Cherry Bomb (8 page)

I promised myself I would never make the same
mistake twice. So I hit the silence button. I climbed the steps to
my front porch when Mrs. Pat walked up behind me.

“Cherry, are you okay?”

I clenched the robe tightly against my body
and turned around, hoping she would not realize what my state of
dress was.

“Hey, out walking Mollie already?”

I reached down to pat the growling little
brown ball of fur when it snapped at my fingers,
Great, could he
sense I was a whore now too.

“Yeah, Norman stayed over last night and I
couldn’t sleep with all that snoring he was doing.”

Pat was almost eighty and Norman was her
sixty-year-old boy toy. I swore she had a better sex life than I
ever had. It crossed my mind to tell her about the newest man in my
life. But my days as a MILF were over. It was a once in a lifetime
event.

“I was going to get a biscuit from Hardee’s
but forgot my wallet.”
Nice save, Cherry.
“Want to come in
for a cup of coffee. The kids are at their dads.”

I unlocked the door and motioned for her to
come in but she shook her head.

“Actually, I was planning on having coffee on
the patio. Why don’t you join me?”

“You know I think I will. Just let me
change.”

I stepped inside, took a deep breath, and
then raced to my bedroom, where I caught the first reflection of
myself in the mirror.

Freshly fucked and used,
that was the
nice way to describe the way I looked.

My hair was a tangled mess, and I sunk my
teeth down into my lips as I remembered every detail of the night
before.

Deep red marks marred the side of my neck,
shoulders, breast, and arms. I let my robe pool at my feet. A small
bite mark was visible on my left inner thigh, a rather large hickey
on the underside of my right breast. I couldn’t even remember him
biting me.

I ran my hands along the red scratches on my
inner thighs. My nipples harden as I envisioned his unshaven face
brushing along my skin.

Jolted out of my thoughts by the vibrating of
my cell, I pulled out whatever was on top of my dresser, changing
quickly, and chunked my phone across the room.

When I stepped back out on my front porch,
Pat was sitting on the steps waiting for me.

“It is such a beautiful morning, and the
perfect time to sit outside and enjoy it.”

We started walking toward her house with
Mollie nipping at my heels. “Can I ask a personal question?” I
asked, glancing over at her.

“Of course.” She nodded. “As old as I am I
might even have an answer.”

She moaned as we climbed the stairs to her
porch. I noticed she was giving to her right leg. I made a mental
note to myself to check on her more often. She sat down on the
white wicker swing, and I sat in the two-person settee opposite
her.

Her porch was my favorite on the street. It
wrapped completely around the house, and she had filled it with
homey touches; massive pots of flowers, and enough white wicker to
furnish most average size apartments.

“You had a question, sweetheart?”

I frowned slightly. “How long have you and
Norman been together?”

“Oh, about twenty years. He finally met his
match with me.”

“So your age never got in the way . . . of
you know . . . life?”

She waved her hand dismissively. “Honey, the
biggest burden in any relationship is worrying about what someone
else thinks. If you find the person that makes you happy, the hell
with everyone else, run with it.”

Her housekeeper bought out a pot of coffee
with some blueberry muffins and placed it on the table next to
me.

I picked up the pot and poured us each a cup
then handed Pat hers with a muffin.

I took a sip of coffee, pondering what she
said. Was the only thing standing in my way of a relationship with
Drake my own fears? Could an overweight, thirty-year-old stand a
chance of forming a bond with a twenty-something sex god.

She studied me for a second, taking a sip of
her own cup. “You want a piece of advice?” Pat asked, pulling me
from my recent thoughts.

“Of course.”

She sat her cup on the table in front of the
swing, and smiled up at me. “If the kids are still at their dads
tonight, I hope you get to have another sleepover. The blushing
looks good on you,” she said with a wink.

I didn’t respond. We simply sat in peace
sipping our coffee and listening to a pair of mocking birds perched
in the old oak tree in her front yard.

“I should go. The kids should be home soon.”
I placed the cup back on the tray, and started to stand.

“It killed me to sit back and watch what your
ex was doing. If you have found someone, enjoy. You deserve to have
a little fun in this life.”

“Thanks, Pat. Oh, Noah is selling wrapping
paper for school. I am sure he will be by to see you soon.” I said,
stepping down the steps and giving her a small wave.

“Looking forward to it.”

Walking back down the sidewalk to my yard, I
realized it was not the age difference or physical attributes that
made me run, it was the very thought his brand of sex came with
safe words. Hell, his lifestyle should've been a warning label. I
would've been crazy if I stayed.

I looked around the neighborhood. Mr. Womack
was already out mowing the lawn. Shellie was taking her coffee out
on the veranda. Just a normal day. So why did my body suddenly hum
in awareness? Awareness that someone was watching me.

I was spent. You would think life couldn’t
get any better than this. With a blonde grinding on my face and a
brunette riding my cock, I was living every male’s dream. These
girls had no idea who they had gotten involved with. Sex was only
part of the game. Pain was what truly got my blood pumping.

Baring my nails down in the brunette’s
breast, I worked my tongue over the blonde’s pussy until she was
screaming into the brunette’s mouth. The sound was all wrong. I bit
down on the blonde’s ass cheek hard enough to bring blood.

I had spent every night, since Cherry Webb
walked out of my life, at the club, trying to forget her.

I ended up spending the last two nights with
these girls. They still had a lot to learn but they were attentive
and fast studies. I gave them both orgasms but I was left empty and
unfulfilled.

Cherry Webb didn’t only fall at my feet but
into the deepest, darkest part of my soul.

I pushed both the girls off of my body.

“Get the hell out.”

I collapsed back on the bed, not even
acknowledging the girls as they grabbed their clothes to leave.

“Did we do something wrong, Sir?” the blonde
asked.

