Authors: Niobia Bryant

Mistress No More (27 page)

BOOK: Mistress No More

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The prosecutor looked through her file briefly. “We stand by our suggestion for bond.”

Lord, please. Please. Don’t send me back to jail. Please don’t let him send me back to jail,
she prayed.

The judged quickly wrote something and flipped the file closed before handing it to his court clerk. “Mrs. Clinton is ROR with the condition that she enters an alcohol rehabilitation program within the next twenty-four hours.”

Justin turned to her and was saying something, but Renee had already turned to lean across the wooden divider for Jaime and Aria to wrap their arms around her. Tears of relief flooded her eyes as she looked over her friends’ shoulders at her husband.

Her mind flashed back to the last few years of their lives. Nothing was how she’d thought it would be . . . and she doubted it ever would be.

Chapter 14

One Month Later

M
y wife,

I wish that I could turn back the hands of time to the moment just before I decided to let anger and resentment lead to me the bed of another woman. I was a fool. A weak-minded fool who let my past dictate the way I viewed my marriage—our marriage. I loved you and I feared every day that your career, your life outside our home, would take you from me. Every day I waited for you to come to me and say our life was not enough. And that scared the shit out of me. Losing you was my biggest fear, reliving the pain my mother caused my father haunted me. Instead of realizing that you had my back and you were my backbone. Instead I began to resent you like an enemy. I hate myself for it, because my fears caused a lot of the destruction of our marriage. Our lives.

You are not my mother. You are nothing like her. I should have realized that years ago. I should have done better by you, Renee. I should have loved and trusted you.

And now we are facing you going to jail and my having a child with another woman. Back when we were dating you used to say that we were a team and there was nothing we couldn’t accomplish together. We can get through this. The trial, the baby, rebuilding our family. We can do this, Renee. I want to do this.

Please don’t give up on us. We need each other now more than ever.

I miss you. I crave you. I love you.

Yours,
JC

Renee released a heavy breath as she allowed her fingers to trace Jackson’s handwritten words. She had made the choice to have no visitors during her monthlong stay at the upscale rehabilitation center. But Jackson had written her nearly every day and Renee had to admit that the letters had been a bright spot in her day. And the topic of many sessions with the facility’s therapist.

She folded the monogrammed stationery and pressed the letter down atop the others in the box before she put on the lid. She rose from the cushioned club chair by the window of her suite and looked around at the French country decor. Her suitcase was packed and sitting by the door.

She was sober. It felt good. She felt alive. Refreshed. Renewed.

Better than she had before she even began drinking.

“God is good,” she said, digging into the box to pull out another letter.

Ma,

Dad told me that you didn’t want us to visit and I guess I understand. I do hope that you get better, but I can’t help but wonder how our family went to the le
ft like that. I know you were mad at Dad for the baby, but I hope finding out I was gay wasn’t part of the reason you began drinking so badly. I wish you hadn’t found out that way, but Ma I’ve known I was gay for years . . . and Darren was not my first boyfriend. . . .

Renee fanned herself with the letter as she released a heavy breath. This was far from the first time she’d read the letter, but each and every time her son’s revelations stunned her. She felt like she didn’t know her own child and she ached to know that he’d kept this secret, dealing with it all alone. She literally ached deep in her gut as she shook her head and refocused her eyes on the letter.

I know you might be saying why is he telling me this now, especially with everything you’re going through, but I want you to deal with it in there instead of coming home and having it knock you on your ass again. Especially since I want you to accept that I love Darren and we are still seeing each other.

Another long breath. Renee had already placed her former assistant in her “don’t fuck with me” category and now this? The anger she felt about that still set deeply with her. She didn’t want someone she’d almost fucked fucking her son. Had Darren told him the truth about their relationship ? Had he told Aaron that he’d eaten her pussy? Horribly so, but still, the mouth he kissed her son with had been places on her where the sun didn’t shine.

Renee pulled back the sheer curtain to her window, enjoying the feel of the sun on her face. Mostly the letters were from Jackson with some from Aria and Jaime. Everyone had honored her request to write. Almost everyone. There were none from her daughter, Kieran. That hurt. That and the fact that Kieran had moved out of their home in Richmond Hills and in with Jackson’s mother.

It seemed Kieran was angry and sick of both Renee and Jackson.

“Give her time,” Jackson said in his letters.

Renee thought about the possibility of being thrown in jail. Time wasn’t on her side and she still had many other issues on her plate. Her back-and-forth decision to reclaim Jackson and the love he swore he had for her. The anger of her children at her. Her upcoming trial.

But now she was better prepared to face it sober and clear headed. Her struggle for sobriety had just begun, but Renee had deepened her faith and strengthened her resolve to not fall back under the control of her vice.

“Ready, Mrs. Clinton?”

Renee turned to find Orie the rehab tech standing at her door. She cleared her throat as she nodded. “Yes, I’m ready,” she said, pushing aside her fears of reentering the real world and all its stressors . . . and temptations.

Renee tucked her box of letters under her arm and grabbed the handle of her suitcase as she walked out of the room into the wide hall of the stylishly decorated facility. As she made her way out of the building all of the staff and most of the residents stepped forward to hug her and wish her well.

On the day of Renee’s arraignment, as soon as she’d walked out of the courtroom they had all traveled in a chauffeur-driven Yukon to the rehabilitation facility. In the last thirty-one days she had really connected with a lot of the residents. Their stories had haunted her. Their resolve had impressed her. Their friendship had strengthened her.

