Authors: Devon Scott
She cries out.
Over and over again.
The pain is overwhelming. Like a knot, it constricts, tightens, threatening to suffocate. Nothing, not a single thing, relieves.
She knows now.
Now, she knows it all.
This thing that started off between Ryan and Olivia became something involving him and Miles.
Two men.
A blow job.
Oh, my God!
As if to add insult to injury, enter a twenty-something bartender who nursed her husband’s wounds.
Licked them is more like it.
Some bitch named Reese.
And he said it was just physical. Sexual.
Sexual…
She almost laughs out loud.
She knows it’s never just sexual…at least not for the woman.
She cries out again.
And again.
He hears her.
Hears her screams.
Cannot take it one second longer.
So, he goes to her shrouded in darkness. Kneels by the bed, stroking her forehead and cheek. Joins her on top of the covers that are dappled with sweat. Form supine, he holds her, whispering how everything will turn out all right.
It’s like a bad dream. Sometimes life is like that. But she’s a trooper; she is strong; and she will pull through. One day, she’ll look back and realize she’s made it.
She allows him to grip her tight as the ripples attack her. Face in her hair, he spoons her close while reassuring her.
She’ll be okay…in time.
In time, everything will be all right.
She turns to face him. “I’m cold.”
So, he submerges them beneath the covers. Holds her there, bodies rocking gently against her cries that slowly grow quiet.
Her face pressed against his, tears on his cheek as their limbs intertwine.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “So sorry.”
Lips brush against hers lightly. The feeling is fleeting, but comforting.
She does it again. Drawing strength, like sustenance. And again.
Mouths open, exploring with their tongues.
Exhaling of breaths as tears dry on their cheeks.
“So sorry this is happening.”
He moves down her torso, taking in the rise to her pert breasts, the smooth hollow to her navel. Downwards farther, his nose presses against the fabric of her cotton panties, a trail of kisses in his wake.
Hands on his face, then his ears, moving upwards to his shortly cropped head, pushing down, exerting light pressure, not wanting to force, but needing this release so damn bad she can taste it, like salt on her tongue.
He removes her panties, sliding them down her thighs. She opens her legs willingly and intakes a sharp breath when he touches her
there
. Light tongue flicking against flesh that is already moist. She closes her eyes, tilts her head back, arches her back off the bed and the sweaty sheets, gives in to this feeling that’s like a drug—one that will take her pain away. Spreads her legs wider as he licks at her glistening folds, the way a child does an ice cream cone. Slow, deliberate licks…top to bottom, bottom to top…tasting the nectar that flows freely from her opening.
She can’t stop it. Not this feeling that is like a freight train barreling through a sleeping town.
When he sucks on her clit, she cries out.
But this time, the pain has diminished; it has gone. Increasing his pace, he gives her what she desires as she stares wide-eyed at the ceiling. Her back and ass are off the mattress, legs shuddering as her breathing increases. Nothing else matters, except for the passion that explodes inside with the frenzy of a train wreck, causing her to cry out and scream, grabbing his head as she shudders and shakes. He sucks her juices, drinking them down, taking all of the pain away, one silky ounce at a time.
In the morning, Carly awakens, her eyes fluttering for a brief moment before focusing on the sleeping form beside her.
She feels no remorse.
No pain.
Only a good kind of dull ache she hopes will linger between her legs for a long time.
Carly turns on her back, away from the immobile form of Tyler Nichols, and asks God for thirty more minutes of uninterrupted sleep.
Reese doesn’t hold her surprise when she enters her building a little after 8:30 in the evening, almost running smack into Ryan who’s heading out. He has a leather garment bag slung low across his hip; in each hand he grasps a dozen items on hangers. His eyes show his astonishment as their bodies brush against one another.
“Reese.”
“Ryan.”
“Didn’t expect you home…” he says, then adds, “this early.”
“I see that. Caught an earlier train. Manhattan’s just not that fun by oneself.”
Ryan nods.
“Let me get these to the car. Be right back.”
Five minutes later, he reenters her apartment, shutting the door quietly behind him. She is waiting for him by the window, hand on the rattan chair, cigarette dangling from her lips, tendrils of smoke wafting upwards lazily. She takes a long drag, inhaling into her lungs as her breasts seem to expand. Then slowly, she exhales through her nostrils, eyeing him without speaking. She nods once unhurriedly.
“I see you’re leaving.”
Not a question, but a statement.
“Yes.”
