“I’m going to disappoint you. But you knew that already.” The words, the rejection, came out as a brittle whisper, ethereal in the cool room but heavy with sweltering resolution. This had been a mistake. A huge but not irrevocable mistake.
Pulling the flat silken sheet up her body, wrinkled and smelling of musk, man, and momentary insanity, Erica covered flushed skin, pebbled nipples, and what was left of her dignity.
She didn’t dare look at him. She couldn’t. Not after what they’d almost done.
Shame and guilt pierced already raw and open wounds, twin blades digging deep and lacerating all in their paths.
A week ago, Michael had shredded the first two, leaving them a mangled, bleeding mess in the wake of his crushing confession. The third, well, Erica could place the blame at Michael’s lying, cheating feet as well. But she wouldn’t. No matter that this planned night of sex and revenge seemed like a good idea a day ago.
Pain for pain.
“If it’d make you feel better, make us even, have a one-night stand.” Her husband’s brown eyes had bored into Erica with open challenge and unhidden guilt. “It’s what I deserve, to know that you gave yourself to another man. The way I gave myself to another woman.”
He hadn’t meant it, Erica knew. The guilt, yeah, that damn sure had been real. The tears, also real. The pleading for her not to leave him, to not “break up our family,” well, that had been fucking rich coming from a man who’d screwed a college student who had come “highly recommended” from a temporary staffing agency.
She almost laughed at the absurdity of it all. In truth, she wanted to curl herself into a tight ball and cry until the pain went far, far away.
A warm, tender thumb wiped away tears—a summer drizzle that forecasted a winter squall. Without thinking, but needing comfort, Erica took greedy shelter in Wesley’s strong, supportive arms. Where she wept.
A deluge of pathetic tears.
A wellspring of discarded vows and broken faith.
Holding her tightly and as naked as Erica, Wesley’s scent surrounded her. Boss No. 6, a commanding scent made for the confident man. And Wesley, Erica’s “work husband,” as their colleagues referred to him, exuded confidence, unlike any other man she’d known.
“I can kick Michael’s ass for you,” Wesley had said yesterday, his tone deep, low, and coarse with dangerous intent. “Or I can give you one hell of a night. A night you’ll never forget.”
Erica had blinked up at him, unsure she’d heard the man correctly. Steely dark-brown eyes stared right back, unwavering in his illicit offer.
At that moment, in Wesley, Erica saw only the source of her revenge. After all, Michael had given her “permission” to sleep with another man. And Wesley was damn sure male—intelligent and sexy as post-marital sin. She hadn’t regretted confiding in her friend. Not then, and not now.
“He’s a fool, and doesn’t deserve you.” He kissed the top of her head, a sweet gesture that had Erica burrowing deeper into Wesley’s tear-soaked chest. “Since revenge sex is off the table, that leaves only a good ole fashion ass whippin’.”
Despite herself, Erica smiled. This man was good for her bruised pride and gouged-out soul.
She raised her head, found his lips, and placed a thankful kiss upon them.
When she untangled herself from his arms and the sheets, pushing out of bed then sliding into clothing removed with eager, masculine fingers, Wesley let her go. He said nothing, yet his too-knowing eyes tracked Erica’s every movement.
A patient predator.
She shivered, grabbed her purse and keys, and fled the motel. She would neither allow Michael to absolve his guilt by dragging her into the infidelity mire with him nor use Wesley as a tool for revenge.
I’m going to disappoint you. But you knew that already. She’d uttered those words to Wesley, but they’d also been for the scorned woman inside.
Closing exhausted eyes, Erica sat in her car, not yet ready to return home and face her cheating husband. She thought about his lies, late nights, and lethargy—all signs of a man having an affair. But she’d been too blind and too busy to notice.
What a fool I was. I should’ve learned my lesson the first time. Now look at me.
Her cell beeped, alerting Erica to a text message. Grabbing the phone from the purse she’d tossed onto the passenger seat, she hit the screen and brought the phone to life. Tapping the yellow email icon, she waited for the message to appear on the brightly lit screen. It took all of two seconds, but she needed only one to know who had texted her.
Stop sitting in your car and cum back inside.
Oh but Wesley was a delectable sin. His cum instead of come had Erica peering out her driver’s side window and across the small motel parking lot. While all was quiet and dark, Erica the only fool sitting in her car at midnight on Halloween, the light from a single opened door drew her gaze.
A tall, dark figure stood in the doorway, his scrumptious body nude and cast in silhouette. Damn, she really needed to start her car and drive the hell away from this motel of lust and temptation. And what did it say about her that she was enticed so easily, or that she’d savored Wesley’s sweet kisses but rough, covetous hands?
She knew. Of course, she knew.
Erica climbed out of her car, cell phone in hand, purse on her shoulder. Striding across the parking lot and towards the man whose lurid and raw sex appeal drew her in, Erica didn’t stop until she reached room sixty-six.
“I knew you’d be back.”
Wesley flashed perfect white teeth, wrapped an arm around her pulsing wrist and pulled Erica inside. Four seconds later, she was against the closed motel room door, dress up to her waist, Wesley’s hand on her heated, womanly flesh, and those perfect white teeth of his in her throat—sucking, drinking, and—yes, yes—making her cum.
Tomorrow, when she saw Wesley at work, Erica would tell herself she’d been enthralled by a charismatic vampire. When Michael asked about tonight, she’d tell him the same.
But they would be lies, excuses, and emotional absolutions for a woman who knew better but chose not to be better.
Wesley dropped to his knees, then stared up at her with eyes gone white and wicked. Fangs distended, he licked her blood from the tips and whispered, “I knew you’d taste good.” With a wink, he tugged her down, then nodded at his... “Now taste me.”
Oh, she did. And the route to Hell had never been so mouth-wateringly delicious.
This flash fiction was originally written as a guest post for Mello & June, It's a Book Thang.