Bed of Lies

“Good afternoon, Mr. Murdoch,” she said from over his shoulder. “And how are you today?”

The instant Terrence heard C. J.’s voice, he started to tingle from his head to his toes. His heartbeat picked up its pace. His throat went dry. Even his dick started to rise to attention. But he kept his cool façade in place while she lightly swept her hand along his back and shoulder and walked around him. She took the wrought-iron chair facing him at the bistro table, pushed her sunglasses to the crown of her head, and grinned.

“Good afternoon, Miss Aston,” he said, returning her smile and adjusting the dinner napkin over his lap to cover the now-conspicuous bulge.

Terrence couldn’t help himself. C. J. might be dressed casually today, wearing an unassuming V-neck white T-shirt that showed off her brown shoulders and hinted to the swell of her cleavage underneath, and navy blue capris that hugged her hips, thighs, and round bottom. But when he looked at her, his mind instantly harkened back to her lying naked on his bed, moaning and writhing while his head was nestled between her thighs.

The sex lessons were going better than expected. For the past few weeks, Terrence had been “teaching” C. J. the A’s to Z’s of erotic play, which included almost everything short of doing the deed itself. From her screams and moans, C. J. seemed to be enjoying every minute they spent in bed together.

“That wasn’t the first time you ever came, was it?” he had asked her with a wicked smile last week.

He had asked it after one particularly loud yelling fit that he was sure even his neighbors had heard. It had left C. J. so mortified afterward that she covered her face with her hands and refused to look at him.

“Seriously, was it?” he prodded when she remained silent.

“Yes,” she murmured behind her fingers, like it was the most horrible revelation in the world. She then slowly lowered her hands to glare at him. “Don’t you dare look smug about that, Terrence Murdoch!”

His smile broadened and she grabbed one of his pillows and hit him over the head with it before bursting into laughter.

But how could he not be smug? He was laying claim to uncharted territory, going places with this sexy woman that no man had gone before! He wished he could find enjoyment just in that, in helping C. J. realize all the pleasure a considerate lover could give. But the truth was, Terrence was far from considerate and he had realized that way too late.

“You’re the one who told her you’d be willing to be her sex teacher,” the voice in his head chided. “You jackass!”

But how was he supposed to know that it would involve so much selflessness and restraint? Every time C. J. left his home with a smile on her face and a hop in her step after one of their lessons, Terrence would shut the door behind her and start muttering to himself. The afterglow of stolen kisses and pillow talk would wear off, and he would be more bitter and sullen than Ebenezer Scrooge.

Sure, C. J. got foreplay and orgasms. Meanwhile, all Terrence got was hand lotion, a scroll through X-rated pics on his iPhone, and five fingers—and frankly, he was starting to get tired of the whole routine. But he didn’t want to push her past her limits. He wasn’t a total asshole, after all. She was fragile, and she had told him she needed to go slow and be eased into this stuff, but he was starting to wonder just how slow she planned to go.

Just how long was this “easing” supposed to last? And couldn’t she please him just a little once in a while?

I’m not asking for the world, he would think angrily as he lay alone in bed at night. Just some reciprocation! How hard would it be to do a five-minute hand job or suck a guy’s dick once in a while?

And the moment those angry thoughts crossed his mind, Terrence felt like an asshole all over again.

He had contemplated calling up one of his old girlfriends to see if maybe she could help him with his current “predicament.” He hadn’t spoken to any of them in months—not since the accident—but they might forgive him for that transgression if he gave them a sob story. Maybe Georgette was back in town, or maybe Asia at that Cuban restaurant downtown was looking for company.

But for some reason, the idea of having sex with another woman felt like a betrayal or like he was cheating. Terrence had never told C. J. they were exclusive, and in the past he never would have agreed to such a thing, but this time it felt like he and C. J. had an implicit agreement not to see other people. He knew he certainly would be pissed off to find out she was taking “lessons” from some other guy.

No, he wouldn’t go to another woman to put him out of his misery. He’d stick it out with C. J. because this was about more than just sex. He really liked her—more than he cared to admit.

“I can’t stay long,” C. J. announced, tugging her satchel strap over her head and setting the canvas satchel on the cobblestones beneath her feet. She grabbed one of the menus on the bistro table. “I have an assignment across town at one thirty.”