Ryan stands there, making no attempt to move into the room or get close to her. Reese purses her lips.
“So it’s like that? Just up and leave without even a proper good-bye?”
“Not sure I know what you mean, Reese.”
“Oh, please! You had every intention of sneaking out of here without so much as a note saying shit. What were you going to do? Send me a text message? IM me?”
A quick drag on her cigarette breaks the uneasy silence.
“You’re pathetic, you know that?” she adds with a sneer.
“Look, I was going to tell you; of course I wasn’t just going to roll out.”
“Really?” she asks, her voice dripping sarcasm.
“Yeah, Reese, really.” Deep breath. Steps forward into the room. “It’s time for me to move on—for
us
to move on. This thing we had was what I needed at the time. But—”
Reese is rolling her eyes.
“As I was saying, I need to get back to what’s most important to me.”
“And that is?” she asks.
“My wife…my family.”
“Oh, now you have a family?”
“Yeah, matter of fact, I do. My wife’s expecting.
We’re
expecting…”
Reese takes a moment to take that in.
“When were you gonna tell me?” she whispers.
“Just did.”
Teeth sucking.
“So, basically, what you’re saying is you don’t need me anymore.”
“Reese, it’s not like that.” He goes to her, strokes her shoulder. She peers over at him quietly. “You knew what my situation was before we got together.”
“Nigga, please! You had absolutely no problem eating my pussy the very first night, and no conscience when it came to me sucking on your dick!”
“Look, I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. We had fun, but it’s over now. I can’t keep doing this. I need to get my life back in order. I’m sorry, Reese, but I belong
there
, not here.”
Reese laughs.
“You bruthas are all the same. You run away from your drama-infested existence when the shit gets too thick. You find a strong black woman to nurse you back to health. Then, once you’re feeling fit, it’s back to the damn drama that sent you running in the first place.
“When you came to me, you were lost—like a snot-nosed kid—you had nowhere to go—had no idea what you were going to do next. Hell, you were being harassed by your own best friend—a brutha who was gunning for you in the worst way—wanted to suck that big black dick of yours so fucking bad he could taste it! You had no clue. You came sprinting to me—and who was it who took you in? Who listened to you cry? Who was it that dried your tears, told you it was okay, got you back on your feet again, showed you love? Me, Ryan. Me, myself, and I. Not that redbone wife of yours with the straight hair and proper English diction. Not your faggot-ass friend. Not his conniving-ass wife. None of the above. It was only me.”
Ryan sucks in a breath.
“Reese, you’re angry. But where did you think this was going? Did you think I was planning on leaving my wife? Did I ever utter those words to you? Did I ever say this was anything other than temporary?”
She laughs again.
“See, this is what cracks me up. When Miles was harassing you, leaving all those messages on your cell phone three or four times a day, who did you turn to? Who was the one who protected you from him?”
“What are you talking about?” Ryan asks, creeping closer.
“Miles—your so-called friend. Remember the things he said? Remember what he said he’d do if you didn’t go to him?”
“So what! I never asked for protection. What are you saying?”
Reese chuckles, puts out her cigarette, blowing smoke diagonally from her mouth.
“Okay, play dumb. It’s cool with me.”
“Just what are you implying, Reese? Don’t fuck with me. What are you saying concerning Miles?”
Reese steps in his face, glancing upwards into his eyes.
“You weren’t man enough to handle your business. So, someone else did…”
“WHAT?”
Reese saunters back, laughing.
“Go on, boy. Go back to your pretty little wife and your pathetic life. Reese is gonna be okay. I’ma do my thing. Now give me my key and get the fuck out!”
Ryan has turned red in the face, but maintains his composure while fishing the key from his pocket. He places it in her outstretched palm and turns to leave. Suddenly, he pivots around to face her.
“If I find out you had something to do with Miles’ injury…”
“What? You gonna fuck me up? Please! You know how I like it—brutal and hard. So bring the pipe and lay it on me! ’Cause that’s
all
you’re good for.”
“Fuck you, Reese!”
“Well, okay, baby. One last time for old times’ sake,” she snickers.
Ryan shakes his head morosely as the door slams behind him.
“May I speak to Luther?”
“Speaking.”
“Luther, my man, what’s up? It’s Ryan.”
“Hey, Ryan, long time no see. How ya livin’?” Luther asks excitedly.
“I’ve been good. You?” Ryan steers across the Southeast/Southwest Freeway.
