Page 92 of Wanting Wentworth

Cheeks burning while Brock’s warm hazel eyes glitter with malignancy, I shake my head at the two older women who’re watching us with puzzled expressions.

“There was a rattler on the trail. Two-tone got spooked and threw me.” Looking up at Brock, I give him an apologetic smile while I imagine spitting in his face. “I’m sorry I lied. I just didn’t want you to worry.” Dividing my smile among the three of them, I shake my head. “Especially after what happened Friday night—with the deer.”

When I say it, my mother visibly blanches while Mrs. Morris clucks at her son, surveying the damage our run in with the imaginary deer caused. Brock is the only one who doesn’t buy it. “That’s alright, Kaitydid. I forgive you, he tells me, his hazel eyes hard while he lifts my hand to his lips to kiss the back of it. “I’ll see you soon.” Even though his tone is soft and damn near melodic, I hear it for what it is.

A threat.

“Friday morning—10:30AM at the courthouse.” I smile up at him while my stomach churns. “I didn’t forget this time.”

“Fair warning…” He squeezes my hand so hard the bones of it grind together. “I might not be able to wait that long—I just might sneak out here to see if I can catch you by surprise.”

Before I can answer him, Brock drops my hand and it’s immediately snatched up by his mother. “I hope you recognize my son’s forgiveness for the gift that it is, Kaity,” she tells me, her lips pursed in a tight smile. I’m not the only one pretending to be happy about this marriage.

“Yes, ma’am.” I give her a tight smile of my own before pulling my hand free of hers, as gently as I can.

Before I can pull it all the way free, she tightens her grip, turning my hand to look at the back of it. When she sees that my ring finger is bare, her gaze narrows. “You’re not wearing your engagement ring.”

Yanking my hand free, I open my mouth to let some random excuse fall out but before I can think of another plausible lie, my mother saves me. “I have it.” Patting the pocket on her apron, she smiles. “Silly girl tried to go out and muck stalls this morning with that beautiful ring on her finger—can you imagine?” Looking at me, she gives me an exasperated sigh. “You can have it back as soon as you wash your hands.”

Swallowing hard, I give her a nod. “Yes, ma’am.” The ring Brock gave me isn’t in her pocket. It’s in my nightstand drawer where I dropped it the second I got home from church on Sunday. I pulled it off as soon as I could, and I haven’t so much as looked at it since. Turning toward Brock’s mother again, I give her a bright smile. “Thank you so much for stopping by and for planning the rehearsal dinner. It sounds like it’s going to be everything Brock’s been dreaming of.”

Catching the gently lobbed barb, Mrs. Morris’s lips thin for a moment before she reaches for me. Sure she’s going to slap me, I brace myself. Instead, she gently pats me on the arm. “We should meet for lunch before the wedding, dear.” She gives my arm a squeeze before letting her hand drop away. “I think it would do us both some good to get reacquainted.” Turning away from me without waiting for an answer, she reaches for her son. “You’re right, son—I think we’ve bothered these ladies enough.”

Still standing on the porch, my mother and I watch while Brock leads his mother to his truck and helps her in before carefully climbing into the drivers’ seat. I can’t help but smile a bit when he presses a hand to his rib cage in obvious pain.

“Two-tone would follow you into a burning building,” my mother says without looking at me, smiling and waving while Brock starts his truck. “There’s no way that horse bucked you over something as trivial as a snake on the trail.”

Sure there’s a lecture coming about propriety and the expectations I’ll have to live up to as Mrs. Brock Morris, I nod. “And that gaudy ring Brock gave me isn’t in your pocket.”

For a few moments, neither of us says anything. Finally, I lean into her to drop a quick kiss on her cheek. “I’ll go get dinner started. It’ll have to be something quick or else we won’t eat until midnight.” Turning toward the front door, I leave her on the porch, to watch Brock and his mother drive away without me.

I made chicken salad from the leftover chicken my mom roasted for Sunday supper and we had sandwiches and iced tea—something my father never would have tolerated. As much as he loves and dotes on our mother, there are certain standards she has to live up to. A full spread dinner in the dining room every night is one of them. Without a husband to cater to, she fussed for a few minutes before she said I guess it’s okay since your father’s not here before she sat at the kitchen table with a nervous smile. Calling Abbey down for dinner, the three of us sat at the kitchen table, talking and laughing, long after our sandwiches were eaten and our iced tea glasses were empty. It's the best thing I can remember happening to me in this kitchen.

Flicking a look at the kitchen clock, my mom finally lets out a tired sigh. “It’s getting late.” Standing, she drops a kiss on top of Abbey’s head. “I’m going to take myself to bed.” Rounding the table, she drops a kiss on my head too. “You should do the same—you’ve got another long day tomorrow. You need all the rest you can get.”

Thinking about the way I spent today, I feel a flush start to creep its way across my chest. “Yes, ma’am.”

If she can tell how mortified I am, my mother doesn’t show it. Giving my shoulder a squeeze, she wanders through the kitchen doorway and down the hall to the downstairs bedroom she shares with my father. With a last, goodnight girls, her bedroom door shuts, leaving Abbey and I alone.

As soon as she’s gone, Abbey stands and begins clearing the table. “She’s right—go on up and take a shower and get ready for bed. I’ll clean up down here.” When all I do is sit in my chair and stare at her like she’s a pod person while she stacks dinner plates, she gives me one of her exasperated Abbey sighs. “Just because I’ve never washed a dish before doesn’t mean I don’t know how,” she tells me while she walks her stack to the sink. “I’ll be fine. I’m spoiled, not helpless.” Setting the plates in the sink, she turns around, making a shooing motion with her hand. “Go on.” Hands stacked on her hips, she blows a strand of silky blonde hair out of her face. “As soon as you show me how to run the dishwasher.”

Standing up on a laugh, I make my way to the dishwasher. Showing her what buttons to push, I do as I’m told and go upstairs to take a shower.

Stepping under the hot spray of the shower head, my thoughts immediately turn to Went again and the shower we took together this morning... and why we had to take one.

I want you to see how fucking beautiful you look, covered in my cum…

The memory of it, sends a shot of heat rocketing down my spine and my pussy gives a hard clench that nearly takes my breath away.

Have you ever touched yourself?

When Went asked me, I didn’t want to answer him because I was embarrassed that the answer was no and at nearly twenty-one years old, it’s something I should have at least attempted. Embarrassed because being with Went made me realize that I’ve never even wanted to before. Never wanted anything good or pleasurable for myself.

You deserve to feel good… to be with someone who wants to make you feel that way.

Sliding my hand across the top of my thigh, I widen them slightly, letting out a small gasp when I feel my own fingers slip between my soft folds to skim between the seam of it to my pussy.

Later.

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