Devil In Her Bed Read online

  Virtually every room in Siobhan's house is aglow with light. The day I met Siobhan, she wasn’t afraid of the dark.

  I follow the hushed voices, along with a muted blue light coming from the master bedroom. The double doors are cracked. Siobhan and her long-time college friend, Regina Godwin, are engrossed in a serious conversation. They FaceTime each other like clockwork on Sunday evenings.

  Regina is a plague I’ve underestimated. Even living in San Antonio, Regina has presented herself as a threat which should have been extinguished long ago.

  I lean against the wall just outside of the master suite. Face devoid of emotion, I listen in as Regina speaks. “Why not come back to San Antonio? Siobhan, come home.”

  My murky green eyes shade, heart beating in my ears. I keenly await Siobhan’s response.

  She loves me. She moved here, away from all the smog and congestion for us to be alone! That's why!

  “Uh…how about you come visit me, Regina? I’ll send you a first-class ticket.”

  “I don’t need a damn first-class ticket,” Regina snubs. “You left Texas for an unfamiliar place. You've been hit with tragedy after tragedy. Then you up and move further away from home. Right now, you’re in a bad headspace, with absolutely nobody who loves you nearby—”

  Siobhan cuts in. “Reggie, can't we just watch our show and shit-talk about these trifling-ass women? My only vice is this crazy reality show.”

  “I'm not feeling Kenya and Kandi’s attitudes today. Hell, today I want to save my friend. Hosea used to. Somebody has to.”

  “Why?” Siobhan growls.

  “Because you're the most sophisticated woman I know, up until Sammy’s funeral, and then Hosea.”

  “Damn, I really thought we were going to have a good conversation over some hot foolishness with a glass of wine.” Siobhan clears her voice then attempts one of their usual jokes, but her voice cracks while asking, “Who gon’ check me, boo?”

  “Uhn-uhn, using Sheree Whitfield’s line is not helping you switch the subject. And I bought you the shirt, remember?” The toxic woman pauses for a second. “You're drowning.”

  “I'm not drowning. Listen, I'm moving back soon. There's a little something I am waiting on to occur first.”

  “What's that?”

  “I love you, Reggie, but I can't tell you over the phone. Maybe I'll tell you when we are old, sitting on the swing outside my mom’s house drinking iced tea.”

  “Humph, don't have me all nostalgic for the past. We used to sit at that swing whispering all kinds of nasty stuff while your mom tried to play us. Offering us tea.” Regina laughs.

  “We did. And not me, your ass told all about your sexcapades. Hosea was a gentleman. He waited.”

  “Humph. But don't think you're changing the subject again. You called me Reggie twice. You got a pass because I love you—more than you love me at the moment.” Regina grumbles about wanting her friend back. “Come home. Get settled. The hubby has a friend who’s dying to meet you. So come back to Texas, set roots, live.”

  “I am living.”

  “Shit, you and your brother always thought that money was living. I’ve seen pictures of your home, congratulations. Sammy is probably smiling down from heaven looking at the fortress you live in. Shit, the comedian probably has a few funny things to say.”

  I recall looking up Samuel Lowe, a well-known local comedian who was branching out from the Laugh Factory. He had quite the following and some funny ass YouTube videos.

  “Yeah, Sammy always knew how to read me. That boy just cushioned the truth with jokes.”

  “Well I'm glad you’re able to mention him now.”

  “Damn, I did just mention him. Actually, I have prior to this and excluding therapy. I met a man.”

  “You-you met someone?” Regina’s curiosity is piqued.

  In this instant, the desire to see Siobhan overwhelms me. I force myself not to move a muscle while against the wall.

  “Would it piss you off if I said he’s wayyyyy richer than I am? He makes my acquired assets look like our vacations at your uncle’s farm in the country. And I don’t mean when we were kids. I mean now, since the place is even more dilapidated.”

  “Hmmm, I suppose it wouldn’t piss me off if he treated you with respect.”

  “He is debonair. Sometimes cocky, funny even. And so very intelligent.” Siobhan pauses. “Well, I don’t know him all that well. Heck, I almost believed he would look the other way after our first encounter, as flighty as I seemed. I placed my entire foot in my mouth this entire week while telling him about Hosea’s…Hosea. And he kinda… he scares me just a little. Almost as if I'm compelled to tell him about my life. He pulls the truth from me.”

