Tryst (7 page)

It’s easy to pick up and leave when you have no ties to anyone. Last year I lost the last of my living relatives. My father died with some skank between his legs. She fought hard for his estate, but since she was only an easy lay everything was left to me. I was kind of shocked the old man even had anything left, so I damn near died when I found out he was worth enough for me to live the remainder of my life quite comfortably. However, I won’t be advertising that shit, because I like being self-sufficient.

Chapter 5

Bentley

This is the part I always hate, returning to an empty house, even though I know this is the way I choose to live. I can’t very well justify bringing someone into my life when I might have to run from it on a second’s notice. No guy would ever understand what my mother is really like. It’s not like I can say,
oh she’s a living nightmare
, and go about our relationship. People just assume mothers are loving and nurturing. If they looked at statistics the sickening truth would slap them in the face.

I try hard to distract myself from what happened this morning. I can still smell him on my clothing from when he pinned me against the car. Stupid fucking irrational man. Who the hell does he think he is anyway? That fucking look of disappointment on his face as I pulled away… ugh, I almost turned the fuck around. If I thought I’d have been safe a bit longer, I would have lingered in that moment with him.  I curse myself and my stupidity. No man has ever touched me without some ulterior motive. There’s always something they want. Granted, Dante doesn’t really fit into that category, and the last man that touched me was when I was thirteen, but still it’s the same thing.

As I finish triple-checking every possible way into my house, I finally decide it’s safe to go to bed. Sleep doesn’t come easily, and it doesn’t last long. Around 2 a.m., I wake with my hands to my throat gasping for air. My body is drenched in sweat, and I’m pretty sure from the rawness in my throat that I had been screaming. I glance around the room for some unseen predator, but find myself alone. It has been a few months since I’ve had nightmares. I try to fight the tears running down my face as I recall the images that plagued me moments ago. No matter how many times I dream it, the hands closing around my throat always feel real.

I lied to Dante that night. I told him she never managed to fully get the bag over my head, but that wasn’t true. She just wasn’t able to secure it around my neck, not that it mattered. She had my airway cut off with her hands. I got lucky that night, or stupid depending on how you look at it. The lack of oxygen and my loss of direction tripped me up that night and I went crashing onto the glass coffee table. She let go so she didn’t end up cutting herself. As soon as the pressure on my throat let up, I took in the largest breath possible. Before she realized I wasn’t knocked out I had the bag off and was out the door. I sustained a few minor cuts from the glass and one major cut where a piece stuck into my stomach.

Reliving that night always fucks with my head. I always wonder if I’d be alive if I hadn’t hit that table. If the piece of glass was just a little to the left, would I have made it to the hospital? I knew better than to pull it out, but driving with it ended up causing more internal damage. These are secrets no one else knows. I don’t trust anyone to know the demon I faced that night. I can’t be sure she wouldn’t hurt someone else just to make sure it stays unknown.

Laying my head back on the pillow, I keep my eyes trained on the clock as I watch the minutes drift by. I don’t know how many pass before I finally drift back to sleep. Thankfully, the rest of the night goes by without another haunted memory of my mother.

It isn’t until the sun is shining against my eyelids that I realize just how exhausted I really am. Rolling away from the direction of the window, I close my eyes and once again drift back to sleep.

Tristan

With only stopping for necessities and a couple hours sleep, it takes two days of driving until I arrive in her home town. Dante has set a room up in his house for me until I get a place of my own. He has actually gotten me in touch with a woman who is renting a home down the street from him. I just need to go sign the paperwork now that I am in town. I decide to crash at Dante’s when I arrive, hoping to catch a few hours of sleep before I show up on Bentley’s doorstep.

I can honestly admit I have no fucking idea what I’m doing here. There’s a solid chance she’ll tell me to go for a long walk on a short bridge, yet here I am standing at her door. So what the fuck do I do? I knock and wait.

