Rug Burns (Reviving Haven Book 2) Page 2

  I wish. “Not exactly. Maybe. Yes. I need a break—from him.” There, I said it. Hell, that wasn’t so bad. Actually, I feel better.

  Haven spins me around, and her face is clouded in anger. Not an expression I’m accustomed to except when she was dating Latch.

  “What do you mean a break? What the hell, Weezie? You’ve been together for almost five years.”

  “The first two don’t count. We weren’t exclusive—”

  Haven cut me off, waving her hand in my face. “Yeah, I forgot those first two years meant you could fucking do whatever and suck whoever you want,” she spit out, giving me a brittle look.

  Whoa. First of all, my bestie rarely says the word fuck, and sucking cock has always been referred to as a puff chore. My girl is a delicate flower. I suppose having Latch McKay pluck off her petals for the last five years has given her some steel cajones.

  “He fucking proposed,” I whisper. “That’s right, bestie. That fucking Brit blindsided me by asking me to marry him. I didn’t know it was coming. Not really. There were no signs of delusions prior. He wasn’t drunk. He doesn’t do drugs. And as far as I know, there’s no mental illness in his family. So why, for God’s sake?

  “I tried to pretend his knee had given out when he went down on it. After all, he is an action star and occasionally enjoys doing his own stunts. Then the prick produces a ring with a diamond… equivalent to the size of his cock. I didn’t know what to say. I stumbled my way through, ‘I have to think about it.’ Which made his luscious lips all frowny and sad, causing him to pause and then get pissed.

  “I have gouged out his heart with an ice cream scooper. I’ll never forget the way he looked at me. I marred his beautiful face with heartbreak. And it actually hurt me to do it. I felt discomfort. Something I never experienced before when I denied other men. But I’m doing it for his own good. I’m not the woman for him, and trust me. I am definitely not wife material. It’s better he gets hurt now than him finding out down the road.” I end the monologue with a deep exhale. I might pass out. Divulging that amount of information all at once has made me hyperventilate.

  He was oblivious when it came to my behavior and attitude. I could be professional in public when we were together—most of the time. However, there had been several instances where I’d had too much to drink and gotten a little amorous. So sue me. My boyfriend is sexy as hell, and when the mood struck me, I wanted him.

  For Keenan being a model slash movie star and best friends with reformed man whore Latch McKay, he’s reserved. Soft spoken and a gentleman. Possibly the British in him. I always told Haven he was a one-night stand that never went home. I’d almost given up on him years ago. He kept me at bay for so many months I was convinced he was either the greatest fuck there ever was or a eunuch.

  Shock registers on Haven’s face. Then her expression becomes downright scary. Her cheeks blush profusely and her state appears confused. She looks fucking elated and angry all at once. I know what she’s thinking. Jesus, I can read her mind. The bitch wants us to have identical lives. To be married together. Fuck my life. She had to know—this is not me. I’m past the age of the white wedding and dream honeymoon. What is wrong with everyone? Doesn’t she realize I’m not “M” material?

  “That’s wonderful, Weezie. Keenan is perfect for you. I can’t wait to tell Latch. Just think… two BFFs married to two other best friends.”

  “Wait a fucking minute. What the hell? Did you just ignore the part where I said no fucking way? It’s not going to happen. What is wrong with everyone? Have you all been drinking the same Kool-Aid?” I stare at her for a minute, then all of a sudden have a epiphany. “Oh my God—you knew. I can tell. You knew he was going to propose and you didn’t tell me. Warn me. Jesus, Haven, have you gone cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs. Has everyone gone mental? You of all people should know I can’t do the ‘M’ thing. It’s unnatural. You’ve known me longer than anyone. Why would you keep this from me?” I say, furious with her for not giving me a heads-up.

  “Weezie, don’t be mad. You’re right. I do know you too well. And you would have overthought it and run before he even had a chance. And what do you mean the ‘M’ thing? Damn, Weezie, it’s marriage, not a death sentence.”

  “Monogamy,” I say, choking. “It’s not part of my chemical makeup. He thinks a piece of paper is going to keep me in check? I’ve been doing it for years, but it hasn’t been easy. I can’t be corralled. He thinks he can break me like some fucking horse.”

