Wet Part 3 (21 page)

“We’ll get through this, but not right now, not here.” He watched her eyes change from hope to something darker, anger. “We have things to do. Let’s finish getting you some clothes, and then we need to buy new phones. I have a surprise errand after that, and then, when we get back to the hotel, we’ll stop at the little shop and pick up some condoms.”

“In the room, you say you need to get out. Now we’re out, you say you need to wait until we’re back in the room.” She shook her head and let out a humorless laugh. She turned her back on him to hang the black set back on the hook. Watching him in the mirror, she reached back to undo the bra she was modeling. “You rattled off a million things you’d rather do. Might as well just buy plain, white cotton, and park myself back in the eternal friend zone, or better yet, why don’t you just stick a pacifier in my mouth, and lock me in the nursery. I’ll never be able to compete with your groupies.”

He closed his eyes, not quite knowing what to do or say. He didn’t understand how she could throw his past in his face, again. Not just his womanizing days, the past she claimed didn’t matter, unless she lost her temper, the only time she ever said what was really on her mind, but . . . lock her up in the nursery? Did she really just trivialize his childhood nightmare?

For all the accusations and blame she kept heaping on him, it was
her
hang-ups keeping them from completing their marriage contract.
She
was the one who couldn’t stand him touching her.
She
was the one who brought up divorce and annulment, accusing him of being ready to just walk away, as if he could. He wasn’t the one mentally divvying up their assets—
Custody of my shop?

Rhees fumbled to get the bra undone but froze when she realized, by watching Paul in the mirror, she might have miscalculated how much she wanted what she knew she’d just succeeded in getting. His eyes closed, and he slowly shook his head as a low growl rumbled from his throat. His lips pressed together in a tight line, but his whole jaw twitched.

“I am
so
fucking tired,” he said through clenched teeth, “of having this God-damned fucking conversation over, and over, and
fucking
over again!”

She turned at his words, taken aback. She recognized the tone, she’d been needling him, provoking him all afternoon, but she never expected his reaction to be so soon, or so severe. Before she had a chance to attempt any damage control, he was on her. He swooped in against her, lifted her, and pressed her body against the wall with his own, smashing his lips over hers.

She gasped but his mouth was on hers so firmly, the breath came from his own lungs, making the sound of a regulator, stunning her. He claimed the air back the same way, and she was sure he’d inhaled her soul. Letting him have it couldn’t have felt more right, and she wilted.

He glanced at her, searching her eyes, and apparently, found what he was looking for because his angry kisses morphed into something more passionate and needy. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her arms around his neck, and pulled him in, closer, returning his kisses with the hunger she once feared she’d never feel again.

He held her to the wall with his bulk while he shredded the panties right from her body as though they were cheap crepe paper. His hands were suddenly where her panties had been, fingers playing . . . his eyes watching hers, daring her to make him stop. She didn’t.

He suddenly stilled, glanced down, and examined the fingers he’d had on her. Uncertainty clouded his expression and they hung there, unmoving, while he allowed whatever it was, to register. His eyes shot back to see hers again. He blinked, and just as fast, they were on the floor.

He hovered over her, keeping his weight on his knees and one arm while he wrapped his other arm around the back of her neck. He waited for her to panic, to push against him, to whimper for him to stop.

Rhees reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it up, instead. He helped her and tossed it into the corner before looking to her one more time to be certain. She grabbed his face with both hands and pulled his mouth down to hers again, adding her tongue.

He swore without breaking their kiss, and then reached down to undo his jeans, slipping them down as far as he could without having to release her mouth. As powerfully as she held him, he couldn’t have if he’d tried.

He began fondling her again, watching, anticipating, holding her hostage with his gaze. He absorbed her shaky breaths with his mouth, breathing in each one while focused on her eyes, desire smoldering in the beautiful, intense blue of his own. She felt lost in him—the burning desire in his eyes—for her, and then . . .
she
burned.

Rhees’ eyes snapped closed with a deep gasp, bearing through the initial sting, but also breaking the spell. She looked back again, hoping he’d resume his magic and make it all better, but she’d lost him. His face burrowed into her neck, his breath, quick irregular gusts in her ear, against her skin, sent goose bumps down her body as he moved, enveloping her in his arms, clutching at her as though his life depended on climbing as far inside her as he could get.

She tossed her head back again, wondering how much longer it would take. How much longer it would sting. It wasn’t an unbearable pain, but her eyes watered, not tears, she wasn’t crying, it just burned.

Paul jerked himself out of her with a hiss, pressing
He
against her lower belly as he continued to writhe. He finally quivered in her arms and collapsed on her, panting all the names he called her, over and over.

