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Wednesday

Kendall Ryan



  by KENDALL RYAN

  Wednesday

  Copyright © 2016 Kendall Ryan

  Copy Editing and Formatting by

  Pam Berehulke

  Cover design by

  Emma Hart

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission of the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes only.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Table of Contents

  About the Book

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  Playlist

  Coming Soon

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Other Books by Kendall Ryan

  About the Book

  Hard-core fucking.

  It’s not what I really want, but it’s all he has to offer. He’s filled with turmoil and heartache and regrets, but for two hours every Wednesday all he feels is me. How much I desire him, how desperate he makes me, how much I’d like things to be different between us. Real.

  He used to be my best friend back before he got married. And now? Now, he’s a young widower. It would be wrong on so many levels to expect something more from him, so I give him what he needs. Dark, delicious fucking.

  But I know I can’t keep this up. I’ve already given him my body, my soul. I want him to have my heart. It might drive him away forever, but that’s a risk I’m willing to take.

  Wednesday is an angsty romp told from dual points of view. If you’re in the mood for something quick and dirty, you’ve found it. Proceed at your own risk.

  Chapter One

  Chloe

  The first time we fucked, I was actually ashamed to admit, was after his wife’s funeral. Her parents had hosted a luncheon at their home, fifty people comprised of various friends and relatives. Devastation had been written all over the faces of those who’d been close to her, while the distant relatives acted uncertain and aloof, nervously glancing at the floor and making small talk. Needless to say, it was a somber occasion and the mood reflected it.

  I’d felt heavy, like I was moving underwater. A life lost so young—it all felt pointless. Mostly, though, my pain for him was what felt insurmountable. Shaw. Once upon a time, he’d been my everything.

  He was standing in the corner talking to one of her great aunts, holding an empty glass that my brother had kept filled with whiskey all afternoon. I wanted to help—to do something, anything, to take that dark, stormy look out of his eyes—so I asked him if he wanted to get some air.

  He took my proffered hand without a word, but instead of leading me outside like I expected—maybe to the front porch for a breath of the cool February air—he towed me upstairs. And straight into the bathroom. Without a word, he pulled my black cashmere sweater off over my head.

  I stood there shocked for a few seconds. This was Shaw—my former best friend and secret lifelong crush. The man who once held my heart in the palm of his hand when I was young and foolish. And he had just been through the most traumatic event of his twenty-six years—losing his wife to a drunk driver. Yet here he was, singularly focused on getting me naked, and seemingly as quickly as possible.

  He unhooked my bra and then his hot mouth descended, latching onto my nipple—sucking hard and pulling a cry from my lips despite my reservations. And even though I was twenty-five at the time, now twenty-six, I was new to this quick intimacy and raw, carnal desire. Sexual relations were always the result of the proper number of dates, and more out of obligation than desire.

  My head was spinning as he unbuttoned the black dress pants I’d bought just for the occasion and placed me roughly on the countertop next to the sink. I should have asked him what he was doing, but honestly, questioning him never even entered my brain.

  Then, before I could think, his mouth crashed into mine, hungry and demanding, and his fingers were in my panties. I’d groaned, palming his heavy erection through his slacks . . .

  “Chloe?” My brother’s terse voice snapped me from my erotic daydream.

  “Yeah?” I sounded breathless and my cheeks were flushed from that memory alone. Not just because of how crazy-good the sex was—I’d come three times around Shaw’s thick, powerful cock—but because the entire encounter had been laced with illicit undertones. It was forbidden and wrong on the most basic of levels. We could have been discovered at any moment, overheard by a nosy relative. But in that moment, we gave zero fucks.

  Afterward, of course, guilt like I’d never experienced before slammed through me and kept me in bed for the next three days. I hadn’t known Samantha well, but that didn’t matter. I’d used Shaw in a vulnerable moment for my own pleasure. I’d gotten off on the whole thing, been totally out of my mind with wanton lust. What I’d done was wrong. And worse? I’d wanted to do it again.

  “What the hell is with you?” Jason asked.

  “What?” I tossed the laundered towels into a basket and hefted it up onto the counter.

  “You’re as distracted and jumpy as a hooker at church. What’s up with you lately?”

  “Nothing,” I lied.

  Everything had changed over the course of a few short months. That somber day might have been how everything started with Shaw, but since then it had changed into something even darker.

  “Well, I need your focus today. We have six groups checking in, and the McAlpherson party wants to charter a fishing boat this afternoon. You’ll have to call Shaw and see if he can take them out on such short notice.”

  “Why can’t you?”

  The thought of calling Shaw made my stomach hurt. That’s not how our interactions worked. I never asked questions—never demanded anything of him, in fact. Everything was on his terms. His schedule. His way. A chill ran through me.

  “Because I’ve got a plumber coming in ten minutes to fix the leak in the Grande suite, which means I have nine minutes left to finish checking out the”—he thumbed through the invoices on his desk—“thirteen people leaving today.”