  “Bullshit. You’re making up goddamn excuses. Why would you even want another man? He’s young, gorgeous, and treats you like a queen. He’s a dream come true, and he loves you—regardless of what a slut you used to be. You’re not getting any younger. Do you think you can puff chore your way through the next ten years? At least give him a chance. You’ve been together long enough to know. He’s the one. I know it. Everyone does. The question is why don’t you?”

  I think about what Haven just asked. Why don’t I know it? The problem is I do know it. Do I love him? With every fiber of my being. Jesus Christ, even acknowledging I love him to myself makes me dizzy. I tried not to. I didn’t want to. But when I look at him, he makes my girlie parts tingle. I had many men get me excited, but not like this. The way he gazes at me guts me every time. I’m caught between not being able to breathe and losing consciousness.

  He squeezed into my life by a hair—by a thread. I never allowed another man that connection. Sexuality had never been anything to me but a release mechanism. I’d never felt a bond, just a carnal need. But with Keenan, it had always been different. He aroused me not only physically, but emotionally, and now I was going to punish him for it.

  It was only supposed to be a fuck. A blowjob. It was never meant to be more. I allowed him to take it to the next level. I did this. I pray he’ll hate me. It’ll be easier for him to walk away if he does.

  Who am I trying to fool? It would be easier for me.

  2

  I could only imagine the conversation taking place currently at Latch’s birthday party. Him being thirty—definitely not the topic. I left Haven standing in the library as I made my way out to meet my taxi. I’d called for one when Keenan and I landed. I knew how this would end, so I preplanned an escape and made sure a cab would be waiting. Yes. I’d given this thought. I have no idea why I even bothered to come here. Maybe I wanted to see Haven one last time. I knew she would be beyond irate with me. We’d never really fought in almost twenty-five years of friendship. If we had disagreements, they were normally loud and brief. But what I just did wouldn’t be easily forgiven.

  I think I’m slightly selfish too. I wanted to feel the warmth of Keenan holding my hand one last time. He has this way of brushing his thumb across mine as he caresses my hand. I enjoyed seeing other women fumble and become stupid around him. But his eyes never stray. Regardless of other women who are decades younger and more beautiful, his gaze is reserved for me only. How he must despise me right now.

  Of course, this is better than leaving him at the altar. We both need to move on with our lives. If I hadn’t left him, he would have spent not only time, but effort trying to talk me into it. Why couldn’t he just be content with what we had? Why do men need more? I know he thought he could change me, and in many ways he had. I’d been faithful. Committed and monogamous. Three words I never thought I would use to describe myself.

  One fucking piece of paper. That was the destroyer of nations. Okay, maybe not nations, but many relationships. Did I instigate this? Did I somehow appear to desire marriage? I know Keenan looked at Latch and Haven and yearned for what they had. The life I could never be a part of because it isn’t me. I could have given him an ultimatum, but I never wanted to be the one who made him choose. Me or what really mattered to him most—a lifetime of wedded bliss. The bastard was greedy; he wanted both.

  I’m going to have hours to dwell on what I just did. Maybe I can close my eyes and sleep the entire flight. But I know what dreams will come. I ne
ed to believe I made the right choice. It’s over now anyway. I know without seeing Keenan I’ve crushed him.

  I reach into my purse as I sit down, adjusting my seat for the long flight. I meant to grab some tissue, but what I grasp in my hand is the ring. I pull it out and gawk into the reflection of the largest diamond I’ve ever seen. I know without a doubt he had it created and designed specifically for me. Keenan always told me how uniquely different I was. He said there were a million reasons he fell in love with me—one of which was because I had a special quality of making others laugh. He found it both charming and endearing. I wonder if he’s laughing now.

  I tuck the ring back into my purse and place it next to me. Stretching out in the seat, I cover my eyes with a sleeping mask. Slumber won’t come easy. Guilt courses through my mind, and I struggle with the darkness. I try for what seems like hours, when I realize we haven’t even taken off yet. I lift the mask and turn on my side. First class is unusually empty on this particular flight, and I’m happy because I know it will be easier for me to rest. But I guess that’s not going to happen. I toss and turn, unable to stifle my thoughts. Maybe I’ll watch a movie or read a magazine. For ten fucking hours.

