The Marriage Pact (7 page)

“No idea,” I murmured, feeling waves of tingling sensation move up and down my ass as I watched him disappear into the crowd.

* * *

I somehow managed to sit down at the table with my family for dinner that night and pretended to be mostly normal even though I was pretty sure Brody’s handprint was embedded into the tender skin of my ass. It kept pulsing with a strange kind of heat that had little to do with pain anymore. My skin felt charged with it and it made me almost unbearably horny.

Still, my smile didn’t waver as I was asked to pass the peas and listened to Jonas talk about high school football—if it looked fake, no one seemed to notice. I gave monosyllabic answers to questions about the wedding and neatly dodged ones about who I’d seen. Surely they could see it on my face. My entire body was alert, waiting for even the slightest hint that any one of them sensed the arousal that was creeping over me.

“Shana, are you OK, hon? You look a little tired.”

I smiled at my mom and silently thanked her for the excuse. “You know, I am a little tired. Does anyone mind if I excuse myself? I think I’m going to go lie down.”

“Shana’s hung-over,” Jonas stage-whispered, cackling when I glared at him.

“For your information, twerp, you can’t be hung-over until—”

“Sure am glad I’m paying for you to go to med school,” Dad chimed in, speaking over my indignant retort and Jonas’s mocking laughter. “We need someone around here who can hand out sage advice like that.”

I rolled my eyes and pushed my chair back. I thanked Mom for the meal as I stood and was walking past when Dad put a hand on my shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

“Feel better, kiddo.”

I smiled gratefully and tried to walk normally to my bedroom. Once I’d shut the door behind me I did something I hadn’t done in the years since I’d been coming home—I locked it. Then I slid my dress off, unsnapped my bra and let it fall to the floor. I stepped out of the puddle of clothing and made my way to my bed. I sank down onto it gratefully, loving the feel of the cool sheets on my skin.

I closed my eyes and Brody was waiting for me in the shadows of my mind, looking deliciously handsome in the suit he’d worn to the wedding. I’d loved how his green tie had brought out the flecks in his eyes. Suddenly, I wished I’d told him. But an ex-girlfriend didn’t say things like that, did she? Especially not when he was seeing someone else? I shook my head, as if I could forget that part—it wouldn’t do to fantasize about someone who was taken, and I planned to fantasize to my heart’s content.

Inhaling deeply, I could swear I smelled the sandalwood scent of his skin, could hear him whispering ‘Shana’ in a way that made my fingers slide into my panties. I imagined him taking off that tie and ordering me to turn around. I would, without hesitation, because something inside me wanted nothing more than to yield on the occasions he got bossy. I could feel him crossing my arms behind my back before he looped the silk tie around my wrists and tied them together.

“What are you doing?” I’d ask, my voice a whimper.

“Keeping you where I want you,” he replied, his voice husky with power. “I just wish I had another to pull over your eyes.”

The thought was terrifying, but somehow exciting, too. My fingers slid into my pussy and I was shocked to find it was pulsating with a scorching heat. It only spurred me on, my digits slippery with my own juice as they worked to sate my lust—at least for the time being. Picturing Brody—his captivating eyes and that quick, boyish grin—made me groan as I worked feverishly for release.

I could picture him standing over me, baring my breasts and kissing each one in turn. I could practically feel the sensation of his lips on them and my nipples hardened at the thought. “If you untie me, I could give you pleasure, too,” I could hear myself saying.

“You can pleasure me with your hands bound,” he told me, pushing me to my knees. When he unzipped his fly and his cock sprang out long and hard, I could have no doubt as to his meaning.

When I took him in my mouth, I could feel his body tighten with the sensation. In my daydream, I slid my lips up and down his shaft while my fingers were dancing to the fantasy I’d created. When I felt myself on the precipice, I managed to slap a hand over my mouth just in time before I came, calling his name.

