Chapter Twenty-One
Juniper
M y eyes blinked open to darkness, and I listened.
Nothing.
Not SEAL-stillness nothing. But empty-house nothing.
He was gone.
I inhaled.
Sex and SEAL filled my lungs. My pussy throbbed from the sheer size his cock had been, my back ached, the muscles on the insides of my thighs were burning, and his pounding assault was still feathering over me in blissful peace.
Wanting to relive him, my fingers found my still-soaked pussy, and I circled my clit. As the fantasy came to life, I could almost feel his rough hand on the back of my neck.
Then all at once, it hit me.
Yanking my hand back, I realized how absolutely fucking fucked I was.
The SEAL had known where the bathroom was.
Like, exactly .
He hadn’t marched me down the hall that led to the bedrooms. He didn’t turn toward the dining area. He’d taken the direct path from the kitchen to the bathroom, and he’d walked me right into the shower like he’d been here before.
Oh God.
Oh God, oh God, oh God .
This was bad.
Really fucking bad —until the next thought hit my brain.
“No.” NO. Oh dear God, he couldn’t be Charlie. There was no way. No way . Reena would never in a million years go for a man like him.
Would she?
“ Oh God .” Bile rushed up, and I rolled off the couch, right onto a pile of fabric.
My clothes, neatly folded.
Scrambling for them faster than the next thought could flood my guilty conscience, not giving a shit that he’d folded them or brought them out here, I started to hyperventilate. “Please, please, please.” Please , don’t let me have fucked her fiancé. PLEASE.
Sitting my bare ass on the hardwood floor, shoving both feet at once into my leggings, I yanked them up and involuntarily started chanting, “I am not a horrible person. I am not a horrible person.”
Then I started justifying.
He had asked who she was. He wanted to know who owned the house. If he was her Charlie, he would’ve known those things. It couldn’t be him.
It could NOT be him.
But oh my God, I fucked a stranger in her house .
Pulling on my ripe tank, standing up and scurrying to the kitchen, I grabbed my bag and shoved my bra and panties inside. Then I retrieved my cell from the bathroom, snatched my flip-flops, and rifled through my purse as I rushed to the back door. “Where is the key? Where is the stupid fucking key? ”
I stopped at the door, and it hit me.
Full-body football-tackle struck me .
He’d put his hand on mine.
He’d turned the key.
Then he’d slid the key out, pushed the door open and pocketed the one piece of trust anyone had ever given me.
“I’m a horrible fucking person.” My eyes blurred, and I sank to the floor. “I’m sorry, Reena. So, so sorry.” Dropping my flip-flops, I pulled up the text app on my cell.
Oh.
My.
God.
My texts were gone.
All of them.
Every single one.
Dropping the cell like it was hot, I burst into tears, and then I was back in that place.
That horrible, ugly place.
You fat fucking pig.
You worthless piece of shit.
You’re fucking disgusting.
You think you deserve anything ?
I’ll cut your fucking tits off, you fat fucking whore.
I picked up the cell.
Tears dripped onto the screen.
Reciting the number I’d chanted over and over after walking out of that cell phone store, I carefully typed the digits.
Then I sent a text.
I lost your key. I’m sorry. I’ll fix it.
With shaking hands, I pulled up the internet browser and typed. A few seconds later, I called a number.
A droll voice answered on the sixth ring. “Locksmith.”
“Um, hi. Your website says you do after-hours house calls?”
“This an emergency?”
“Kinda, yeah.”
“What’s the problem?” the guy with the voice of an older man asked.
“Someone stole my house key. I-it was the only one I had.” More tears fell.
“You want to rekey it, or do you want a whole new lock?”
“Um, what’s cheaper?”
“Rekey.”
“That, please.”
“What kind of lock you got?”
I looked up at the door handle. “I don’t know. It looks older. And it has a round door knob.”
“Okay. That’ll run you two hundred dollars, and I’ll give you two keys for it.”
Oh God. “For one lock?” The front door also used the same key. “What if I need two?”
“Yeah, that’s the price. You want a second one rekeyed, it’ll be two-fifty.”
Hating myself, hating even more that I was thinking about the cost and how it would wipe out my entire bank account, I closed my eyes against the new onslaught of tears and tried to not sound like I was losing it. “I need two locks rekeyed. Do you take checks?”
“Will it bounce?”
“No.” Hopefully not.
“Then yeah, I’ll take it. Address?”
I told him.
“I’ll be there in twenty.”
“Thank you,” I whispered, but I was speaking into the void.
He’d already hung up.