston. As the years went by and her searching and snooping became futile, she had eased up considerably—but she had never forgotten her tricks.

  And rule number one was to not let him know he was a suspect, because then he would tighten up his shit and make it that much harder to catch him.

  She’d checked cell phone bills for unusual numbers or long phone calls.

  She’d checked his boxers for sex stains.

  She’d played like she was giving him head just to smell his crotch.

  She even used to check his mileage and gas usage.

  She’d fucked the shit out of him when he came in late, and he’d better be ready, very willing, and all the way able.

  She’d dropped by his office randomly.

  She’d done it all except use a tracking device on his car, buy one of those home DNA infidelity test kits to find traces of semen in his boxers, or buy any spy equipment.

  Aria had done it all, and not once had she caught him doing anything. Not once.

  Shouldn’t I trust my husband? Hasn’t he proven himself worthy?

  Sighing, she dug into his pockets looking for anything and everything to claim or disclaim Jessa as his lover.

  She just couldn’t help herself.

  CHAPTER 13

  Jaime would admit to no one that she dialed not only her husband’s cell phone number but the cell phones of the other two husbands as well every ten minutes—at least. She also tried to remember the name of the charter company and then searched for a receipt, but came up empty. She was sure the captain of the boat had a way of calling ashore, but she had no way of knowing how to get a call put through to the boat.

  And so the wait continued.

  Needing a distraction, Jaime walked out onto the front porch. She wondered if Jessa’s lover knew about her message. Did he put her up to it or would he be just as shocked by its delivery as Jaime and her friends?

  Squinting her eyes against the sun, Jaime looked out at Richmond Hills. She had absolutely loved the subdivision from the very first day Eric had carried her across the threshold. It spoke of everything she cherished.

  Everything she had ever hoped and dreamed for as she thought out her life plan. Education. Pledge a sorority. Meet and marry the successful husband. Move into the perfect
house. Live the perfect white picket dream with two kids, two vehicles, a timeshare in Florida, and a dog.

  She knew that her actions had been the fatal blow to the foundation they’d built, but now, brick by brick, he was tearing them down and doing far more damage than she felt she had.

  “Afternoon, Jaime.”

  She turned her head and focused on her next-door neighbor. Mrs. Killinger knelt down beside her flower garden on the side of her house. “Hello, Mrs. Killinger,” she called over with a wave, eyeing the short and plump woman who reminded her of a Munchkin.

  “Oh shit,” she muttered as Mrs. Killinger made her way over. She really just wanted to wrestle with her thoughts and not have idle chatter or gossip.

  “Jessa moved, huh?” Mrs. Killinger asked, her skin as dark and smooth as onyx and her eyes bright and sparkling.

  Jaime’s heart pounded. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Didn’t see that coming, but I guess you girls are all so close that you all knew about it, huh?” Mrs. Killinger asked, placing a gloved hand on her hip as she looked up at Jaime, who leaned against the large white post of her porch.

  And this is what life will be like in the aftermath of Jessa’s betrayal, Jaime thought, keeping a forced smile on her face. Questions on top of questions and lies on top of lies.

  “We didn’t keep many secrets from each other,” Jaime said, wishing the woman and her nosiness would go the hell back in her own yard.

  Mrs. Killinger smiled, showing off what had to be false teeth. “There is nothing like a good friend.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Jaime said, hoping the shortness of answers would clue the woman in that she didn’t feel like talking—especially about that undercover trick Jessa Bell.

  “I was so shocked to see that moving truck this morning.”

  Jaime just nodded.

  “Surprised none of you are at the new house helping her unpack, as close as you all were.”

  Jaime just shrugged.

  “Oh. Humph,” Mrs. Killinger said, turning to look down the street. Her face fixed with a frown.