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Two seconds later, she slipped her hand under the waistband of both shorts and boxers and firmly held onto his full length.
Boyd’s groan was loud, penetrated deep into her eardrums. He moved his palms to her shoulders and held firm. His fingers dug into her flesh as she dragged her nails down his shaft, over the velvety soft tip, and underneath—to the most sensitive part on his body.
Boyd closed his eyes, flaring his nostrils. His left hand, however, dropped to his shorts to stop her actions. He grabbed her wrist, pulled her hand from his shorts, and with long easy strides hurriedly moved them to his desk in the corner of the room.
A quick sweep of hand, Boyd removed the remaining pencil jar and stapler to the floor. He then turned her so she could sit down on the desk with his legs placed inside her parted thighs. He let go of her wrist, shimmied out of his shorts and boxers, and literally slammed his thickened shaft into her wetted opening as hard as he could.
Sara took the full length of him in one fell swoop. Her mouth clamped shut to hold in her gasp. Yet the urge to bite her lip overshadowed all else.
The violent action would have torn a less experienced woman, had she not been ready for his massive size. Luckily, she’d been wetted beforehand; else, this would have been painful, almost punishing. Was that it? He was punishing her for not agreeing to any taping?
They’d never gone at it this hard, or this quick, without a lot more foreplay and a near ton of conversation to take up most of their day. Boyd was changing things up. He usually pleased her first. There would always be the apprehension of both caught in the act, the tentative need always insatiable. The anticipation when coupled with lust near unstoppable to most having an affair.
Sara never made Boyd wait for her until ready. She was always ready for this man. How could she not be? He was sufficient in the size department, quite skilled in the seduction department, had all the right muscles in all the right places. He smelled great, looked great, and was an awesome conversationalist. An accomplished artist, to boot, there wasn’t a single thing wrong about him.
Other than the wedding ring on his finger.
Sara did him a favor. Boyd returned the favor by making adultery worth her time. Therefore, it surprised her he would want to change all that.
His hands moved to her hips as each thrust came harder and faster, more urgent, and filled with more regret. Another hard, deeper, penetrating thrust caused Sara’s gasp to come out unchecked. A near slam into her slippery vaginal tract had her biting down on her lower lip.
As her nails dug into his lower back and her legs remained wrapped around his waist, the friction of her ass a little painful on the mahogany desk, she felt the intensity build inside him. The tremble of male power held back for as long as possible. The violent crash of desire set against the want.
The war overcame by the simple act of sex.
Boyd spilled inside of her without apology. He pulled the length of his cock halfway out with precise movements, then fully out of her tract, and five seconds later, the reddened tip of his incredibly large cock left her body to drip any remaining fluids onto the polished floor.
He would share only a part of himself with her…but not all. Supposedly, emotional caring was listed under the category of not all.
Hard silver eyes then trapped hers. That hardness came out in the tone of his voice a half-second later; as he took a full step back, reached down to pull up his clothing, and took an even further step from her and his desk.
Sara remained seated on the man’s desk. For the first time since moving into the house next door, the first time since they’d kindled this relationship into a physical need so unstoppable, Sara felt cold.
Boyd wanted her with fervor over the last eight months. He’d said there was an undying need to have a woman with actual warmth in her body, in his arms. Lord knew his wife had no warmth. Still, Sara shivered. She felt sudden remorse.
She felt guilt.
How dared he have done this to her? Made her feel guilt. Guilt and remorse were the only two things she hadn’t felt for a full year of freedom.
Mecenna Jones hadn’t done anything to feel guilty about.
Sara had to get to the bottom of her concerns, posthaste. She asked him, with her tone as reassuring as she could get it down to, “What was this about, Darling?” The virility she found so alluring violently dissipated before her very eyes.
His mouth pinched tight to where tiny white lines appeared at the corners. His eyes were a mere fog of what they’d been when she’d entered his kitchen; then again, when he’d entered her. His large shoulders shrugged as if in answer, an actual opposite of blasé indifference to what came out of his mouth.
“I need you to go home, Mecenna.”
He never lied to her before, but this was a lie if ever heard.
Sara’s heart raced, complicated by the guilty feeling of caught doing something illegal. “I don’t understand.”
She slipped off the desk, slid off more than slipped off from all the sweat and semen pooled under her buttocks, to move toward her lover. Her teeth dug painfully into her lower lip while hoping to hide her shock to these words.
Go home? Now?
Boyd took another step back, severing every intention of mortal savior.
“Mecenna.”
Deep and strong, this one lone word chilled Sara to the marrow of her bone. She stopped dead in her tracks, stared at his face. She could see he was trying hard to find the words that would not come, explanations to the unbelievable. Of those things, neither came quickly or with any certainty.
Boyd took this moment to rub a hand over his face. He looked ill at ease, as if at any second his wife was about to come back, rush into this room—a man’s inner sanctuary—and catch the husband with his pants down and Sara quite naked, dripping of his sex.
