Maybe Next Time Read online

  I wanted to lean fully into them.

  So instead of entertaining her curiosity, I followed the distinctive sound of someone in my kitchen, fully prepared to curse Denver the fuck out for still being here after I’d made it clear I wanted him gone.

  It wasn’t Denver, though.

  “Ms. Connie–what are you doing here?” I asked, startling the older woman from her hunched position in my refrigerator. Now that I was out here, the distinctive smell of bleach permeated my nose, making it itch as I looked around at the counter full of food.

  “Good morning, honey. Mr. Benoit sent me over, said you needed the fridge disinfected,” she explained, giving me her usual big smile, and an air kiss to boot. I was still processing her words when she turned back to what she was doing, her gloved hands already busy again with a bowl of hot soapy water by the time I got a little closer.

  “Sorry–good morning,” I corrected myself. “I just… wasn’t expecting anyone here.”

  “Me either,” she chuckled. “You’re one of those renaissance women, usually up and out before the sun.”

  My lips quirked into a smile. Of course, she would know, considering she’d been with us for years, as our home manager. Before that, she’d worked just for Denver–though work was a bit of a stretch. Yes, she kept our home life running smoothly, but she struck a line closer to treasured auntie than strictly an employee.

  “Just overslept a bit,” I said, not getting into the cause of that abnormality for obvious reasons. But, without giving an excuse, I opened myself up to unfortunate speculation.

  Her eyes went wide and hopeful, and I knew exactly what was about to leave her lips before she even said it.

  “Is there a bun in that oven making you tired?”

  It was like she was speaking from inside a vacuum, her words hollowed-out and eerie, ringing in my ears. I blinked hard, trying to steady myself against the sudden anxiety and nausea that question set off.

  “No,” was my terse answer, and Connie immediately put up her hands, offering a placating motion.

  “I’m sorry, honey. I know better than to ask, I just—”

  “It’s fine. Really,” I assured her, though it most certainly was not. “I need to get to the office. Thank you for coming by.”

  “Kensa.”

  The urgency in her tone made me stop my escape, but I didn’t want to turn around. There was exactly none of me that could bear the pity that would certainly be in her eyes.

  “Let me fix you something to eat.”

  I blinked, trying to hold back irritatingly sudden tears. “Thank you, truly, but no. I’ll just grab some coffee on the way in.”

  Moments later, having successfully escaped what would’ve surely turned into mothering, I went to my bedside table for my other phone. It was then that I noticed a large envelope–the kind that might hold divorce paperwork–sitting right on my nightstand.

  Torn in half.

  Ugh.

  I grabbed my personal phone, shooting off a text to Desiree Byers, lawyer–and friend–about serving him again, since he thought I was joking.

  I was not.

  With that handled, I moved on to getting ready for the rest of my day. To start, I stood naked in the bathroom mirror and closed my eyes. On a deep breath, I started the mental work to rebuild and patch the dam holding back… everything.

  I didn’t need that shit clouding me–crowding me–when there was work to be done.

  “I always knew working under you would be a good idea, Ms. Hamilton.”

  I smirked.

  Normally, I would correct that Ms. Hamilton thing, since it was really Mrs. Hamilton-Benoit, or just Mrs. Benoit for less of a mouthful. But, knowing what had been walked into Benoit Financial this morning, I wasn’t particularly inclined to defend Denver’s claim over me.

  Especially not to a tall, pecan-skinned, incredibly handsome young man like Jeremy Crawford, who was currently flirting his ass off with me–bordering on inappropriately. The innuendo in that last statement hadn’t escaped me, but I did nothing to dissuade him. Instead, I opted for a little extra sway in my hips as I walked ahead, knowing his attention was on my ass more than anything I was saying.

  It felt… nice.

  Jeremy hadn’t been working here at Hamilton Luxury Transport long enough to know better, and the fact that I didn’t wear a ring made it easy to pretend he’d “forgotten” I was married. I probably wouldn’t let him touch me before the divorce was final, but once I was a legitimately single woman?