I can tell by the look of shock on her face that she wasn't expecting to see me again. Hell, she made it clear she had no intentions of ever seeing me again. Yet here I am, not about to take no for an answer. I watch as she shifts to the side of the door, allowing me to enter past her. As she shuts the door and turns back to me, I push her against the door and pin her there with my hands on her hips. I try to focus on anything but the look of sheer panic in her eyes as she maps out some kind of escape route, looking for any angle she might be able to squirm her way through and make a bolt for it. Little does she know I'm not about to let her run.

I'm done with her fucked up anxiety dictating her happiness, and in return, my own. Because, little does she fucking know, I've been a miserable prick this past week. I miss losing myself in her strange ass eyes, and not hearing her snarky comments as she politely tells me to go fuck myself. The clothing I wore at the signing still has the lingering scent of her light perfume, but its fading fucking quickly and I want it back.

I move a foot between hers, inching myself a bit closer and invading her personal space to a level even I know is dangerous. She could easily panic, and my balls would take a direct hit. However, for some oddly morbid fucking reason I'm willing to chance it, even knowing the damage my little Spitfire can do.

I lean myself in a bit closer, rubbing the tip of my nose across her neck, and breathing in a scent so intoxicating I damn near went insane without it. As I move back just enough to watch her, I can feel her breathing growing erratic and her heart pound to an unhealthy beat. I know I'm a sick fuck for being thrilled at her response, but truth be told a part of me is truly hoping that maybe, just maybe, it's more in anticipation than fear. Since her body has gone board stiff, I decide to take a chance that maybe she won’t run. Easing one of my hands away from her hips I brush a piece of hair away from her deer in the headlight eyes, and use my fingers to lift her chin, forcing her to look at me. Brushing the back of my hand against her cheek, I move to cup the back of her neck. I watch for any hint of reaction as I descend slowly to her lips, watching her eyes flutter closed before I close my own.

I try to be gentle as I bring my lips against hers, trying hard to make this kiss a bit more pleasant than our first, but desperately wanting to crush them against her, claiming her mouth as my own. I skim my lips against hers again lingering in their soft warmth, and slowly run my tongue across her bottom lip. A slight breath escapes the small parting between her lips, and I tilt my head a bit more, gaining more access. Teasing her lips, I'm begging for them to respond back. I take her bottom lip gently between my own and suck on it while continuing to run my tongue back and forth. I was rewarded with the sweetest fucking sound I'd ever heard, a moan that sounded like pure sexual bliss.

In this moment, I feel her giving in. Her fingers lace through the belt loops of my jeans and pull me even closer. I'm pleading with my mind to slow the fuck down as it starts playing out every sexual fantasy that has tortured me this past week. I pray the rock hard erection playing a game of peek-a-boo with her stomach doesn't disgust her. I slow my kisses, waiting on baited breath to see how she reacts. When her fingers slowly pull away I brace myself for her rejection. Instead, her fingers slowly climb over my abs, feeling their own away around before moving further up and fanning out across my chest, brushing their way over my shoulders before making their way home, lacing themselves around my neck. I let my impatience take control and crush my lips against hers, begging for entry. I feel like a kid on Christmas when she obliges, and now it's my turn to moan as I suck on her sweet as sin tongue. I swear it tastes like honey and cinnamon.

Right then, my cock decides to remind me how painfully hard my little tease is making me. I doubt I could possibly get any harder, but she blows that conclusion right out of the fucking water when she takes my bottom lip between her teeth and alternates between sucking on it and licking back and forth across it. I swear it has to be the most erotic thing I've ever experienced, and fuck if I don't want every ounce of passion this woman has.

I roll my eyes internally at the thought...
passion
, great she's got me thinking like a fucking pansy. Well fuck me, because if being a pansy means getting to play out every wicked desire warped in my mind, then I'll play the part of her sap for the time being. Don't get me wrong; as much as I enjoy this game of tongue tag, I have no intentions of my dick sitting the game out. I'm not a fucking idiot, though. I know Bentley isn't some easy lay. But I am an asshole, and it makes me happy as a pig in shit knowing no one else has been where I intend to thoroughly fuck. It also makes me quite happy to know I plan to enjoy every second it takes to get to that point, and every moment during.

