Second Thoughts (2 page)

Besides my BFF Darrin, no other man knew of Adonc's existence. And Audrey only knows because my big, brown power tool was her idea. She figured that I had gone long enough without a nice stiff one between my legs. And guess what? This tool couldn’t be purchased from a Sears tools department. I’ve tried to explain the name for my “dwab”, dick-without-a-body, but I hadn't quite concluded if "Adonc" was short for a donkey dick, or an anaconda. Either way, one of the two would be giving me some kind of pleasure tonight. Tonight, Adonc would be my substitute lover, and it was one hell of a substitute.
 

I heard the soft vibrating sound as I brought the brown color dildo to my already moist and gyrating crotch. I was determined to get all its inches inside me, and that’s exactly what I did. I brought my legs up and allowed them to fall open, showing flexibility I knew Chad would still be impressed with. "Deeper", I told myself, as I moaned softly from pleasure. I hated doing all the work, but tonight I would have to be pleaser and pleased. Louder, Adonc vibrated as I turned the white knob once more. "Yes, right there," I whispered my directives, and I obeyed, keeping the dildo in the place that was sure to make my pleasure juices flow. I moaned even louder as my right hand slid over and between my breasts, down my stomach, and eventually, I began to massage my clit. Still pounding the 9-plus inches of chocolate-brown hard plastic, I came.

After I showered, I washed Adonc as I’ve always done after I’ve had my way with him, stored it back in its box, and then slid it back under my bed. I wished I could have had Chad. I wanted him the way I had him before Danielle happened to him, before I allowed DaMarcus to happen to me. I wanted to be held in Chad's arms until I fell asleep. Instead, I was about to fall asleep alone, with my head in my left palm, my right hand between my legs, just above my knees, with a nice smile of quasi satisfaction on my face, and a hint of disappointment in my heart.  I lay in bed for a few moments, waiting for sleep to invite himself in. But just like that man I wish could have been between my legs, sleep was nowhere to be found. 

Damn! Sex has a way of turning a horny woman into a hungry bitch,
I thought. I sat on the edge of the bed, contemplating how I would battle this state of insomnia. Although my sexual play had left me exhausted, I had the sudden urge to settle another craving. A familiar dryness had settled in the back of my throat. I got up and made my way to the door, but not before glancing at the clock one more time.
Damn,
I thought,
2 a.m. Sleep, where are you?
When I opened the door, I jumped back with my hand over my chest, startled at the sight of him. Even in the late of night, he was a beautiful man. He was tall, with skin the color of copper and facial hair of the same color. He came from a family of equally beautiful brothers and sisters. He stood against the wall, his hands in his pockets, his legs spread apart, and a wide grin on his face, seemingly satisfied, for whatever reason. I’ll admit, there were nights I wished it were Dillon deep inside me. There was a time I was dangerously in love with him. After our very first kiss, I remembered not being able to find myself. In time, part of me had let him go. But on some nights, it was the part of me that didn’t that had me wishing his hands were caressing every curve of my body that made me irresistible to men; married and otherwise.  

Dillon Aldridge has his own storied past. With my help, he had managed to keep the most damaging parts from my sister. He had been a known womanizer, up to the day before my sister took his hand in marriage, and I didn’t expect marriage to change him, either.  He was rumored to have had a short-lived romantic fling with Shelby Quinn, one of my sister’s closest friends. Shelby is the woman she had asked to be her second maid of honor. One should have been enough, but I guess it would have looked bad had she not asked her only sister, though I’m not sure who she asked first. Of course, proving that rumor true wasn’t my priority. I had to put a little fear in that heifer’s heart. I already didn’t like her, and I’d be damned if I let this bitch, who found it impossible to keep her legs closed, stand before God and beside my sister, smiling in her face, when my sister was marrying the man she was secretly screwing. A few days before the wedding, Shelby became too ill to walk down anybody’s aisle. I had to make sure we had enough time to change the programs for the wedding ceremony and the reception. I assured my sister she had nothing to worry about. You’d be surprised how good I am under pressure.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” he asked with that look in his eyes, as if he enjoyed my sexual play more than I did, even though I seriously doubt it.