She held him even tighter, fascinated by the potency of his ecstasy and the warm liquid she felt pumping against the skin of her stomach. She smiled contentedly, and caressed his back and shoulders, peppering his neck, his Adam’s apple, with kisses.

Paul lay on her, motionless until his breathing returned to normal.

“Jesus! What the fuck was that?” he said, shuffling himself to the side so he wouldn’t smash her. “I’m sor—”

She placed her finger over his mouth, shushing him. “I think it was just that, what you said.” She giggled, quietly. Her eyes radiated warmth.

“Shit! Why didn’t you say something about how cold the floor is?”

“I didn’t notice,” she laughed.

He glanced at her and shook his head as his wits started coming back to him. He reached and gently brushed a strand of her hair from her face.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” She smiled, almost giddily.

He put his arm under her so that she could rest her head on him instead of the floor. “Not quite the bed of rose petals I had originally planned—that was nothing like the way I’d planned it. I’m sorry, Baby.”

She shrugged, and looked up at him, all dreamy eyed. “Why did you stop?” she asked curiously.

“Why did I stop?” A garbled chuckle came out. “That’s just the way it works. It doesn’t go on forever, though it would be nice if it did.”

“But . . .” She suddenly sounded worried. “You stopped so fast and put
He
on my stomach. Did I do it wrong?”

“Oh.” He remembered her attacker had told her she’d done it wrong, too.
Shit!
While it made him sick to think about it, he wanted to set her mind at ease. He kissed her forehead. “You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s not possible to do it wrong. Outside of maybe biting—while some biting is okay—” He smiled mischievously for a second, but then gave her a quick, hesitant look, knowing she knew nothing about it. “Just . . . please don’t ever bite
He
, okay?” He chuckled again, kind of, hoping she understood.

“Baby, just about anything goes. If it feels good, it’s not wrong, as long as we’re both comfortable with it, okay? So as long as we’re open with each other, you’ll never do it wrong, but you have to be honest, and let me know if you’re ever not comfortable. Got that?”

“Okay, but . . .”

Paul could tell her question still hadn’t been answered. 

“I didn’t pull out because you did anything wrong.” She was still so naïve. He skimmed her cheek with the back of his fingers and she hummed, savoring his touch. “No condom, remember? Pull out before the baby-builders escape, lessen the chance of the critters building a baby.”

“Oh.”

He felt her go slack in his arms with his answer, but something else too.  Again, he got the feeling she wouldn’t mind if they’d made one. He hugged her tighter. As they lay there, he looked up at the walls. The room was so small. He glanced around. Not only was the floor cold, it was filthy.

“We’re in a dressing room.”

She rolled her head to look at him, too adoringly. He didn’t like it, not after what he’d just done.

“I wouldn’t care if we were in a stinking bathroom.” She beamed. “We did it. We’re
really
married now.”

He stared at her, dumbfounded. She didn’t seem to realize what she’d just said, but he did. The magnitude of what they—what he’d just done hit him full force. He already felt regret for being weak, for not holding out until he could make it special, but now—he didn’t know how he was supposed to live with himself. He didn’t know how she could possibly live with him. But she would because she was so . . . he was muddled and angry with himself—and her, for putting up with his selfish shit, yet again.

“Look around. It’s filthy. It doesn’t remind you of something?”

She seemed taken aback by his sudden fit of temper. She looked around, trying to see what he was talking about, but she was blind to anything but rainbows and butterflies—and him. She leaned into him and tried to kiss him, but he turned his head, pretending not to notice.

He sat up, still pretending to be oblivious to her love-struck swooning, and started pulling his jeans back up. He caught a glimpse of himself and froze—the blood shocked him and he sat, staring at it for much too long. He finally snapped out of the stupor, jerked his pants up the rest of the way, but didn’t zip them up. He needed a few more minutes to make room, and it wouldn’t hurt to be reminded a little longer, what he’d done.

The thought of never washing it off came to mind. Maybe the constant reminder of how he’d never change would be good for him. He rested his arms on his knees, staring at it, shaking his head, over and over.

“Do you think you might tell me what’s wrong, why you’re so detached all of a sudden?” she asked. He turned and watched as she tried to sit up but his cum ran from her stomach and she stopped to stare at the white mess, tinged with blood.

He hurriedly grabbed her scrubs, the first thing within his reach, top and bottoms, in one handful, and started wiping the mess a little brusquely. She perched on her elbows, watching as he worked to clean her up. When he finished the job, he tossed the scrubs into the corner of the room with a little too much emphasis. He glared at her with a mix of anger and remorse in his eyes.

“Stop,” she whispered.

