What They Don't Know (Won't Hurt Them Trilogy #1) (2 page)

Forty-five minutes
later, I’m at Bryant's newly renovated two-bedroom condo.

“Seriously, this is a
house, Bryant,” I say, looking around at the spacious area. “It’s
just built on top of other houses. This view of Shoreline Drive is
very nice and romantic if you’re into that sort of thing…” I
bat my eyelashes.

“You’re
incorrigible, Bree,” he says, shaking his head as he hands me
water. “Romance is only for those who want the idea of courting and
the thrill of the chase.” I scrunch my face at his comment. “I'm
not saying I don't want that. I just haven't found her yet. Shit, I'm
not looking.”

I stare at him because
I know him; he's lonely. He's been this way since Cass. The lonely
make statements like that. Cass Owens, the bitch, cheated on Bryant
with some doctor and blamed it on his career. Typical. One out of
three women who cheat blames it on her spouse’s career. Sad but
true.

“Bryant, you don't
put yourself out there enough; you have to work your assets. Shake
whatcha momma gave ya.” He rolls his eyes and nudges me toward the
sitting room.

“Come on, I want to
show you this before I forget why I asked you over.”

I eye him curiously. “I
thought—”

“I know what you
thought,” Bryant interrupts. “You perv.”

“I am not a perv.
Usually, when you ask, ‘What am I doing?’ It means sex-sessions
time, does it not?”

“Yeah, Bree, but not
tonight. Tonight, I need your undivided attention.”

Huh? Did he just say
not tonight?

Did he just turn me
down? Fuck, he didn't; somebody's coming tonight!

I mean squirting’,
sweatin’, hard coming. Somebody's getting fucked.

* * *

On the contrary, Bryant puts up a
wall. We drink wine and he shows me the business plan he will be
presenting to the bank for a small business loan. Bryant is very
successful; he purchases and then sells small businesses. His main
targets are those that are struggling in the market. He cleans them
up and sells them to corporations made up of smaller companies in
their field. It's been working for him. He wants my accounting input
on how to present to the bank. See, Bryant isn't exactly broke. He
has the money to fund his own business endeavors. He chooses to use
bank loans with low interest rates and 75 percent profit return. And
that’s where I come in. Normally, he gets my point of view before
he presents to the bank. The man is smart.

The clock on the
nightstand sitting in Bryant's spare room says 4:25 a.m. and I’m
restless. He cracks the door open and I lift my head. “Hey, you
awake? I can’t sleep. I’m having flashbacks from two weeks ago.”

“Bryant, it’s been
two weeks and three days.”

“Really, I could have
sworn it was—”

I cut him off short.
“Seventeen days.” The look in his eyes tells me he’s sorry, and
he knows exactly how long it's been.

“It’s fine, Bryant.
I know you have things going on. The presentation, which is brilliant
by the way, your company, I get it. Wait. Did you say you were having
flashbacks from two weeks ago?”

As he moves across the
room to the huge-ass bed I’m lying on, he kneels at the foot of the
bed, grabs the duvet, and slowly pulls it down. He crawls, well more
like prowls up the bed. Eyes lust filled, he gives me the ‘sorry,
but I want you now’ look. When he reaches my body, my breath is
labored; it takes everything in me not to touch him. I know the one
thing that will drive Bryant crazy; he wants to be touched, but loves
the anticipation of
when
it will happen more. He nudges his nose under my chin and kisses my
collarbone. He whispers, “Bree, I'm”—he kisses my lower
neck—“sorry”—he kisses my chest. “Things have been”—he’s
kissing and licking my cleavage—“crazy.” I am on fire. I want
him to find the spot and put it out.

He lowers his mouth to
my nipple and flicks it with his tongue. I take a deep breath as he
sucks my bud into his mouth, and sensually slurps as if he’s
sucking on a peach. The way he works my nipple is purely erotic. The
room is so damn quiet that my panting is louder than the house noises
I usually hear. He circles my other bud with his index finger until
it’s hard. Bryant moves over and licks it until it’s plumped like
a cherry. The sensation shoots straight to my core, to my lady
garden. I squeeze my thighs, arch my back, and let Bryant take me to
my orgasmic place. His hands massage my breasts as he runs minty
kisses over both of them. The cool trail he leaves, makes my skin
tingle. He moves his hands to my navel and gently circles around it.
What the hell is up with these circles? Is he stalling?