I glared at them but didn’t have the words to
address them, and slid on my pants sans underwear.

It was not the moans I wanted to hear, their
faces couldn’t compare to the face I saw when I close my eyes.

Fuck, I hadn’t come since Cherry walked her
sweet ass out my front door.

I could dream about her every night and still
want to spend my days with her. Her body curved in all the right
places. She viewed herself as fat. I only saw a body that got my
dick to stir every time.

She was real.

That woman was my favorite screw ever.

I had experimented with more than one type of
drugs. They never did anything for me. Billy was not so lucky. He
tried meth one time, got the high of his life, and was hooked. It
took him twelve years to finally clean up his act and free himself
from the bonds of drugs. Cherry was my meth. All it took was one
night, and I was hooked for a lifetime.

I reached for my glasses when the door flew
open.

“I thought I paid you good money to get a
simple job done. I know she is no looker but hell, she’s
screwable.” One of my newest clients stormed into my private suite
at the club followed closely by two of my security guards.

“Sorry, Sir, the only way to stop him was
with force.”

I raised my hand to the guards and nodded.
They were the least of my concern. Cherry’s husband stood only a
foot from me, and it took everything in me not to use force on him
myself. But I couldn’t. I had to play it cool. If he only knew that
Cherry had gone long passed a job into something personal, I was
terrified what he might do.

I slowly scratched my fingers through my
hair. James Webb paced the floor.

We couldn't have been less alike. His lean,
willowy frame didn’t compare to my muscular one. I measured in at
six feet, two inches. James was closer to five feet, six inches.
His peppered brown hair and dark brown eyes were the perfect
contrast to my pale blond hair and blue eyes. The only thing we had
in common was he
was
paying me to spy on
and sleep with his wife. A job I would do willingly.

“First off, if you ever barge into my
personal space again, you’ll be paying for a nice long vacation in
the ICU.” I popped my fingers with a squeeze of my fist. “Now to
Mrs. Webb, I promise she’s my number one concern.”

James sat down at the foot of the bed and
crossed his arm. He was fidgeting but the major tip-off that he was
nervous was the clenching of his teeth.

“Anything else before I kick you off my
bed?”

He twisted his head to look over his
shoulder. “She is taking me for everything I’ve worked hard for.
She’s mad because I had a little fun on the side. Shit, wait to you
sleep with her and you’ll understand why.”

I have, and think you are the dumbest
bastard in the world to throw it away.

“I just want what I’ve agreed to pay an arm
and a leg for,” James said.

You can just want because I’m not giving you
shit, you arrogant son of a bitch.

I didn’t answer him, just stared him down
with a look so cold it could have easily frozen the heart of any
man. I pulled on my shirt to avoid punching his fucking brains
out.

“Believe me, I’ll take care of Mrs. Webb.” I
buttoned up my shirt with one thought on my mind, Cherry. Even the
high of money didn’t touch what she had given me.

James realized that this was not the time,
and he had wandered into a place he didn’t need to go.

“I’m sorry. You’re right,” he said as he
started to back out of the room, followed closely by the guards.
“I’m stressed. There is a lot on the line, and I never lose,” he
added before closing the door.

Never, say never, you’ve never messed with
the likes of me.

I have had more than my share of women who
gave up all control, without any demands or questions. It had been
enough, until I fucked up and held her. She was so damn sweet. I
had never had sweet before. I kicked a set of saw horses across the
room.

What the fuck was happening to me?
I
didn’t give two fucks what happened to anyone. I was cursed.
Everyone I loved was destroyed because of me. So why did I think I
could help her? Why did I believe I could wipe that sadness from
her eyes? Hell, she wasn’t even worth trying. She walked out on me.
I fell back on the bed with a plop. Those haunting green eyes of
hers floated across my mind, and I knew I would try. I was always
trying. But she was a battle I was determine not to lose.

I shoved the papers across
the desk. I had been in a fog of uncertainty the past few weeks.
Always on guard, always waiting for something to happen. I raised
my head when I heard a knock on the door. Amy, the editor for the
small magazine I worked at, walked in. I just hoped she was no
longer obsessed with Master from the Dungeon. It was hard enough
trying to forget without the constant reminder. At least his
endless phone calls had ceased.

“
Got a minute?”

I motioned for her to sit
down, and started to gather my papers. “Sure thing. What do you
need today?” Other than another interview with Tall, Blond, and
Master.

Moving to take a seat
opposite me, she handed me a stack of papers. “New assignment. Too
bad it is not a redo of Master.”

I rolled my eyes. I have
him on speed dial, I can always set up an appointment for you. I
wiggled in my chair at the thought of Amy ever getting her hands on
Master.

“
It’s a simple one.
Photograph the homes and talk to the owners in Memphis’s annual
Tour of Homes.”

It was more my usual
thing. I almost fell out of my chair at her request to interview
Master anyway. Ours was more of a magazine for uppity working
women, we covered the latest galas, home tours, the haves and the
haves not of the community. Even if our targeted demographic
frequented a sex club, it would be their dirty little secret. “By
the way, when are you publishing the article on Sir?” Calling him
Master would always be my dirty little secret.

“
Oh, the owner decided the
article was too risqué to run. So just think of Sir as a gift from
me.”

As she turned to leave, I
smiled. He was a gift I would have a hard time
forgetting.

After driving halfway
home, I realized I had been jamming out to my son’s Wiggle CD. I
really needed to get out, and somewhere other than the fast food
joints I found was supplying my dinner every night that
week.

I flung a French fry in
the Burger King bag as my cellphone buzzed in my purse. I fished
around finding it under my wallet and a half-eaten candy bar. The
screen glowed with an unwelcomed text.

James: You can keep YOUR
daughter

home next time. She has
turned into

a bitch like her
mother.