  Jeremy was the very first thing I planned to do.

  “Are you keeping up?” I asked him, in a sultrier-than-necessary tone that made his eyes narrow in obvious lust. He strode toward me with purpose, stopping just short of too close.

  “You’ll never have to worry about my ability to keep up, Ms. Hamilton. I understand the importance of stamina.”

  I grinned. “Do you?”

  He leaned in a bit. “Yes ma’am.”

  God, I was horny.

  And if I fucked this guy while I was still Mrs. Benoit, it would be all Denver’s fault.

  I was… resigned to my lack of sex, lack of intimacy, and accepting of that fate, very soon after taking my place away from Denver, in the condo.

  And then he had to show up and remind me.

  Ugh.

  I cleared my throat, taking a step back from Jeremy before I encouraged this thing a little too far. “What do you have down so far?” I asked, referring to the tablet in his hands. We were out in the VIP garage, doing my weekly inspection on the specialty cars.

  Was this someone else’s job already?

  Of course.

  And they were very good at it.

  But I’d always preferred to see every vehicle for myself, especially at this price point, making sure that once our customer slipped inside, there was a whole luxury experience.

  “Let’s see… there was a fingerprint on the back interior window on the Wraith, and a slight scuff in the leather on the front passenger side. You want a higher shine on the chrome accents across the board. Different rims on the Cullinan. And on the matte Maybach, you want the leather changed from black to…”

  “Blush,” I filled in for him now, knowing I’d just said I wanted it done, without giving specifics before. “The black on black is boring, and I want something more feminine.”

  “Okay, so pink.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “No, not pink. Blush. If I walk in here next week and there is pink leather in this car, your ass is outta here.”

  Unruffled by my threat, Jeremy stepped in again, giving me a nod. “Whatever you need, Ms. Hamilton–consider it done. Just say the word.”

  “Ay! Back the fuck up off my wife.”

  Holy shit.

  Jeremy looked up, confused, but didn’t step away, even as Denver strode in our direction, anger practically radiating off him. He actually–bless his heart–stepped in front of me, between me and my husband, as if he’d assigned himself my protector.

  “You seem very bothered, my man, let’s hold up.”

  That stopped Denver in his tracks.

  In front of me, Jeremy’s shoulders relaxed, but… no.

  That was the exact opposite of what he should be doing right now.

  Denver smiled.

  Beautiful, but… terrifying.

  The perfect ivory of his teeth against soft mahogany lips, and darker skin, the lush tapestry of coily, coal-black facial hair–Denver was, truly, magnificent. But the loveliness of his smile laid in direct contrast to the barely-bridled rage in his eyes, something Jeremy didn’t know my husband well enough to pick up on.

  Me?

  I wasn’t even a little surprised when Denver pulled the gun from the waistband of his exquisitely tailored, bespoke suit. Jeremy had no time to react to the sight of it before it was already under his chin.

  “Did you just call yourself getting between me and my wife?” Denver asked, his face just inches from Jeremy’s as he peered into his
eyes. “I know that’s not what you called yourself doing, right?”

  “I… I… um… nah, man. I… I just…”

  “Get your bitch ass outta my face,” Denver growled, moving the gun just enough that Jeremy could get free.

  Wisely, he took off running.

  “Everybody out!” Denver demanded, and I rolled my eyes as the few workers in the garage who’d been watching the scene unfold went scurrying in the same direction as Jeremy. Once the door closed behind the last person, he looked to me. “What the fuck is this, Kensa? You’re trying to get somebody killed now? That motherfucker in your face–that’s who you were talking about last night?”

  “You’re the one holding a gun.”

  He looked at the gleaming metal in his hand, then back to me, before tucking it back out of sight, where it belonged. “We need to talk.”

  “I don’t have anything else to say,” I told him, turning to walk toward the Maybach that needed the interior redone. I wanted to imagine what it could be.

  He followed.

  “Well I do.”