  When I get home, I’ll rearrange my schedule and take a few days—maybe a week off. Possibly a trip to Hawaii or the Virgin Islands? Anywhere we haven’t traveled. I need to regroup and focus. I’m too used to having him around. It will seem odd, as if I’ve misplaced something.

  Jesus! I’m thinking about him as if he’s a pair of shoes—and if he were, he’d be Louis Vuittons. Extremely gorgeous ones. I should have left the ring with Haven. Better yet, I should have never accepted it and told him how I felt before we went to Scotland. God, I’m such a heartless bitch. I deserve karma.

  Past

  It’s not as if I practiced at birth—on my pacifier. I wasn’t sexual until high school. I think I was what they called a late bloomer. Watch out for those girls because we make up for lost time. A lot! The beginning of high school is a memory I wish I could bleach from my mind. I was smart and shy. A super bad combo. I had unruly red hair, a face full of freckles, and an underdeveloped body that resembled one of the boys. I prayed nightly that I would mature as my mom promised. She too had red hair and freckles. But she had boobs—big ones. I wanted those too. I had nothing to offer the boys in school. I was plain and I had no figure. On top of it, I had no skills. Social ones.

  Hell, my parents didn’t give me the “sex talk” until I was fifteen. To be honest, they didn’t make it sound very tempting. All that discussion about bodily fluids, STDs, and babies. It appeared to me if you had a penis, you were the devil. Evidently, when I turned sixteen, I wanted to go to hell.

  I’d been invited to Brandi Myer’s birthday party. It was my first real get-together (with boys), and it was a sleepover. Even though it was a sweet sixteen party, Brandi was anything but. The party was in the basement, and there were Jell-O shots, beer, and pot. I’d never drunk before, and those shots were tasty.

  The boys arrived after her parents went to bed. Ten minutes later, I was introduced to the games Have You Ever and Seven Minutes in Heaven. I just watched because I’d never kissed anyone but my parents. And I could tell from all the heavy breathing and touching this was more than kissing—this was definitely not relative kissing. My tummy felt funny as I watched. I had strange sensations coursing through my body. It was disturbing, but in a good way. Not one of the boys was interested in me anyway, so I drank a couple more Dixie cups of Jell-O, then began yawing. Evidently, liquor made you sleepy.

  Mr. Myers came down and kicked the boys out while he admonished Brandi. She just laughed it off while following her dad upstairs. She returned with a fruit bowl. After many shots, among other things, I was kind of hungry and interested to find out what she had in mind toting a bowl of fruit. The other girls already knew because they began giggling. I watched with curiosity as Brandi began to peel the banana.

  Once it was unpeeled, she began to caress it. Lick it. Suck it. I was fascinated. The way she maneuvered that banana in and out of her mouth and throat, well, it was thoroughly mesmerizing. She stopped long enough to give me instructions. She was teaching me about oral sex. I wasn’t a complete moron. I knew the basics, but this was something else.

  According to her, all boys loved BJs. I’d heard girls talking about it in gym class. To be frank, putting a boy’s penis in my mouth didn’t sound all that exciting. Maybe for him, I supposed, but I didn’t relish the idea. It sounded nasty to me—taste-wise. I mean, seriously, they had their thing crammed in their pants all day and they peed out of it. How sanitary was it to put something that dirty in your mouth?

  Brandi had three of us practice on bananas; the other girls got stuck with apples and oranges. Who knew I would be a natural? It appeared I had no gag reflex and, according to her, I had an abnormal ability to “deep throat” fruit. I didn’t know it back then, but that was a huge accomplishment. The other girls seemed jealous of what I could do. I was finally able to impress my peers. I had no idea what I was actually doing and how it was going to change everything for me. If I had seen my future, I would have been surprised to see how the act of fellatio would not only alter my life, but all I would touch.

  After that weekend, it was as if I were the new girl on campus. It didn’t matter that I had out-of-control hair or no boobs. The boys were checking me out. Or rather, they seemed hypnotized by my mouth. The word had spread that I could suck dick like nobody’s business. It was both exhilarating and scary. Going down on a banana was easy; doing it to an actual penis, I wasn’t sure if I could handle it. I mean, what would happen if I wasn’t good or I did it wrong or, worse yet, I bit down? I was basking in the glory of being worshipped, but all it would take was one bad review and I’d be a nobody again. Still, I liked having this fame even if it wasn’t warranted.

