Dressed only in Trey’s oversized gray T-shirt, Brittany crept from his bedroom. His seed was leaking from her and she needed a shower to wash away the burgeoning shame left in the wake of the stunning pleasure he’d given her. He’d started out kind and loving and ended hot and uncontrolled, his passion as explosive as he was.
Yet he was still a man, with a man’s base nature, spilling himself inside her until she overflowed. She wasn’t sure why she felt resentment toward him. He’d given her what she’d asked for—his sex in her mouth, his body joined with hers, his release inside of her.
She reached the bathroom, while imaginary shadows leered at her. Memories she couldn’t seem to overcome swirled in her mind and her scalp throbbed. Trey had used her hair to anchor her head, ruining her enjoyment of feeling his pulsing erection in her mouth.
Flipping on the bathroom light, she closed the door, locked it then leaned morosely against it. Trey’s trousers hung on a door hook and she brushed her cheek against the soft material. She felt so uncertain and lost, unsure of where she wanted to go or what she wanted to do when she got there. It amazed her she still wanted Trey, wanted to crawl back into bed with him, awaken him and have him make love to her all over again.
She propelled herself off the door and kicked her heap of clothes she’d left there earlier, then turned to the sink. After brushing her teeth and washing her face, she pulled off the T-shirt and looked in the mirror on the medicine cabinet above the sink. Her mouth was swollen but other than that she was still Brittany. Brittany with the sad, haunted eyes and the long, hated hair. A couple of hours had passed and she’d fallen asleep in the aftermath of their lovemaking, Trey’s deep, even breaths lulling her to her own rest, but a hint of a flush still colored her cheeks.
She’d seduced Trey. She’d also hinted she’d be satisfied with a physical relationship and nothing more. If others thought she was Trey’s whore, what did Trey think of her? Not only hadn’t he promised her anything but he hadn’t even wanted to make love to her. She’d worn him down until he’d given in.
Tears filled her eyes and watery accusation reflected from the mirror. What a hypocrite, accusing Karl of forcing her when she’d all but backed Trey into a corner and forced him.
There was no reason to cry now, she thought with bitterness, hating herself. The damage was already done. Trey would awaken, get ready for work and pretend their lovemaking never happened. After all, he hadn’t wanted it to occur in the first place.
How shameful. She couldn’t fathom her split personality, wanting and needing Trey yet feeling so ashamed for doing so.
And she had much to be ashamed of. The tang of his pleasure on her tongue made her want to taste all of him. She’d enjoyed his words and they’d stoked her desire. The ruthless pounding had made her ache to have him inside her deeper. He’d made her feel so cherished, as if she were his and he’d always take care of her and protect her. Her nipples still tingled from where his mouth had been on them. Soreness prickled between her legs but she felt sated, even as a need for Trey still lingered.
Woodenly, she raised her hands to her hair. As if she were replaying a DVD, she saw Karl twisting and pulling and yanking, followed directly by the image of Trey driving into her mouth, his hands buried into her hair.
Her hair was a daily reminder of all that had happened to her. Long, dark and thick, it blanketed her shoulders and back. At one time, it had been her pride and joy. The other girls on the cheerleading squad wanted their hair the same way.
Oh, God.
Swiping at her cheeks with the backs of her hands, she pulled open the drawer where she’d stashed her comb, brush, hair ornaments, small sewing kit and scissors.
She only wanted her life back. She was no longer even sure if Karl was a criminal. She’d seduced Trey. Maybe she’d seduced Karl too, somehow conveying the impression she wanted to have sex with him. Even then, she’d been on a relentless quest to have Trey notice her. She could barely remember with whom she had flirted but Karl must’ve been one of the boys…men.
Whether she’d seduced Karl or he’d assaulted her was a moot point. She wanted to remove him from her thoughts and cut him out of her life. She never ever wanted any man’s fingers gripping her hair. Not that she’d allow any man but Trey to touch her. However, not even Trey could put his hands in her hair. It made her feel too helpless.