His hands move down the
inside of my thighs and... THERE IT IS! He knows my body. More
importantly, he knows how to satisfy what lies between my thighs. He
circles my wet clit with his middle and ring fingers, and it feels so
damn good. “God, Bryant, please.”

“Since when do you
pray before sex, Bree?”

“I...I—” Bryant
interrupts whatever I’m trying to get out as he dives right for my
clit. He gives it one forceful lick, and then trails kisses up my
stomach and back down, grazing my skin with his teeth.

“Hmmmmm. Bry, I can't
take you teasing, my body doesn’t like it.”

He looks up from my
body with an inquisitive look.

I look down at my lady
garden, and back up at him.

“Ahhh,” he chuckles
and bites the inside of my thigh.

“Owww,
Bryant
”
The way I arch my back should cripple me for life. He licks my pelvic
bone, which completely wakes up my sensitive spots.

“I'm so wet, Bryant;
please stop teasing.”

“Bree, baby, your
begging makes my dick swell. You know what I like after my dicks
swells, right? Now, shush. Let me take you there.”

The sensation is
unbearable and I need to get there. He curves his index finger inside
my opening and puts pressure on my clit. He's fucking blowing my mind
as he moves his finger in and out. He leans in to me, and whispers,
“Come for me, Bree. Fuckin’ soak my hand so I can taste you on my
fingers.”

I start to lose senses
from my body. I can't see, hear, all I can manage is- “FUCK!” I
can’t breathe, and I'm flailing my arms around as if they are numb.
The orgasm shoots through my body so hard that my legs begin shaking.
“OH! OH, GAWD!”

“Like that, huh?”
Bryant asks.

I can’t manage to
speak.

“Speechless, Bria.
Wow. Should I take note, so I know what to do when your inner geek
kicks in?”

I wind up a middle
finger gesture, now that I can feel my hands. He laughs, “Don't
mind if I do.” He reaches over his back and peels his tank off,
kicks out of his boxers, and then jumps from the bed. He heads toward
the cabinets built into the wall. I still can't believe he helped
design this place. Bryant doesn’t turn around right away.
Instantly, I have an unsettling feeling, as if I know what is coming;
but I don’t want to accept it even though our actions two weeks ago
could have resulted in an unplanned pregnancy or sexually transmitted
diseases. Yeah, it was one night of carelessness; still, my feelings
don’t change. Bryant turns, and now I can see what I suspected.
Yep, he's put on a condom. I should be relieved. I really should, but
I don’t. I feel shitty, really shitty. I’m not sure why I feel
that way. I wonder if he’s had unprotected sex with another woman?
Either way, this shitty feeling is here to stay. He closes the
distance to me and the bed, stroking himself to make sure the condom
is snug. He doesn't make eye contact with me.

“Bryant,” I
whisper.

“Bree, don't.” I
try to get up from the bed, but he grabs my thigh hard.

“Oww, whoa, wait,
Bryant—”

“Listen, Bree, it's
not even like that, okay?”

“It's not like what,
Bry? Huh, it's not like what?”

“I know you, Bree. I
know what you are thinking; it's not that at all.” He looks at me
and then quickly out the over-sized window. I have to get the
dimensions to that thing, it’s effin huge.
Shit
!
I’m so unfocused right now.

His hands dropping to
his sides pull me from my distraction.

He sighs, “I don't
trust me with you.”

“Why?” I ask.

He goes silent.

“Bry-ant?”

“Bre-yah? He mimics
me. “Have you noticed anything about this? Our friendship?
Sex-sessions?”

“Bryant, what are you
talking about?”

“Us, Bria. Us.” He
fingers back and forth to him, then me. But he seems troubled.

And I certainly can't
focus with his seven-inch cock touching his belly button. His nice,
toned abs,
shit
! I
really need to focus. He's serious right now; and me, not so much.
But Bryant's body makes me perform Kegels, whenever his skin is
showing. No tattoos, no tanning. Just one scar on his chest that he
encountered at a frat party when we were in college. I still don't
know the entire story because I was in a drunken stupor with Halle
purging in my lap... crazy chick...

His face looks pained
as he looks back to me, “Bria.”

