The Unwritten Rules

Please read Ch. 01 to avoid confusion.

**

Dairy Entry 05/09/2012

I've heard love makes everything sweeter; holding hands, staring at each other across the dinner table, sex...

All the romance novels say so. So do the movies. Even strangers who can't wait to share their own experience with it.

I've never had sex with someone and not felt dirty afterward, like there is slime slowly seeping into my skin and the only course of action is to enter the nearest shower.

Is it different when you're in love and someone loves you back? Is there really caring in a man's touch that exists outside what the book and movies say?

I don't know but I can imagine it. Image a man's eyes darkening at the sight of my body, worshiping not mocking. I can image his touch on my breasts, on my thighs, on my pussy, with nothing but my pleasure in mind as his cock strains towards me. Straining because he thinks I am that unique gem that only he can claim. Because everything about me bewitches him; the need in my eyes, the desire in my touch, the smell of my heat.

I hunger for a passion like that.

But love means trust and I'm afraid that I've already used up my stock of that particular ability.

But I can still dream. Can I?

****

I pull into the parking lot of the mall with a screech of wheels six minutes late. My cell chirps from my purse and I answer.

"Don't you dare take away my coffee," I warn, thinking it was Yuri.

"Excuse me?"

I close my eyes and curse myself for not looking at the caller ID. "Hello, mother."

"You know I don't like it when you call me that. It makes me feel old."

How could I forget? If there is one thing my mother hates, it is the mention of anything that reminds her of her near fifty age. She spends a fortune every year making sure every wrinkle and blemish is swiftly dealt with.

"Hello, Marine," I say obligingly.

"You don't sound happy to hear from me," she whines.

"Of course I'm happy to hear from you," I interject as much joy into the lie as I possibly can. "I'm just really busy right now."

"Too busy to talk to the woman who spent fifteen hours in labor giving birth to you for a few minutes? Really Brianne, I'm starting to think you're avoiding me."

What gave me away?

I am not given the chance to say anything before she rushes on, "Put me on video. I have something to share with you."

"I can't-"

"Please, dear. It will only take a few minutes."

"Fine."

She is still in bed with a healthy piece of her cleavage hanging out of a black lingerie piece. Her short, black hair is tousled and though the rest of her makeup is gone, she found the time to put on lip gloss. Tall and willowy, my mother and I look nothing a like apart for the color of our eyes. It is one the many disappointments she voiced while grew up.

"I'd like you to meet someone. This is Jean-Pierre. He's French."

The camera shifts.

The man reclines on the bed. Hair cut short to his head, his hands are behind his head in an overly exaggerated pose. The black briefs are skin tight and he is obviously aroused.

The camera shifts back to my mother. She is fanning herself. "Isn't he delicious? I think I'm in love."

That's what she said last month about the Jamaican boy she picked up on vacation. There is really no other way to describe him since he is five year younger that I and loves cartoons as much as he loves sex. These were my mother's words, not mine, when she broke it off with him.

"This woman is an absolute vixen." Jean-Pierre leans over and French kisses her.

I turn my head away but the sounds of their make out session still abuse my ears.

I cannot remember a time when my mother was not flirting or throwing a party that included all the A-listers. She loves fashion and lives life vivaciously. She loves men even more. It was a constant topic of arguments between her and my father during their almost ten year marriage.

I never understood why they married. They had nothing in common and spent more time avoiding each other than anything else.

Since the divorce, Marine has made a hobby out of collecting boy toys. Jean-Pierre will be replaced with some other exotic looking fellow soon. I don't think he will be heartbroken though. These men use my mother as much as she uses them.

"Oh, Annie. Don't be such a prude."

A peek ensures all tongues are back in their rightful places.

"I am very happy that you're happy, Marine, but I really have to get to work though."

"Oh pish posh, you have plenty of time for that later. You'll never guess who I ran into last week."

The sound of my teeth grinding echo loudly in my head but in my book of private commandments, it still says Thou shall not curse thy mother even when she is being a pain in the rear. So I asked, "Who?"

"Guess." Jean-Pierre is whispering something in her ear and she giggles like a school girl.

Her hand moves out of view and he laughs against her neck, whispering, "Don't stop. I love when you do that."

