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Authors: Devon Scott

BOOK: Obsessed
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Epilogue
One Year Later . . .
 
The azure waters off Providenciales of the Turks and Caicos Islands contrasts sharply with its white, pristine sands. It is half past nine, and the sun is climbing high into an already breathtaking sky.
They sit with their feet in the warming sands not twenty yards from the water’s edge, finishing up breakfast.
Eggs Benedict, Belgian waffles, blueberry-filled pancakes, fried sausage, well-cooked, hickory-smoked bacon.
Their plates removed by a cute, attentive waitress, they drink strong Mediterranean coffee while Zack, scuba mask and snorkel already donned, his feet stuffed into oversized fins, stomps impatiently around their table.
“For the hundredth time, Zackary Christopher Handley, you cannot go in the water unsupervised.” Kennedy is wearing a turquoise bikini, halter top and low-rise bottoms courtesy of Victoria’s Secret. Her hair is cut short in the style of Halle Berry in
Die Another Day.
Michael is sporting a pair of printed oversized boardshorts with dark Ray-Bans and a khaki surf hat. He chuckles at his son as he observes him tossing a mock tantrum.
“Why don’t you go play over there in the sand?” Michael suggests. “Mommy will take you snorkeling as soon as we’re finished.”
Zack huffs and puffs, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. “You guys take
way
too long!”
“We are in no rush, young man,” Kennedy says. “We’re on vacation, remember?”
“You promised me a massage before lunch,” Zack retorts. “
Hello?
”
Michael busts out laughing.
Kennedy simply shakes her head.
“He is
so
your son,” she says.
“Whatever.”
Zack plods off, the scuba fins making forward movement across the sand extremely difficult, especially for an eight-year-old. But he is determined to get as far away from his parents as possible. When he’s gone about twenty yards down the beach, Kennedy calls out to him.
“That’s enough, honey.”
“Aww, Mommy!”
They sip their coffee, enjoying the momentary peace and serenity.
“I could get used to this,” Kennedy says.
“Amen.”
A few moments pass between them. They stare out at the water. The back-and-forth rhythm of the rushing tide is hypnotic.
Michael breaks the silence.
“I’m horny.”
Kennedy exhales sharply.
“You know just how to—”
“I know—fuck up a wet dream!”
“Basically.”
“I’m just saying . . .”
Kennedy cocks her head to one side. Lowers her voice.
“Didn’t I take care of you last night?” she asks demurely.
“Yep. But that was
last
night. Today is a brand-new day, baby!”
Kennedy shakes her head.
“I’ll see what I can do. In between snorkeling and your son’s massage.”
“See that you do,” Michael says. “I have needs, you know.”
They both laugh.
Several more moments of uninterrupted silence pass between them.
“Question,” Michael says.
“Shoot.”
Michael takes a few seconds to frame what’s on his mind. “Do you think our lifestyle will change as a result of what happened?”
Kennedy stares at him.
“You mean, do I think we’ll continue to sleep with other people after what went down with that madman?”
“That’s what I’m asking.”
Kennedy looks away. She relaxes her stare, and it drifts far away, out to the horizon and beyond. She knows that beyond her vision lies Haiti and the Dominican Republic.
“I don’t know,” she finally replies. “It’s not something I’ve made a decision about.”
“Okay.”
“You’re mad.” Statement, not question.
“Not mad.”
“Disappointed.”
Michael turns to her.
“I wouldn’t even say I’m disappointed. I loved what we had—the freedom to express who we are. To define ourselves as sexually free beings. Yeah, I’d miss that if we couldn’t go back, but your safety and that of our son is my first priority. Nothing else even comes close.”
Kennedy smiles.
“I’m glad to hear you say that.”
Michael nods.
“Not saying no,” Kennedy says. “Just saying we need to give it some serious thought before jumping back into the frying pan.”
“Agreed,” Michael says.
“I’ll tell you one thing,” she says, draining the last of her coffee, “if we do decide to play, I’m instituting new rules.”
Michael’s eyebrow rises.
“Oh, really?”