  I spent the rest of the week practicing on bananas. My mom was getting suspicious since I’d never eaten so many. Practice makes perfect—that was my mantra. The truth was after thirty minutes deep throating, I got hungry and ate my practice partner. I guessed I shouldn’t do that to an actual boy.

  By Friday, I was asked out. Oh my God, frickin’ Mike Brown invited me to go to the movies, and not just any, but a drive-in. They were almost extinct except for one about an hour away. Mike was a big jock in high school. A major player both on and off the field. And he was so damn cute. Brandi had me come over to her house after school to fix me up and give me a pep talk. She wanted me to look my best. My hair was blow-dried and straightened with a brush. Plus, she layered my face with tons of makeup.

  I felt somewhat funny. I’d never even kissed a boy. I knew Mike wasn’t taking me out because I was pretty or popular. He heard the rumors. I gave blowjobs. This would be my first time, and it would make or break my reputation. Did I really want a “slut girl” rep? You bet. It was better than being nobody; at least I would be somebody. But what if he expected more than a BJ? I didn’t want to have sex. It didn’t sound enjoyable—regardless of how Brandi dressed it up.

  Damn, I did look different. Not drop-dead gorgeous like other girls, but I looked cute. Mike would be getting more than one surprise tonight. Maybe.

  Somewhere between the popcorn and the peanuts, his zipper magically came down. I was ready to jump out of my skin. Literally. Wow. My. First. Penis. I peeked at it out of the corner of my eye. It looked stiff and kind of pissed off. Squiggly blue veins traveled along the sides and the top looked like a mushroom. I loathed mushrooms. Mike managed to push his jeans down to his knees. Now I was visually captivated. It was bigger than I thought and nestled in dark curly hair. There appeared to be two round balls sitting squarely at the base. It may sound odd, but it reminded me of an Easter basket. He expected me to put that in my mouth? We’d hardly even spoken.

  “Can you kiss me?” I asked shyly. To be honest, a banana seemed more appetizing right now than Mike Brown’s penis. And if I were going to do this, I wanted something out of it. />
  He looked at me, perplexed. I swear, it was as if I’d grown two heads. Jesus, I’d only asked for a kiss.

  “Sure. I guess. If you want me to,” he answered somewhat reluctantly.

  I suppose I was the girl who kissed your penis, but not your lips. I sighed.

  Mike reached over and pressed his mouth to mine. His lips felt soft, like my down pillows, and his breath smelled like popcorn. I felt his tongue wiggle its way through my teeth and touch mine. Holy crap. My body felt hyperaware and warm. My lower half fizzled with a weird sensation. I could see why kissing led to actual sex. It was amazing.

  Mike stopped and then pulled away. His lips looked red, and mine felt puffy. He obviously had a lot of practice because that kiss was life altering. He scooted over closer to me and brushed his hand across my cheek. I could feel it then move upward and onto my neck. He didn’t use force, but gently bent my head toward his open pants. This was it. It was show time. Make it or break it. This would define me in high school.

  I snuck a peek as my mouth got closer. I smelled body wash. There was no doubt he’d expected this. He had prepared. I’m sure no teenage boy washes his junk that well.

  I gently grasped it. I could feel Mike’s body go as stiff as his penis. He shuddered. Jesus. I’d only touched it. I guessed my hands were good. As I stroked, I could feel it throb, like a tiny heartbeat.

  “Touch my balls.”

  I followed his instructions and cupped them in my hand. I internally chuckled. They did remind me of those candied eggs. As I continued to fondle them, I noticed a small drop of liquid at the slit on the mushroom head. Wow. It occurred to me I did that. Maybe moisture was part of this. My underwear felt damp and something stirred deep inside me.

  That bead—the one sitting so lazily on the top of his penis—spellbound me. I sensed an urge I couldn’t identify or stop. My tongue darted out and licked it. Mike’s entire behavior changed. He acted possessed. His breathing intensified and his voice was gritty as he growled. I swear. Just like an animal.