I nod and smile, but instead of letting me go, his hold on my hand only slightly loosens, his eyes searching mine. I feel myself free falling every time he looks at me like that. Like I’m just a woman, not me.
“I’m sorry, about the other night.” He says, barely above a whisper. “It was insensitive, cruel, wrong...”
I lift my hand to silence him, heat rising to my cheeks at the mention of it. Why would he say this, bring up something so shameful?
He starts to rub my arms, and I flinch. “Miranda, I -” His eyes hold me captive, and before I know what’s happening, he has me wedged between the wall and his body. He’s trembling, and when he steps closer, his erection presses into my stomach. “I won’t hurt you. I just-” I gasp at the feel of him against me. The soft material of his pants rubs against my bare legs. He grips my jaw and a soft moan escapes from my lips. His eyes widen. “That sound.” He looks at my lips, and I bite down on them, aware I’ll draw blood any second. This was not supposed to happen. “I miss that sound.”
How did this situation turn around so quickly? His hand slips to the hem of my skirt, his lips just inches from mine. We’re crossing a line we will both regret, so why can’t I protest? Why do I want to feel his hands on my thighs? My head tilts back and his warm lips graze my neck. “Talk to me, tell me to stop.” He whispers, his voice full of lust.
The phone rings, and whatever spell he is under is immediately broken. He steps away and quickly walks across the room to answer it, running his hands through his already dishevelled hair. I rush to exit the house, using the opportunity to escape. This is not what I had in mind coming here. `I almost gave in to my cravings? When I’m around Fynn, every nerve in my body comes to life. Only he has that effect on me. I can barely breathe by the time I reach my bike, so I bend at the waist to catch my breath. He wants me to sin. He wants me to fall short. But I never will. I have come too far to ever go back. Flee from sexual immorality. Every other sin a person commits is outside the body, but the sexually immoral person sins against his own body.
6
Maureen
Now
They think I don’t know. He only loses his composure when he’s thinking about her. And he certainly does think about her. Has ever since they fucked for the first time. I want to deny it, but it’s pretty obvious, with the way he looks at her. I should be angrier, but I’m not. But I will not lose him, not now, not ever. I love Fynn, and I need him.
I take another drag of a roll of weed then place it on the ashtray. I hate the way it pollute my body, but the heady sensation it gives me, makes it worth it. Trev appears in the doorway of the bedroom clad in only a towel. My eyes linger on the drawings on his muscular chest, and I beckon for him to come back to bed with me. He leaps onto the bed, straddling me over the silk covers, already hard, already ready. To have this much power over a man that isn’t my husband is orgasmic. Ha! And I say Randy is fucked in the head. I guess we’re all a little bit deranged, some of us are just more honest about it. It’s like those women who swear they don’t watch porn, they’re fucking liars. They’re reading it, getting off in their panties.
“What’s on your mind?” He asks, tapping my nose with his finger. He’s been getting more affectionate. It used to be all heat and passion, fuck and go, but now his kisses linger, he holds me tighter, and his eyes convey things he’s forbidden to say. I don’t belong to him, I never will, this is all I can offer him. The way Fynn will never be hers. Trev and I have a good thing, why should we complicate it? The forbidden is exiting, coveted. The secret looks and touches. Those are what make life spicy.
“Fynn. Miranda.” I thud my fists on his chest.
He rolls his eyes. “When is there ever anything else on your mind?”
“A couple of minutes ago, you were the only thing occupying my thoughts.” I grin.
“Yeah, but I get cast aside pretty quickly.” He sighs and climbs off me, laying next to me, pulling the covers down to expose my naked breasts. “Why do you stay with him anyway? You know you can’t be tamed.”
“You know the answer to that.” I say defensively. And he does, but he persists in asking me this question all the time.
“It just makes no sense.” Trev is good inside, he really is. An asshole who fucks his brother’s wife, but good nonetheless. I am the one who corrupts him. He never asked me to palm his cock one Christmas. He didn’t ask me to let him fuck me in my bathroom. But I need Fynn in a way I don’t Trev. Besides, Miranda will win if I give up, and I cannot let that happen.