  I huffed. “Oh, now you want to talk, once you realize I’m leaving? Got it.”

  “You’re not leaving. Stop playing.”

  Turning with my arms folded, I looked him right in the face. “That’s the problem right there. You don’t listen.”

  “I’ve tried, but the shit is impossible when you’re being ridiculous.”

  “I’m ridiculous?!” I snapped. “Wanting my husband to want me, to pay some fucking attention to me, to come home at night–I’m ridiculous?”

  “Here you go again, with shit you’re trying to turn into something it’s not!”

  “Okay, so tell me what it is then, Denver!” I threw my hands up, waiting for a response, but all I got was that steady, unflappable gaze of his. His go-to when he’d decided there wasn’t a point to the argument. “Cool,” I said, after a moment had passed. “Sign the papers. Put us both out of our misery.”

  “I’m not signing shit.”

  I laughed. “Of course not. You won’t let me go, but you don’t want me–and me wanting you to want me, is childish. Got it. Fuck you.”

  “You’re putting words in my mouth again.”

  “Well, maybe if you would put some words there, I wouldn’t have to!”

  Denver pushed out a harsh sigh, scrubbing a hand over his face as he took a step back.

  “I’m not talking to you here. Go grab your stuff, and let’s go, so we can have a discussion.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Uh… I have shit to do. So that’s gonna be a no. I can look at my schedule and see what I have available though.”

  “Stop fucking playing with me,” he insisted, moving toward me again. “We can’t keep doing this shit. Get your stuff, let’s go.”

  I scoffed. “What is this, huh? I’m supposed to just drop everything and spring into action because big, bad, Denver Benoit says so?”

  “Nah, sweetheart,” he chuckled. “You take action to avert this… let’s call it an environmental disaster… that this issue between us is about to cause. If I see another motherfucker in your face, everybody in this bitch is gonna feel it.”

  “I’m not afraid of you, Denver.”

  He shrugged. “I should hope not. I don’t want that. What I want is to have a private conversation with my wife, so we can dispel this divorce nonsense.”

  “And what I want is a husband willing to worship at my fucking feet–mutually, of course,” I added. “But it is quite clear to me, that’s not you. So. What’s the goddamn point?”

  Denver’s nostrils flared as he pulled in a rush of air, then blew it right back out. His dark eyes narrowed as he met my gaze. “Worship at your feet, huh?”

  I blinked, rebuilding my dam. “You know what I mean.”

  “Do I, Kenni? You think you’ve clearly expressed yourself? You’ve communicated your needs to me?”

  “I don’t have time for this,” I snapped, moving to get away from him, but he grabbed my arm, pulling me back between him and the car.

  “Nah. You stay right there.”

  My brow furrowed in confusion as he removed his blazer, tossing it onto the hood of the car. The gun was next, placed carefully on top of his jacket once he’d confirmed the safety was on. It wasn’t until he started undoing his buttons–he wasn’t wearing a tie–that I grew impatient with whatever it was he called himself doing.

  “What the hell is this?” I asked, just before he lowered himself in front of me.

  “You said you wanted worship, Kensa. Here it is.”

  “That’s not what I—”

  Whatever denial I had to offer died on my tongue as he pulled my skirt up past my hips. From his kneeling position in front of me, he eased my legs apart, not bothering to push my panties aside before one thick finger pressed against the sensitive swell of my clit.

  I couldn’t help it.

  Immediately, I pushed into the feeling, even while admonishing myself not to. It was just so damn hard not to want more–a sentiment that must’ve been mutual, considering how quickly he abandoned teasing me through my panties to simply push them aside.

  I gasped, my fingers desperately grasping at the much-too-short coils of his hair, looking for anything to grip as he pulled my clit between his teeth. There was no clamping down, no pain, just delicious pressure he compounded with his tongue, making me want to scream.

  But I couldn’t.

  Not if I didn’t want anybody to come running.

