Page 40 of A Divided Heart

There were so many things wrong with this situation. But damn, I loved it. I stared deep into his eyes, scraped my nail across his chest, and wrapped my legs around his waist. For the next fifteen delicious minutes, I forgot about Brant, about Gymnast Barbie, about anything but him and me and that moment of time.

I was his rebound.

He was my sidepiece.

And both of us wanted more.

At least I did. Maybe anything else was a lie I was telling myself.

Chapter 40 - Jillian

It's safe to say I never liked Layana. There is something about a woman, when you look into her eyes and see calculation that I don't like. I prefer the open books, the women who pass through this office full of smiles and sunshine and optimism. I don't look in their eyes and wonder what they are thinking. I don't listen to them speak and search for hidden meanings. I don't wonder, when they leave, where they are going. But that, from day one, is how it has been with Layana. I had hoped she was a temporary fling. Surely another woman would catch Brant's fancy, that he wouldn't go for her long legs and mess of dark curls. But, alas, none did, and she stayed. And now, here we are. Both of us battling over this man. I only want to protect him. She “loves" him. We have differing views on what loving him entails. I don't want to think about what she does to keep him. Whatever it is, it's working. The man won't take his eyes off her.

There are things I could do to poison their relationship. Expose her lies, put a quiver of death into the perfect existence that he thinks they live. The problem is that she knows the secret. The one that I hug, with the tight grip of a mother bear, to my chest. The one that I have spent years protecting. If I destroyed their relationship and his trust in her? The destruction might set that secret free, expose it in the open air for whoever wanted to grab its papery truth and run wild. In that secret lies nothing but destruction. And so I sit here and continue paying the men who keep tabs on Brant. I smile when she enters the room. I help to hide her lies and deceit from him. I pretend to love her with the same vigor that I love him. And hope that one day she fades out of his life or dies.

I can take care of him. She can only—and will only—break him in two.

Excerpt, The Journal of Jillian Sharp.

Chapter 41

“Stay here. Spend the night.”

His hands slowed in their rub of the towel through his wet hair. He wiped his face before dropping the white terrycloth on the floor and stepping over it, a second towel wrapped around his lower half as he strolled over to the messy pile of his discarded clothing. "I can't. Stay too long in this place, I'll start thinking I belong here."

"It's only one night." One I desperately needed. How different would a night with Lee be? Would he stay the whole night or leave me in the middle of it as Brant so often did? Would he wrap me in his arms or would he sprawl out on the other side of the bed?

He loosened and dropped the towel around his waist, and my eyes plummeted down. I savored the careless movement as he skipped his underwear and pulled on his shorts, uncaring of my gaze, his mouth curving into a confident grin as he tugged the cargo shorts over his hips.

"I have plenty of clothes here,” I offered. “If you want clean ones."

He scowled. "Brant's?"

I didn’t respond and he moved toward my place on the bed and pulled at the sheet until it was gone, and my naked body was fully exposed. "I fuck his woman; I don't want his life." He palmed my right breast roughly, the nipple hardening under his touch, the dark look in his eyes turning into a gleam of satisfaction. I sighed, reaching out and caressing his cock through the open fly of his shorts. It was still hot from the shower and his hand moved from my breast to my hair, gathering the long strands and pulling me upright. He lifted me off the bed and onto the soft fur rug, where I knelt in front of his cock.

"Tell me," he breathed as my I licked up the length of his shaft, the organ stiffening beneath my tongue. "Tell me which one you like better."

I looked up at him as I opened my mouth and took him in. His eyes closed as he let out a groan and gripped my head with both hands, pulling himself deeper in my mouth. Then he yanked me off his cock and tilted my head back. He stared down, his gaze studying, searching mine. I couldn’t read the emotion in his eyes, but the energy between us felt like anger. Hurt anger—and I understood that. He felt it toward Molly, and I felt it toward him. The difference was, I was about to get what I wanted, while he was just chasing off the grief. "Tell me," he ground out. “Whose dick do you like more?”

“Yours is better," I whispered, our gaze locked as one, pure truth in the statement. He needed to stop thinking about Brant and about Molly and focus on us. He needed to want me and forget her. Then, everything else would fall into place. It had to.

He shoved back into my mouth. It was too hard, and I struggled to open my jaw wider, to move my tongue out of the way, my eyes watering at the rough intrusion. He thrust against me, his hands and hips working together, his open zipper scraping against my chin, his words falling down like tears.

"Look in my eyes, Lucky. Look in my eyes while you suck my cock." He slowed his motion and watched with rapt attention as he drug his wet shaft out, rubbing the tip of it against my lips. "You like this don't you? Being my whore while he pays your bills? Letting me use every inch of your body and sending you back to him ruined?" He let out a growl and pushed back into my mouth, my hands pushing at his thighs as my eyes held his. I could feel, under my palms, through the khaki material, the tremble of his thighs. He was close to coming. I increased my efforts and his legs buckled as he leaned forward, fully in my mouth, gripping my footboard for support as he came down my throat.

We stayed there for a moment, him immediately softening in my mouth, and when I pulled away, he stayed in place, both of his hands on the wooden footboard, his knees dropping to the rug as if his legs didn't have the strength to stand. I liked that, that proof of my impact, and now we were at the same level, me caged between him and the bed. He tucked himself back in his shorts and gave an awkward laugh. "Sorry about that. Next time I’ll do a better job of taking care of you.”

Next time. I said nothing as he pushed to his feet and looked around, finding his shirt and tugging it over his head. He buttoned his shorts and ran a hand through his hair, then patted his pockets as if looking for his keys. I wondered, randomly, where he kept them. If they stayed in his truck, how they didn't get lost to the wind. He didn't find them in his pockets and that didn't seem to worry him. He headed toward the door, almost out of the bedroom before he paused and turned back to me. It was almost comical, as if he had suddenly remembered that I was here and that a goodbye was expected.

"I'll see you later."

Not what I was expecting, nor what I wanted. He and Molly were over. Now was the opportunity forus. He shouldn’t be screwing me and taking off, with some flippant reference to seeing me again. I wanted dates. Attention. Adoration. At theveryleast some gratitude for the back-to-back orgasms. I hadn't given Brant two orgasms in one night ... probably ever.

But Lee simply turned away, slapping his hand on the doorframe, and walked out. I heard him fumbling with his shoes and then the front door opened and banged shut.

I pulled on the footboard and stood, then crawled onto the mattress and underneath the covers. Laying there, I tried to figure out what I did wrong.

Maybe it was too soon.

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