Trev sucks a bud into his mouth while tormenting the other between his thumb and forefinger. It’s enough to push all unwelcome thoughts out of my mind, like the fact that I saw my husband looking at my sister while he came inside me. Trev is on me in seconds, entering me roughly, just the way I like. He pounds into me, my body jerking, my head hitting the headboard. “You like it when I fuck you like a whore, don’t you?”
His words are angry, and I know talking about his brother always riles him up. His thrusts are brutal, and I scream out when he bites down on my nipple.
“I’m going to mark you, make sure he knows you’re not just his.” My eyes widen when his head drops to my chest.
“No, Trev, Fuck!” My hips are meeting his. When he presses his teeth into my flesh, I lose it there and then, an orgasm tearing through me. “I hate you.” I say through gritted teeth. I’m going up in flames around him, every part of my body ignited.
“Fuck you.” he groans as he empties himself inside me.
The house is quiet when I get home. I know he’s in the study, But I don’t go over to say hello, instead I decide to start on dinner. I feel like spoiling him a little. I’m fucking exhausted, but he deserves a nice meal. When I see the small basket on the counter, I frown. She was here. I walk over and open it. There’s a container, and when I lift the lid, I smell the decadent aroma of basil chicken. She cooked this, and she left this here for me to find. Fucking little whore. My hand fists at my side, my blood boiling. I should empty it into the trash, I should. But I suddenly don’t feel like cooking for Fynn, so I dump the contents into a casserole dish and shove it in the oven to heat. I should say something, but when he walks into the kitchen with a lazy smile tugging at his lips, my anger dissipates. He walks over to me and wraps an arm around me. He kisses my neck and shivers course through me. I have the urge to let him see the mark Trev left on me, rile him up.
“That smells great.” He offers, and I want to laugh at how stupid he thinks I am. Was he fucking her in my bed? On this counter? “How was your day?”
“It was good, I managed to string together a few thousand words.” I smile up at him. I’m a writer, I’m pretty small scale and write under a pen name. He doesn’t read my work, he doesn’t even know my pen name, nobody does. I prefer to be anonymous. I have an online presence thanks to my publicist who doesn’t know much about me either. They call me dark, sinister, devious. The world thrives on depravity, and I offer it to them through the worlds I create. I am that shameful secret women like to hide. And I did write today, when Trev wasn’t inside me.
“That’s great, baby,” he places a kiss on my lips, and I go to deepen it, but he moves away. He stalks to the fridge and pulls out some white wine, placing it on the counter. “This’ll do, yeah?”
I nod and shove down the unwanted thoughts trying to break to the surface. The fact that he had his hands all over her petite body. A body that isn’t tainted. I’m overreacting. This is all in my head, she probably just stopped by with food and left.
“Was Randy here?”
The muscles on his back stiffen. “Yeah, she came by - to see you, and left.”
“Oh? She left that.” I motion to the oven, and he frowns. He acts like he doesn't know about the food she left.
“I didn’t realize she’d brought anything with her. She doesn’t say much, you know.” He laughs, but the humor doesn't reach his eyes. He’s hiding something. I can see it in his eyes. He passes me a gla
ss of wine, and I sip it while he downs half a glass and turns to leave the room.
“I should get a bit more work in, shout when dinner is ready.”
I squeeze the stem of my glass long after he exits the room, and only then do I realize I’ve crushed it, blood dripping from my fingers onto the floor.
7
Maureen
Before
Randy was swinging on the tire I’d hung for her, a makeshift swing. Her dark hair blew on the uptake, and her legs kicked in and out, giving her the altitude she was so fond of. She was chatting animatedly to someone. I couldn’t see who it was from this far, but it was definitely a man. He leaned against the tree. The faint sound of her laughter could be heard all the way here. My blood ran cold. Who was this man, and why the hell was he talking to a child? I flung the cup I was rinsing in the sink, rubbed wet my hands on my jeans and marched outside. Randy laughed again at something he said, and I picked up the pace. I did a double take when I got close enough to lay eyes on him. He was fucking hot. He smiled from Randy to me, and I could see she was already smitten by the dark-haired stranger.
