Message from a Mistress (11 page)

She reached out and touched the wood, knowing that she’d caused the door and his heart to be locked to her….

Jaime shook from her head to her feet during her entire ride home from the strip club. She had to grip the wheel tighter to keep her hands from trembling. And there seemed to be nothing she could do for her fast-racing heart.

“Oh, my God, I just had a one-night stand with a stripper,” she thought as she pulled to a red light. With a little shriek she leaned forward and banged her head lightly against the steering wheel.

The pleasure. The passion. The excitement.

All of it was gone. Forgotten. Resented.

Someone laid on the horn behind her and Jaime jumped and sped ahead, zooming her car under the green light. The sun was just beginning to set and traffic was heavy as people made their way back home from their jobs after a long workday.

Jaime cringed as she thought of
her
contribution to Pleasure’s workday. She said a prayer asking forgiveness from the Lord, Eric, and herself.

When she pulled through the open gates of Richmond Hills, her thoughts were on getting home and getting showered before Eric got in from work. She just wanted to feel normal and so she was prepared to act normal. Her dinner of lasagna and Caesar salad was already ready and waiting to be warmed. She would kiss her husband as soon as he walked through the door. They would eat dinner together and then watch a little television before they went to bed. Just like always.

She would pray on her sin. She would make it up to Eric somehow. She would be the best wife and the best lover. And above all, she would stay the hell away from that strip club
and
Pleasure
.

Rushing, Jaime parked her car on the street in front of their home and raced up the walk and into their house. She felt odd being without panties and she wanted to wash—scrub—away the scent of her scandalous sex from her body and her soul
.

Whoom!

The front door slammed closed behind her and what little was left of the sunlight cast the house in shadows. Jaime flipped the switch to bathe the living room in light as she set her purse and keys on the table in the foyer.

“Welcome home, wife.”

Jaime whirled and she released a small but audible gasp to find Eric sitting in one of the four chocolate leather club chairs before the stone fireplace. Shoving back her surprise, Jaime smiled. “Hey, you’re home early,” she said, hearing the nervousness in her own tone as she eyed him. But the round, boyishly handsome face and even the stance of his five-foot-eleven frame was different. His face was cold and his body was rigidly stiff. He looked like Eric, but then he didn’t as well. Off. Very odd.

“Something wrong, Eric?” she asked as she turned and made her way toward the staircase, afraid that he would come close and smell the scent of Pleasure and sex. Or grab her ass and detect that she wore no panties.

Click.

“You want me to fuck the shit out of you, don’t you?”

Jaime froze on the steps as her knees nearly gave out beneath her at the muffled sound of Pleasure’s voice.

“Yes. Please.”

“What’s my name?”

“Pleasure.”

“And what do I give?”

“Pleasure.”

Jaime turned and her eyes fell on the cell phone he held up in the air. Her heart pounded and she fell back against the wall in weakness as she dared to shift her eyes to meet his. Instantly she became lost in the anger and the pain that swirled in the brown depths.

“Fuck me.”

“My pleasure.”

Jaime felt the world was shifting beneath her feet. Panic was nearly choking her. Guilt flooded her. Fear had her frozen. “Eric—”

“Shut up,” he roared, flinging the cell phone across the room to crash into the wall.

She flinched.

Eric stood, and in three angry strides he was standing before her, completely enraged. “That’s quite a voice mail you left me, wife,” he bit out, his eyes red rimmed and puffy.

She knew her touch-screen phone had gotten jostled somehow and called Eric’s cell phone, leaving him a message that revealed her infidelity.

He reached out and grabbed her neck tightly and his other arm held her arms at her side. “I had no idea I married a slut, a no-good whore who would beg another man to fuck her like a trick.”

Jaime felt fear for her life as her eyes stayed locked on his, trying to plead with him. “It wasn’t like that, Eric,” she managed to say before his hand tightened and she struggled for air.

He banged her head against the wall. “I hate you, Jaime. Do you understand me? I hate your guts. I don’t give a shit about you anymore. Do you understand me?”

Tears filled her eyes and raced down her cheek. “Eric…please…I can’t…breathe.”

He released her neck only to roughly shove his hand down between her legs. His face hardened and his eyes were a storm of emotions as he raked his fingers across her lips. “You walk in this house without panties on, still wet from fucking some other man?” he asked her in a tight and angry voice that was low in his throat.

Jaime felt this moment was her worst nightmare. She thought of the consequences of her tryst and couldn’t help but wonder if death was an option. “I’m sorry, Eric. I’m so sorry,” she begged in a whisper. “I love you.”

He laughed bitterly before he raised his hand to roughly smear her moist pussy juices all over her mouth and face. “You love me? Huh. You…love…me. Then I’d hate to be married to a bitch that hated me.”