  “Scares? Girl, what in the world are you talking about?”

  “Regina, I can damn near imagine the horror story going through your brain. Hell no, not some sort of dark sex type of crap. If somebody tries to put a titty clamp on me, they’re getting TKO’d. We’re Texas girls, through and through. Fighting is in our genes. Yet, I swear, the instant Lincoln touched me for the first time, I reacted in a manner that would put my father to shame. Maybe he didn’t scare me and I’m just paranoid. I was just a little paranoid due to my sta—my movie…I uh…watched a scary movie the night before running into him. He’s big, strong, and you know how I am after watching a horror flick. It honestly made for good conversation.”

  “He touched you?” Regina seethes as if nothing else Siobhan has said penetrated.

  Siobhan chortles. “Lincoln saved me from falling on my ass, and tumbling down the hill like Humpty Dumpty.”

  “Hmmm, I still don’t understand exactly how he scares you though?”

  Siobhan sighs. I imagine her leaning back in bed, and attempting to explain her “paranoia” without delving too much into her true source of fear.

  “Girl, I mentioned the damn scary movie. Anyway, Lincoln doesn’t scare me in a way in which I need to hightail it out of dodge. It’s just that, he has this ability about him… never mind, this is the wine talking. We’re meeting up to run tomorrow morning. Anyway, I’m sure he has a preference for changing the ornament at his side, and they all have edible names like Candy or Sage.”

  “Oh hell, you’ve got a date on Monday morning? That makes you nothing more than exercise buddies. I bet you can advance toward becoming his fuck buddy while you two are hot and sweaty. You’re sexier than any Candy sluts.”

  Siobhan gasps. “It’s only been a week since we set a routine of meeting up to run like the last two humans in an apocalypse of the undead. And really, I’m not sure if it’s a routine or…” Siobhan sighs, “or if the darn guy just wants to hear the conclusion of my bane existence. He mentioned taking me out to dinner on Friday after running. Then he got a phone call and…but-but never mind. This is all wishful thinking.”

  They both giggle. It’s been a while since Siobhan has giggled with Regina in a conversation.

  “Just kidding, albeit he’s hot, it…it has also been a while.” Siobhan punctuates each word. “Maybe he’ll screw me sideways, enough to relocate my brain and I’ll consider returning to San Antonio to live.”

  “I’ll second that! Tomorrow, after one of those exhausting, loathsome runs of yours, throw that ass back at him! Proposition him to bang your brains back in order. Girl, come home.”

  I step away from the door, not desiring to hear Siobhan’s response. There are certain things that I am unable to do for her that another man could, namely the fucktwad, Zager.

  She doesn't like him. She's just making small talk with her friend.

  At times, Siobhan presents herself as agreeable just to get Regina to shut the fuck up. But I don’t need to hear them converse any longer.

  There will be no reason for Siobhan to divulge how a second encounter transpires to Regina Godwin because in less than twenty-four hours, Regina Godwin will not be capable of persuading my Siobhan…

  Chapter Five

  Siobhan

  T
here’s a delicateness about my lips, and how they readily quiver with thoughts of Lincoln. My fingers delve past the sweet, swollen heaviness of my labia and dive into a lustrous wetness. Hot torrents of shower water rain down, and yet I feel wetter in my core. I dip my fingers deeper inside folds that are glistening wet.

  Leaning one leg atop the built-in seat of the travertine tile, the sharp edge of my teeth bite down on soft flesh as I love myself for the first time in over a year. Love myself to a man who by no standards is considered pretty, but magnificent. Beauty in his own right.

  His face is all sharp angles. Bristly jaw. Onyx eyes. Is his cock the same cocaine white or does it have a flushed hue?

  Taking myself to the brink, I imagine strong, ropy arms around me. My hard nipples gliding against his rock pectorals. At the instant that I’m about to cum all over my fingers, I pause and imagine him growling in my ear.