“Ah, I’m great. The man keeps me running, but I can’t complain. How’s that hottie wife of yours?”
“Carly? Um, she’s good.” As an afterthought, he adds, “We’re expecting.”
“Man, that’s great. Congrats. Give Carly a hug for me! So what’s up?”
“It’s kind of a delicate situation. I kind of need some info—you know, the 411 on somebody, and I thought, who better than my ole frat brother, Luther?”
“Ah, sookie sookie now. Who is it? Girlfriend you’ve been screwing or about to screw? Just playing, man!”
Ryan gulps a breath.
“Actually, it’s a friend of mine—an acquaintance more like it. I’ve been wondering about her. Name’s Reese. She tends bar in Adams Morgan. I’m curious about her background, if she’s ever been in trouble with the law, that kind of thing.”
“Hmmm. I can do that.”
“Yeah, recently I’ve been wondering whether she has a violent past.”
“Alrighty then! Give me her info. United States Secret Service has its benefits, you know?”
“That’s why I called you, bro.”
He waits until he can’t wait any longer. Then he picks up the phone and dials her number.
She answers on the fifth ring.
“Ryan.”
“Yes.” A pause as he composes his thoughts. A moment ago, he knew exactly what to say. Now, those thoughts have evaporated into the ether.
“What? It’s late.”
Ryan checks his watch for the hundredth time. Close to midnight. She’s right—it is late.
“Just wondering when you’re coming home.”
This time, Carly takes a moment to compose her words.
“I’m not coming home, Ryan,” she responds in a soft, consoling voice.
“What?”
“I’m not coming home.” Firmer this time. “At least not tonight,” she adds.
“Okay…”
Ryan takes a moment to process these words. He hears noise in the background—her background, as if someone else is there. His wife is not alone. That much he is certain.
“Um, Carly, I was hoping we could talk, you know? I figured since so much was said last night—”
“Listen, Ryan, now’s not the time to get into this, okay?”
Pause.
“Okay,” he responds.
A moment later, he asks, “Are you working late?”
“No, I’m not.”
Pause.
“Then where are you, Carly?”
Sharp exhale.
“I’m staying with a friend, okay?”
“Which friend, Carly?”
“Ryan, let’s not do this. It’s late; I’m not alone; and we’re about to eat.”
He utters a short laugh.
“Damn, you and your friend sure eat late!”
“Yeah, well, what can I say? Suddenly it appears I’ve found my appetite.”
Ryan’s mind races, the possibilities that her statement conjures forces his head to throb.
“Come home, Carly. You’re my wife. I want to work this out.” The words are uttered soft, almost to a whisper.
“It’s too late for that, Ryan. Surely you know that.”
“Why?” he retorts quickly. “I don’t understand. I thought you said last night there was an opportunity for us to start over. You said you wanted things back the way they were. Didn’t you say that?”
More background noise.
A rustling sound.
Ryan’s heart is beating loudly in his chest.
“It’s simple. You cheated. You had sexual relations with not one, but three different people—two of whom I thought were our best friends. That’s something one does not recover from. Damn it, Ryan! Anyone looking at your actions from the outside would swear they’ve witnessed a whore at work. A man whore…”
“Carly, I’m truly sorry for what I’ve done. I apologized last night and I want to begin again—”
“And what? You think apologizing another hundred times is going to change my mind? No, Ryan. It will not. You’ve gone too far. First, with Olivia. Then, with Miles. And now, with some hoochie bartender whose name escapes me. No, husband, you’re mistaken if you think things can be the same again.”
Long intake of breath followed by a rushed exhale.
“Carly. Please—”
“Ryan, I want you and your stuff out of our house by the weekend. Is that clear?”
Pause.
“Where are you staying?”
“Where I lay my head is no longer a concern of yours. I’m giving you your single life back, Ryan. Consider yourself a free agent. Go do what you want to do. ’Cause I sure intend to do just that.”
More background noise followed by a hearty laugh.
Male voice.
This time, Ryan is one hundred percent sure of what he heard.
He shudders.
“Baby, you don’t mean that,” he utters, her words resonating sharply in his ears.
“Oh yes, I do. In fact, I’ve begun
already
.”
The snowball, which has been rolling down a hill, has become an avalanche….
Crushing everything in its wake…
Leaving nothing…not a single thing but stark silence…
Ryan’s heart goes dead.
Just like the phone he holds.
Flatlining in the palm of his quivering hand…