I try stopping my thoughts in their tracks. The idea of making my little Spitfire scream out my name while I fuck her brings me back to a painful awareness. I am so lost in my fantasies, I don't realize my hands are now wandering of their own free will, making their way to her breasts and cupping them while stroking across her nipples. I continue to kiss her as I feel the buds harden under my fingertips, pinching them and being rewarded with another small moan I capture between my own lips. I move my lips away from hers, giving her a chance to catch an ounce of breath while I lick my way across her neck, creating goose bumps each time I lightly nip at the skin. I suck on it lightly before moving to the next spot, slowly making my way to her collarbone.

Her hands are still secure around my neck, and her thumbs are drawing small circles, letting me know she’s enjoying this just as much as I am. I reach the point where her perfume is most concentrated. And I go into sensory overdrive. Everything hits me at once. I feel the sweet taste of her mouth lingering on my lips, the slightly salty taste of her skin as she breaks out into a light sweat. I groan at the sounds of fucking bliss escaping her lips every time I explore another part of her body. The smell of her drives me to a point of fucking ecstasy, that light airy smell with a hint of citrus and spice. And the hooded fuck me eyes I'm sure she doesn't even realize she's sporting.

Everything hits me at once, and I feel like my dick is about to explode right here in my pants. I swear if she brushes up against my dick one more time I'm done for. The friction is exquisite, but the idea of blowing my load in my pants doesn't really fucking please me. I push away from her and her hands fall to her side, a look of confusion and hurt marring her eyes. Before I can even think about what’s happening, I ask where her bathroom is and take off down the hall. As much as I would love to stay there and play the “it's not you, it's me” game, my balls are feeling a need for instant gratification.

Chapter 6

Bentley

I watch in abject humiliation as Tristan practically runs from me to the bathroom. Thinking back, I can't recall any other time I have ever sent a man literally running for cover. As my mind runs amuck with images of my perfectly clandestine bathroom being defiled, I can't help but laugh. The images clouding my mind are wildly inappropriate.

The words duck and cup come to mind as I recall Dante taking quite a few cock shots while training me. Poor guy never did remember to wear protection while he was with me. Either way, that shade of blue that always came across Dante's face when he forgot to cup was quite similar to that of the pretty boy hiding in my bathroom.

I figure there is nothing I can do but wait, which would be just fine except for the rumbling in my stomach. A sudden need for some cheesy, greasy, authentic pizza sounds about perfect, and it just happens to be a need I know my favorite pizzeria can fulfill. As I call and begin to place my order, I miss hearing Tristan’s footsteps behind me. As his hands wrap around my stomach I seize and let out a small, ear piercing scream while dropping the phone to the counter.

After several deep breaths and a mental lashing, I bring the phone back to my ear. I catch a much panicked John asking if I'm ok, begging me to answer. I laugh nervously as I lie and tell him a very hairy, rather large spider just darted across my floor. John, who also happens to be my neighbor, has played my knight in shining armor on several occasions by coming to rescue me from some terrifying eight-legged monstrosity. His laughter puts me at ease. He knows all too well how the creepy crawlies reduce me to nothing more than a shrieking banshee that would likely torch my home to smithereens if the offending hee-bee gee-bee isn’t eradicated. Assuring him I don't need his assistance, I finish placing my order and hang up. I know I owe Tristan an explanation, at the very least. But how does one explain an irrational fear?

It was drilled into my head in that courtroom that my sister was grabbed from behind, with my voicemail the last testament of her struggle. That and my mother's promise to make me disappear as well, a vow I'm sure if given the chance she would make good on, would be enough to make anyone jumpy I tried to convince myself she was just hurting, but I knew better. Years of experience taught me that. One night, I wrote a letter to Dante telling him everything. I also told him not to open it unless something happens to me, but he opened it anyway. He's now the keeper of my darkest secret, well one of them.

I start to turn, my eyes glued to the ground, trying to avoid the speculation I know I'll find in his eyes. When I face him, though, what I see isn't even close to what I expect. There’s a hint of something else there, maybe sadness. It’s almost as if he knows there is something seriously fucked up torturing my very existence.