“Where’s Nessa?” I asked.

That was a more appropriate question.

“She had an emergency at the hospital.”

His gaze penetrated me, and I became even more uncomfortable with him standing in front of me. Even though he stood across the hall from me, he was too close.

“And is that what you came to tell me? I’m sure she would eventually send a text.”

“I am not here delivering a message to you. I was on my way to the kitchen…”

“And you had to walk this way?” I interrupted.

“Well, I heard noises coming from your room.”

“And you had to stop to investigate?”

I was trying not to raise my voice, knowing Quinton was still asleep in the room two doors down.

“Did you hear those same noises while I was in the shower, too? Cut the bullshit, Dillon.”

“Fine. No bullshit. I want you,” he admitted, stepping towards me.

His approach had me retreating into the darkness of my room.

Dillon was up to his usual antics. I wasn’t surprised at his audacious approach, but at the time it had taken him. I knew the Dillon my sister has yet to meet. But the alter ego he had kept concealed was making his return.

“You have a lot of nerve spilling those words from your mouth.” I laughed, unnervingly, though I knew he was serious. “First, let me remind you, just in case that ring on your finger or you sleeping beside her every night aren’t enough, you’re married, and to my sister.”

“Minor technicality.”

Did this bastard just call his marriage to my sister a technicality?
I thought. I knew what I’d heard. I just couldn’t believe it. Men say some shit when then want their way. I had to set him straight. “Second, I don’t want you.”

“But you did.”

“You’re right. I wanted you ten years ago, not ten minutes ago.”

I paused and began making my way to the kitchen like I had planned in the first place. I’d met Dillon in 2001 at the House of Blues on Decatur Street, about four blocks from the famous Bourbon Street. It was Mardi Gras 2001. We definitely
laissez les bon temps rou
lez.

“I wanted you when you paid me no attention, way before you met Nessa. And now that you are a married man, you are off limits to me and any other woman. You make sure you remember and understand those rules the next time you plan on taking up post outside my door and listening to my pleasure moans.”

“Oh, now you want to consider yourself off limits,” Dillon said, but I ignored him, just like I should have after he’d vowed to my sister.

Vanessa’s kitchen was massive─too much kitchen for two people, if you asked me. Designed from her imagination, the cream-colored cabinetry, glass, and impeccable use of light fixtures brighten this space even on the cloudiest days. It was clean enough to e
at dinner from the floors or wall. I’m not sure how she did it, but she paid equal attention to her career, her husband, and her house, and if they had children, they, too, would not be neglected; at least that’s how it’s seemed since I got here. Who knows what happened before? Sometime she did bring her work home with her, but any human would.   

Dillon stood leaning against the black granite on the far side of the center island. His bald head glistened under the light just above him. I stood in front of
the thirty cubic foot, stainless steel, French door refrigerator─again, too much refrigerator for two people─removed the decanter of orange juice, and rested it on the counter space next to the refrigerator. 

“Damn, Taylor. You’re still playing hard to ge
t.”

“As far as you are concerned, Dillon, this is no play.”

“Why haven’t you told Vanessa about us?” Dillon asked.

I looked at him with a seriousness I’m sure he had never seen before.

“Dillon, there is no us to tell.”

“Taylor, seriously?”

“We shouldn’t have started, and after you chose my sister, we shouldn’t have continued.”

“But we have,” he hurriedly corrected.

“And now we have a constant reminder of our betrayal,” I paused, “of your infidelities. We had one too many nights, and we both know you meant more to me than I ever meant to you. I’m the one who wanted more.  Now, you want to talk about a minor technicality, that’s what I’d call what we had.”    

“And what about Shelby? Why have you kept that bit of information to yourself?” 

Why was he bringing up Shelby’s name now?
I thought. I turned around to face him briefly.

“As happy as my sister was about marrying you, I knew what that would’ve done to her. Even if she knew, she probably would have married you anyway. Plus, you screwing my sister’s maid of honor wasn’t my news to break, Dillon.”