“Yeah. Rule number one—no married folks. And nobody in a committed relationship. Only singles allowed.”
“Okay.” Michael pretends to be taking notes.
“Rule number two—ID and background check for everyone before we do
anything
. You hear me?”
Michael grins.
“Go take your son snorkeling.”
Kennedy rises, kisses her husband long and hard on the mouth before raising her voice.
“Zack, you ready?” she asks.
“YESSS!” he exclaims, bringing his fist into his waist.
Michael watches the two of them go.
His woman.
His little man.
He signals the cute waitress for a refill.
The Mediterranean coffee is good. Smells of coca, cinnamon, and a pinch of orange peel assault his nostrils as she pours the hot brew.
The waitress leaves, and Michael is alone with his thoughts.
They are good thoughts.
Peaceful and serene.
“Excuse me.”
Michael looks up into the brilliant sunshine.
A gorgeous dark-skinned woman in a stunning white off-the-shoulder one-piece is standing beside him. Michael holds his hand to his forehead in order to keep from squinting.
“Hello,” she begins.
Her accent he can’t place. British, Australian—he isn’t sure.
“Hi,” he responds.
“May I join you?” she asks, displaying a wonderful set of straight white teeth and full, sensual lips.
“Sure, I guess.”
The woman sits, folding her well-oiled legs. They go on for days, and Michael has to concentrate hard not to stare.
“You have a lovely family,” she says.
Michael smiles.
“I observed the three of you earlier during breakfast.”
“Ahhh.”
“Your wife is beautiful. Quite striking.”
The woman is grinning, and Michael begins to laugh.
“What’s so funny?” she asks.
He shrugs.
“I was just thinking. Never mind.” He waves a hand away.
“No, go ahead. Tell me, please.”
She pats his arm playfully. And that accent. Lord.
Michael licks his lips.
“You said my wife is beautiful. I was about to say, ‘You should see her naked.’ ”
Their eyes lock for a brief moment, and then Michael chuckles, enjoying his private joke.
“I’d like that,” the beautiful dark-skinned woman retorts with a straight face.
Michael considers this creature before him.
Breathtaking. Sensual.
He sips his coffee, contemplating a suitable response.
Finally he sets his mug down.
“You here . . . alone?”
“Yes.”
“Too bad we’re not. Our son is with us,” he says, gesturing with his thumb toward the waves.
“I see,” she says.
“But if we were alone, we’d need to see some ID,” he retorts playfully.
“We?” she asks innocently.
“My wife and I. We’re a package deal.”
She doesn’t miss a beat.
“Sure. It’s back in my room.”
Michael stares unblinkingly, his breath for a moment arrested, his lips curling into a radiant and consenting smile.
A READING GROUP GUIDE
OBSESSED
DEVON SCOTT
 
 
 
 
ABOUT THIS GUIDE
 
The following questions are intended to enhance your group’s discussion of this book.
Discussion Questions
1.
What do you think of Michael and Kennedy’s relationship? Is it a “perfect” marriage?
2.
Is Michael and Kennedy’s lifestyle something you would ever consider?
3.
Can you identify with Kennedy? Does she represent a strong woman?
4.
What are your thoughts on Damian? Are his feelings justified? What about his actions?
5.
Who is responsible for everything that transpired? Dawn, Damian, Kennedy and/or Michael? Why?
6.
Did Michael do enough to protect his family? Is he really a good husband?
7.
Do you agree with Kennedy’s decision to involve Joe in the investigation, given their history?
8.
Do you think Joe really loves his fiancée? Are his feelings for Kennedy merely sexual, or is there more?
9.
Do you agree with what Kennedy did to prevent her husband from going to jail?
10.
How did you feel about Michael moving out of the house? Did he do the right thing?
11.
Michael and Kennedy have one child, named Zack. What do you think of Michael and Kennedy’s lifestyle as it relates to raising a child?
12.
Do you think it was smart for Michael and Kennedy to stay in touch with their past sexual acquaintances?
13.
If your partner told you he or she wanted a lifestyle like Michael and Kennedy’s, what would you say? What would you do?