  Finally, he released the hold of his teeth, leaving behind a sensitive sort of… buzz. Just beneath the surface of my skin, I was buzzing with pleasure and anticipation of what might be next; which was, apparently, more of his tongue.

  So much more of his tongue, and his mouth, and his long, thick fingers in my pussy, encouraging me to cum. His mouth closed over my clit as he hummed into me, creating a vibration that threatened to send me straight through the roof.

  He hooked his fingers into me as he stroked, knowing exactly the right depths to get me squirming helplessly against the sleek finish of the car. He sucked harder, matching each pull to the skilled rhythm of his hand as he pushed me closer, and closer, and…

  Fuck.

  That familiar well of pleasure inside me overflowed, and I bit down into my lip, hard, trying not to make a sound as the orgasm swept over me in a heavy wave. Through the aftershocks, I was vaguely aware of him licking me clean, slipping my panties back into place, and pulling my skirt back down over my hips.

  And then he kissed me.

  The kind I’d missed, the kind I’d cried over the absence of, over the last several months. With my back against the car, he devoured my mouth like he’d never get another chance, and then looked me right in the eyes.

  “Can we talk now?” he asked.

  And… damn.

  Illusion shattered.

  I slipped from between him and the car, straightening my clothes, smoothing my hair. “No, I don’t think so,” I told him, even though my dam was weak.

  He scoffed. “Seriously, Kensa? After what I just did—”

  “That’s exactly the problem. You think I’m asking you for sex, when I… no. Just… no.” I shook my head and started walking away in fear that I might cry in front of him. “I don’t want to talk.”

  “You know what… fine. You want games, fuck it,” he growled. I couldn’t see him, but I knew he was snatching up his blazer and the gun. “But don’t be surprised when you don’t like my rules.”

  He stormed past me, out the door to the garage, and a moment later, Nessa appeared.

  “I knew Denver wouldn’t do anything to you, so I made sure nobody interrupted, but… he looked pretty pissed just now. You good?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” I nodded. “Of course.”

  It wasn’t a lie.

  I was good.

  I just… wasn’t sure how long that would be the case.

  If I didn’t know anything else about Denver, I knew he wasn’t a man
who made idle threats.

  Three

  I wasn’t a man who dealt well with games.

  I lacked the patience for all that.

  A deck of cards, a pool table, a basketball court – cool, see me there any time.

  But this emotional manipulation shit my wife was trying to pull with me?

  Non-fucking-starter.

  “I don’t know what the fuck she thinks this is,” I fumed, taking another pull from my cigar. “But you know what I need, since she’s got her damn friend running shit? I need a lawyer who can eat Des Byers for breakfast.”

  A few feet away, Kingston chuckled, blowing out a plume of smoke before he shook his head. “I don’t know about that man. That’s a tall order.”

  I grunted, annoyed, but… He was right. There likely wasn’t a lawyer in Vegas that – on legal grounds – inspired more concern than Des.

  Kensa had lucked out with that one.

  Desiree was her college roommate and current good friend. Of course she’d use that relationship to her advantage in this tantrum she’d been on.

  I was tired of this shit.

  Completely exhausted of being immersed in friction with my damn wife.

  Fine.

  I didn’t have a lawyer I could intimidate hers with, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t just enlist my usual legal team to call her fucking bluff.

  All it would take was the threat of me actually going along with the dissolution of our marriage to get this bullshit to stop.

  I told King, my cousin, as much too—pouring out my thoughts for him to quietly absorb as he smoked. I had no concerns about fucking up his vibe; that was what I’d called him here for.

  Away from his own wife, currently pregnant with their second child. They were lovey-dovey goals and all that now, but I knew what their origin story was like—knew this man understood firsthand what it was like dealing with a headstrong woman.

  Among other things we had in common.

  “Let me ask you something,” King spoke up, once I’d finally stopped raging enough to take another furious pull from my cigar.

  This shit was supposed to be relaxing.

  “What?”

  “You’re really about to lose your wife cause you don’t know how to listen?”