“Hi, I’m Fynn,” He extended his hand toward me, a lock of brown hair falling over his brow. Hazel eyes that smile when he did. “You must be Maury?” he tilted his head slightly in question. Randy looked back at me beaming.
“Maureen,” I corrected. I didn’t like the way he looked at me, as if he wasn’t already undressing me with his eyes, or the way he looked at Randy, all sweet and friendly. All men are the same. Assholes.
“Fynn works at the community center in town. He’s a volunteer at the center, Mo.” Miranda interjected sweetly, the way only an adoring nine-year old could. She’d stopped swinging and was now kicking the dirt with the toes of her chucks. Social Services was familiar with my mom, and mandated that Miranda go to the community center every week. It was a requirement for us to continue getting our welfare check. Luckily, Randy loved it there, plus it kept her out of trouble. He looked to be about my age, twenty-three, give or take. At least six feet, and athletically built. I liked his hands, they were large, the kind of hands that could explore every curve and inch of a woman’s body with precision. What the hell was wrong with me?
“A volunteer, huh? What kind?”
“I’m sorta like a big brother.” He grinned. “Keep the rugrats in check. I’m actually studying at the bible college.”
Religious and a college boy. He looked like the type. “Well, should you be hanging around a nine-year old, Fynn? Looks pretty pervy if you ask me. Kinda like those priests we read about in the newspaper.” He looked taken aback, his jaw ticking.
“That’s a tad bit stereotypical, don’t you think?”
“Not if it’s a fact.” I placed my hands on my hips, sizing him up.
“What’s pervy?” Randy suddenly piped up. Fynn shifted from one foot to the next, clearly uncomfortable.
“What this guy is doing. Don’t go letting him touch your nooky, you hear?” I said as I turned to walk back inside our flat.
“Maury!” she exclaimed in horror behind me. I just laughed and kept walking. Glancing back, he was still standing there, speechless.
“Who were you talking to?” My mother croaked from the living room after the door slammed shut behind me. I held on to the counter until my knuckles whitened. Every time that woman spoke, I lost it. I walked toward the least appealing room in our house. She was sprawled on the worn suede couch, her halter top twisted so that a boob stuck out. She looked so much older than she actually was, with red splotches on her face, her hair a dirty bleached blonde. I remember a time when Francine, my ‘mother’, was something to look at, but then she changed. Pills changed her. She’d never been much of a mother, but when she got on the pills, she became a zombie and was absolutely useless now.
The air in the room was thick with smoke, the stench of alcohol and sex clinging to the walls. It didn’t matter how much I cleaned, our house always reeked off sickness. She shamelessly brought men home for the night, and no area was a safe zone despite the fact that we had a kid in the house. Moaning, grunting and vomiting seemed to be the soundtrack of my life.
“Nobody.” I reluctantly answered, not wanting to get into it with her yet again. All Francine and I ever did was argue and fight, yes physically, too, and I was sick of it. At some point you realize that there’s no use trying to reason with a fool. Francine Whittaker was that and more. She was a drunk, a pillhead and a whore too. I’d lost count of her misgivings.
“I saw you talking to that guy out there. He looks loaded. Maybe if one of you two got laid, he’d throw us some notes.” She slurred. Drunk again before noon. She stood and stalked to the window staring out to where Randy and Fynn were. “The little whore takes after us, doesn’t she? Knows how to hook a man.” She laughed, and I couldn’t help but shudder at the nonchalant way she spoke about Miranda.
“She’s a child, for fuck’s sake.” I could not believe her. On the other hand, I shouldn’t be surprised.