Sara was always naked. This was what probably made life for the McCaryles’ so difficult—and a man’s wife’s fears compounded into daily action or vocal reprimand. Yet, if Iceberg hadn’t caught them before, Belinda surely was not about to now. Boyd’s physical body motion, the step back from temptation, said otherwise.
“Boyd?” Sara questioned, hoping the sudden coldness she felt in her veins would thaw. She needed this man in her life. She had only one good thing for the moment—only one real thing. Boyd was this real thing.
“No, Mecenna.” His large hand rose in her face. “I need you to go home now.”
Their coupling had been too hard, Sara too strung out, and her nerve endings too rushed. She needed answers, and those answers had to come from the one man who was trying almost desperately not to look at her face.
Fury filled her fast. “Why?” An easily asked word, at the worst possible moment in her life.
Boyd’s shadowed gaze told her more than any spoken words could, but he said the one thing she did not want to hear—ever—making it so damn real.
“My wife is pregnant, Mecenna.”
As his sentence sunk in, the blood started to pound angrily in her veins. As the blood pounded, making her heart skip a few beats, she went on the attack. Born from bad circumstances, Sara had earned her street-fight skills through blood, sweat, and tears. A crocked smile slid across her mouth, but it held no amusement, only heartache and shame.
Christ! Another two words she thought never to have felt—heartache and shame.
“How ever did you thaw apart Frigid’s legs long enough to get the witch pregnant?” slipped off a tongue that felt swollen.
Swollen…with guilt.
English language could suck when one dared to understand it…and guilt was right up there with Fuck!
****
Boyd did not comment on Mecenna calling Belinda a witch. His wife was. He knew it. Mecenna knew it. Every one of their neighbors knew it. Perhaps even Belinda knew it, using it to her advantage.
“It happened, and now I have to deal with it,” he said, turning away and shoving his hands into his pockets.
No way was he to tel
l Mecenna his wife had caught him in the act of staring at a flawless form—through binoculars. Or, that every waking moment he could not get his lovely neighbor out of his thoughts. He wasn’t the only one who enjoyed Mecenna’s nudity at all hours of the day. There were others. But none had sampled her in a purely physical way, and none had been caught in the act while masturbating.
Out of all the men on this beach, they considered him the lucky one. The sampling had turned into a complicated affair, and those complications escalated into irreparable.
Mecenna had been on the beach, she’d moved from it to take a moonlight swim, perhaps to torture him for having invited guests over that day instead of their usual clandestine meeting. In his defense, with hopes not to have any need to explain his actions or the binoculars, he’d taken Iceberg to bed right after the impromptu party. He’d smoothed out any ruffled feathers his wife had gotten from the masturbating incident by having sex with her.
He hadn’t made love to Belinda that night. He’d made love to an image stuck in his thoughts while over his cold, unfeeling wife’s body and his cock shoved into her even colder track.
Christ! At times, he felt like a freeloader inside this possessed, loveless home. His wife paid the bills and put food into his mouth. She made certain he could stay home to paint and write. Therefore, whenever the urgent feeling for sex came over him, as it did any man, he would find Mecenna, and then come into her. In a way, having Mecenna evened things out; put some perspective into the disaster of being married.
The unwanted pregnancy just happened. He never meant for it to happen, but it had. Belinda wasn’t happy about it. She’d threatened retaliation by way of making his existence truly miserable.
But wasn’t it miserable enough, married to a witch?
Boyd was furious over the meaningful accident. It put his plans and future at the doors of Hell. Now Mecenna was going to hate him from this moment forward. He could see this in the incredible blue eyes staring at his face, and more clearly by her rigid posture. One fucked up moment of mortal weakness to pay an eternal price of damnation, and he was going to lose the best thing ever happening to him.
He turned from her stare, unable to accept the loss.
Why was it he couldn’t stop wanting her…when he knew he had to let her go?
****
Sara had no pockets to shove in her hands. She stood before the man in the buff. Now? Behind his back, since he’d turned on her—mentally and physically. Yet, if a glare lethal, Boyd McCarlye would be six feet under and rotting. With a huge mountain of hurt and regret to bury him there, keeping him there.
“It happened?” she snapped.
Her lover turned swiftly to face her, his smile hovered on the edge of laughter.
Boyd’s silver eyes then hardened until confidant she got the message of it being something unplanned and unexpected. “Yes, Mecenna. It just happened. This does tend to occur when one sleeps with one’s wife.”
Sara took a sudden step forward and slapped him as hard as she could. The red welts on his cheek were clearly visible within a matter of seconds.
“Then what the hell was this for?” Meaning, why had he fucked her on top of the desk, only to ask her to leave?
“This isn’t going to change things between us, Mecenna,” he offered. A smug dare put in his eyes to cause another unwarranted reaction inside her. A reaction he’d likely hadn’t put much thought toward.
“Like hell it’s not!” she clipped back.
Sara couldn’t properly weigh any decision in her head right now. She felt dizzy—and vulnerable. And used. Well, more used than she’d been using him these last eight months.
She started to move forward, walk away from this room, get air to breathe, but Boyd’s left hand snaked out and he grabbed her wrist to stall her hasty exit.
