by Briana Cole
Dorian didn’t hear her come closer, but he suddenly felt Reagan’s breasts pressing against his back. Her hands circled his waist, trailed down to rub his thighs, before moving to massage him through his pants. “You don’t have to put it in,” she whispered. “Just let me lick it.”
Dorian didn’t respond, nor did he have the strength to stop her as she unzipped his pants and dipped her hand inside. Somehow, she managed to maneuver her fingers inside the waistline of his boxer briefs, and he could’ve come right there when her hand grabbed him. The sudden skin-on-skin contact sent a guilty shiver down his spine. He grabbed Reagan’s wrist. “We can’t do this,” he murmured, struggling to keep from moaning. To his surprise, and disappointment, he felt Reagan pull her hand from his pants and step back. He figured she was upset, but it was for the best.
When he heard her moaning, Dorian turned around. Reagan was now seated on the vanity, her knees pulled up to her chest. Her legs were spread as she began to play with herself. Dorian kept his eyes trained on her fingers. “You can watch me,” she invited, resting her head behind her on the mirror. “But I’m going to satisfy myself right here, with or without you, Dorian.”
She moaned again and bit her lip as her fingers continued to explore her delicate flower. Dorian felt his mouth watering. He didn’t even realize he had grabbed his own manhood until he felt it throbbing in his hand.
“Yes,” Reagan cooed. “Go ahead. Imagine it’s me. It’s ready for you, baby.”
The encouragement was enough to have Dorian complying, stroking and squeezing, listening to Reagan’s murmurs of self-gratification. She was using her other hand to pinch and fondle her nipple. The sight was beautiful, watching her spread-eagle with his name dripping from her lips.
Reagan came first. She threw her head back, her eyes squeezed shut, her legs trembling so hard it was a wonder she didn’t shake her right off the counter. He was right behind her, his vision blurred to the point he didn’t notice she had situated herself in front of him to finish the job herself.
Reagan smiled, licking her lips in satisfaction. “Thank you,” she whispered.
Dorian didn’t say anything as she climbed to her feet. He watched her body as she worked it back into the tight dress.
“You feel better?” she asked, tossing a wink over her shoulder. “I know I do.”
“Reagan, we can’t do this anymore.”
Reagan fluffed her hair, eyeing his package still clutched in his hand. “Do what? We didn’t have sex. This time.”
Dorian shook his head. “That’s it, Reagan,” he said, shoving himself back into his pants. “I’m serious. This shit has to stop.”
Reagan turned on the water and bent down to angle her face under the faucet. She took in some water, gargled, and spit it back out. When she turned around, Dorian tried his best to read her expression, but her face remained neutral.
“I understand,” she said. Her voice was just as calm. “And you’re right. I apologize if I’m overstepping my boundaries.”
Dorian nodded. “We still cool, right?” he asked, just to be sure.
“Of course.” Reagan’s genuine smile blossomed. “You’ll always be my brother-in-law, so you’re kind of stuck with me. I don’t want our relationship to be awkward.”
Dorian relaxed a little. He needed to hear that. Lord knows it was getting more and more complicated.
Reagan opened the bathroom door, gasping when she saw Shantae standing on the other side.
“What are y’all doing?” Shantae asked, her eyes darting from her sister to her husband.
Dorian’s eyes ballooned and he quickly shifted his body a bit to hide the fact that he hadn’t even zipped up his pants. Panic had the words sticking in his throat.
“He was just talking to me, sis,” Reagan said, lowering her eyes. “He just mentioned that maybe I was a little out of line back at the table. And I’m sorry for that.”
Shantae sighed. “Maybe some of that was my fault,” she said, and Dorian held his sigh of relief. Good thinking. He had to give Reagan her props for that rescue. “I really don’t want us to hate each other, Reagan. You’re my sister and I love you.”
Dorian watched them embrace and cringed when Reagan pecked Shantae on the cheek. Those same lips that had been on him only a few moments before.
When they pulled away, Shantae turned to Dorian and smiled. “Thanks, babe.”
“For what?” Dorian was still fixated on Reagan. A peculiar look now rested on her face.
