Page 38 of First Time

“Fucked the memory of every other man and dick from her mind.”

Reid snorted on his mouthful of beer, some droplets spewing from between his lips.

“Watch the furniture!” Micah barked.

“Fucking hell,” Reid muttered and coughed, wiping at his T-shirt.

Jarod snickered. “Seriously though, it was when we were buried beneath that rubble that Christine realized we were meant to be together.”

He had cared for her. Hadn’t given up hope. Believed they would be rescued and had done everything in his power to keep her alive until a shot of light split the darkness they’d been trapped inside.

“Whatever you do,” Blake said, “don’t give up.”

“She knows the safeword you gave her,” Micah added. “Trust her to use it if she wants you to stop.”

“Offer her a friendly massage,” Reid said with a one-shoulder shrug. “You get your hands on her, and she learns what genuine concern looks and feels like.”

I’d heard the story about the night he’d first met Jessie and she hadn’t taken advantage of Elite’s offer of his dick. He’d rubbed her down instead, making her come then pass out on the hotel bed where she got to spend the night without interruption from her toddler daughter.

Friends. I could do that. With or without benefits—I would take whatever I could get. And I would show her exactly how a woman ought to be treated.

I grabbed my phone. Relaxing once more back on the couch, I stretched my legs out and hit redial.

“Chantelle,” I said after she answered. “I’ve got an idea.”

“My idea!” Reid hollered so she would hear him.

“I’m all ears,” she said.

Chapter 16

Becky

Stephen had seemed surprised to find me home on Sunday when he got home from work—but one blink returned the rage I’d witnessed Friday night. His fist connected with my jaw, sending me stumbling back against the counter.

I’d blubbered something about being sorry, and seconds later, he dropped to where I’d slumped on the kitchen floor. Tears had filled his eyes, agony radiating from deep inside him. For the first time in months, he brushed aside my apology and offered one of his own.

He’d held me. Sobbed. Begged me to forgive him, to never leave him. He would be lost without me. Wouldn’t survive on his own.

Even though my face had ached, my heart broke for him.

Promises to be a better man and partner poured from his lips, most of which I’d heard before. I wanted to believe him.

I chose him. The life we’d built together. His mental health in knowing mine might have to suffer a bit longer before he healed. Usually, I kept my mouth shut when we discussed his inner demons, but after a full day with my cousin, I felt a little more confident in speaking my mind. I suggested he see a therapist. Maybe go to an AA meeting.

Surprisingly, he agreed to both.

Anything, he’d said, to make things right between us again.

He’d tried to make love to me that night, but my body refused to become aroused. Rather than getting angry, he continued to pet and kiss me while finishing.

Once Stephen slept, I’d cried. I thought I’d made the right decision, but my heart hurt. For more. Just a hint of what I’d experienced while bound for Master Cooney. Thoughts of him had crept in while Stephen attempted to make me feel good, and shame had crashed through my brain like a ten-car pile-up.

I was nothing but a cheating whore.

Monday, guilt and determination lay heavily on my mind, and I asked Stephen to spend the day with me since he had off work.

While in the bathroom with the door locked, I secretly shot a text to Chantelle’s new cell number letting her know I was fine—that I couldn’t talk because Stephen waited for me.

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