For a long time, Jaime held her breath as he just stood there staring at her like he never really knew her—and in that moment Jaime was filled with shame and so many regrets.

That night Eric had moved into one of the guest bedrooms and out of her life. And from then on the charade began. In public they were the perfect couple, but behind closed doors he was cold and hateful and punishing. He barely spoke to her. He ignored her most of the time. And when he did come to her room for sex, he was degrading and rough, calling her “slut” and “whore” while he fucked her like the slut and whore he thought she was.

And Jaime took it all because of her guilt and her shame—and because she wanted to weather the storm she’d created until her marriage got back on track.

Jaime released a heavy breath and turned away from the door to walk to his home office. She sat at the desk and turned on the computer. As she waited for her bank’s Web site to load, she winced as Eric’s degrading words came back to her in floating whispers.

“Suck my dick, you no-good bitch.”

“Suck my cum, whore.”

“Turn over. I wanna fuck you in your ass, slut.”

Jaime closed her eyes just as one tear raced down her cheek. She couldn’t believe the humiliation Eric put her through on those rare nights. She suffered it all because she knew she’d hurt him deeply—particularly when he questioned her and questioned her until she revealed everything about her “relationship” with Pleasure. Everything.

And it made everything worse.

Jaime was no fool. She never knew just what was going to become of her marriage, but she knew she had to look out for herself. Eric had severely tightened the purse strings, and she knew the proof of her affair could ruin her chances for alimony. Her whole life had been Eric. She’d never worked or put her college degree to use. If he left her, her life would never be the same.

Jaime logged into her online banking account. She released a sigh of relief to see the balance had not changed. Nearly eight thousand dollars—every dollar and red cent painstakingly siphoned from Eric’s account over the last five months.

Eric didn’t know about the account. At least she didn’t think he did before today.

As far as she knew, there was one person who knew about her affair. Jessa Bell. Eric had told her.

As far as she knew, there was just one other person who knew about her secret account. Jessa Bell. Jaime had left a bank statement in a purse she’d let Jessa borrow.

Jessa swore she would keep her secret, but of course now Jaime wasn’t sure about anything. But to be sure, she was going to close the account Monday and move her stash to a new bank or put it in a safe-deposit box.

It was her safety net. She wanted her marriage. She wanted her husband. She wanted things to be the way they used to be.

But…
if
Eric left her, she refused to be brokenhearted
and
broke. Period.

R
enee got busy cleaning as soon as she had strolled through the door of their home and changed into a T-shirt and sweats. For the next two hours, she cleaned like she hadn’t had the will, time, or gumption in months. Cleaning was a great distraction from her life.

But then, as she paused in cleaning her marble countertops, she thought maybe losing focus on her married life had led to this dilemma….

Renee excitedly studied her reflection in the full-length mirror of her walk-in closet that was the size of a small room. The Tracy Reese cocktail dress was way beyond the limit she set for herself, but she had to have it once she saw the onyx appliqué lace creation. It fit her tall and toned shape well. She loved it.

“Just the dress to win a major award,” she told her reflection as she looked down at her Louboutin satin stilettos.

The bedroom door opened and Renee struck a seductive pose as Jackson strolled into the room. He paused at the sight of her, smiling so deeply that his dimples were clearly defined. “Wow, you look beautiful, Renee, but you’re a little overdressed for a school dance recital.”

Renee’s smile faltered. “No, no, no, you’re a little underdressed for my award banquet tonight,” she said lightly.

Jackson sat down on the foot of their bed and kicked off his Gucci loafers while he undid his silk tie. His smile faded and the face of her handsome husband was replaced with that of the brooding stranger she was beginning to get used to. “So you’re going to miss our daughter’s dance recital tonight?” he asked in a cold voice that was already filled with resentment
.

Renee walked over to stand before him, her footsteps silenced by the plushness of their carpeting. “Jackson, I thought we discussed this. Winning this award is a very big accomplishment for me and I want you there with me,” she stressed softly, reaching down to stroke his strong cheek
.

Jackson leaned back to avoid her touch. “As a parent, my first concern is for my child, so I will be attending her recital and I would advise you to do the same.”

Renee licked some of the MAC lip gloss from her full lips. “Jackson, Kieran has a recital once a month, and I talked to her. She understands why we will miss this
one
recital, Jackson
.”

He looked up at her. “How many times will your career matter more than this family, Renee?”