“Too late!” he hissed. “You should have said that a little sooner.”

“Why are you doing this? Why would you ruin it?”

“It was ruined before it ever started.”

“No.” It came out a quiet plea, a whimper. She teared up. “We just made love. Why would you spoil—”

“We didn’t make love—we fu—” He stopped himself, unable to finish what she knew he’d almost called it. In spite of his anger, he couldn’t stoop to calling it what he’d been about to, for her sake, but she knew it was only for her sake. He dropped his head onto his arms and took a few deep breaths.

“That wasn’t making love.” He tipped his head to face her, his lips pressed into a tight line and he almost trembled, holding back the anger and self-loathing that would have otherwise seethed from every pore. “Welcome to Angry Sex 101.”

Chapter 15

P
aul lay back down, his legs bent at the knee, and he covered his eyes with the crook of his elbow. He didn’t move again. Rhees watched him for several minutes wondering how he could be so indifferent after what they’d just done. His regret felt like rejection and made her feel the need to get out of there, away from him.

Still naked, she wore only the orange bra that didn’t belong to her. She reached for her scrubs and got a handful of gooey mess, which repelled her hand. She felt faint. She had to get out. She looked up at the clothes on the hooks. She stood and grabbed the black panties, they didn’t match, but caring was the farthest thing from her mind. She pulled them on and the tag dug into her hip. She ripped it off and grabbed for one of the shirts and a pair of shorts, shrugging them on in haste, breaking the tags off of them as well. When she grasped the doorknob with her trembling hand, she hesitated.

Fight or flight
. Paul’s words stung her conscience.
Dammit!
He was right. She did run from everything painful. She said she’d try not to run anymore and she kicked herself for making such a stupid promise. He’d set an impossible standard for promise keeping and she was too stubborn to disregard it, but she could push it to the limit. She’d given her word not to run so far he couldn’t find her, but she could at least get the hell out of that room.

She took one last look at Paul, still on the ground, still shutting her out, covering his eyes. It was the last nudge she needed.

“I’ll leave you alone so you can reflect on what a horrible ordeal it was, forcing yourself to have sex with me. I’ll be outside.”

“Rhees!”

She ran out, slamming the door as she did. She burst from the dressing rooms and drew in a long breath of air as if she’d been holding it for a long time. She flailed about with indecision. She wanted to run even farther but couldn’t. She wanted to cry, but couldn’t. She wanted to scream. She’d finally gathered her resolve, walked to the counter, and handed the tags from the clothes she wore to the clerk.

“I’m going to wear these clothes out,” she said in the most reserved voice she could muster.

The clerk returned a blank look. Rhees had to think about how to say it in Spanish and did the best she could. Pointing to the new clothes on her body, she said, “Lo siento, no hablo Español.” She pointed to the tags on the counter and then back to the clothes she had on. The girl finally understood and turned to the register to ring her up.

“Wait. I don’t have any money on me.” Rhees turned to go back to the dressing room but caught herself. Her purse with her new credit card was still in there, but so was Paul. Her heart pounded against her chest, she couldn’t gain control over her breathing, and the need to get away hit her again.

She looked out the window, hoping that seeing the sunshine outdoors would help soothe her anxiety. It didn’t. She wanted to be out there, farther away from Paul than the space between the showroom floor and the dressing rooms provided.

She looked back again, knowing that he’d be coming out any second. She still couldn’t bear the thought of facing him. She looked out the window again and noticed a bar across the street.

“Mi esposo, he’ll pay for the clothes.” She didn’t know enough words. She pointed at the dressing room. “Mi esposo. Dinero!”

The girl looked bewildered and anxious, almost as panicky as Rhees felt. She didn’t know how to tell the girl that her husband would pay for the clothes on her back. She looked down and only then noticed her bare feet.

“Dang it! I left my shoes in the dressing room too.” She shoved the hair away from her face and looked to the back of the store, dreading having to watch Paul coming for her, dreading having to see that look on his face again.

A rack of shoes stood near the wall outside the dressing room and she literally ran to it, picked out the first pair of seven and a half sandals she found, and put them on. She handed the clerk the new tag. “These too, um . . . tambien. I’m wearing the shoes too.”

The clerk seemed unsure, but put the tag in the pile with the others. They both looked back toward the dressing rooms and to Rhees’ relief, still no sign of Paul, but she was sure the clerk would rather see him coming out to save the day.

“It’s all right—Esta bien. Mi esposo, my husband, he has money. Tengo—no, not tengo. Um, tiene, yeah, tiene dinero.” Rhees fumed at the double meaning of what she’d said. “Yeah, he has money, lots of it.”

