What He Wants: Trusting You prequel novella
* * * *
What He Wants
An Erotic Short
(Prequel to
Trusting You
– a Second Chances Standalone novel)
Copyright © 2014 by L.P. Dover
Cover design by
Once Upon a Time Covers
Edited by
Melissa Ringsted
Formatting by
JT Formatting
All rights reserved.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products, bands, and/or restaurants referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
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HEY, EVERYONE, I wanted to give you a little insight to my short story,
What He Wants.
If you’ve read my novel,
Trusting You
, you will know who my characters are. If not, then I hope you’ll be intrigued enough to see what happens to Melissa and Brett after their one night stand. The beginning of
Trusting You
starts off with the morning after that fateful night. None of my readers ever got to actually see how they met, or how their night at the bar turned from innocent flirting to an all-night event of lust, passion, and hot, steamy sex.
What He Wants
shows you all of that and how Brett knew Melissa was what he craved … what he wanted. Enjoy!
DO YOU EVER get that feeling that you know something is wrong, but yet you can’t figure out what it is? Well, let me tell you … I’ve had that feeling for a while, and if my suspicions were correct I’d have my answer soon.
The only problem was that I’d ignored it for so long, praying that I was just being paranoid, and that my husband’s success wouldn’t change his views on life. I was wrong.
As I packed up my students’ test papers and stuck them in my bag, my heart pounded relentlessly in my chest. I didn’t want to think of my husband cheating on me with another woman—our neighbor of all people—but I couldn’t ignore the warning that went off in my mind every time I saw him and
her
interact.
For instance, the subtle way they would say hello every morning out in the driveway before they both left for work, or the way she would always try to find reasons to come over and
borrow
something. Her gaze would linger a little too long on Daniel, and his on her.
There were many times I wanted to just rip out her dried-up, bleach-blonde hair and shove it down her throat. The problem was, I didn’t understand what she had that I didn’t. Not that I was vain, I was completely the opposite, but I considered myself an attractive female.
I had soft, wavy red hair, emerald green eyes, and the right amount of curves that most men liked. I was a
real
woman, unlike the whore next door who had fake breasts, too dark skin from the tanning bed, and was the most disingenuous woman I’d ever met. All in all, she was a bitch who had no redeeming qualities whatsoever.
Clenching my teeth together, I refused to cry over my husband or that bitch he was fucking. I was stupid to think that someone like Daniel O’Briene could be happy with one woman. He had always gotten what he wanted, and now that he had more money than he could dream of, it had gone to his head. When we got married two years ago everything was perfect; I was all he ever wanted, and even his friends made comments about how lucky he was to have married someone like me.
Why couldn’t
he
see that? He obviously didn’t care anymore.
Before I could finish packing up my things and lock my classroom door, Mrs. Hamilton—our high school’s music teacher and a friend of my mother’s—waltzed in, her expression wary. She was fifty-eight years old with short, auburn hair that was nowhere near natural looking. Her husband liked it, so she colored it that way to please him.
The only thing that pleased Daniel was to have me hanging on his arm in a provocative dress so he could show me off at his business dinners. That was all I was to him … a trophy wife. I couldn’t believe I’d fallen for his tricks so blindly.
“What are you going to say if you find him with her?” Mrs. Hamilton asked.
For the past couple of months, I’d confided in her and told her about my suspicions. She always listened to me with an open mind, and finally told me to find out for myself. Daniel thought I was going to be in a meeting after school, but little did he know that it was all a farce to see if I could catch him in the act. I was nervous … but I was also pissed; angry couldn’t begin to describe the way I would feel if I literally caught him with someone else.
Sighing, I slung my bag over my shoulder and shrugged, my hands clenching the straps of my bag with brutal force. “I don’t think the question is what I’m going to
say
to him, other than what I’m doing to
do
if I catch him.”
She nodded sadly and squeezed my shoulder; her deep brown gaze full of sorrow. “I know, sweetheart. I went through it with my first husband, so I understand how you feel. The sooner you find out what’s going on the better you’ll be. Now go before it’s too late.”
With adrenaline coursing through my veins, I nodded once and headed out of the school to the parking lot where my red Lexus LFA sat, mocking me; it was a present from Daniel. He bought me everything I could ever want, but no amount of jewelry or pretty things would make me want to stay with him. I didn’t need material things … I needed love.
Once in my car, I sped out of the parking lot and trudged along the back country roads—since the police always kept radar on them—until I got to Interstate 85. There I could finally let loose and speed home, reluctantly counting down the fifteen minutes I knew it would take to get there. The closer I got, the sicker I became.
He’s there … I know it.
I felt it in my blood.
When I turned down our street, I could see the closed garage door up ahead, so I had no clue if he was inside or not. Instead of pulling into the driveway, I parked on the road off to the left of our house, not even shutting the car door for fear he’d hear it. Our bedroom was downstairs with windows in the front, so if he heard a car he could easily look out the window and see me in the driveway. The last thing I wanted to do was alert him to my presence.
Thankfully, no one was around to see me creep around the back of my house like a psycho stalker. I reached around to the inside of the gate and unlocked it, letting it open slowly before latching it back together once I got inside. The water in the swimming pool was calm, but there was nothing calm about the storm brewing inside of me.
My hands shook and I could barely breathe, but I knew I had to keep going even if it felt like I was going to hyperventilate in the ninety degree heat. Summers in North Carolina were definitely not mild; most of the time they were scorching with the humidity being off the charts. Nonetheless, it was my home and where I belonged.