14.
Do you see Michael and Kennedy continuing the same lifestyle, given all they’ve been through? Why or why not?
15.
Does this book make you think about the way you use technology, e.g., email, IM, digital cameras, video cameras, cell phones, etc.?
Don’t miss Devon Scott’s
UNFAITHFUL
Available now wherever books are sold
Chapter 1
Olivia—
I’ve tried for days to tell you what, for me, is an absolute new feeling. I’ve been asking myself if what I dare to express is real and worth fighting for, given our circumstances and the fact that we’ve been friends for so long. But I’ve come to the point where I can no longer NOT let you know how I’m feeling.
I know a letter is not the best way to communicate affairs of the heart, but in the interest of so many things, I feel this is the only way to start.
So, here goes . . .
Something changed within me that night at the party. Two weeks ago, almost to this day, my life was indelibly altered. I can’t tell you exactly why it began, but all I know is I don’t look at things the way I did before. I find myself dreaming about new things—whole new realms of possibilities, and each one includes you.
Olivia, what happened between you and me that night cannot be ignored. It was profound. It was deep. And I pray that it happens again and again and again. Yes, Olivia, for me it was so much more than just physical . . . it affected me that much....
Ryan doesn’t hear the door open until the footfalls are inside his cage. He glances up to find his boss, the president of the company, standing before him. He swivels away from his laptop and quickly closes the clamshell, ensuring no one will witness this spilling of emotions.
“Ryan.”
“Rodney. Have a seat.”
“No, thanks. This won’t take but a second.” He glances back toward the door as if expecting company.
Ryan witnesses Olivia’s dark locs rise into view. Before he can breathe, she is moving through the door. Russet-colored skin and toned calf muscles, sculpted flesh that curves upward to the hemline of her short, yet fashionable, skirt. The crisp white buttondown top is fitting, following her curves the way a sports car does a winding road. Eyes drift upward to her full breasts pressed against cotton—no, that is not right. They are straining against the fabric—yes, straining.
“Ahhh, perfect timing, Olivia,” Rodney says.
She grins at Rodney before flashing her alluring smile in Ryan’s direction.
Rodney begins without preamble. “I need the two of you in New York, tonight. Sorry for the late notice, but, Olivia, your guy is having second thoughts—something he’s hearing on the street about a manufacturing defect with the optics. Pure bullshit, of course, but we need to squelch this thing before it gets out of hand.”
Olivia is nodding, as if she expected this. Ryan is turning a sour face, as if he has no idea what they are talking about. He opens his mouth to speak, but Olivia beats him to the punch.
“Rod, Ryan and I met earlier today regarding this issue, and I’ve already had my staff prepare a briefing just in case. So Ryan and I can finalize it on the shuttle going up. We’ll be ready, no problem. Just tell us when and where.”
Ryan remains silent. He is observing her, cool under fire. Her stare is unwavering, her smile captivating. He feels himself stirring, readying the switch that turns the windows opaque so fast it would make her head spin. He longs to push Rodney out of his office, then rush to her the way a cheetah attacks its prey.
“Outstanding. Jackie has all the details.” He turns to leave, swatting Ryan on the shoulder. He winks at Olivia as he says, “As usual, the two of you make quite a pair.” Then he is gone, leaving Olivia alone with Ryan, a smirk painted on her sensuously full lips.
 
Six hours later, he sits across from her, forty-seven floors up from Broadway, enjoying the tastiest broiled salmon of his life. She is dressed casually: tight jeans, dark boots, and off-white sweater showing off her curves. As she excuses herself to go to the restroom, he stares silently at her perfectly shaped ass, thanking God for answering his prayers.
When she returns, looking more refreshed than before, he focuses on the gap between her thighs, that sweet spot, attempting to make out the cleft that forms her core. He knows what it feels like. He has committed its form to memory . . . has touched it ... even slipped a finger inside.
God, what a night that was.
He hopes tonight he will finish what they began.
The biz trip to New York was a godsend.
