Passion (School of Sex Series Part 1, Jess's Story)

by Deveraux, CM

  He crossed his arms and leaned back, blocking the door and looking at me as though I’d left him no other choice.

  The nerve of some people.

  “Get out of my way,” I hissed. “I mean it.”

  He lunged forward, his hands gripping my waist, forcing my body backward. I slammed against the marbled wall behind me. He traced my jaw line with his thumb and forefinger, cupping my chin. “You’re even more beautiful when you’re angry.”

  I wasn’t given the opportunity to rebut the statement before he forced his lips on mine, devouring my mouth in a singular, breathtaking kiss.

  I wanted to resist. I thought about how good it would feel if I were to watch his cheek redden as I wrestled myself free, smacking him in the face with my hand.

  But oh, how good was his kiss.

  He slicked his tongue across the outside of my lips, wetting them. “You taste good, Jess. You taste so good.” If he thought those lips tasted good, he was clueless as to what else he was missing. He forced them apart, thrusting his tongue inside my mouth, exploring, ravaging. He tasted like a mixture of honey and mint. His tongue encircled mine and he took it, folding it inside his own. With the slightest movement, he drew it back, sucking, pulsing.

  I squeezed my legs together, sagging into the wall behind me. It didn’t help. My sex was throbbing, aching to be filled.

  Not yet. Please...not yet.

  Without breaking the kiss, he stepped back just enough to separate his chest from mine, giving him an all-access pass to the front of my body. He ran the tips of his fingers over the smooth fabric covering my breasts, massaging them. Every swirl of his smooth, supple digits streamed through me, enhancing my already amplified arousal.

  It needed to stop. We couldn’t do this. Not here. Not now. And yet, I wanted to. I pushed the proper, dignified part of me aside, tangling my fingers through his hair. I yanked hard, moaning into his ear.

  “You like that, Jess?” he whispered. “You want more?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “What do you like? Tell me.”

  While one of his hands fondled my bare breast, the other trailed down my dress until it reached the end. He slid a hand beneath and hiked it up, his fingers pressing, circling my lace panties, rubbing the fabric over my mound until it was almost completely wet.

  Three-date rule, Jess. It has to stop. It has to stop NOW.

  I wanted to fuck the three-date rule sideways. But no matter how much I yearned for him, I couldn’t do this.

  The door to the ladies’ room swung open. A curly, grey-haired woman with a cane stepped in. She looked at me, tipping her head to the side as if trying to decide if what she was witnessing was, in fact, really happening.

  “What in heaven’s name?” she started. “What’s going on here? Why are you in the ladies’, young man?”

  He released me, folding his arms in front of him. With his head down, he said, “Ma’am, I’m sorry. I was just—”

  “I...you’re...so inappropriate. Both of you!” she squealed. “I’m getting the manager.”

  She hobbled back out. I followed close behind, catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror on the way out. My hair was sticking up in places it never had before. I took giant chunks of it in my hand, trying to smooth it down while I sped through the crowded tables around me.

  “Jess...wait.”

  I couldn’t tell how far behind me he was. Two feet? Three? It was close. Too close. All I wanted was the get the hell out of there. Fast.

  Once my brain regained control of my body and I reached the door where handfuls of people were waiting to be seated, I ran. I’d made it almost all the way to my car before he grabbed my arm from behind. I turned, slapping him away. “Don’t touch me!”

  “But, just now...we—”

  “We what? We nothing. I don’t know you, and you don’t know me, so don’t pretend like we do. Everything I said, on the phone, in the emails, it was all real. It’s too bad everything else was a lie.”

  “It wasn’t. I swear to you. My name is Richard. Richard Brannigan. I’m sorry, Jess. Please. Don’t leave. Talk to me.”

  “Here’s a tip, Richard Brannigan. Next time you offer someone your name and tell them it’s your real one, make damn sure it is.”