Chapter Four

Nine years later

I attended six more weddings in the years that followed and I never saw Brody at one of them again. I was more than a little disappointed, I’ll admit. Now that I felt like things were finally OK between us, I no longer dreaded bumping into him—and if there was just a bit of apprehension at the thought, it had nothing to do with dread. He was never in town when I came home for the holidays, either, and I began to wonder if it had something to do with the impromptu pact we’d made. Was he embarrassed he’d brought it up? Did he regret it?

To my surprise, I found that I didn’t regret it and even thought of it from time to time. There had been a weeklong period, after a nasty breakup with a guy I’d been dating for over a year, where I thought of it incessantly. It wrapped around me like a warm, cozy blanket.

The ex’s name was Sam and I’d been getting hopeful that he might be The One—whatever that meant. But, as it turned out, he couldn’t deal with my long, demanding hours and I walked in on him consoling himself in the arms of another woman. In her state of undress when I’d found them, I couldn’t help but notice her large, perfectly round tits that Sam had been suckling on when I’d opened the door. In a fit of self-consciousness, I began to wonder if maybe it had more to do with my lack of cup size than the hours I worked.

“What am I supposed to do?” I’d moaned on the phone to Becky that night. “Get implants?”

“Don’t be an idiot, Shana. If you do anything to your perfect body, I will personally come to Minnesota to kick your ass.”

“I have to do
something
! No man seems to w-want me. There must be something…” I paused, sniffling and trying to control the tears that threatened. “Wrong with me.”

“That’s bullshit!” she declared in her no-nonsense way. “Men are idiots, OK? They’re
worse
than idiots. They’re Neanderthals who evolved only through the grace of God and because they probably had wives to keep them from killing off the human race through their own stupidity.”

“At least those women had husbands,” I grumbled, stabbing the predictable carton of triple chocolate fudge sundae ice cream.

“He’s a cretin, Shana—they all are. Come on, this is not breaking news! And besides… I mean, I didn’t really want to go here, but seriously? If you wanted to be married, you’d be married by now.”

“What? Are you kidding me, all the men I’ve dated have been awful!”

“No, some of them were good guys; it’s just that none of them was the right man for you.”

“Oh, come on! None of the guys I’ve dated have been husband material! I mean, I thought Sam was and you see where that got me.”

“Did it occur to you that you don’t date men
you
think of as ‘husband material’ because you already know who you want to marry?”

“Whose side are you on, here?”

“Yours, of course, I want you to be happy. Which, by the way, in case you haven’t checked with you lately, you’re not. Maybe you should come back home, maybe then—”

“What’s with this ‘all men are Neanderthals’ crap anyway?” I cut her off, the way I always did when she started talking about me coming home. “I doubt Seth will think very highly of his girlfriend talking like that.”

“Please, he
knows
how I feel about these things,” she said, just as airily as she always would have, and yet, anytime his name was brought up, her voice changed. It was subtle, but there was no denying a sudden lightness to her voice. I’d known her for a long time and I’d never seen a relationship of hers last six months, yet, she and Seth were going on nine. They had even begun to talk about moving in together—a total taboo in our hometown, but since when did Becky care about things like that?

“Thanks for everything.”

“Anytime, you know, dork. But Shan…”

“Yeah?”

“Seriously, no implants. Like, if you even think about it, if you even
think
about thinking about it—”

“You’ll hop on a plane to deliver a beat-down. I got it.” Somehow, I’d gone from nearly crying to smiling as I hung up the phone. Becky was magic that way and in large part, I supposed that was why we’d remained best friends all these years in spite of the distance.

Still, it hadn’t taken too long for the grin to wear off and for me to start crying into Mr. Soft Paws. My pain was raw and fresh and it ran deep. The only thing I could think of to ease it even slightly was to recreate the little fantasy I called up whenever I had a horrible day and couldn’t take it anymore: I thought of Brody. I thought about us, in a quaint little starter home with a little girl drawing pictures at the kitchen table. I imagined growing azaleas by the mailbox and dreamt of erecting a white picket fence to house our three golden retrievers. Brody would come home every day from work, looking sharper than sharp in his suit, melting my heart with that wonderful smile of his that automatically made everything better.