He is drinking rum and Coke. The buzz he is feeling helps his thinking along. He stares at her, pondering just how alluring she can be. They talk casually about stuff, already exhausting the technical problems that sent them there. Once again, he is barely listening. Instead, he remembers a scene very similar to this one.
Months ago, the two of them were out on a client call . . . another late night, one of many. For some reason, he was feeling depressed that night. Can’t recall why—but it was one of those times when self-esteem was at an all-time low. Perhaps he was just going through a midlife crisis—or reexamining his life from a different angle. We all need to do that from time to time. Right?
Regardless, he was feeling down, and needed to believe in something else for a change.
Warmth.
“Do you find me attractive?”
He recalls blurting out the question over dinner. She had glanced up, incomprehension etched in her usually smooth brow.
She was thinking.
“What do you mean?” she asked cautiously while setting down her wineglass stem and giving him her full attention.
“Just what I said. Do you find me attractive?”
He was thinking about her husband, Miles. How could he not? They had been talking about him earlier. And Ryan found that he was comparing himself to the man. Ryan was thin and lanky, like a ball player, whereas Miles was muscled, stocky. Ryan was light-skinned; Miles, on the other hand, richly brown. Ryan wore his hair short, tapered, professional, almost boring to a fault, whereas Miles wore his to fit his personality—wild, free, unencumbered. His locks were thick, dark, and long. Women loved his hair. He received stares and comments from women everywhere he went. Sometimes it made Ryan sick.
Olivia stared at him for a moment, pondering the question, and in the ensuing silence, he wondered, Could I have gotten her? Could I have been her man?
Her brow furrowed. She smiled and then said something simple that blew him away.
“I think you’re beautiful.”
Ryan considered her words for a moment. Head tilted down, he pondered their meaning.
He didn’t see her get up, didn’t notice her move to his side of the table until she was bending down. He glanced up, meeting her stare as her mouth opened. Before he had time to consider further action, her mouth was upon his, kissing him, loving him with her mouth, those luscious lips pressing against his with a passion that ignited something so deep and primal he hadn’t felt in decades.
When she was done—he wasn’t sure if it took mere seconds or minutes—Olivia finally pulled back, wiped the locs from her eyes, and sat down. She then picked up her wine and took a sip. No words were needed. He knew now how she felt....
“Penny for your thoughts?” she asks, bringing him back to reality.
He smiles in remembrance. “Just thinking.”
“About?”
“You. Me. The party a few weeks ago.”
Olivia grins. “Fucked me up.”
His breath catches in his throat. Then, he smiles. “Yeah. Almost.”
Olivia stares at him unknowingly. “What do you mean?” she asks.
He ignores the question. Instead, he drains his drink and places the glass down, staring into the kaleidoscope of ice patterns for a split second before sucking in a breath, then exhaling loudly.
“Let me ask you a question.”
“Shoot . . .”
“That night, did you want things to go all the way?”
Again, that look. Furrowing brow.
“Pardon?”
“You . . . me . . . the party. Hel-lo?”
She laughs. For a moment, the tension had risen to the point where one could cut it with an axe. Seconds later, thanks to her mirth, it had dissipated. So, he laughs with her before turning serious.
“Something funny?”
Olivia responds. “Yeah. As I recall, we were all pretty fired up. You, me, Carly—oh, my god—”
“This isn’t about Carly,” Ryan states, interrupting her, willing her to stay on track. To not talk about his wife.
She pauses. Stares at him hard.
“Okay.”
“I’ve known you a long time, Olivia. We go way back, right?”
“Right.”
“So, no sense in pussy-footing around.” He chuckles at his own joke. “I mean, it’s something we need to discuss.”
She opens her mouth to speak, then thinks better of it and nods instead.
“That night at the party, something happened between us. Something that can’t be denied. Two weeks later, we’ve yet to fully acknowledge it. I don’t know about you, but I can’t just waltz around here like nothing happened, ’cause that’s not the case.”
“Ryan—look, I know—”
The annoying clamor from her cell phone cuts the conversation short. Olivia reaches for her hip, mouthing her regret as she answers it. Her face changes—a glow emerging in place of a frown.