  CHAPTER 8

  I woke the next morning to two text messages from Richard. The first asked if we could talk. The second begged me to let him explain.

  I didn’t respond.

  For whatever reason, Richard—if Richard was even his name—had lied to me. Internet dating was tricky, and, at times, frightening when faced with a mismatched date. I could empathize with a guy who was leery to declare his birth name right away. But I would have preferred no name to the wrong one. And what had been with his appearance? And why had he behaved so strangely, hiding from everyone? I tapped open the address book on my phone, found the name Tyler, and deleted it.

  Farewell, whoever you are.

  There was a knock at my front door. Richard? It couldn’t be. He had no idea where I lived. Maybe it was Veronica stopping by to inquire about my date. I slipped out of bed, slung a satin robe over my shoulders, and peeked through the hole.

  I unbolted the door and opened it. “Sasha, what’s the matter?”

  She brushed past me and slumped down on the sofa, burying her hands in her face. Since grade school, I’d only witnessed her breaking down two or three times. As far as emotions went, she’d always pretended like she didn’t have any. To her, feelings were “sappy and unsavory.” Sasha preferred people not in her close circle of friends to see flawless Sasha, the one with the perfect life, the perfect husband, and the perfect house where she raised her perfect kids. She even had a perfect dog, Sammy.

  Of course the Vegas lifestyle did come with its freedoms. Here, there was a code, an understanding, if you will, that extended to both residents and visitors alike. Aside from the gambling, the loose women, and the not-so-loose slots, that’s why so many people ended up here. You could arrive on Friday, drop off your sins over the weekend, and catch a flight back home on Sunday, leaving them here. Forever. The vow of silence was probably the only thing saving her ass from the shame she’d tried so desperately not to face. Her husband Damon had developed quite the reputation over the years, and it wasn’t a good one.

  I sat next to Sasha, dangling a glass of water in front of her face. She shooed it away. “Ready to talk about what happened?”

  “No!” she wailed.

  “Yes,” I said. “Take a few sips and spill your guts. I’m not asking.”

  “He’s...going to leave me.”

  “Damon?” I felt the onset of joy. I suppressed it. “How do you know?”

  “I found an email. Something he wrote to one of his whores.”

  “Does this whore have a name?”

  “Nikki.” She practically spit the name when she said it.

  “What did the message say?”

  She picked a piece of wrinkled, white copy paper out of her pocket and handed it to me. “Here. I can’t read it again.”

  The email included several back-and-forth exchanges between Damon and Nikki, wherein Damon promised Nikki he’d ask Sasha for a divorce so they could be together. From what I read, it seemed like Damon had been Nikki’s sugar daddy for months, putting her up in a condo, giving her a weekly allowance. Taking his dirt-bag status to a whole new level, Damon even called Nikki by some of the same pet names he used on Sasha. Disgusting.

  “Do you know who she is?” I asked.

  “I know where she works, but that’s it.”

  “Does he know you know?”

  “Not yet. I found them on his laptop a couple hours ago. He was in a hurry this morning and left it behind. His dumb ass even forgot to shut it down. I was closing it, and there they were.”

  “What are you going to do?” I asked.

  “He’s leaving me. It says it right there in those messages. What can I do?”

  “You put up with all of his shit, and you
’re going to allow him to leave you?”

  “What should I do? Ask him for a divorce?”

  It pained me to see her so weak, so unsure of herself.

  “Sasha, even if he never leaves you, he’s going to keep on cheating. It’s become a drug to him—he’s addicted. We both know that. When are you going to take a stand?”

  “What about our kids?”

  “Corinne and Lisa will be fine. But you won’t be. How can you be the best parent for your girls if you aren’t happy?”

  She sat there, silent, arms crossed in front of her.

  “What will you do if Lisa gets married one day and you find out her husband cheated on her?”

  “I’d cut his dick off.”

  “Exactly. What kind of example do you think you are being for her right now? When she gets old enough, she’s going to figure out what’s going on, because if you’re still together, he’ll still be cheating. When is enough enough?”

