What They Don't Know (Won't Hurt Them Trilogy #1)

by O. Y. Flemming

I don’t argue with Bryant when he’s stern with me. He places a plate in front of me. I look up at him.

  “What? It’s veggie bacon, lady, eat. Don’t give me that face.”

  “Okay. But when I lose my job, you better make sure there’s a place for me at your company.”

  “That, you’ll never have to worry about.”

  “Is that so?”

  He looks at me with a raised eyebrow. “No, never. I’ve called Mr. Wilke already, to let him know you’d be working from home at least half the day.”

  “You did what now?”

  “You heard me.”

  “Bryant, you can’t just phone my boss and call in work for me.”

  “Why not? He’s fine with it,” he says, taking eggs into his mouth.

  “Bryant!” I yell.

  He winces, then gives me a stern, I’ve spoken look.

  “Look, you were snoring last night. That only happens when you are extremely exhausted.”

  “I mean, you had a long… long night.” He smirks.

  “I thought you’d sleep in. Have breakfast, a little bow- chicka-wow-wow before you start your half day, but I guess I was wrong. No breakfast for you.” He pulls the plate away while my fork is still in my omelet.

  “Hey?”

  We both laugh, as he places the plate back on the counter.

  “Our first fight,” Bryant says. I look up; he smiles as he moves closer to me. Bryant grabs me by my chin, looks into my eyes, and as serious as he can, says, “Time for makeup sex.”

  I shake my head. “You’re incorrigible,” I say as I turn away from him.

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “I’m not done eating.”

  “Ah, avoiding sex already?”

  “No, I’m not,” I laugh. He grabs me around the waist from behind, and nudges his nose behind my ear. “Bryant, we don’t—”

  “Shhh, Bria, just relax.”

  Bryant turns me around, and lifts me off my feet. I act on natural instinct, and wrap my legs around his waist. I pull his shirt from his body, exposing his nicely sculptured abs. Whoa. I can’t help it. It’s Bryant. All of my body parts like Bryant.

  Bryant is strong; he lifts me as if I weigh nothing. He carries me down the hall, lightly kissing me on my neck. When we reach the room, he lowers himself to his knees. I hold on to him, knowing he has full control of this situation. He gently lays me on the carpet in front of my French doors. Bryant is more gentle than normal, as he places kisses to my breast and neck. His approach feels different; I wonder why? Oh no, I think he’s going to go there. I’m not sure what to do. He lifts my tank over my head; my breasts are now his distraction. He’s so sensual this morning. Usually, Bryant is a little rushed to get to his happy ending when he takes me. Oh, No! No! No! No!

  “Bryant?”

  “Hmmh,” he replies, with a mouth full of my nipple.

  “We have to stop.” He pauses his actions.

  He looks up at me, as I look down into his light grey eyes.

  “Why?”

  “I need to get ready for work.”

  “Bria, I told you I took care of that already.”

  He tries to be calm as possible.

  “I know, but—”

  “But what, Bria?”

  “Listen, please don’t get mad.”

  “I’m not!”

  “Then why are you yelling at me?” I whisper.

  “Just frustrated with you. You’re deflecting.”

  “Bryant, I’m not.”

  “You are; you do it when you’re nervous about something, or when you try to avoid a situation. Why are you trying to avoid this?”

  I’m not trying to avoid what was about to happen. Not really, but lovemaking, or making love to a person is far more intimate than what Bryant and I share. Oh, hell yes, I like a good sex-session with Bryant when he wants it, or vise-versa. I won’t allow him to make love to me; my heart isn’t open for the in love stage. It’s bad enough we’ve kissed. Okay, I’ll admit I kind of enjoy kissing him. It gets my sex senses to send the ready signal to my actual brain. Yeah, not the other way around.

  “I’m not. I just want—”

  “Want to get to work,” he interrupts, and finishes my statement. Bryant stands up then looks down at me. I feel like he can see straight into my soul. It feels so naked, and Bryant has stripped it. He reaches for my hand, and I give it to him as he pulls me into a hug.

  “Bria? This isn’t going to work, is it?”

  I say nothing.

  “I guess it’s better to find out now, rather than later down the line, right?”