“I’ve been a good wife and a phenomenal mother all these years, Jackson, and now I want to be a fantastic career woman. And this award tonight is justification that I’m doing pretty damn good at it.” Renee grabbed his chin and jerked his face up so that her pained eyes met his angry ones. “So I am still a good wife, and still a phenomenal mother, and now a brilliant career woman. I am all of those things. And my husband, whom I have supported every moment we’ve been together since college, should help me up the ladder and not try to drag me down it.”

Jackson stood and breezed past her. “I don’t support your career and you know it, so why pretend, Renee? Why fake it?” he asked.

Renee stiffened her spine. “Why not go to the recital and then you and the kids join me at the banquet, Jackson?” she offered, wanting the peace in her family back.

He looked at her over his shoulder for a long time before he nodded and turned to walk into the bathroom.

Renee took a deep sip of her third Long Island iced tea as she eyed her star-shaped award sitting on the bar. It symbolized her hard work and, dedication, and recognition on a national level for her marketing abilities.

And Jackson couldn’t care less.

The hardest thing she’d ever done was get through her acceptance speech without showing everyone in attendance that she was extremely hurt to look out and see the empty seat where her husband should’ve been.

He’d lied to her. He never brought the kids, and when she called he flat-out told her he never had any intention of showing up.

Renee sighed as she sat at the bar of the hotel’s lounge. She jumped in surprise when a hand lightly touched her bare arm. She looked up to find her assistant, Darren, standing there. “I thought you had left,” she told him before picking up her glass.

“I was about to leave and I saw your car still parked in the deck, so I came back to check on you,” he said, easing onto a stool beside her.

“Just enjoying a drink and toasting to myself, since no one else gives a shit,” she muttered into her glass.

“Well, I’m proud of you and I want to be you when I finish growing up. The male version, of course.”

Renee side-eyed him. Darren’s enthusiasm for the job was always contagious and Renee had no doubt that the majority of his ass kissing was completely genuine. “Well, considering you don’t have to get sidetracked by expectations of full-time motherhood and wifely duties, you’ll get there a lot sooner than me,” she drawled before tipping her head back and finishing her drink.

Darren said nothing and Renee was glad. She motioned for the bartender and ordered another Long Island iced tea.

Renee side-eyed him. “Are you old enough to drink?” she asked dryly.

He shook his head. “So, boss, can I ask why, on a night like tonight, you are here celebrating alone?”

“Long, drawn-out story,” was all that she said.

“Well, I want you to know that I understand and I admire the work that you do,” Darren told her.

“Thank you. Appreciate it.” Renee lifted her glass.

“I know a good way we could top off the night,” he said.

Renee frowned a little before she turned her head to look over at him. “Careful, little boy, that sounds like an indecent proposal,” she said, her voice slurring a bit.

“It was.”

Renee locked eyes with Darren. Her inferior. Her assistant. Someone not too much older than her own children. He was so completely her type with his tall and dark sexiness. And in truth, Renee had long appreciated in silence just how sexy he was. His broad and square shoulders, his narrow waist…even down to the scent of his cologne.

Her clit swelled to life. “No strings?” she asked.

“Absolutely. No one will know but you, me, and the sheets.”

Renee rose unsteadily to her feet.

Blame it on the alcohol,
she thought as Darren followed her to the elevator
.

Renee had never felt so uncomfortable in all her life. Ever.

Darren wetly kissed her neck as he ground his soft penis against her thigh like he was trying to squash a roach or mash potatoes.

Renee was tipsy but Darren’s lame and lackluster approach to sex was sobering her up. She was sure the condom he put on was going to slip off because there was no way it would stay on that semi.

He worked his way down to her breasts and Renee cringed at the feel of the wetness of his tongue on her nipples. She shivered in revulsion
. Goodness, who doesn’t know how to suck a damn titty?

“Ow!” she yelped when he bit down on it
.

“Sorry,” he mumbled and then proceeded to sop it down with spit again like that would make it better.

Renee brought her hands up to his shoulders and immediately noticed that he was missing the strength and breadth of Jackson’s broad shoulders. He was missing a lot of what Jackson had.

Her eyes popped open when he lifted her leg roughly and tried to pack his semi inside her pussy—which was as dry as a desert.

Worst fuck—or almost fuck—ever.

“Okay, Darren?” she said, tapping his shoulder. “Let’s stop. Puh-leeze.”

She didn’t want to hurt his feelings, but damn, he sucked in bed
and
his dick wouldn’t get hard. She had to bite her lips to keep from telling him so.

He dropped her leg and rolled off her to the other side of the bed to lie on his back.

She lay in the bed with the sheet tucked tightly around her naked frame, as stiff as a corpse. The weird thing was Darren lay beside her in the same damn position. She felt like two Popsicle sticks.

“Ummmm,” she began, not sure what she wanted to do—or to say.