Eww! I do not even want to guess what that hand is doing. "Marine, if you're busy, we can talk another time."

Her hand comes back into view and she gives me an innocent look. Jean-Pierre sighs sadly and moves out of the frame. "Oh no, you're not getting away that easy. Now guess."

I rub a hand over my forehead, a headache developing around temple. "I have no idea."

She pouts. "Come on. Just one guess."

I hear the shower start across the connection.

"Santa Claus?"

She throws me an exasperated look. "Really, Annie. Do you have to be such a spoil sport?"

I am reaching for the bottle of aspirin I keep in the glove compartment when she squeals excitedly, "Karim."

I freeze at the mention of my ex-husband. Anger immediately fills up the emotional blank that comes up whenever he is mentioned.

"You two made such a lovely couple," Marine sighs, clearly oblivious to my mood. "Really, Brianne, how could you let such a good man go?"

I can no longer stomach this conversation. "Goodbye, Marine."

I hang up on her stutter.

My commandments specify nothing about that.

I swallow two of the pills and rest my head against the seat. In and out, I take calming breaths.

I open my eyes at the sound of crying and see a mother dragging an irate toddler behind her. I figure I am having a better day than the poor woman by the look on her face. So with my game face on I gather my stuff and hurry across the parking lot, a drop of sweat running down my back. Already the day promises to be a scorcher.

A climb to the second floor of the building and I push open the door to Dessert by Lovely.

The harmonious scents of cinnamon, chocolate and vanilla perfume the small café-styled bakery. Furnished with only a few tables, the space is already full with customers, most of whom I know by name and greet on the way to the back.

I pause at the counter which is artfully lined and stacked with various cakes, pastries and chat with cashier and server, Myra Collins for a few seconds. Perky to a fault, the nineteen year never fails to infect me with her perpetual good mood.

I enter the back area where the shared office and kitchen are. A mixture of old and new appliances, the kitchen is a baker's dream I'm told.

I greet the two people busy decorating several trays of cupcakes. Fresh out of high school, baking assistant, Bram Filton answers me immediately but his love-struck gaze does not leave the woman standing next to him.

Currently colored blonde streaked with royal blue, her hair is hidden beneath a black bandana and her eat-anything-she-wants-and-not-gain-a-pound body is clothed in faded jeans and a tight tee. Her beloved apron which no one is allowed to touch is in place, new stains mingling with the old.

Lovely's love for her craft is second to none. Her concentration is absolute and she barely notices my arrival, only a halfhearted mumbling signaling she heard me.

In the two-desk office, I upheave my load, boot up my desktop and start making phone calls. With the function that afternoon, the day is bound to be busy. Just the way I like it.

I am on the phone with the delivery company when Lovely comes in. She places a cupcake in front of me. It looks almost too pretty to eat but I never decline one of Lovely's creations. My stomach grumbles impatiently and I realize it is already after noon.

She flops into her chair with a tired sigh but her eyes are glowing and her cheeks are flushed. She is the only woman I know who looks like she had an orgasm after cooking for hours straight.

I hang up and immediately reached for the treat. I moan at the first bite, only opening my eyes when she says, "Everything's all packed up and ready to go."

I take another bite, sad to see half the cake already gone. "They're going to love it. You've out done yourself yet again, Lovely."

"Hmm."

I am expecting the usual cocky response and I frown at her. "Hey, you okay?"

She looks at me for a second and opens her mouth before closing it sharply and looking away. "Just tired. Haven't gotten much sleep lately."

"Is that all?"

A half smile curves her lips but it does not reach her eyes. "What else would there be?"

I am not buying her nonchalant act but I know prying information out of Lovely until she is good and ready is next to impossible. I play along though. "Your new fling too much for you to handle?"

Though I have not seen her with anyone new but with Lovely you never know.

"Girl, please. The day I find some to keep up with me is the day I get married."

Spoken like a true commitment phobe.

We laugh.

Stuffing the last of the cake into my mouth, I rise and say, "Time's a wastin'. Let's go make us some dough."

Lovely rises with a mock sigh and replies, "God, you're such a taskmaster."

I throw a grin her way. "And don't you forget it."