  “Right,” I mumble into his chest because my throat has a lump in it. He pulls back, and looks down at me.

  “Bryant, I’m sorry.” I start to sob.

  “Bree, please don’t do that. I don’t want you to cry. Bria!” His voice is forceful and strong. “Stop it! Now!” I immediately pull away from him, to retreat to my bathroom. I shut and lock the door behind me, forgetting the adjacent door from the hall is still open. I wash my face, and look up in the mirror to see Bryant standing right behind me. I’m startled at his image staring back at me. “Shit, Bryant!”

  “Bria, I’m trying to understand you. You say you want to try a relationship, and now this.” He shakes his head, as he runs his hands over his face. “I don’t understand, Bria. Do you or don’t you want a relationship?”

  I never said I wasn’t wishy washy with this thing Bryant and I have. I have mixed feelings about us. I want what I want with him, by my standards only. He doesn’t know that though, it’s best that way. Sometimes, I’m annoyed, pissed off, and want to jump his bones within the same minute. What can I say? My boss was right; I come off bitchy.

  “I do, Bryant. I do,” I say this in a low tone because I don’t want to upset him.

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  I focus on my hands.

  “Look at me, Bria.” I lift my head to look at him. “Is there someone else?”

  “God, no! Bryant, no, there’s no one.”

  “Are you not attracted to me? I mean, your body reacts to me like you are.”

  “No, Bryant, no, it’s not that. I just don’t know what it is.”

  “You do, Bria,” he says, and I do.

  I look at Bryant in the mirror. I know I want my best friend to stay my best friend. I know we have incredible sex. I know we have great conversations; but the heart-stopping, stomach-dropping, sex-dripping reactions. I don’t get those when I’m with Bryant. I know it sounds conflicting. He does it for me sexually, but he has to build me up to it. Like I’ve said, my pussy likes Bryant, but not enough to get wet at the first sight of him. That’s what I want. He’s staring at me, waiting for an answer.

  “Bryant, I just don't want to see this go bad.”

  “Why would it?”

  “Me, because of me. I'm not the girlfriend type.”

  “Bullshit, Bria, Bullshit!”

  “You asked; now you don’t believe what I'm telling you? That's bullshit!”

  “Look at me.” He grabs both sides of my face. “You look at me and tell me that you’re not the girlfriend type, and that's the reason it won't work.” I pause for a minute before I speak.

  “Honestly, Bry, it's not me at all. It's you I have a problem with. It's not what you think.” I lie… I have to lie. I've never lied to Bryant, but it has become necessary these days. It'll hurt him, and me. Seeing him hurt, seeing him pained because of me, my words will kill him. “I can't be the girlfriend you need me to be. Your level of success; you come from a different league, Bryant. I'm not trying to compete with that. As your friend, you can say shit to me, which won’t phase me. Things I normally feel; I don’t have to defend myself to you. As your girlfriend, my feelings are more exposed, things change. Your standards set for me would be too high. We both know I'm not a high-standard type of chick. As your friend, I'm weird, annoying, and that's fine. As your girlfriend, I'll have to be presentable and not so lazy
. I'll have you and me to be responsible for.”

  Bryant’s head is lowered; he’s shaking it in disbelief. “And how is any of this, because of me, Bria?”

  “Your standards are too high, Bryant. I can't meet your standards.”

  “Again, I'm the issue?” he questions with a high eyebrow.

  “Yes!” I yell.

  “BULLSHIT!” he yells as he walks out of my bathroom.

  I follow him back to my sitting room, where this conversation started. I know Bryant has a mean streak, but I've only witnessed it once, so I'm cautious with what I say.

  “It's not bullshit, Bry; it's the truth.” Again another lie, where are they coming from?

  “How long have I known you, huh? This is the bullshit you feed me? My standards are too high?” He scoffs. “Un-fucking believable, Bria?”

  “What do you want me to say?”

  “The truth, why don't you want to be with me? I’m successful. I'm easy on the eyes. My body is healthy. I'm not a total ass to you. You said it yourself; the sex is incredible. Do I not do it for you?”

  BING!

  I look away, and he takes a step towards me. “Is that what it is? I don't do it for you? Bria, answer me.”

  I stutter, “Wh-what are you talking about?” I walk over to the island that separates my kitchen and sitting room to put distance between us.