Hours before she’d been drunk with her feminine power; now she felt powerless. Helpless. She no longer knew where seduction ended and coercion began. The lines in her head were so blurred. She hadn’t wanted Karl so he’d taken what he desired. Trey hadn’t wanted her but had given her what she most craved. To move on, she needed to stop blaming and hating Karl. She needed to look at the entire situation from his viewpoint. Until then, he’d never once said a cross word to her.
She looked at herself in the mirror, shying away from the torment in her eyes. He’d hurt her and he’d been angry with her. Her hair had been loose and free, available, and he’d used it for everything it was worth.
Furious now, she grabbed a length of her hair and snipped it with the scissors, feeling the satisfying release as she cut it from her head. Once she started, she didn’t stop and minutes later, she no longer had a heavy mass down her back. Instead the image in the mirror reflected uneven spikes, not longer than two or three inches anywhere on her head.
She stared at her reflection again, expecting bone-deep contentment. Her mouth fell opened and she widened her eyes. Oh my god! Her hair! What had she done? A sob escaped and she turned away, stumbling to the shower and turning on a hot stream of water. Stepping under the spray, she allowed the water to wash away her tears, her grief and her confusion. She poured shampoo onto her hair and scrubbed her scalp until it hurt. While the conditioner clung to her hair, she soaped her body, washing away the evidence of Trey’s lovemaking just as Karl had made her wash away what he’d done to her.
She wasn’t sure how long she remained under the flow of water but the pounding on the bathroom door reached her through the sound of the running water and the closed shower curtain.
She turned off the water before grabbing a towel from the shelf above the toilet to wrap it around herself.
“Open the damn door! I need to take a leak,” Bryson yelled.
Her hair littered the floor, stuck to her pile of clothes, strands of it everywhere, and she needed to remove it before she let anyone in.
“Brittany!”
Bryson’s loud growl pulled her horrified stare away from the floor and she hurried forward, stepping on her lost hair, some of it attaching to her wet feet.
“Can’t you ever chill, man?”
Trey. Bryson’s yelling must have awakened him. What was Trey going to think when he saw her hair?
Frantically she looked at the door and then again at the floor.
“I need to take a piss,” Bryson responded coldly. “She can’t monopolize the bathroom. I’ve been home for forty-five minutes and she was in there when I arrived.”
“She’s a woman. Women take their time in the bathroom.”
Numbness settled into her body, her insides going cold. She’d cut off her hair.
“Brittany!” Bryson hollered, pounding on the door.
“Leave her alone,” Trey warned.
Drawing in a deep breath and hoping to curtail a fight between Trey and Bryson, she held her towel in place. Chill bumps rose on her wet skin but she hadn’t brought in a robe or any clean clothes. Shaking, she unlocked the door and pulled it opened, gaping at both of them but almost breaking down when she saw the shock and horror she felt reflected in their faces.
“What the hell?” Trey managed in a strangled voice.
“Aw, Brit.” Regret and despair replaced Bryson’s anger.
He reached out to touch her hair but she shrank back and his hand fell away. He shook his head, so much hurt in his features she could only stare at her brother as he voiced the obvious.
“You cut your hair.”
Trey’s inscrutable expression left her feeling even more vulnerable. She sniffled and Trey’s wide eyes met hers. He was shirtless, dressed only in his bike shorts. His chest heaved, the muscles clenching and unclenching with the anger vibrating through him.
“Fuck it all,” he said, low and furious.
She combed her fingers through her hair then pressed a hand to her belly, hoping to calm the churning pain. She took a step toward him but he turned away from her. He stalked back to his room and slammed the door behind him.
A silent tear slipping down her cheek, she bit her lip and waited for Bryson’s tirade. But rather than yell, he pulled her into his arms and hugged her, his tenderness surprising her. Bryson was known for a lot of things but gentler emotions weren’t on the list. He kissed the top of her damp head.
“I’m so, so sorry.” His voice shook.
She didn’t have to ask what he was sorry about. She’d told him the entire story last night so he must know that what she’d done to her hair had everything to do with what had happened to her.
For one moment, she clung to him, unsure what insanity was possessing her.
Bryson only wanted what was best for her and always had. But he couldn’t help her now. No one could. The damage had been done years ago and the more she tried to undo it, the worse things seemed to become.
He released her and she rushed past him, hurrying to the little guestroom where her suitcases remained, unpacked.