Some she had exchanged contact information with.

With one final wave, Renee walked out of the frosted glass door to the outer area of the clinic. She smiled as Jaime and Aria rose to their feet. Her friends. “Oooh, it feels good to lay eyes on you heifers,” she teased, stepping up as they formed a small circle hugging each other close.

“How are you?” Aria asked, her chocolate face filled with concern.

“Better,” Renee said without hesitation.

“Good,” Jaime said.

Renee looked past their shoulders and out the door. “Where’s Jackson? Parking the car?” she asked, running her hand through her fuller and softer natural curls.

Aria and Jaime exchanged a look before they both looked at her. Each one took one of her hands.

Renee felt her shoulders droop.
Now what?

“He asked us to pick you up because um . . . um . . .”

Renee squeezed Aria’s hand as she saw her usually wordy friend struggle for the right words. “It’s okay. I’m good. I’m a big girl. I can take it.”

“Something about Inga going into premature labor and rushing to the hospital,” she said, her eyes pained.

Renee nodded through her disappointment. “It’s all right. Jackson has other priorities. He has this other person that he’s responsible to. It is what it is,” she finished.

Jaime and Aria looked unsure.

“Listen, I’m good because a month ago I would have been craving a drink and right now I’m hurt and I’m disappointed but I’m okay,” she assured them.

As they gathered up her luggage and left the facility, anxious to fill her in on everything she’d missed in the last month, Renee’s mind was on her husband at the bedside of another woman having his child.

In that moment, the letters and all of the emotions they evoked meant nothing because she and Jackson’s love for each other could not—would not—change the fact that Jackson had a choice to make and she was not his pick. It was the first of many such choices.

It wasn’t the marriage she wanted to have and she was ready to move on.

Finally.

Days later, Jaime smoothed her hands down the side of Pleasure’s face as she looked down into his face. His hands grasped her buttocks tightly as she circled her hips, bringing his long and thick dick deep inside her core before easing him out, just to circle and take him deeply within her again.

She moaned in the back of her throat as she eased her body up enough for him to take one hard and thrusting nipple into his mouth.

“Aah,” she gasped out sharply at the feel of his tongue circling, stroking, and then suckling her nipple.

“Why did it take you a month to call for this Pleasure?” he asked, his dreads spread out on the sheet beneath his head as he looked up at her hotly.

Jaime smiled with a little sultry bite of her bottom lip as she quickened the pace of her hips. She sat up, pressing her hands against the hard sweaty muscles of his chest. “Didn’t want it until now,” she told him huskily.

“Picture that shit,” he said, all smug and shit.

Jaime shifted one of her hands up to cover his mouth. “Shut the fuck up,” she told him. “I called you over here to fuck, not talk.”

His eyes got a little bigger as she rode him harder with an arch of her eyebrow.

“I don’t give a fuck what’s on your mind or for all that gigolo bullshit you dish out. You got a big dick and I felt like fucking so here you are,” she told him, loving how powerful she felt.
Fuck his mind games. I’m going for mine.

Today was a new damn day.

She felt her nut rising and thrust her hips harder and faster, pressing the base of his hard dick against her clit. “You always did talk too much. Pleasure this. Pleasure that,” she mimicked even as a shiver raced across her sweat-soaked body and an anticipation began to build deep within her pussy.

“Hmmmmmm,” she moaned, flinging her head back as she kept her hand locked over his mouth.

Jaime bounced up and down on his dick, her breasts jiggling in all directions. She looked down at him fiercely as the first wave of her nut coated every inch of his dick. He brought his hands up to grab at her waist and she shoved them away.

“Ooh, your pussy hot,” he moaned, now that his mouth was free.

Jaime massaged her own breasts as explosion after explosion after explosion fired off inside her core. She cried out hoarsely and sweat dripped from her body down onto him. Tears filled her eyes.

“Yessssssss,” she sighed, feeling an amazing sense of calm in the midst of the electricity.

“Ooh. Make this dick come,” Pleasure moaned.

Jaime didn’t even give a fuck about him or his nut.

As soon as she shuddered with the last wave, she hopped right up off his dick and stood up from the floor.

“Hey,” he called out, his condom-covered dick hard and glistening wet as it stood up like a soldier between his muscled thighs.

Jaime stumbled a bit on weak and wobbly legs as she brushed her new bangs from her face. “I’m done. You can get the fuck out,” she told him over her shoulder as she left her empty bedroom with an unsteady gait.

“Jaime,” he called out behind her. “Stop playing.”

She stopped and turned around to eye him in the middle of the bed. Dick still swinging like a flagpole. “Thank you for the last two hours of incredible sex. I needed it. I got it. It’s over. Bye-bye,” she told him with a wave of her hand. “Lock the front door on your way out.”

Fuck him.

She walked into the bathroom, locking the door behind her. It was empty save for the one washcloth, towel, bar of soap, makeup bag, and change of clothes she had sitting on the commode.

“Can I at least get a shower?” Pleasure asked through the door.

“You sell dick for a living,” she told him as she turned on the shower. “I’m sure this isn’t your first or last time with a dirty dick.”

She stepped into the shower, enjoying the feel of the spray hitting against her skin.

“What about my money, Jaime?”

She rolled her eyes heavenward. “Bill me,” she hollered out before snapping the shower curtain closed.

BOOK: Mistress No More

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