“For talking to Reagan. And me,” she added. “I know I can be a little stubborn sometimes.”
“No problem, sweetie.”
“You ready?”
Dorian nodded and watched Shantae head back down the hallway. He let out the breath he had been holding. “Damn, good looking out, Reagan,” he said. “And I’m glad you two are cool again.”
Reagan stepped toward him and smiled when she felt him tense up. “Relax,” she whispered and in one swoop, zipped up his pants. She then stood on her tiptoes, so her lips were nearly touching his ear. “Control your bitch,” she whispered. “She needs to stay out of our way.” With that, she licked his earlobe and stepped back.
Dorian froze, watching her switch her hips out of the bathroom, and he felt his panic rising. What the hell had he gotten himself into?
Chapter Twelve
Dorian didn’t know what he was doing. He just knew he’d left the office, claimed he was going for a drive, and ended up in front of Elegant Perfections Hair Salon. Reagan had mentioned she worked there part-time a few days a week, just to have a little extra cash.
He sat in the truck, his hands on the steering wheel, and debated if he should go in. He shouldn’t be so involved, he knew. Reagan hadn’t bothered him, but Shantae had mentioned Reagan had needed to stay at their parents’ house one night because her baby dad, Terrell, was on the warpath, whatever that meant. Either way, it was enough that she felt a little unsafe, and honestly, Dorian was concerned. He just felt compelled to check on her. Make sure she was holding up okay. Why he cared, he had yet to find the answer to that one. Either way, he did. And he didn’t think there was anything wrong with that.
Dorian saw her as soon as she walked out of the building. Her hair shielded her face as it reflected a royal auburn in the sunlight. The grin had spread before he’d even realized it, watching her trot down the stairs, her purse bouncing against her hip. She glanced around, and he studied her face. Though she squinted through the harsh stream of sun, he saw her eyes downcast, her lips drooped to a saddened pout. She pulled a pair of sunglasses from the collar of her T-shirt and sat them on her face, the large tinted frames shielding most of it from view. As she turned and started walking the opposite way, he stepped from the car and jogged to catch up.
“Reagan,” he called. She turned, her lips still pursed in a frown.
“You stalking me too?” She winced when her attempt at a joke came out snappy and sarcastically rude. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. You caught me at a bad time.” Dorian nodded, hooked his thumbs in his pockets.
“It’s too early in the day to be pissed.”
“Yeah, well, you haven’t had a pissy morning like I have.”
“That explains the winning attitude.” Even though the tint was a rich black, he saw her roll her eyes.
“I’m not in the mood, okay?”
Dorian shrugged, turned, and headed back toward his car. “Fine.” Her attitude had rubbed off on him, and he felt the edges of anger prickling his nerves. He could’ve kicked himself for coming out to see her.
Reagan watched his retreating back and sighed.
“Dorian,” she called and had him pausing by the door of his truck. “Walk with me?” He turned, didn’t answer as she walked toward him, stopping an inch away. “I’m pissed, so I have an attitude. But it’s nothing you can’t handle, right?” She had a point.
“Where you headed?”
“Does it matter?”
He grinned. �
��Checkmate.”
Reagan started walking and he fell into step beside her.
“What does that mean anyway?” she asked. “Checkmate. It feels like you’re making fun of me in my face or something.”
“You have to understand chess.”
“Teach me.”
“Maybe one day. So, what happened?”
She kept her eyes trained on the congested street ahead, frowning again.
“Just . . . stuff with Terrell,” she admitted on a careless shrug. “And with this bullshit job that doesn’t pay shit. And some other stuff, but it’s really a long story.”
On an understanding nod, Dorian gestured toward the upcoming hot dog stand. “Hungry?”
She glanced at him on a surprised laugh. “Seriously, Dorian? It’s ten in the morning.” He shrugged, stepped under the awning of the stand, and fished for his wallet.
“Do you want one or not?” She shrugged and he turned to the attendant. “Two. Ketchup, mustard, relish.”