“You dare speak to me like that?” She turned toward me, her eyes bloodshot.
“You aren’t giving me much of a reason not to, Francine.”
“Would it hurt for you to call me, Mother?” She took a drag of the cigarette she just lit then balanced it between her cracked lips while she poured herself some cheap gin.
“Is that what you are now?” I bit back a laugh. This woman was the pits. I had to save enough money to get Miranda and I out of here. I worked at a nightclub as a bartender, and I’d been raking in pretty good tips. A year, tops, and we would be out of here, away from this waste of a human body.
“Get the fuck out of here. You and that little devil’s spawn.”
I shook my head. If only it were that easy, we’d be long gone. I could end her, get her thrown in jail, but I needed her meagre tips and cash she got for fucking strangers.
I stood at the door, watching Fynn and Randy. He’d become a fixture in her life and an annoyance in mine. No matter how many times I told him to get lost, he never did.
I hated the way he pretended to care. He saw Miranda at the center, wasn’t that enough? We didn’t need his help or his pity, nor did we want either. I hated Fynn Chase because he was good and a reminder of all the things I would never be.
“You want to come play ball with us?” he shouted to me. Randy pouted, tugging on his hand.
“She won’t play, she’ll just distract you.” The little shit was observant.
He laughed and bent down to pinch her cheek. “You’ll always be my best girl, you know that.”
She seemed to like that and continued shooting hoops. It was the most active I’d ever seen her. Randy was the quiet sort, reading books and staying indoors most of the time. He’d told me she was withdrawn at the community center, too, but when she was with Fynn, she seemed almost normal.
He walked over to where I stood. I was a few inches taller than him where I stood on the stairs. “So, I was wondering,” he shoved his hands in his pockets. “You wanna go see a movie or something this weekend?”
“Cartoons are not my thing.” I said, unsmiling. He looked back at Randy and waved, then turned back to me, holding my gaze. “I was thinking it could just be the two of us.”
I frowned and turned on my heel. “Mo?”
“Don’t call me that.” I shouted over my shoulder as I made my way inside.
‘I won’t give up, you know,” he shouted back.
And he never did. I eventually said yes, after I grew tired of his stupid romantic gestures. And eventually he became my escape and my greatest ally. He had no idea just how much I needed to be around him back then.
8
Fynn
Now
Miranda silently moves between the pews, straightening song books. The sight of her makes my gut twist. I haven’t seen her since Thursday when I almost - what did I almost do? I know what was on my mind that day, and the fact that I lost control like that makes me sick. She didn’t stay over thi
s weekend, which was a bit of a relief if I’m honest. But I also felt terrible knowing that she was avoiding her sister because of my selfishness. She’s young, and she deserves to have a man that not only deserves her but who is not married to someone else. Especially not married to her sister. I am a man of God, and the last thing I should be doing is acting on these forbidden urges. I admit that I’ve always had a deep connection with Miranda, but we promised never to cross the line the way we once did. It happened once, and I regretted it when it did. Not because I didn't want her, I did, I had feelings for Miranda, but because I knew that I could not hurt Mo like that.
Miranda looks up at me but instantly glances away when she sees me looking at her. I have to talk to her.
“Hey.”
She gives me a small wave. “Can I talk to you?” I look around. “In private.”
I walk toward my office. It’s an hour until the first member of the committee will arrive and I have to say what I need to before that. She follows behind me, and once she’s in my office, she stands at the window looking outside. She wears her hair down today, and it falls over her simple white dress that hugs her ass. In this light she looks like an angel, a dark angel that threatens to steal my soul. I’ve always found her attractive, but it’s come harder to resist the urge to touch her, to feel her close to me.
I clear my throat. “You look nice today.”
She looks back over her shoulder, and I wonder what she’ll do if I walk over and wrap my arms around her. That’s the thing about lusting after someone you can’t have, it burns you from the inside out until you can practically taste it.
She turns and considers me.
Leave Me Breathless: The Black Rose Collection Page 63
