Second Thoughts Read Free Page B

closeness.
    “We have to stop,” I repeated, but feeling his swell against my navel caused a momentary loss of the good sense God gave me.
    I wanted him right there, in the kitchen, on the black granite counter top, the way I had him three years ago. I wanted to feel him making his way inside me, pleasing me like I had just pleased myself. I felt his hands under my plump, round ass, as my hand made its way to his bulge, loosening the strings on silk pajama pants. Our breathing quickened. He picked me up and set me on the counter. With my legs locked around him, I could feel me moistening. I was ready for round two, and round two would involve the real thing. Dillon was wet, too.
    “We can’t,” I pleaded between his wild, passionate kisses.
    “Mommy!” Quinton yelled.
    “Oh, shit,” I whispered, realizing what Quinton’s scream had just interrupted.
    “Oh, fuck,” Dillon reacted, but I’m sure he was more disappointed, as he knew our romp probably would have gone further had it not been for this disturbance. 
    “I’m coming, baby!” I yelled to Quinton.
    I bet Dillon thought those words would soon fall from his mouth. I finally pushed him away from me. He stood leaning with his back against the island. His pants had fallen to his ankles. His swell was even more visible now. I stood in a momentary freeze, looking at him from head to toe. He was breathing heavily, still, and the sweat on his baldhead and forehead sparkled under the fluorescents.
    “This cannot happen again. You hear me?”
    I walked out of the kitchen and left him thinking about what could have been. I walked hastily to Quinton’s room, running my hands through my wet hair. What the hell were you thinking, I thought, but my only response was that I wasn’t, and if I were, I wasn’t thinking about what fucking my sister’s husband would do to her, if she ever found out. I wasn’t thinking about how devastating Nessa would be if she found out about the little that did transpire betwee n Dillon and me─and even that little was too damn much. I’ve always been the one my sister turned to for advice. Who was she going to turn to now when this shit hits the fan?  I’d just added one more thing I had to keep from her.
     

    Chapter 3
    Patrick…
    Har d for Me to Say I’m Sorry
     
     
    “I can’t believe you’re defending this man,” I yelled.
    I stood, pointing at the well-dressed, well-groomed lawyer, drilling me as if I were the one on trial. I knew there was a lot at stake.
    To only admit I was nervous would be an understatement. Earlier, my hands trembled as I pushed through the heavy oak double doors and into the courtroom. Everything seemed oversized─the judge’s bench that stretched across the room; the unnecessary large, black leather chair behind the witness stand; the two large desks that sat on either side of the room, where my father now sat─but I swallowed the butterflies that were lodged in my throat.  Moments earlier, on wobbly legs, I had marched from where I sat, a few feet from the judge, next to my attorney, listening to her say, “everything is going to be all right. Just speak the truth.” My mother sat in the first row of benches directly behind me. The room was silent. Besides my heartbeat thumping loudly in my ear, the buzz from the wings of one lonely fly was the only other sound I heard. When I sat, I felt like I was on stage, as if the courtroom had faded to black and I now sat under an incandescent spotlight, feeling the heat from this persistent attorney. My father and his attorney had their own shine, too.
    “Order! Order in the court!” Judge Zachary Fisher screamed above my outburst, slamming the gavel repeatedly. “You are out of control.”
    I paid him no attention. What the hell did I have to lose? Despite his action, I could sense the judge felt my pain.
    “How do you sleep at night?” I continued. “How do you look yourself in the mirror in the morning as you tie Windsor knots in your