It was a fantasy that had popped into my head ever since we’d made the marriage pact and one that grew every time I turned to it for comfort. It was mostly PG…
mostly
. Sometimes, I took that suit off piece by piece, ripping his buttons off one at a time with my teeth. Once the clothes came off, I let my eyes rove over his perfectly tanned, muscular body until my breathing grew shallow.

My little fantasy was a great coping mechanism and it had helped me get through rough times, particularly where Sam and his bimbo were concerned. And now, here I was, right back where it had all started: our little blue house on Pickett Street. It was so unchanged that I could almost forget the passage of time; in a way, it was a relief to find something that was exactly the same. I took a moment to breathe it all in. God, did even the air smell the same? It seemed like I could detect familiar scents of honeysuckle and fresh cut grass that I’d taken for granted every day of my childhood.

“Hey, lady. Your bags?”

I turned around, smiling apologetically at the cabbie who’d brought me all this way. “Sorry. Just reminiscing.”

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, you and everybody else. What’s the deal with Wednesdays? People get all nostalgic and crap.”

“O-kay.” My smile was a bit more forced as I grabbed my suitcase and carryon from the car and paid him. “Thank—” As soon as he’d pocketed the cash, he took off, burning rubber. “You know
he’s
not from around here,” I muttered to myself, starting up the walkway.

I hadn’t made it very far when the door swung open. My mom stood framed in the doorway, beaming at me, her face wreathed in a smile.

“Mom.” I dropped my bags and hurried the rest of the way, into her waiting arms.

“Oh, honey, oh, my sweet Shana Rae!” she exclaimed as she enfolded me into a hug. “It’s so good to have you home.”

Right at that very moment, I couldn’t have agreed more.

* * *

I’d gotten Becky and Seth’s wedding invitation in the mail eight weeks earlier, though I’d known it was coming. She’d called me, squealing from the bathroom of the restaurant where he’d proposed, which she followed up by texting me photos of a
very
impressive rock.

“It’s so untraditional, you know?” she’d gushed. “It’s like, he really
gets
me.”

I was happy for her—for them—I really was. But I couldn’t say that it didn’t sting just a bit when I’d opened their gold embossed invitation. Becky deserved to be happy, I knew that, but… didn’t I deserve it, too? Just a little?

She’d wasted no time in asking me to be her maid of honor, which I’d accepted without question, even knowing that she’d have at least half a dozen bridesmaids. It wasn’t until Mom called, once again panicking about noises on the roof that I’d assured her a hundred times didn’t exist, that I realized I’d be moving back home. Since Dad had passed almost two years ago, Mom’s health had been on a steep decline and I needed to be there for her. Besides, it wasn’t like I had anything holding me back. The beauty of a degree in medicine was that I could practice it anywhere.

Still, I had to admit it was a bit of a blow to my pride. What woman, as she’s moving out of the house, ever expects that one day she’ll have to move back in? Especially when that woman was thirty-four years old!

But it just couldn’t be helped. My mom had been diagnosed with early onset Alzheimer’s with a bit of dementia on the side, for added flavor. My dad had cared for her by himself for almost three years before he’d died, leaving Jonas, the only child within driving distance, to take over.

Jonas and I had initiated mandatory weekly chats the first year I moved away, doing our best to stay in touch. We both led very busy lives—me, the doctor and him, the lawyer, but we made sure nothing got in the way of those Saturday night phone calls. I could count on one hand how many we’d missed in the last fourteen years. I knew taking care of Mom had been wearing down on him. I could hear it when we talked about her—a topic that we both avoided for as long as possible, knowing it would be unpleasant. She was getting worse and his hours at work were becoming even more demanding. I hated the thought of my brother dealing with that all alone, but I’d been too far away to do anything about it.

I’d gotten Becky’s wedding invitation on a Saturday afternoon and as we were on the phone that night, I’d picked it up to study it.

“She’s not doing great,” Jonas sighed. “She couldn’t remember where the bathroom was this morning. She called me and I drove all the way from work because she was hysterical, insisting that someone had stolen her bathroom.”

I couldn’t help myself—a little giggle escaped, hard as I tried to muffle it.