  “Fine,” I grumbled.

  If Jason knew what was going on between Shaw and me, I’d feel the shame of his harsh judgment for years to come. And since we worked together seven days a week, it wasn’t something I ever wanted to come between us. He and Shaw were also close friends, and Jason was fiercely protective of him ever since the accident. He looked out for Shaw like a brother, and I was sure he’d find a way to blame me for my disgraceful, opportunistic behavior. Even though Shaw had been the one to seduce me, none of that would matter in my brother’s eyes.

  I loved my brother, but apparently I liked being naughty just a little bit more. Some things were black and white, and this was one of them. Shaw was well-known and well-loved in our island community. He ran a marina that his now-retired parents owned. He spent his days out on the water or on the dock, fueling boats, calling out orders to his staff, helping families take off in their rented pontoons. He was confident and sure, and I loved watching him work on the rare occasions I ventured down to the marina. His skin was always bronzed and golden, his jaw perpetually in need of a shave.

  The people of our sleepy island town felt deep sympathy for him—brought him home-cooked meals, left flowers on Samantha’s headstone, and hugge
d him with tears in their eyes at diners and drugstores. He was practically a local celebrity because of his family’s business here, but also because of the tragedy in his life this past year. I was sure I’d be painted as an opportunistic harlot who tempted a grieving widower, taking advantage of his situation for my own personal benefit, but that couldn’t have been further from the truth. Every time he left, it almost killed me inside.

  I grabbed my purse and slipped on my favorite pink flip-flops.

  “What are you doing?” Jason asked behind me.

  “This is a job that needs to be done in person.” Fishing charters booked out months in advance. If I was going to get our guests on a boat today, it was going to take some magic.

  Jason nodded with a smirk. “Fair enough.”

  I tossed my purse onto the floorboard of the golf cart my brother and I used to get around the property, and slid onto the seat. It was a magical place, and I was glad we’d kept it in the family for three generations now. The wide front porch overlooking the ocean was the perfect spot to sit with a cup of coffee and listen to the soft sound of the waves. The huge old manchineel trees provided much-needed shade from the brightness of the sun. They were beautiful, though the little green fruits they produced were deadly. My father had only reminded me of that sixteen thousand times.

  The first floor of the old plantation-style estate was where I was raised, and now held Jason’s living quarters along with our offices. The second level held eight guest suites we kept rented year-round, along with an apartment for me with a separate entrance. And in the grassy courtyard at the center of our circular drive was a fountain where I’d dropped pennies as a little girl, making childish wishes. I looked at it longingly, silently hoping for some good luck today.

  The marina Shaw’s family owned wasn’t far, just a couple of miles away. Close enough that when I was younger, I used to walk there, but far enough that I’d never do that now.

  As I drove down the one-lane gravel road that ran between our two properties, the salty air blew my hair back from my face, giving me a sense of peace, but the honey-colored locks no doubt becoming a tousled mess. I bumped along, my mind wandering to Shaw as it often did without my permission.

  The man with the brooding hazel eyes that seemed to change color based on his mood, an old soul, and a perfect butt.

  God, Chloe.

  If anyone knew I was fucking Shaw, I didn’t think I could live with myself.

  The first time it happened, I thought it was a fluke—a drunken, guilt-riddled mistake. I was certain it was a one-time thing, and something I hoped we could just forget about and move on. When he showed up at my front door a few days later in the middle of the night, I assumed it was to apologize. I figured he’d beg me to forgive him, explain that he’d been out of his mind with grief and it was all some huge mistake.

  When I let him inside, rather than apologizing, he pinned me to the wall and then his mouth was on mine, hot and demanding. Fingers slid into my pajama bottoms, pulling them down my legs. I almost pushed him away, almost told him to stop. I’d just spent three nights crying myself to sleep over our grief-induced fuck session at Samantha’s parents’ house. But then his mouth moved to my neck and he’d whispered the one word he knew would ensure I gave him what he wanted.

  Please.

  It was a broken plea, a prayer on his lips. It stunned me—like I alone had the power to heal him. He was giving me all the control in this exchange. I could have said no, and part of me wanted to. I could have pushed him away and ended this whole thing.

  Shaw . . .

  Instead, I murmured his name, trying to find meaning in this sudden change in him. In twenty-five years he’d never laid a finger on me, never acted like I affected him at all. We’d practiced kissing when I was twelve, but that was so innocent compared to this.

  His finger stroked my clit, applying just the right amount of pressure and speed, and I shivered in his arms, halfway between pushing him away and begging him never to stop. But it was his next words that sealed the deal.

  I need you, Chloe.

  So have me, I whispered to him.

  And he did. He owned my body in ways no man had before. We fucked against the wall, my legs wrapped around his waist, his hips slamming against me in powerful thrusts, his mouth nipping at my throat, his fingertips leaving bruises on my thighs . . .