She couldn’t believe how stupid she’d been to not know that the man she’d married had millions. Her anxiousness continued to swing farther and farther toward anger.

“He’s loaded!” she said a little too heatedly. At that moment, she noticed the display of bracelets on the counter and grabbed a handful of them, almost throwing them at the clerk. “These too—Tambien!”

That felt good.

“In fact . . .” She stomped over to one of the racks and started rifling through the clothes for more to put on his tab. It had only been a few minutes since she’d walked out on him, and she knew he would emerge any second. The thought of facing him still seemed too much to have to deal with. She wasn’t ready. She looked at the rack of clothing and grabbed an armful, as many things as she could carry. She threw them on the counter like she had the bracelets.

“Tambien!” Rhees ignored the nervous look on the girl’s face and looked back toward the bar on the other side of the street. She couldn’t help herself any longer. She grabbed the handle on the door and with a shaky voice, tried to explain to the clerk again, “Mi esposo, tiene mucho dinero.”

Rhees felt bad that the clerk seemed scared, almost panicked about the situation. She thought the girl seemed too young and timid to be left alone, the only employee in the store, but Rhees knew Paul would make it right.
He’ll give her a large tip too, knowing him.
She pointed to the dressing rooms one more time.

“I’ll be at the bar.” She pointed across the street. “Alli—or is it alla? Ugh!” She groaned at her inability to speak Spanish. “My husband will pay for it. He’s loaded,” she said, and walked out.

She felt much better as soon as she walked into the bar. She convinced herself she’d found a suitable compromise. She’d run away after all, but not too
far
.
    

oOo

“She promised,”
Paul mumbled when Rhees ran out of the dressing room, but he didn’t blame her. She was a runner and he was a terrible person, worth running from.

He didn’t move. He knew he didn’t have long, but he needed every second he could squeeze out of the moment, to pull himself together, and then he’d have to go try and pull Rhees together.

“Señor?” The clerk tapped timidly on the door.

“Un momento.” He didn’t care about sounding gruff with her.

“Señor.” The girl sounded nervous, almost frantic. She told him, in Spanish, how his wife had said he would pay for the clothes she wore out. The girl wanted him to verify that he would.

“Yes. Si,” he answered. He heard the girl’s footsteps head away, and he closed his eyes, relieved that he didn’t have to open the door just yet. His eyes flew open.

“The clothes she wore out? Aw shit!” He jumped to his feet and almost broke the door, trying to get out of the dressing room. “Rhees!”

The clerk stared at him with fear in her eyes. “Se fue,” she said nervously.

“Where’d she go?” he bellowed.

The girl explained how Rhees had left the store and ran to the bar on the other side of the street. Paul rushed to the door, spotted the bar and was about to run out, but the girl called to him in a desperate plea.

“Señor, usted dijo que pagaría por la ropa!”

“Pay for clothes? What clothes?” he barked. “Que ropa?”

The girl’s face flushed as she pointed to the tags and the large pile of clothes on the counter. She looked frightened, and he felt bad since she’d tried to avoid this very scenario.

“My wife wanted all of that?” He repeated what he’d said again, but in Spanish. Rhees hated spending money so he had trouble believing she’d want everything before his eyes.

“Ella dijo . . .
he’s loaded
.” She spoke the English words slowly, making sure to repeat them correctly.

Paul closed his eyes and let out a long sigh before a wide smile spread across his face. He broke into a loud laugh, understanding what Rhees had done. He asked the clerk if his wife would be safe at the bar and she assured him that she and her friends stopped in there often, after work. 

Paul relaxed, figuring that if a timid girl like her wasn’t afraid to hang out there, Rhees would be all right for a few more minutes. He motioned for the girl to proceed with ringing up the clothes. He glanced back toward the bar every few seconds to make sure Rhees didn’t get away and hadn’t really paid attention to the items the girl was charging him for until one shirt caught his eye.

The blouse the girl held looked about twenty sizes too big for his Rhees, and he’d never seen her wear such bold, hideous colors. “My wife has better taste than that.” He asked the girl if she was sure Rhees had picked it out.

The clerk shrugged her shoulders. Again, she seemed nervous and took a minute to respond. Paul grew increasingly frustrated with her tentativeness when he was so anxious to get to the bar so he could drag Rhees out of there—by her hair, caveman-style if necessary. He resorted to what he knew worked.  

He placed his hands on the counter and leaned toward the girl with a warm smile. She was young and pretty, but Paul felt no attraction to her. He wanted nothing more than her cooperation. She backed away, but when she finally got a good look at his eyes, she blushed, and smiled back. After a little more prodding, she described Rhees’ behavior, explaining how she hadn’t even looked at the things she threw on the counter.