  She massaged her temples with a hand. “I know.”

  “In my opinion, he won’t leave you for this woman. Just because this is the first email you’ve found, doesn’t mean there aren’t more he’s sent to other women in his past, promising the same thing.”

  “What am I supposed to do now?”

  I leaned in close. “First, we’re going to scare the shit out of his whore. Second, you’re kicking him out. For good. And third, we’re getting you a good lawyer.”

  CHAPTER 9

  Veronica met me in front of Big Bucks Camper and RV.

  “I can think of better places to shop,” she said, when she saw me.

  “Thanks for meeting me here. I need your help with something, and I can’t involve my circle of friends. Not yet.”

  I filled her in on the details.

  “What’s your plan?” she asked, when I finished.

  “Sasha said Nikki works in the boating department. We go in, find her, and confront her.”

  “With threats?”

  “Whatever it takes.”

  “Honey, I appreciate your enthusiasm, but you’re going about it all wrong. We don’t want to threaten the girl, we want to scare her.”

  Veronica suggested an even better plan, and we headed inside.

  Finding Nikki was easy. Her shrill, deafening voice rang through the store like brakes being slammed on a train. Her highlighted, blond hair was trimmed into an A-line bob. Dressed in what resembled a pleated white tennis skirt and a coral, button-up blouse tied in the front so it showed off her naval ring, she appeared to be half Damon’s age and demonstrated about an eighth of his IQ. She stood next to a ski boat, attempting to show off its best assets to an older gentleman next to her who continuously rolled his eyes while looking around for anyone else with a pulse. When a male employee strolled by, the man said, “Can I get some real help? I don’t have all day.”

  A deflated Nikki skulked away, until she spied us nearby and regained new vigor. “Hi!” she said, making a beeline in our direction. “Can I help you?”

  “I don’t know,” Veronica said. “I’m planning a getaway for some of my girlfriends and we thought renting a boat for the weekend would be nice. Do you rent boats here?”

  “We do!”

  The idea of an easy commission almost made her foam at the mouth.

  “What would you recommend?” Veronica asked.

  Nikki showed us five different models in under five minutes, giving us the bare minimum in terms of details. When her rushed presentation was over, she cleared her throat and confidently asked which one Veronica wanted today.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Veronica said. “I’ll have to think it over.”

  “I can’t guarantee the one you want will be here when you come back. If I were you, I’d leave a deposit.”

  “True, you’re probably right.” Veronica dug inside her purse with so much tenacity and vigor, even I was convinced, and I knew exactly what she was doing. “Damn!”

  “What is it?” Nikki asked.

  “My wallet. I think I must have left it at home. I can’t believe it.”

  “I can leave a deposit,” I chimed in, right on cue.

  “Oh, would you?” Veronica said. “I’ll pay you back.”

  I reached in my bag, wishing the next part could be captured on camera. With the slightest of movements, I unsnapped my wallet, allowing it to fall open. A business card tipped out, fluttering to the floor.

  “Oops. You lost something,” Nikki said. “I’ll get it.”

  As she dove for the card, Veronica glanced at me and smiled. She was right. Her way was better.

  Nikki snatched the card from the ground, scanning it as she adjusted back into a standing position. “Uh...here.”

  She held it out to me.

  I didn’t accept it. I peeked at the name on the card and sighed. “Do me a favor and toss this in the trash for me.”

  “The...trash?” Nikki asked.

  “Actually,” I said, snatching it from her hand, “on second thought allow me.”

  I ripped the business card into about twenty pieces and disappeared behind a nearby desk, hunching over and dropping the fragments into the can.

  “You’ll have to forgive her,” Veronica said, an air of sympathy in her voice. “She’s had a rough day. Man problems.”

  “Uh...what kind of problems?” Nikki asked, eyes wide.

  “The STD kind.”