  He left me sore and feeling used, hot semen running down my legs as he tucked himself away and zipped up his jeans. I didn’t know if I felt disgusted or elated or just indifferent. I was numb and reeling but I knew I wanted more, if only to find meaning in what the hell we were doing.

  Every Wednesday since that night, it was like clockwork. Shaw always found his way to my door and I always said yes, letting him fuck me however he desired. It was usually hard and fast and brutal. I always came several times before he found his release. But instead of helping him heal, like I tried to pretend I was doing at first, he was getting worse.

  Like now.

  “Shaw?” I asked, pushing open the door to the marina’s small office. It was dark inside despite the bright sunshine outside. My eyes struggled to adjust. He hadn’t been out on the dock like I’d expected, and one of his guys had pointed toward the office.

  When my eyes adjusted, I glanced at a disorganized desktop piled with invoices, receipts, and paper coffee cups.

  “Need something, Sunshine?”

  Startled because I hadn’t seen him in the shadows, I took a deep, steadying breath. Then I rolled my eyes at the nickname he’d called me for as long as I could remember. I’d despised it for just as long.

  “Why are you sitting in the dark?”

  I pulled open the plantation shutters, bathing us in warm light. He let out a groan at the intrusion and shielded his eyes.

  “Shaw . . .” My fingers flew to my mouth and I took a step back.

  He was sitting in a deep leather armchair in a corner of the office, his bare feet propped up on the matching ottoman and a bottle of whiskey in his hand. It was half-empty.

  “What the hell are you doing?” I crossed the room and took it from him, screwing the cap back on firmly. “It’s barely noon.”

  He only shrugged. “It’s five o’clock somewhere.”

  I let out a deep sigh. I didn’t want to argue with him. “I have a party of two I need to get on a boat.”

  He grunted. “When?”

  Shifting my weight, I took a step toward him. “Later this afternoon. Can you do it or not?”

  He pulled his cell phone from the pocket of his board shorts and made a call—I assumed to one of the guys on the dock.

  “Yes, I know, but make it work,” he said and then stuffed the phone back in his pocket. “Done.”

  “Thank you.” I pulled my own phone from my bag and texted my brother the time and slip number for the guests.

  When I put my phone away, I looked at Shaw and saw his gaze was fixed on my bare legs. My sundress felt so flimsy and sheer, I might as well have been naked.

  Reaching out toward me, he ran a fingertip slowly down my thigh, leaving a tingling path in its wake.

  Chapter Two

  Shaw

  Running a fingertip along her warm skin, I should have felt terrible about what I was doing, yet I felt absolutely nothing at all. Chloe had always been there for me, through all of life’s ups and downs. But these last few months I’d crossed a line that should never be crossed. I had used her to chase away the darkness—to forget the pain and regrets and guilt that swam, unchecked, inside me. And worse than that? I had no plans to stop.

  “Come here.” I offered her my hand and she took it, letting me tug her down into my lap. Her soft floral scent mixed with ocean air surrounded me, and I inhaled against the side of her neck.

  I was crossing new boundaries—one, it was a Sunday, and two, it was the middle of the day—but I knew she wouldn’t refuse me. At least, I was betting she wouldn’t.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, breathles
s as her head dropped back, letting me kiss and suck the soft skin of her neck.

  My cock hardened as she straddled my lap. She gave out a little breathless grunt of surprise.

  Gnawing pressure built, and I hungered to satisfy the urge the only way I knew how. By burying myself in the tight grip of Chloe’s cunt.

  She had become an obsession for me. Who knew my sweet little friend with her wide, innocent blue eyes and high pink cheekbones was such an epic fuck? Perfectly shaped petal-pink pussy with its greedy wet opening just begging me to fill it . . . her heartbeat that pounded just for me . . . the needy sounds she murmured when I entered her.

  “Are you going to let me take this sweet pussy?” I whispered, feeling her skin break out in chill bumps.

  “Now? Here?” Her voice was breathless.

  Rather than answer, I pushed my hips up, grinding my cock into the soft cleft between her thighs.

  “Someone could come in.”

  I tipped my head back, watching her, wondering if this would be the time she’d refuse me. She was so tempting, so sweet, and fuck if I could resist her. She quieted the cloudy discontent that swirled in my brain. It wasn’t a question of desire. It was a need.

  “I have to get back to work,” she added weakly.

  Reaching behind her neck, I untied the strings holding her dress in place. It fell away, exposing a gorgeous set of full, perky breasts. I raked my thumbs across her nipples, watching them pebble beneath my touch. Her blue eyes drifted closed.

  I cupped the weight of her breasts, enjoying how they felt in my hands. Warm. Soft. Heavy.

  Lifting one breast to my mouth, I kept my eyes locked on hers, needing to see her reaction. Sucking and licking her sensitive pink nipple, I watched as she writhed in my lap and moaned out a soft sigh.

  “I want to feel you riding my cock,” I said before sucking the firm peak into my mouth again.

  She groaned out my name through clenched teeth. I could feel the damp heat between her legs and knew she was already getting wet for me.