“Okay.” Paul rattled his head with another chuckle and continued in Spanish, “Go ahead and ring it all up, every single item. This is going to be fun.”

The girl nodded, as though she was in on his game. Paul wasn’t sure she really was and he didn’t want to explain it any further.

“Esta bien,” he said, waving his hand toward the merchandise and she proceeded to do her job. He raised his eyebrows at several of the items. Some were just so not attractive, but they made him laugh all the more. He noticed the tags on the counter and picked them up, curiously. The girl explained how Rhees had worn some of the store’s clothes out when she’d left, declaring that her husband would pay for them.

“Hmm . . . un momento, por favor? He walked back to the dressing room. A pang of remorse washed over him again as he took another look around the stall. He finally picked up Rhees’ scrubs and tossed them into the trash can. He couldn’t undo what he’d done, he had no choice but to suck it up and move on. He picked up her purse and shoes, and grabbed all the clothes that Rhees had picked out to try on, and carried them to the counter.

“Estos tambien, todos ellas,” he said with a halfhearted smile. The girl thought he was smiling at her and she smiled back, no longer acting nervous and frightened, but more like a giggly schoolgirl with a crush. It helped his cause, but it annoyed him, making him feel even more like the antihero.

oOo

Paul walked into the bar carrying three large bags, full of clothing. It took a minute for his eyes to adjust to the dark room, but he finally spotted Rhees sitting at a booth against the wall on the right. Several men in the bar watched, with disappointment, when they saw the look on her face as he walked over to her table and sat down. Paul was sure their hopes of swooping in and getting lucky with the cute, inebriated young woman were dashed. 

He slipped into the round booth and scooted close to her, setting the bags on the seat to his left. After a pause, he finally dared to look at her.

“Sorry,” she said, eyeing the bags. She grabbed a shot glass on the table, tossing the contents down her throat. She cringed and stuck out her tongue at the burn.

He too glanced at the bags and grinned. “For future reference, a three hundred-dollar shopping spree won’t really make a dent in our pocketbook.”

She raised an eyebrow at his use of the words, future and our, and played along with new hope. “Okay, so next time I should buy a Ferrari?”

“Closer . . . but no. I had one of those. I also had an Aston Martin, and a Koenigsegg, to name a couple—all in my former life.”

“I have no idea what those even are.”

One side of his mouth quirked up.

“Just cars. And that was kind of the point, with the Koenigsegg, anyway. It irritated my dad that I’d pay so much money for a car no one had ever heard of. Very few people know what they are, and dad thought the money would be better spent on a more recognizable status symbol.” Paul smirked at the memory. “But I’m no longer earning millions every year, so if you were to buy one now, we might notice. Well, probably not.”

“
We
might notice?” She emphasized the word we.

At first he mistook her bewildered expression to mean that she wasn’t familiar with the car, or its price tag, but he finally realized she was fishing for a confirmation about them. He cast his eyes down, feeling miserable for hurting her. There were so many things wrong with what had happened.

“Yes.
We
would still be financially sound.” He looked up at the ceiling, trying to think of something to help her put it into perspective. “A private jet—if you were to buy a private jet—let’s say, anything more than a six-seater, we’d probably notice
that
. I’d have to rearrange, liquidate an investment or two.”

“A private jet.” She stared off at nothing, thinking about it. “Huh.”

Paul noticed what she had on the table in front of her. He stared at her neatly lined row of guaranteed memory loss. Three shot glasses and three beers alternated evenly, starting with a shot, and ending with a beer. The first and second shots were empty as well as the first beer in the line, but she hadn’t started on her second beer, yet. She caught him eyeing her strategy and dared him to say something about it. When he didn’t, she grabbed the second beer and chugged down half the bottle.

“Tequila and beer?” he asked, trying not to sound too concerned.

“Uh-huh. I had one of Taye’s Iced Teas, first.”

He whistled through his teeth.

“That ought to do it.” He looked down and closed his eyes. He licked and pressed his lips together a few times. 

“Do what?”

“Make you forget.”

“That’s what
I
thought, but it isn’t working.”

He looked at his watch. “Give it a minute.” He tried not to smirk. They sat in silence for a few minutes. “Rhees. I am
so very
sorry.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“But, I am.” He frowned.

“I
said
I don’t want to talk about it.” She shot him a cold glare, picked up the unfinished beer and guzzled down the remaining half. She slammed the empty bottle onto the table, a little too forcefully, making everyone in the bar turn to look at the foreigners visiting their bar. When they didn’t give their spectators anything to see, everyone turned back to their own business.