Miles . . .
He stands, slaps some bills on the table, and is walking away before she stops him with a brush to his elbow.
“Miles wants me to remind you about Friday. He’s made reservations at Bluespace for noon,” she says, gesturing to her phone. “Don’t be late, he says.”
Olivia smiles in an attempt to cut through the apprehension that has risen again between them. He smiles in return, but their conversation is done. Dejected, he heads for his room.
Chapter 2
He was standing by the refrigerator, the door open and shielding his lower body from view. To someone standing across the room, one might assume he was naked. Fact is, he was wearing boxers—the Scooby-Doo ones Carly gave him for his birthday as a goof.
He was just standing there, head pounding from a night of crabs, Coronas, apple martinis, and cigar smoking. Just the last two were more than enough to make his head spin.
One-thirty in the morning, standing in the kitchen of his best friends’ home, Olivia and Miles asleep upstairs, Carly crashed on the futon in the basement below—and Ryan, his cotton mouth and tongue begging for moisture as he rummaged through the fridge searching for something to drink. He found a liter of Sprite and, not having the strength to search for a cup, tipped the bottle to his lips and thirstily drank.
As he dropped it back into the slot in the refrigerator, he stepped back to close the door.
That’s when he saw her.
She was standing motionless, observing him silently. He was caught off guard. What he saw took his breath away.
Olivia was clad in a button-down shirt—little else. The shirt hung open and he could see the dark patch of pubic hair that spread over her mound—and a large purplish nipple peeked out from the side of the shirt. Her hair hung free, locs surrounding her beautiful darkened face. Between her lips hung a burnt-out cigar. She moved forward on her toes, like a dancer; she seemed to glide toward him effortlessly. He glanced quickly toward the closed doorway that led to the basement stairs. Behind her, the back of the family room couch was sprinkled in shadows; the rest of the room was indigo.
He couldn’t wrestle his gaze from her body, which seemed to writhe as she moved near—the illusion of a serpent—and the fullness of her spoke to him. Not like Carly’s slender form, certainly not overweight. Just curvy hips, meat on the bones like his mama. Legs and thighs that spoke of substance and full breasts that hung invitingly. When she was within touching distance, her eyes never leaving his, the cigar now inches from his face, his cock swelling in his boxers with the certainty of a raging flood, he reached for her. Her legs parted; her eyes were unblinking. His fingers traced a line down the cotton fabric of the man’s shirt, past buttons, parting the halves, and resting a hand lightly on her breast. Gently, he circled the hard nipple before dipping down farther past her navel, which he traced gently with his fingernail before meandering through her dark patch of hair. Finally, after a splendid minute, he felt the rise of moistened flesh that met his touch.
She reached out and expertly slipped her hand inside his shorts. His cock came alive as she palmed the bulbous head, stroking the shaft, raking her fingers lightly over his balls. He found her opening effortlessly, slipping a finger inside.
His cock stretched out in front of him, gently bobbing beside her waist. She stroked it with her palm, then, just as she found her groove stroking him, she ceased and moved to the back of the couch that was dappled in darkness. Her hands spread lengthwise along the edge of the furniture as she bent forward and down, lifting up the shirt in the process—Miles’ shirt, the same one he had been wearing earlier that evening—and spread her legs wide, exhibiting in all of its splendor her heart-shaped, chocolate-colored ass.
He groaned contentedly, marveling at the exquisiteness on display before him. He could clearly see the lips to her sex, which glistened even in the half-darkness. He thought of the kiss they had shared months before, her intoxicating scent that night in the elevator, the way her skin felt when he massaged her shoulders in his office, the electricity that coursed between them. He gripped himself decisively, readying to impale his hardness into the wetness of her sweet cavern. Suddenly, unable to contain his hunger, he lunged forward with a purpose that surprised even him.
In that same moment, they clearly heard the rustling coming from upstairs, the weighty, uncoordinated footfalls, and Miles’ unmistakable deep voice calling out, “Olivia, baby, is that you I hear?”

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