****

The day is almost at an end and I ache in places better left unmentioned. The high of the success of the day makes it impossible to keep a smile off my face though. Only a handful out of the hundred plus guests linger and the staff and I are busy packing up.

A crash makes me look in the direction of the kitchen and I see Lovely standing there, a broken dish at her feet and her face ashen. I look to where her horrified gaze is directed and do a double take.

Tall with dark hair falling into his eyes, the stranger is sex on a stick with extra sprinkles on top and he looks just as shell shocked before his lips curve into a predatory smile.

I look back in Lovely's direction to see only the tips of blue streaked blonde hair disappearing into the kitchen. I hurry after her, glad to see one of the waiters already cleaning up the mess.

The noise makes it easy to locate Lovely. She is placing cooking utensils in their packing case with more force than necessary. The rest of the kitchen staff give her a wide birth and send me worried looks.

I put my hands on hers and she stops. They're trembling. "Are you alright? Who the hell is that?"

She keeps her back toward me and says, "He's... he's no one."

The lie is obvious but quiet tremor in her voice worries me more than anything. From the beginning of our friendship Lovely has been a pillar of strength with a smart mouth that turns most people off. The fact that her reply was not snappy or sarcastic is a dead giveaway to her mental state. "Lovely, come on. What's the matter?"

"I said he's no one. Let it go." She tries to shake off my grip.

Lovely is a very private person. Our friendship spanned four years and what little I know about her background leaves me with the impression of her rough childhood. Whenever I pushed for more, she becomes defensive and I back off.

I am not willing to this time. "Not until you tell me what's going on."

With a violent move she turns to me then. Unshed tears give her eyes a glazed look, highlighting the anger, pain and something I cannot identify in them. Something that places an ache in my chest.

Whatever she was going to say dies a quiet death as she looks over my shoulder and alerts me to the new occupant in the room.

He walks toward us with deliberate steps that remind me of a wild cat stalking its prey. The intensity of his gaze is electrifying yet terrifying even though the focus is not on me.

"No one, Lovely?" His voice is unexpected. Rough and slightly hoarse, totally at odds with his look of polished sophistication.

"That's right. No one."

I hear the Lovely I know and love then. Strong, independent and mocking.

"Are you going to tell these people how no one has been trying to track you down for the last week? Are you going to tell then I asked you to marry me and you ran away?" He tsks, "I never took you for a coward."

"Oh please. You're just feeling sorry for poor, damaged Lovely. When the woman you want, that society princess who says and does all the right things comes along, you'll thank me for turning down your silly offer."

"Thank you? So, you think you're doing me a favor? I love you, Lovely."

Her palm jerks in mine at those last words and the vulnerable woman I glimpsed at before is back, a tear escaping her control. "Oh, Jared. Don't do this."

"Do what? Want you? Need you? Love you? Too late, sweetheart."

He is so close now I can smell the heat coming off him. He takes Lovely's hand out of mine and pulls her closer. Their eyes locked, he wipes the tear away and cups the back of Lovely's head, saying, "I told you, my love, I don't give up until I get what I want. And that's you. It's always been you and I'll be damned if I let you get away from me again."

He kisses her.

The gesture is not rough or forceful yet there is no doubt everyone in that room feels the power of it. There is no resistance on Lovely's part. Her fingers clench the front to his suit as he molds her closer against him, their tongues mating with sensual abandon. The sight is explicit and far too arousing for me to stay unaffected.

I look away and clear my throat when it seems they have no intention of coming up for air.

"Come with me," he says

Lovely does not look away from him. "I have to go, Bri. I'll explain later."

"Are you sure?" While the scene is touching, I have no idea who this person who morphed my friend into someone unrecognizable is.

"Yes... I think so."

He wastes no time sweeping her out of here and all I can think is What just happened?

Lovely has a lot of explaining to do.

****

"I've never seen her like that before."

Yuri and I are sitting on the couch, the box of delivered pizza between us as I relate Lovely's romantic drama.

"You worried about her? I mean, this guy can be anyone."

I remember the look in the man's eyes, the power of it, and I know he would not hurt Lovely. At least not in a physical way. Experience has taught me that emotional wounds hurt far more than physical ones though. "I am a little. I'll call her tomorrow to make sure she's okay."