Reagan shook her head, watched him pay the man, take the hot dogs dripping with dressing, and pass one to her. She bit in, moaned at the delicious taste.
They polished off the meal and started back on the sidewalk, headed toward the downtown area. He sensed she was back in her zone again and he remained quiet, listening to their shoes hit the pavement in a harmonic unison. They came to a bench and without warning, she stopped to sit. He looked down at her as she took off her sunglasses and pushed the sweaty strands of hair from her forehead. “I quit,” she started after a moment of silence. “I’m sure you’re not surprised, though.”
He sat down, leaned forward propping his elbows on his knees. “Why would you say that?”
“Oh, please, Dorian. Don’t act like you don’t believe that shit my parents and Shantae have said about me. I can’t keep a job, I’m unstable, yada yada.” She sighed, fiddling with the arm of the sunglasses. “Well, apparently I’m doing something wrong. It seems like I always get the shitty end of the stick.”
Dorian nodded and sat back, draping his arm companionably on the bench behind her shoulders. “That’s not true. You don’t have to work for someone else. You know you can always start your own salon.”
She sighed in reluctance. “Maybe one day when I get the money, I will.”
They sat in silence, idle eyes watching people hurry by. Reagan zeroed in on a woman in an all-black business suit, watched her swinging her briefcase as she walked by, and grinned. She gently elbowed Dorian, nodding to the woman.
“What do you think she’s thinking?” she asked him.
He frowned at the woman. “What?”
“It’s a game Shantae and I used to play when we were kids. Someone picks a person that looks interesting and you make up things about them based on how they are dressed or their expressions or just how you perceive them.”
Dorian looked again to the woman, noted the determined frown on her face, the hurried steps in the high heels. He shrugged. “I’m late for a meeting,” he tossed out and had Reagan rolling her eyes.
“You’re so boring. You’re supposed to say something funny like . . .” She glanced at the woman, narrowed her eyes in consideration. “Like, ‘I can’t believe all this money I got, and I still can’t get a man,’ or ‘I’ve been holding this gas in for the past half hour. I thought the guy said there was a bathroom on this block.’ ” He chuckled, watching Reagan look around again. “Okay.” She gestured toward a shirtless man jogging by, his muscles rippling with the swing of his arms. “What does he keep in his wallet?”
Dorian looked at the guy, lifted a brow. “Besides a picture of himself?”
Reagan burst into laughter. “Very good. You’re getting the hang of it.”
“You say you and your sister used to play that?”
“Yeah. When we couldn’t get to a table to play chess.” She tossed a playful wink at him and he grinned, staring into her eyes as if he were searching for something. She glanced away and, even though it was an obvious evasion, cleared her throat. “Thanks.”
“For what?”
“For making me feel better. For the hot dog. For everything.”
He nodded. “No problem.”
“So we ate, we talked, we laughed. I guess this was kind of like our second date,” she teased. “What would my sister think?”
“I told you, the hall pass was a one-time thing.”
“Okay. What was this?”
Dorian studied her face, lingering on each physical feature. He lifted a hand to twirl a few strands of her hair around his finger. He honestly wished he knew. For some reason, Reagan was magnetic. “This is us, doing what friends do,” he answered finally. It was a weak response but the best he could come up with.
“Friends, huh?” Reagan chuckled and shook her head. “Okay, friend.” She opened her mouth to say something else, then shut it again when her cell phone vibrated in her purse. Dorian watched her stand and walk forward a bit, at the same time bringing the phone to her ear.
Dorian waited, watching her as she paced a bit, her words muffled by her lowered tone. He couldn’t help but take the opportunity to admire her body as she turned her back to him, giving him a full view of those thick curves.
Reagan hung up the phone and approached him on a sigh. “I have to go,” she said. “But I appreciate this, I do.”
Dorian hid his disappointment with an understanding nod. “I’m glad I stopped by. It seemed like you really needed someone to talk to.”
“Yes, I needed you,” she said.
He heard her play on words but decided it best to ignore it. Instead, he rose.
“You need to walk back?”
“No, I’m fine. I’m meeting a friend around the corner.” Was it just him, or had her whole mood changed in the span of that short phone call?