  “Do I do it for you?”

  “Do what?”

  “Don't insult my intelligence, Bria; answer the damn question.”

  Bryant stops with his pleas. He grabs my arms to hold me in place. In a low, angry voice, he asks me, “Do I do it for you, Bria? Do I make your stomach flip? Does your heart stop when I enter the room? Do you get wet at the thought of me?”

  How did he—?Lie, Bria, lie. “Bryant.”

  He scoffs. “That's it; that's fuckin’ it!”

  He tightens his grip on my arms, and I yelp. He lifts me to the center island in a swift motion. “Bryant, please.” He lifts both my arms and locks my wrists with one hand. He tears away my shorts with the other.

  “Bryant, no, please!”

  “Please what, Bria?”

  “Don't do this; this isn't you, Bryant!”

  “What isn't? The part of me making you so wet, you drip at the thought of me taking you like this, huh? Is this what you want?”

  He rubs his fingers at my sex; and of course, the body doesn't lie. I'm wetter than I've ever been before, only from him forcefully handling me. He's never gotten me this wet without drawn out foreplay.

  “Ah, so that’s it. Bria likes to be man-handled.”

  “No, Bria doesn't!” I yell.

  I try to break his hold. I knew he was strong; but damn, he'll leave bruises on my wrists at this rate.

  “Bryant, please, this will definitely put a hole in our friendship; not like this, please.” I start to panic because I'm scared. My eyes tear up because my best friend is forcing himself on me, when there's no reason to. He can have me whenever he wants. There is a primal look about him. I know he feels my fear. His eyes are darker than normal. I can't even look at him. I turn my head still bound under his weight, while his strong hands hold me in place. He lowers my arms, but doesn't let go of my wrists. He lowers himself until his face is at my sex. Of course, my lady garden is reacting with anticipation at what’s about to go down. Deceitful bitch, she is. Never am I going to self-pleasure her again.

  My body starts to tingle, and he hasn't even touched me. I can only assume he is down there, staring. My breathing has picked up, and I swallow hard because I have no idea what he's going to do. I do feel wetness at my center, as if it’s literally dripping from my pussy down the center of my ass. I cannot be this wet. I shake my head in disbelief as I hear Bryant moan. He inhales deeply before he shocks my body. Bryant sticks his tongue in my opening and latches on. He has no mercy on my clit, as he tongues my pussy at the same time. I’m not sure what was going on with my body before he did this; there was no build up. My body convulses. I'm pretty sure my pussy just squirted. The orgasm tears through me so hard, my tailbone tingles all the way up my spine. Bryant continues to tongue fuck me as hard as he can; and with the last breath I have in me, I collapse. Well, I was lying flat already. My legs fall to the side. Bryant lets go of my hands as he lifts himself from his knees. When his face comes into view, it is wet with my juices. My eyes are still blurry. He looks down at me, sprawled on my island, not able to move.

  “Your pussy's dripping,” is all he says as he walks toward my bathroom. That fucking did it. His words alone gives me a mini orgasm. All I can do is squeeze my thighs together.

  * * *

  I'm still lying on my countertop when he comes from the bathroom fully clothed, with a bag in his hand. I wonder if he planned to stay the night. I hadn't noticed he had a bag with him. He passes me and says nothing. He takes water from the refrigerator, and then sits his overnight bag on the floor. Bryant is intimidating at this moment. He takes long gulps while staring at me viciously. I don’t understand why though? He asked and received the truth; he received a little more if you ask me. Oh, I did all the receiving on this one. He finishes the entire bottle and discards it in the trash. He still hasn’t said a word, as he looks out to the patio.

  “Bryant,” I finally manage to say, because my breathing hasn't gone back to normal.

  “Yeah?”

  “Please don't be mad.” He turns his head, and stares at me.

  “Not at you,” he tells me.

  “Don't do that to yourself.”

  “Too late. Get your ass up, and wash your lady parts. She's been worked over pretty well, don't you think?”

  I just shake my head, as I fail at the attempt to get off the counter.

  “Call me if she needs another workout.”

  “Bryant, wait.”

  He walks toward the front door and looks over his shoulder.

  His eyes are softer than they were earlier.