I know everyone has their demons, but the look in his eyes tells me he may be just as fucked in the head as I am. Thing is, even if he does understand, I'm not ready to shout it out to the world. I'm not thrilled with him knowing as much as he already does, so telling him my mother is a psychotic, ruthless, bitch, hell bent on snuffing me out of this world doesn't exactly make for good dinner conversation. Luckily, Tristan caught onto my apprehension and wraps an arm around my shoulders and leads me to my couch.

There is a small relief in knowing I managed to return home unscathed, but it does scared me a bit that Tristan, a relative stranger, was able to find me this quickly. I really have to wonder how safe I am behind my fortified walls, triple locks and double layered glass, if I can be found so easily. Sure it's only on rare occasions I leave the house, and when I do I’m never alone. Can all of that really protect me from the wrath of a woman scorned and out for a vengeance? As my mind floods with all of the messed up details of my even more screwed up existence, I barely hear the knock on the door. The instant void of warmth coming from beside me finally rouses me from my thoughts as Tristan heads to the door to retrieve dinner.

The sudden churning in my stomach alerts me to the fact I won't likely be holding it down, but the grumbling noises erupting from inside me tell me I at least need to try. Of course, that all might change once he flips the lid on the box. I was already giving my credit card information when he scared the daylights out of me earlier, so I doubt he heard what I ordered. Somehow, back at the hotel the subject of favorite toppings came up. While I tend me be an extra cheese only kind of girl, his list of mile high toppings alone were enough to make me want to vomit. Yet I still ordered all of that crap on half the pie knowing even if it grossed me out it would make him happy. Oddly, as I sit here debating pizza with my inner voices, it never occurred to me that subconsciously I wanted to make him happy, even if it was with some greasy slice of heaven.

I watch as he places the box on the table in front of us. He reaches for the remote and starts clicking through channels. That is something that would normally drive me insane. I hate when Dante comes over and instantly takes control of my TV, especially when he forces me to endure hours of ridiculous sports I have zero interest in. Yet here I am, watching to see what he's going to decide on. It isn't until he lets out a sigh of frustration that I lean over his lap, press a few keys, and the TV bleeds to the red menu of Netflix.

The action may be lost on me, but it apparently isn’t lost on him, as I am rewarded with one of his come hither smirks. My face turns a slight shade of red as I quickly sit up and correct my posture. I give him a sheepish grin and turn my head back down towards the pizza as he flicks through the movie selection, eventually settling on a comedy I have actually been meaning to watch.

I try not to show how frazzled I am, but in reality I’m a wreck. The only other man I have ever sat so casually with is Dante, and I trust him implicitly. I know without a doubt Dante would destroy anyone who ever tries to hurt me. The exception to this being my mother, because she terrifies even him, and that's saying a lot. As I peek back over at Tristan I notice that he almost looks troubled, and I can't help but wonder why.

Tristan

I’m fucking up. I know I am. I should just come out and tell her what I know. I don’t know how she will react to me knowing about her mother though, and that worries me. It will break her heart if she knows her best friend betrayed her trust. I needed to know, though. I needed to hear exactly what that vile whore is capable of.  Never in my wildest dreams would I have conjured the hell she put Bentley through. I can’t fathom any rational person willingly allowing their daughter to be kidnapped and murdered, let alone actually partake in such a thing. Yet this bitch actually plans on just that. She wants her daughter to disappear in such a violent, terrifying spectacle it will land her in the spotlight. I’ve met a lot of really shitty people, but this whore takes the cake. As if creating a living hell for Bentley growing up wasn’t enough, she continues to torment her as an adult.

That manipulative bitch broke Bentley’s wrist when she was seven, then told the doctor she had fallen off her bike. She cracked two of her ribs with a baseball bat and convinced everyone Bentley had stepped behind her while she was showing her how to properly hit a softball. The worst though, the worst came after Cora disappeared. She tried to overtake Bentley and suffocate her with a plastic bag. Bentley had gone to the police to make a report and they said there wasn’t enough evidence to press charges. She was staying with Dante during that time, and the day after the funeral she split. She took off with money she had earned while working two jobs so she could be home as little as possible.