“Okay. I’ll see you later. Just call me if you need anything.”
Something flickered in Reagan’s eyes. He couldn’t be sure what, but her smile widened at his comment. “I sure will.”
Chapter Thirteen
“ Dr. Graham, you have a visitor.”
Claudia stood in his doorway, her fingers fiddling with the waistline of her floral print dress. Her huge glasses nearly hid her face, but he could easily detect the frown creases embedded in the side of her mouth.
“What’s wrong?” Dorian asked, leaning back in his chair.
She opened her mouth to respond but stopped short when Dorian’s friend Kenny appeared at her side. “Oh, excuse me, Ms. Claudia,” he said.
Claudia sat her hands on her hips and shook her head. “Boy, don’t you see grown folks in here talking?” she teased.
Kenny laughed. “I just need to have a quick word with my boy,” he said.
“Hmph,” Claudia grunted and waved off the statement. “Don’t you ever work? Seems like you always up here bothering him.” She nodded her head in Dorian’s direction.
He had to laugh at the truth of the comment. Kenny worked in the IT department of a company on the eighteenth floor of the building, but he was always finding a reason to trek it up to his office. Dorian had had to put him out numerous times so he could get some work done. They’d met six months ago in the cafeteria the day Dorian had rented a suite on the twenty-eighth floor for his practice. A lifetime of knowing each other couldn’t have made him closer. Dorian used to tease that Kenny just hung around trying to get glimpses of the fine-ass women that paraded through his office for body work. Kenny had never confirmed nor denied that assumption.
Claudia left them alone, and Kenny immediately shut the door and plopped down in one of the box arm guest chairs across from Dorian’s desk. “Man, that lady . . . I tell ya,” he said, shaking his head.
“Stop it. You know Ms. Claudia just likes to make fun of your crazy ass,” Dorian said, saving the files he had been working on. “Besides, you can’t get mad when she tells the truth. You don’t work.”
“Shit, I work enough,” Kenny countered. “Within my forty-hour work wee
k, my projects get done.”
Dorian swiveled around in his office chair to gaze out at the Atlanta high-rises. He always marveled at this magnificent view and its calming effect. Right now, the sky had darkened with the projected rain, but the forecast did nothing to stop the traffic and congested sidewalks.
“I came in to see what we’re doing for lunch,” Kenny said. “You know Becca and all them folks over in Human Resources having that retirement party thing, but I don’t want none of that nasty-ass food.”
Dorian chuckled and glanced at the digital clock on his desk. “It’s only a quarter till eleven. I wasn’t trying to go to lunch right now. It’s too damn early.”
“Oh, for real? What time do stomachs usually open?” Dorian laughed as Kenny rubbed his midsection for emphasis. “You know my girl can’t cook,” he went on. “Sending her man out in the mornings on Frosted Flakes and shit.”
The knock had Dorian turning to eye the closed office door. “Come in,” he said.
She would come to his job looking edible. Reagan’s tight blue jean jumpsuit hugged every curve, and she had the zipper down just enough to tease wandering eyes with the outline of her breasts. Her hair had been pulled up into a ponytail, and large gold hoop earrings dangled low enough to brush her shoulders. The camel-colored snow boots only came up to her calves, which really drew the eye upward to the thick thighs straining against the fabric.
“I hope I’m not interrupting,” Reagan said, her eyes focused on Dorian. “Your assistant told me to come on back.”
“Um . . .” Dorian licked his lips and, after feeling his hormones beginning to wake up, decided to remain seated. “No, it’s no problem. You’re not interrupting.”
“Damn, how you doing, beautiful?” Kenny rose and held out his hand. He didn’t bother hiding how his eyes lingered over the woman’s body.
Reagan accepted the hand. “I’m good.”
“Kenny, this is my sister-in-law, Reagan,” Dorian introduced. “Reagan, this is my boy, Kenny.”
Kenny lifted Reagan’s hand to his lips and kissed it. “A pleasure to meet you.”
Reagan giggled and removed her hand from his. “Dorian, I came to tell you goodbye.”