He's saying my name way
too much. He never calls me by my name. “Bryant, what's going on
with you?” I whisper. He grabs his shorts and pulls them back on;
that doesn't stop the obvious standing at attention.

“Bria, we've been
doing this for a while. We've over-stepped our friendship boundaries
ten times over. Have you ever wondered what would have become of us,
this, if you hadn’t gotten hurt rock climbing, and I hadn’t
massaged that cramp out of your leg...” he trails off.

“No,” I answer,
cutting him short.

“We... this… us,
it's unhealthy.”

“Whaa,” I say.
What’s he talking about?

“Bria, sex with you
is great, but it's not healthy. Neither of us wants to become
emotionally attached.”

“Fuck. That's it. I’m
going home.” He's talking and I'm dressing. I'm not even sure where
my clothes are. I'm speaking under my breath. “Where's the fucking
T-shirt I had on?” His T-shirt. “Where did it even get thrown
to?” I’m still whispering.

“Listen Bria, we
don't even kiss. We’ve never kissed. Out of the one hundred sixteen
times we've fucked, and I'm sure I've made love to you five or six of
those times—”

“What the hell!
Bryant! Okay, I get it. You don't want to do this anymore. I get it.
Fine. JUST. STOP. TALKING!” I can’t believe he kept count of our
sexual encounters. This is too much for me to accept.

“Bria, YOU DON'T GET
IT!” I wince a little at his tone. “When we fucked without
protection, it fucking blew my mind. I didn't understand why. Then...
You know afterward; it was as if my world became your world. I felt
something, but you left that night.” He seems a bit perturbed by me
leaving that night. He says it with his teeth showing. “We usually
do breakfast and hang like nothing happened the night before. You
left...
that night
.”

There go his teeth
again.

“And it hit me, this
routine with us. Unemotional and unhealthy, we had sex, Bree, without
a condom and we never even kissed, not once.” I see the hurt in his
eyes, and the heart-protected bitch in me wants to shrug her
shoulders and say, “So.” But I don't. I don't quite understand
the pain he's experiencing. Why does this hurt him? He's sitting with
his back to me and his head in his hands. He shakes his head and gets
up from the bed.

“Bria, I'm your best
friend.”

“Bry, don't. Just
don't.” I jump from the left side of the bed and try to put
distance between us.

“Bree, please.” He
grabs my elbow and spins me around to him. With my hand on his chest,
I try to push him away. He pushes my hand down and twists it behind
my back.

“Stop, Bree, Stop!”
He grabs my chin and lifts it so I'm staring into his eyes. He pulls
me to him, and I close my eyes.

“Look at me, Bria,
please.”

“Bry, I can't. I just
can't.” He tightens the hold on my arm. He leans in closer, and I
can feel his warm breath on my lips. I turn away; and he pauses then
pulls back, looking down at me. “Bryant, I'm sorry. I can't.”

He pushes me away with
disgust. “Like I said, unhealthy,” he states. He grabs his shirt
and leaves the room. The room is so quiet; and yet, all I can think
about is his cock was still hard, and I should know because I felt it
against my navel.

It's early Monday
morning, but not nearly early enough when I pry my face from my bed.
My pillows seem to have found their way to the floor. I guess my
restless sleep forced them off the bed and tangled the sheets around
my aching thighs. “This is fucking great. My best friend pulled a
dick strike, so the sexcapade weekend was an epic fail. If that's not
pathetic enough, I'm talking to myself and late for work.”

I'm showered and
dressed in fifteen minutes. This day has to get better. I grab my
sunglasses from the visor for the drive.
There's
no use being a total bitch to everyone because I'm late. I might as
well get my cup of wake up,
I say to myself. I love this
café because it's not one of those big chains that ask you to become
a member to earn points you can't use. Coffee is still expensive.
Cocoa beans, heat dried, and fully fermented fatty bean of Theobroma
cacao. No wonder they preserve and package this shit. It's the crack
of all beans and has me jonesin' right now.

Great! Found a parking
spot right in front. As I get out and power walk toward the café,
the door swings out and I jump because the weight of the door catches
me off guard. I stumble back a bit; but nothing to knock me off my
feet, until I catch a glimpse of the force behind the swinging door.
Six-two, casually dressed, strong chin and jawline, nice complexion,
swimmer’s body, hazel cat-like eyes.