He nods, indicating the last slice of pie and I shake my head. I am stuffed.

"Anything else happen today?" he asks, biting into it.

He licks some sauce off his bottom lip and reflexively I mimick the action, barely stopping myself from leaning across the space separating us. His eyes catch mine and I immediately look down, suddenly finding the tiny hearts on my lounge pants very interesting. "My mother called to show off her new boyfriend."

"Ah."

That's all I needed to say. Yuri is well aware of the history between my mother and I, and my feelings regarding her.

He stands, picking up the empty box and I follow suit with our dirty dishes. We share the clean-up chore before I head back to the living room to retrieve the night's movie.

"What did you get?" Yuri asks me as he prepares popcorn.

"Don't worry. It's not a chick flick," I reassured. "I have never heard of this movie but the guy at the counter said it's a really good action thriller. Something about a cop going rouge to save his former lover from a criminal mastermind."

"Oh, thank God," Yuri sighs, emerging from the kitchen with a larger bowl, a packet of my favorite bite size candies and two bottles of water.

With a roll of my eyes, I grab the DVD from my purse and place it in the player. Lights dimmed, Yuri places the treats nearby and drops his weight next to me.

The opening credits begin and the light flashes across the plane of Yuri's face. He'd changed out of his jeans and shirt and now wore a pair of plain shorts and a faded polo. He props his feet on the center table. Next to them, mine look small and dainty. The light pressure of his arm around my shoulder pulls me closer. Curling my feet beneath me, I snuggle against his side and sigh happily.

The Fridays we spend like this are a treasure to me. The companionship and easy conversation. Smelling Yuri's unique scent. Feeling the warmth and security of his body. On movie Fridays, his is all mine and though I spend the hours burning with want, I am content in a way I cannot achieve at any other time.

The movie begins with action right off the bat. Bullets and kicks fly with staged accuracy. The hero, a kid on the wrong side of the law turned cop, is Hollywood handsome with perfectly disheveled blond hair and the heroine is a modern-day independent woman with a tiny waist and a penchant for finding trouble.

I yawn and distantly feel something stroke my hair.

I wake with a start, not sure what woke me. The hand on my back does a soothing motion and I opened my eyes slowly. The television comes into focus and instantly I am slammed with desire so strong my heart skips a beat only to go into hyper speed.

The hero holds the heroine against an elevator cage, her hands above her head. She is already stripped down to her skimpy black underwear. He kneels before her and nuzzles her through the cloth, the contrast of his fully clothed body adding to the heat of the scene.

"Oh, Christian," she moans, widening her stance. "Love me like you used to."

"I want to give you softness, Margo. You deserve better than a quick fuck in an elevator. You deserve candle light and flowers. You deserve better than me." The words are uttered against her skin.

The Latina beauty brings her hands down slowly. Her gaze is at once powerful persuasion and innocent longing. She cups his face and makes him look up at her. "I have had candlelight and flowers from men who see nothing but a meal ticket and pretty face. But when I'm with you, I'm more than that. You see the whole me and I see the whole you. That's what I deserve. It's what I want."

There is a moment of silence as they search each other's eyes.

"There is no turning back," Christian says.

Margo smiles. "I know."

He takes her hands and stands.

What follows is the hottest sex scene I've ever witnessed outside my imagination on the nights my body yearns for something dark and undefinable.

He cages her against the metal enclosure, his hand on either side of her head. The kiss is carnal delight, wet and rough. Their tongues wage a sensual war, advancing and retreating in a way that copies a more basic action.

The thong is shoved to the side and Christian's finger penetrates Margo's moist heat. She breaks their kiss with a soft gasp and thrusts her hips against his fingers, whimpering incoherent words. His knuckle taps her clit and it is not long before her eyes get that glazed look and she spasms around his fingers. His hand glistens with her juices.

He brings his wet hand to her mouth and she sucks his fingers clean, her tongue twirling around the digit. The dazed look disappears, replaced by one that speaks of a woman on the hunt, fully aware of all the power she holds over the man who stands so much larger than she. She undoes his pants and his cock, ribbed and dripping, is revealed. Hooking her leg on his hip, she places him at her entrance. "Fuck me, Christian."