“Don’t leave me like this. We have to talk about this, Mecenna. We always talk…and right now I need that more than anything.”
Sara yanked her arm free of his grasp.
Good God! Was he fucking kidding?
“No. We do not have to talk.” And she meant this with every fiber of her being. She’d put her hand in the fire, played the fool, but now it was time to get that hand out before it turned to ash.
“I know you’re angry with me,” he said.
“Damn straight I’m angry…”
“But this is not the way today was supposed to be,” he reasoned.
Sara’s brow rose in sharp contrast to her thoughts. “Oh, really? Then what was it supposed to be like—for you? Perfect? Same as always? Settled—once the bomb was dropped?” She stalled her thoughts before she forcibly added, “Easy?”
For it was, without a doubt, the hardest single word ever to have come out of her mouth.
Easy, this was not.
Painful? Hell, yes!
Boyd couldn’t meet her eyes, sinking the knife of regret so much deeper into her hide.
“This is not easy for me, Mecenna.” A sheepish gaze turned her way. “It’s why I asked you to make a tape. I want a permanent memory. I can’t have us permanent right now so I have to settle for you in the deepest, darkest hours of my night, with a video tape and a remote control to remember your face.”
For one brief second, she’d almost fallen for his pitiful sympathy act. Then it passed. “You sound as if this is over between us.”
She knew it was. She just needed him to say it.
“I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, Mecenna…”
“Well, I have. I have the right.”
Boyd’s intake of breath and sudden flare of the nostrils told her she was more than wrong about having any rights when inside her married lover’s home.
In retrospect, Sara highly doubted he’d thought through what would happen to them when he finally told her the truth. But to do so after such a hard and quick fuck…a near violent fuck, at that? Well, that was just cruel on his part. Much crueler than anything his wife could have ever done to her behind his back.
Sara’s eyes, drowning with unshed tears, rose to his. Her fury, filled beyond the level of comprehension, rose to the top of the scorned woman scale. Her guilt became unchecked. And the worst of it? Boyd McCarlye had made her feel mistrust again.
“I hope you and Iceberg are happy with each other because once I walk out that door…” Her trembling finger pointed to the office door. “I’m not coming back.”
It was almost comical to watch his eyes load up with shock.
Almost.
Sara knew she was little more than an afternoon whore the instant she stepped across the threshold of his patio door. Well, whore she would be no more.
Sara Rogan, head held high, walked out of Boyd’s McCarlye’s studio, and out of the man’s life. A few weeks later she found out she was pregnant.
Chapter Three
“You can’t keep doing this to yourself, Mecenna,” Lace stated firmly.
Sara glared at the voluptuous redhead.
“I mean it,” Lace quibbled.
Sara turned her glare off and gave Lace a wry smile. This angered her friend all the more.
“Damnit Mecenna!”
“Damnit Lace,” she mocked. She could do whatever she pleased, and how dared anyone have thought otherwise, or said otherwise.
New life, one full year put behind her after the Boyd fiasco, new chapter to an old book; thankfully, Sara’s pregnancy lasted only three months. A first-term miscarriage suffered through; any longer, and she would not be doing what she was today: total push into total exhaustion, until she perfected this.
Belinda McCarlye’s pregnancy lasted long enough to bring a squalling, bouncing Baby Boyd into the world. Of course, they would name the brat Boyd. A knife pick to the heart would’ve hurt far less, but Sara suspected the man had meant to hurt her.
She’d moved from the beach house a month after the infant’s birth. She couldn’t stand watching Boyd pretend he was happy when she was so obviously miserable with that happiness.
Belinda McCarlye might have had a little something to do with the shameful offers; regrettably, Sara did not have concrete evidence to use as proof that her real estate agent was being bribed. She had only twenty-thousand dollars left of her lottery winnings. The money had to last.
But twenty-thousand dollars was one lousy year of life to live. She needed more to keep going. She took this job as a means to separate the lottery money from the real money.
Two nights a week, Sara would tend bar in the club. The other two, she ran a naturist class from the back of a tattoo parlor. The other three…she spent trying as hard as she could to accomplish this without breaking her neck.
“You’re doing it all wrong,” Lace said.
The sultry Lace stepped onto the stage, jumped onto the second pole and showed a determined Sara exactly how it should be done. Lace could wrap her leg around the pole and stick out her left leg, let go of both her hands from the pole, bend over backwards, and jut out her breasts in a way to make them swell, enticing the customers. All of this, if done right, was achieved within a matter of seconds.
Unfortunately, it took far too much concentration on Sara’s part to get her body past the act of left leg out. The breast part was easy. She hadn’t the need to stick them out. They were large enough and young enough; but she had to get her left leg out and both hands off the pole, otherwise she would slip to the floor and look foolish. No one would pay for a pole dance if the dancer couldn’t keep her ass off the floor.
Sara, frustrated, slid off the pole, planted both bare feet firmly onto the floor, and sighed. Lace was already into another move, making it look so damn easy.
Sara wanted to strangle the woman. Why it was some were better at gaining success than others? The sinful smile Lace sent back at Sara did not help matters.