  “Bloody fuck, Siobhan, I’m about to explode,” he screams in my ear. The rough, British accent brushes against my sweat-covered, dark brown skin as he brutally beats at my pussy. Beats and beats until my quivering, whimpering pussy cries in orgasm, and a volcanic eruption fills me up so good I shed a tear.

  Creamy sugar glides down my fingers, and my eyes flutter closed in pure bliss. Steadying myself, I take a seat and watch water splash against my supple skin, nerve endings on fire. Shit, how much more amazing would getting fucked have been with Lincoln at the command?

  Twenty minutes later, I’ve finished washing, dried, and applied cocoa butter. Instead of the cotton pajama sets I’ve grown accustomed to, a silk camisole and matching shorts adorn my body. While seated in bed, I roll the stem of the wine glass against the flesh of my palms. I laugh at myself. “I just got off on the image of Lincoln while tipsy on a twenty-dollar bottle of Sauvignon Blanc. How pitiful.”

  The urge to call him takes over once again. After the chitchat with Regina, I couldn’t keep Lincoln from my mind. A warmth creeps up my cheeks, and it’s not due to the steamy, pampering shower I just took.

  I place the glass onto the nightstand and allow my tired body to slip under the covers. Wrapping my arms around a pillow doesn’t compare to my imagination of him, but a frown sets my face.

  We don’t have a relationship besides running. He hasn’t called me. I haven’t called him. How ridiculous am I? All we have is running for the past week. Besides, I finished the insane story of my life after our workout before the weekend commenced.

  I jerk to a sitting position. “Lincoln Zager hasn’t told me much about himself at all. He hasn’t told me anything Google is incapable of.” But Lincoln isn’t a business venture, and I refuse to search him…so I don't know zilch. Bravo, Siobhan, bravo.

  I bite my lip and ponder that thought for a moment. In the past, learning about a person strengthened my ability to do my job. It assisted me in creating the perfect brand based on their demeanor. Career aside, learning about people without the cookie-cutter bio on any given social media website helped me connect with a friend. Lincoln doesn’t remind me of my stalker…I chant to myself. Wouldn’t it be nice to have an ally?

  Lincoln’s words come to my mind, “Kinda strikes a bit of fear in the ticker, doesn’t it?”

  Yeah, that just went from James Bond to a bit stalkerish.

  “Stop it, Siobhan, stop being paranoid.” I click off the lights, left with only the shadowy glow from my nightlight across the room. My body slams back onto a million feathers and the pillow puffs around me. Sleep is necessary if I’m going to wake up at five thirty tomorrow and keep up with the rich man …that is, if Lincoln chooses to run with me on Monday morning.

  Picking up the water bottle on the nightstand, I chug some down, hoping it will mellow out the fact that I’d just drank half a bottle of wine.

  I gulp down more, leaving just shy of a third left. Feeling weightless as a feather, the bottle slips from my fingers as I begin to place it onto the counter again.

  The consistent sound of water dribbling onto the plush pile carpet becomes so soothing that my eyelids flutter against my cheeks only to stay there.

  Somewhere between the throes of sanity and delirium, I feel the bed cave to his weight. In the dark of night, he has returned to me.

  “Hosea.” His name drifts against the tip of my tongue and hovers over my lips. My brain twirls softly, as if I’m on a seesaw. Gathering enough strength, I slur the name as loud as I can, “Hosea.”

  “Shhh, Siobhan, I’m here,” he says.

  My thoughts pan out in slow motion. Lights? It clicks a few seconds later that I should turn on the lights. My body is too heavy, limbs filled with sand. But his arms stake claim around my midriff, my back pressed against the security of his chest.

  “Hold me tighter,” I beg, not even convinced the imploring sounds coherent.

  “I love you, Siobhan. Nothing or no one will keep us apart.” Hosea acquiesces and that’s the last thought on my mind before I fall fast asleep. Has he come to me before? Instincts tell me yes, many times before, and that come tomorrow, I won't recall anything.

  ***

  A soggy wetness seeps against my toes as I stand up from bed. Instantly, I’m wide awake. The plush pile carpet is a darker gray near the nightstand. But the water bottle… did… not… fall. It’s sitting at the edge. Brow furrowed, I touch the cap. It fits snuggly on the top of the bottle. So why am I standing on a slightly mushy, wet carpet?