Here I am feeling like a shmuck thinking my childhood sucked. At least I had someone who thought I hung the moon, for a while anyway. As if she can read my mind, my little Spitfire gets all wide eyed, jumps a bit sideways on the couch, and chimes in, “Tell me about your family Tristan?” It sounds more like a plea than a question, the way she asks.

It is a loaded question, but the longing in her eyes tells me she needs to hear more of a fairy tale than my reality, so I do the unspeakable. I lie to her. It’s something I will come to regret later, but they always say hindsight is 20/20.

I tell her what I think she wants to hear. It isn’t a complete lie, just some sugar coating, but I omit a truth she should hear. “My mother died during childbirth.”  As I say the words, her small gasp matches the lump in my throat. I don’t like talking about my mother. I was told stories all my life about how great she was, how loving she was, by everyone who ever got to meet her. I was cheated. I never got to meet this wonderful, loving woman who gave her life in exchange for mine.

I take a deep breath before I continue, “My dad wasn’t around all that much. He worked a lot of long hours and was often gone on business. When he was home, though, it was pretty awesome. We would travel around a few times a year. I was able to visit some amazing places, but he missed the everyday things.”

I let a sigh out before I continue, “I had Aggie, though. She was my nanny for as long as I can remember. She couldn’t have children of her own so she spoiled me instead. When I was four her husband passed away, and she moved in with us. My dad came home less and less after that, but he would make up for it by always bringing me home some awesome new toy or exciting new game. She and I spent endless hours playing board games and watching old slapstick comedies. When I was nine, Aggie’s sister fell ill and she decided to go stay with her.” I let out the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, and think carefully before I continue.

I choose my words carefully, though I’m not sure if it is really more for her sake or my own. I don’t want her sympathy, and I definitely don’t want her pity. More than anything, I don’t want to see her any more broken than she already is. That is the truth I use to convince myself that I am doing the right thing, when I leave out the defining moments of my childhood.

“My father took an office position so he would be home, but he still worked late nights. Since he didn’t think I was old enough to be left home alone, he hired a babysitter. I use the term loosely, though. She was nothing more than a teenager with big tits and no brains. He would always make these little comments about her, and would ask her to stick around even after he got home. Anyway, that’s about it. That’s my family.” I know I cut out some crucial details, but I don’t want to talk about it anymore than I think she really wants to hear it.

I am done thinking about my asshole father and his bimbo, so I turn the tables on her. “What about your family, Bentley, what were they like?” I ask.

I watch as her face turns a ghostly shade of pale, her voice cracking as she speaks. “Great, my family was really great. Cora and I were really close. She was my best friend in the world. My parents were always pretty great. We did a lot together as a family, always off on some new adventure. It was great. I had a fantastic childhood.”

If she uses
great
one more time, I think I might actually freak the fuck out. I have had enough of her covering for her shitty fucking family. I have to end this charade. “Cut the crap, Bentley, I know damn well your family sucks ass. They all treated you like shit. I know Cora was a nasty bitch who always threw her looks and popularity in your face. She constantly shit on you up until the day you two graduated high school. I know, Electra told me. She was a bitch who treated you worse than dog shit on her shoes.

“I know your father is a lush who became best friends with Jim Beam when you were just a kid. I know how your mom used to beat the hell out of you often, and for no good reason. I know the one time you told someone they didn’t believe you, and she put a steak knife through your hand to make sure you never opened your mouth again. I know the psycho bitch threatened to make you disappear. She said as much when she showed up at the hotel after you left.  So cut the bullshit, Bentley, and stop lying to me. I know exactly how fucked up your family is.”

I sit perfectly still as I watch her eyes flood with tears. I want nothing more in this moment than to wrap her in my arms and just hold her tight. I want to assure her I’ll keep her safe, but to her I am still nothing, and right now I’m sure she couldn’t trust me any less.