I turned back towards the refrigerator, my back towards him, reaching for a glass in the cabinet above the sink. With one arm stretched to open the door, and the other to remove the glass, I realized Dillon was no longer leaning over the kitchen island. I felt his breath on the back of my neck, and his large arms reaching around my waist. I was startled and defenseless. His lips were soft and wet against my neck and then my cheek. I turned to face him. I wan
ted to push him away from me, but my eyes caught his eyes─those big, beautiful browns─and my lips caught his, and I was once again kissing the face of the man I did want ten years ago, the man that was now my sister’s husband. His kisses were just as I rem
embered them. The long ones were breathtakingly passionate. The short ones were soft and stimulating and still sent chills up and down my spine. When I finally came to my senses, and from under his spell, I pushed him away from me, though not as aggressively as I should, since I allowed him to hold my bottom lip between his teeth.

“This is wrong,” I whispered, but he didn’t need me to tell him that. “We have to stop,” I pleaded faintly.

Despite my plea, he pulled me in closer to him. He was staring right into me, and I closed my eyes so he couldn’t see the pleasure I was getting from this intimate closeness.

“We have to stop,” I repeated, but feeling his swell against my navel caused a momentary loss of the good sense God gave me.

I wanted him right there, in the kitchen, on the black granite counter top, the way I had him three years ago. I wanted to feel him making his way inside me, pleasing me like I had just pleased myself. I felt his hands under my plump, round ass, as my hand made its way to his bulge, loosening the strings on silk pajama pants. Our breathing quickened. He picked me up and set me on the counter. With my legs locked around him, I could feel me moistening. I was ready for round two, and round two would involve the real thing. Dillon was wet, too.

“We can’t,” I pleaded between his wild, passionate kisses.

“Mommy!” Quinton yelled.

“Oh, shit,” I whispered, realizing what Quinton’s scream had just interrupted.

“Oh, fuck,” Dillon reacted, but I’m sure he was more disappointed, as he knew our romp probably would have gone further had it not been for this disturbance. 

“I’m coming, baby!” I yelled to Quinton.

I bet Dillon thought those words would soon fall from his mouth. I finally pushed him away from me. He stood leaning with his back against the island. His pants had fallen to his ankles. His swell was even more visible now. I stood in a momentary freeze, looking at him from head to toe. He was breathing heavily, still, and the sweat on his baldhead and forehead sparkled under the fluorescents.

“This cannot happen again. You hear me?”

I walked out of the kitchen and left him thinking about what could have been. I walked hastily to Quinton’s room, running my hands through my wet hair.
What the hell were you thinking,
I thought, but my only response was that I wasn’t, and if I were, I wasn’t thinking about what fucking my sister’s husband would do to her, if she ever found out. I wasn’t thinking about how devastating Nessa would be if she found out about the little that did transpire betwee
n Dillon and me─and even that little was too damn much. I’ve always been the one my sister turned to for advice. Who was she going to turn to now when this shit hits the fan?  I’d just added one more thing I had to keep from her.

Chapter
3

Patrick…

Har
d for Me to Say I’m Sorry

“I can’t believe you’re defending this man,” I
yelled.

I stood, pointing at the well-dressed,
well-groomed lawyer, drilling me as if I were the one on trial. I knew there was a lot at stake.

To only admit I was nervous would be
an understatement. Earlier, my hands trembled as I pushed through the heavy oak double doors and into the courtroom. Everything seemed oversized─the judge’s bench that stretched across the room; the unnecessary large, black leather chair behind the witness stand; the two large desks that sat on either side of the room, where my father now sat─but I swallowed the butterflies that were lodged in my throat.  Moments earlier, on wobbly legs, I had marched from where I sat, a few feet from the judge, next to my
attorney, listening to her say, “everything is going to be all right. Just speak the truth.” My mother sat in the first row of benches directly behind me. The room was silent. Besides my heartbeat thumping loudly in my ear, the buzz from the wings of one lonely fly was the only other sound I heard. When I sat, I felt like I was on stage, as if the courtroom had faded to black and I now sat under an incandescent spotlight, feeling the heat from this persistent attorney. My father and his attorney had their own shine, too.