  “I'm serious. If you need me, Bree, just call me.”

  “Bryant, please, wait.” And he doesn't.

  He closes the door while I'm still on my kitchen island naked from the waist down. I mean really. I’m exposed. Pussy is out; tears are flowing; feelings are hurt, and I feel like I've lost my best friend.

  CHAPTER 6

  Since Bryant arranged me a half-day, I guess I'll work noon until six. I feel rested though; my body feels great. In hindsight, thank you, Bryant. Instead of going to my favorite café, I stop to pick up lunch for Mr. Wilke and me. Arriving at work, I stop by my office to drop off my bags. I head to my boss's office. The door is closed, so I try to open it. Whoa, and apparently locked. “Uh-oh.”

  I step back before I hear, or see anything. Sheesh, it’s barely noon and he's at it already? As I turn to leave, the door flies open, and Charlotte comes out. She has a smile on her face that could light up the new Vikings’ stadium.

  “Well hello, my events genius.”

  “Hi, Mrs. Wilke, how are you?” I say as my boss exits his doorway; his face is red.

  “Hey, sunshine. Sleep in well?” he greets me.

  “Umm, yes, I did. Here's your lunch.”

  “Oh good, thanks. What do I owe you?” He reaches into his inside jacket pocket.

  “Oh, no need, you're good.”

  Mrs. Wilke looks between the two of us. I can see her mental wheels turning.

  “Mrs. Wilke, if I had known you were here, I would have called and got your order. I apologize. It's Friday, and since I was coming in late, I just stopped because this”—I point to the container Mr. Wilke is holding—“is his usual on Friday.”

  “Oh, no worries, love. I'm glad someone can get him to eat healthy and is in tune with what he likes.” She winks at me.

  “Yeah, Charlotte likes to cook healthy, no salt, no butter. Yum,” my boss says. Mrs. Wilke laughs as she pats him on his chest and kisses him on the cheek while she whispers something in his ear. I've never seen my boss blush so hard. He smiles and places his
hand at the small of her back. “Peaches, come now; you have a jet to catch.”

  “Oh, not so cocky anymore, are we now,” she laughs.

  “I am and will continue to be.” He lowers his hand and squeezes her ass.

  I should not be a witness to this. “Umm, it was nice to see you again, Mrs. Wilke.” I turn and make my way to my office. I can hear the two of them behind me. Oh, my God! It's not gross, but that's my boss. Not only did I just find out he was checking me out, but he's a kinky sex addict, I think…

  My day goes by pretty smoothly. I didn't have much on my plate, but I’ve accomplished quite a bit. All of my boss's proposals have been verified, and sent to his investors. I must have been working really hard because I haven’t noticed my phone has messages, all from Bryant.

  2:42 p.m. – Hey, you, call me when you get a chance.

  3:50 p.m. – Hey, I'm guessing you’re not free?

  5:00 p.m. – Okay, Bria, if this is the game you're playing, I'm done!

  It’s 5:45, I'm leaving in fifteen minutes. I quickly send him a text so he won't lose his cool, more than he already has. To think I was in a fifteen-hour relationship with him. I shake my head; damn, it could be worse.

  5:46 p.m. (Me) Hey, Bry. I'm sorry, was really busy. Trying to fit an entire day in a half one. Call you when I leave the office @ 6.

  Seconds later. (Bryant) :( Sorry, ok ttyt.

  I grab my laptop, purse, and head for the elevators. My boss left a couple of hours ago; said he was meeting the missus for a weekend getaway. I get in my car and link up my Bluetooth. “Dial Bryant,” I speak clearly, so the name can register. This damn thing will have me calling Japan, if I don't speak like a robot.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey, how was your day?”

  “Good, yours?”

  “Ah, it was fine. What are you doing tonight?”

  “Umm, home, eat, wine, and sleep.”

  “You want to do that with me and maybe a new colleague? Well, not the sleep part unless you need to be worked out again,” he laughs.

  “Bryant, I'm a bit exhausted by my earlier workout.”

  “I bet,” he says.

  “‘Maybe a new colleague’, what does that mean?”

  “Yeah, new colleague; business partner; whatever you want to call it. He has a late meeting, but he thinks it won't happen.”