Terrence’s heart sank a little. He had looked forward to seeing her today and she was already rushing off? “If you had stuff going on and you needed to cancel lunch, you could have just told me,” he muttered, trying his best to keep the disappointment out of his voice.

She looked up from her menu and frowned at him. “Of course I wouldn’t cancel! I wanted to see you. I missed you!”

His sinking heart started to take flight again, but he had to keep his emotions in check. There was no way he would let C. J. know how happy he was to hear her say that. “Missed me?” he muttered casually. “Woman, you saw me on Tuesday!”

“Irrelevant.” She grabbed her water glass and took a sip. “I can only go a couple of days before I need my Terry fix.”

He smirked and proudly leaned back in his chair. “Yeah, well . . . my loving has a tendency to do that.”

She snorted. “You can try to play Rico Suave if you want to, but I know the truth, Terry.” She reached across the table, catching him off guard. She rested a hand on his cheek. “You’re an amazing guy and even though your loving is all that and then some, it’s you that I missed.”

At those words, the old Terrence would have laughed in her face, but the new Terrence instead turned his mouth toward her palm and kissed it.

“Terry?”

Terrence jumped in surprise at the sound of his brother’s voice, making C. J. yank her hand away like someone had rapped her on the knuckles with a ruler.

Terrence turned to find Evan striding along the sidewalk toward them. “Ev! Hey! What are you doing here?” He waved his brother forward.

“I was just picking up something for Lee at the jewelry store,” Evan called back, holding up a gold gift bag with the emblem from one of the jewelers in Chesterton.

Terrence turned back to C. J. “I want you to meet my brother.”

“We’ve met,” she said softly, dropping her gaze to her lap.

“Ev, this is C. J. My . . . uh . . . my friend that I told you about.” He winked at his brother, hoping Evan caught onto his meaning.

Evan whipped off his Ray-Bans and narrowed his eyes at her. His smile faded. “This is your friend?”

Terrence nodded, confused by his brother’s tone. “Yeah, uh . . . I guess you guys have run into each other before?”

C. J. refused to look up and Evan seemed angry for some reason. Terrence’s gaze shifted between the two. Why were they both acting so peculiar?

“So you finally managed to talk to my brother, huh?” Evan asked, glowering at C. J.’s lowered head. “Well, if I can say anything about you . . . C. J., is it? If I could say anything about you, C. J., it’s that you’re tenacious, though your ethics are highly questionable.”

C. J. didn’t respond. Instead the same look of mortification passed across her face that had appeared when she’d shouted out Terrence’s name in bed.

“Is something wrong?” Terrence asked, still looking uneasily between the two.

“I’m not the right person to answer that question,” Evan said coolly. “You should ask your friend here.”

C. J. finally looked up. She took a deep breath and gazed at Evan. “Look, Mr. Murdoch . . . I mean, Evan . . . I think my work as a reporter has given you the wrong impression about me. You see, I don’t—”

“No, I think I have exactly the right impression about you!” Evan took another step toward the table. “You’re a harasser and a liar and if you think you can—”

“Whoa!” Terrence said, holding up his hands. “Whoa, Ev! What the hell, man . . . why are you talking to her like that? You don’t even know her!”

“I know enough! Trust me. You don’t want to have anything to do with this . . . this woman!”

He said the word woman with a curl in his lip and a look of sheer disgust, like C. J. didn’t deserve to be called that. Terrence stared at his brother in disbelief and then that disbelief quickly morphed into fury. How dare Evan treat C. J. that way?

“I’m a grown-ass man, Ev! I’ll be the judge of who I should and shouldn’t talk to, all right?” Terrence barked, glaring up at his big brother.

C. J. snatched her satchel from the ground, pushed back her chair noisily, and started to rise to her feet. “Look, I’m not trying to cause any friction between you,” she mumbled. “Terry, I’ll just go. I’ll see you—”

“No,” he said firmly while grabbing her hand, “you stay. You’re the one I invited to lunch today. To hell with him! He can go.”

Terrence barely glanced at his brother when he said it. He didn’t have to look at Evan; he already knew the expression that would be on Evan’s face, a look of shock and probably outrage. But at that moment, Terrence didn’t give a damn. Evan was out of line. He had to be put in his place.

C. J. slowly sat down in her chair.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Evan muttered before walking off.