  I keenly observe the countertop. There’s not even a water ring. Perhaps I spilled it sometime during the night, screwed the top back on, and placed it down.

  My cell phone alarm chimes. It’s a half hour until 5 a.m.

  Lincoln.

  At 5 a.m. sharp, I’ve donned a hot pink sports bra with the matching bottoms. I had second guessed the online picture almost twenty times, and blindly pressed the “buy” button.

  The air is crisp with lush green land all the way up the long driveway.

  I’m all warmed up, so I dart through the gates right before they sweep closed again.

  Where is Lincoln? The road is all open spaces, and I’m a damn sitting duck for the psycho stalker. Fog masks the sweet grass, so I’ve decided to run in the road this morning since the sun has no interest in rearing its head.

  Disappointment consumes me about a mile into my run. On Friday, he had been all of five minutes late and apologized profusely, saying he’d accidentally broken his cell phone while speaking with a potential investor.

  My cell phone buzzes against my thigh. I pull it out. Lincoln. I mask a plethora of emotions while answering. “Hello…”

  “Siobhan, I’m quite miffed about being called away, but I am unable to meet you this morning. As we speak, I’m headed to London. Long story, all of which I will divulge once I’ve returned. But I cannot allow you to run alone, though I’ve just been made aware that you left home prior to meeting your new running mate.”

  “Mate?”

  “Yes. The bloke I sent along to run with you goes by the name of Bernard. He’s got a rather distinguished Pinocchio nose. He’ll pull up in a navy-blue Suburban with government plates in, thirty seconds, I presume.”

  “What…”

  “If some arsehole is watching you this morning, Bernard will be just the man to take him down. Besides, Bernard is married so he’s the only one I trust to keep an eye on you.” Though Lincoln’s tone doesn’t fluctuate with emotion, I take it as a pass. Well, at least my cheeks and neck have warmed over. “Now tell me you’ll make yourself available for dinner with me on Thursday evening once I’ve returned.”

  “I…”

  “Tell me.”

  “Oh-okay.” I nod. I don’t even have a moment to consider how weird this is because my heart deflates.

  “Brilliant,” he replies, and we hang up.

  A Suburban pulls up, and a man in a black suit exits. The first thing I notice about him is a long, narrow nose, though he’s burly. His skin is a pale pink, but I take it there are many things he is capable of doing in a suit, i
ncluding running alongside me. “Lowe, I’m Agent Bernard.”

  I glance him up and down, considering how formal he just addressed me. Simply Lowe. “An agent?”

  “Yeah, some sort of government official.” He offers the fact as if it’s the end all to the discussion.

  Agent Bernard turns his large frame in the direction I was running, but I inquire further. “You’re Lincoln’s friend?”

  “No.” Bernard’s murky green eyes meet mine for a fraction of a second. Seemingly in pain to engross in a simple conversation, he quickly clarifies, “Lincoln isn’t the friending sort. I’m assigned to you for the duration of your runs until his return.”

  I stop jogging. “Assigned? I’m sorry for the confusion, I have no need for a babysitter.”

  His face is the same hard mask, and he offers the only choice I have. “Bollocks,” he says sarcastically. “Would you prefer I drove you back home then?”

  Crap! So you’re saying if we don’t run, I don’t run. “No.”

  “Very well, then. Lincoln said you might opt not to continue. Shall we proceed? I’ve been charged to run with you until Friday morning, and that’s what I will do.”

  ***

  Running with Bernard was a weird experience. Reminiscing on Lincoln's steely voice prepared me for high-endurance sprints. Lincoln and I ran our asses off.

  He'd touch the small of my back while we were coasting across the sidewalk and say something motivational. It was so hot. And I'd run harder than I ever had in my entire life, even in my twenties.

  But with Bernard, I probably appeared like a woman running for her life, from a bear. A big, angry polar bear.

  Tuesday transpired in much the same manner, except his federal issue SUV was right outside of the gates when I came out. I suppose the only token from my morning ten miles is that Lincoln and I have begun to talk on the phone. Last week, he was busy after our runs and not as open as the first day. Did whatever we have going start on the guise of him feeling sorry for me, and decided to at least have my back at the wee hours of the morning?