  “The wha—”

  “Can you believe it?” Veronica continued. “The guy she’s been sleeping with has syphilis. Told her she better get checked since she might have it too. He has a thing for sweet talking his way out of wearing a cock sock.”

  “Not Damon Chase, the guy whose name was on the card you just ripped up? You’re talking about someone else, right?”

  One sneer from Veronica and Nikki knew she wasn’t.

  Nikki’s face paled, her hands unsteady.

  “You’re shaking. Are you all right?” Veronica asked.

  “Can you ladies...excuse...I need to...”

  “Sure, sure,” Veronica said. “Take your time.”

  I wanted to high-five Veronica right there. I had a feeling Damon’s tree wouldn’t be climbed tonight. Not by Nikki anyway. The two of us strolled back out of the store with our hands to our mouths, stifling our laughter until we were a safe distance away. Then we let it rip. Even if Nikki eventually found out we were lying, it was the most fun I’d had in a long time.

  “So, let me get this straight.” Veronica sat across from me, cocktail in one hand, California roll in the other. “This...Richard lies to you about his name, shows up looking like a glorified bum, but still manages to almost get your dress off in the ladies’ room.”

  I felt my body temperature rise. “That’s not what I said.”

  “It’s pretty damn close.”

  “Are you disappointed?”

  She tossed her head back and laughed. “Disappointed? I’m not your mother.”

  “I know, but it didn’t go as planned.”

  “What did I tell you?”

  “Always be prepared for anything.”

  “Nothing, no matter how much preparation has gone into it, turns out how we expect,” she said. “Has he called?”

  “He’s texted.”

  “How many times?”

  “Twice this morning and again about five minutes ago.”

  Veronica popped another sushi roll into her mouth. “And you won’t respond because he lied about his name?”

  “I don’t like liars.”

  “Did you ask him why he lied?”

  “I was irate. I left.”

  “Before you dashed off in a huff, did he make any attempt to explain?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well then, maybe he has a good reason,” she said. “You’ll never know if you don’t hear him out.”

  “Whose side are you on?”

  “Yours. But you could be ruining a great thing here over a simple misunderstanding.”

  “Lying is lyi
ng. It’s not okay.”

  Veronica sipped her drink. “Did he happen to mention his last name?”

  “Brannigan.”

  “He claims he’s Richard Brannigan?”

  I nodded. “Why—is that supposed to mean something?”

  The last roll she’d swallowed seemed to catch in her throat. She clasped a hand to her neck.

  I stood, cussing myself for not knowing how to perform the Heimlich maneuver. “Are you all right?” I asked.

  Not knowing what else to do, I tried to flag down a waiter. A woman at an adjoining table rushed forward. Veronica waved her away, leaned back, and swallowed two large gulps of her cocktail.

  “There. I’m fine,” she stammered. “No need to make a scene.”

  She took a few deep breaths, leaned over, and lifted an iPad out of her bag. She clicked it on and handed it over. “Let me see his profile.”

  “Why? Who is he?”

  “Show me. I’ll explain after I see him for myself.”

  I complied with her request, handing the device back over once I’d logged in.

  She took one look at Richard’s main profile photo and snapped the cover of her iPad closed without any further investigation. “I think I know why he lied.”

  CHAPTER 10

  “He’s a billionaire?!”

  “Keep your voice down,” Veronica said. “And yes.”

  “What the hell is a billionaire doing on an online dating site?”

  “Are you thinking he couldn’t possibly find love on there? He found you. Even men with money need help finding the right person—and the truth is, they probably need more help than the rest of us.”

  “I just thought—”

  “He wouldn’t have a need for a dating site, right? He must have women falling all over him.”

  She assumed right. It was exactly what I thought.

  “You tell me,” she continued. “Why would someone like him want to date you?”

  “Because he’s tired of tall, leggy supermodels?” I joked.

  “You may not walk the runway, my dear, but you’re every bit as pretty. Try again.”