“No words necessary. It was awful,” he supplied.

“Oh, God, yes, it was,” she gushed, bringing her hands up to cover her face. “I don’t know if it was alcohol…or our age difference…or the fact that I only get hot for my husband…or…or…”

“I’m gay.”

Renee frowned. Deeply. “Oh.”

Darren started to laugh.

Renee joined him. “Oh, thank God.”

“I just wanted to help you out…and help myself.”

Renee sat up, being sure to keep the sheet up around her armpits to cover her nudity. “Explain, please.”

“Just one last try at the whole straight thing. If I can’t get my dick hard in a bed with a woman with your titties, then being straight is a major fail.”

“First, thanks for the compliments on my double Ds, and secondly, I so agree with you, and thirdly, male or female, please ease up on the nipple bite and the wetness and you’re not half bad,” she told him before she climbed out of the bed, keeping the covers snug around her body.

Darren flung the covers back and pulled the unused condom from his dick. “I was trying something for the first time, cut me some slack,” he drawled.

Renee hurried into her clothes. “Listen, Darren, I had a little too much to drink and a lot of emotional crap dumped on me tonight, and I am actually glad that your dick doesn’t like me because I would have regretted this.”

“It’s forgotten,” he assured her.

“Thanks.”

“I better head home,” Renee said, slipping her feet into her shoes.

Darren rose with her. “Can you drive okay or do you want me to take you home or call a cab?” he asked.

“I’m going to call one of my friends to come and get me, but why don’t you stay in the room, it’s all paid for,” she told him, reaching in her purse for her cell phone.
Nearly ten o’clock and not one missed call? Fuck you, Jackson. Fuck you all the way, Negro.

She dialed Jessa’s number since she was the only one who lived alone and she didn’t want to pull Aria or Jaime from their marital bed. “Jessa, please come and pick me up from the Hilton on Belmont,” she said as soon as Jessa answered the phone.

“On my way.”

Without question. That was Jessa. Always there when needed. Always coming when called.

“Thanks, Mrs. Clinton,” Darren said as he walked her to the door of the hotel suite in his red bikini briefs. “See you Monday.”

“Night, Darren,” she told him before making her way to the elevator.

She knew she had to sit Jackson down and find a compromise—a happy middle ground—for their marriage. One gay dick was the only thing that had saved her from cheating. Never had she crossed the lines outside of her marriage, but Jackson had hurt her so deeply and she couldn’t help but wonder if it was going to get worse before it got better. The good moments that used to dominate their lives together were now few and far between.

Renee leaned heavily back against the wall and closed her eyes. She didn’t even want to go home to Jackson. In that moment she wasn’t sure if she didn’t hate him. And that was a scary thought, because maybe he felt the same about her.

Renee shook her head and swiped the tears away, wishing she had invited her girls to the banquet. She just felt like someone should have been there for her.

When the elevator door opened, Renee slowly made her way to the lobby as she yawned. The alcohol went from making her foolish to making her sleepy. She dropped her head in her hand.

“Hey, girl. Wake up.”

Renee’s eyes popped open to find Jessa looking down at her. She wiped the drool from the side of her mouth and sat up straight. “Hey, girl, thanks for coming,” she said.

Jessa frowned and covered her nose with her hand. “Damn, Renee, your mouth smells like shit. What the hell were you drinking?”

Renee laughed as she got to her feet. “I had a rough night, so hush, girl.”

They climbed into Jessa’s car parked in front of the hotel
.

“How was the banquet?” Jessa asked as she started the car and accelerated forward.

“It was nice, but it was the random collision with a gay dick that really topped off the night like a cherry on a sundae,” Renee drawled, searching in her bag for a mint because her mouth tasted worse than it smelled.

“Huh?”

“Jackson’s hardheaded, stubborn-mule ass didn’t come to the banquet and fed me a guilt trip about missing our daughter’s dance recital,” Renee told her. “In a recap. Me. Emotional. Lots of drinks. Cute enough assistant who think my shit doesn’t stink. Hotel suite. Really bad foreplay. Really bad. A nonfunctioning dick. My self-esteem drops. Assistant reveals he is gay. Me. Asleep in lobby like a drunk. Breath smelling like puffy cheese doodles and cow shit. Ta-dah.”

“Oh, my God, you were going to cheat on Jackson?” Jessa asked in total shock.

Renee slipped a dust-covered Certs into her mouth. She sang Jamie Foxx’s “Blame It”. “And it was awful. Oh, my God, my nipples are raw and my clit is bruised—and not in a good way.”

“So you and Jackson really need to get y’alls act together,” Jessa said.

“Yes, because I think I’m going to lose my husband—my family—if I don’t give up working.”