by Lea Bronsen
She allowed herself the pleasure of conjuring up the intense lust building between her thighs when Micaela actually pinned her against the closet, and the gasp she had barely stifled.
Brian frowned. “But weren’t you supposed to give them clothes?”
Ah. Good point.
She paused while inwardly following the trail of her lie. Like a professional cheater, she had a good reply. “Yes, I told him to get them in your closet. But while choosing them, he wanted to wear the robe to be warm. That’s when the lights went out.” Again, she applauded her ingenuity.
Of course, she hated lying to her husband; she loved him more than any person she’d met and would be utterly lost if he left her. She could only hope Micaela would never mention their little interlude. Knowing the man’s boldness, though, anything could happen.
Brian nodded, the movement making the light dance on the floor and the silhouettes of his chin and nose move on his face. “Well, that’s good. I wouldn’t want him to get any ideas.”
“Oh, he won’t, I can assure you.”
“Yeah, how is that?”
Merde. A new rush went through her, this time of fear, and she cursed her big mouth. What reason to tell him? He had never shared her tolerance toward homosexuality and, like Todd, she suspected he would kick the two bicyclists out of the house as soon as he learned they were gay.
She filled her lungs with humid, fungus-scented air and exhaled, then shrugged and crossed her arms. “He’s just not looking at me, simple as that. He’s not interested. In fact, he’s being quite impolite.”
Oh, another lie. They seemed to exit her mouth with incredible ease today. She loathed these treacherous words, but excused them with the need to deter Brian’s suspicion at all cost, even if that meant soiling the young man’s reputation.
“Hmm.” Brian’s low voice carried a colder tone. “Does that also apply to the guy you chatted with a few minutes ago, the one who disappeared as soon as I caught you together?”
Damn, will you never relent?
Disheartened, she uncrossed her arms.
Before she could collect her thoughts and produce another half-coherent lie, he stepped toward her, bumping his large chest into hers, and pushed her back against the shelf. She winced as hard wood grazed her spine, pain spreading like tiny electric shocks.
Yet the contact brought forth the sex-infused memory of a very naked Micaela caging her in the same way last night and, for some strange reason, heat rushed to her lower stomach. Gasping, she put her hands behind her, clutching the rough wood of a shelf for balance.
Brian came closer, towering over her until every muscle on the front of his body pressed against hers, flattening her breasts. He stood so near, she could no longer discern his pupils. His chest heaved against hers.
A sudden click—a brutal, sickening sound in such a desolate place—and the light went out, plunging them in perfect blackness. He lifted his arm and reached behind her. A metallic clatter on wood told her he’d put the flashlight on the shelf.
She shuddered. For the first time in their two-year relationship, she considered her husband a possible threat and regretted being alone with him.
“You know….” His menacing voice filled the eerie silence. He moved his face to the side of her head and whispered into her ear. “I can’t help thinking your odd behavior in bed yesterday has something to do with this.”
Oh, fuck. Everything was coming back at her. One by one, he pointed out irregularities and uncovered holes in her explanations. He must have given this some serious thought.
She swallowed, listened to her own breathing. Sweat slid along her flanks, cold as rain. The inability to see her husband caused the hair on her neck to stand, as if the spookiest ghost appeared before her.
Anne shook her head. “Brian, sweetheart, you wanna talk about last night? Honestly, I don’t know what came over me. I think I just wanted a little more—I don’t know—diversity?”
“Because what I do to you isn’t enough? Is that it?” He cupped her cheeks in his warm hands before moving to her ears and squeezing, pressing the back of her neck against another shelf. Her temples heated.
She didn’t know what to say, and feared where he was going. Being in a cold, humid, and darkened cellar didn’t seem a good moment to discuss the lack of variety in their sex life.
“Anne, I love you more than anything.” Pressing his hips against her, he rubbed his obvious arousal back and forth against her thighs.
Oh God. The movement lit a fire in her belly. She couldn’t believe he was handling her in such a rough manner, but at the same time, it was quite exciting.
“I’d give my life for you.” With one hand entwined in her hair, he yanked her head until it rested atop the shelf, exposing her throat. While a thousand tiny needles in her scalp made her whine, his warm breath pulsed against her bare skin. “Don’t you know that?”
“I do.”
With the other hand, he unbuttoned her blouse between their chests, snuck warm fingers beneath, and found her breast inside the bra.
She gasped at the intrusion.
“How do you want me to prove that?” He pinched the sensitive nipple, and a sharp, electrical rush of pain spread through her breast. “Marrying you wasn’t enough?”
Wanting to tolerate the hurt, she clenched her teeth.
He obviously thought roughness would arouse her. Well, she was tired of his oh-so-careful, gentlemanly lovemaking and did indeed crave a little harder handling. It could be the moment she had waited for.
“No, you want excitement.”
Yes.
His breathing picked up, as did the fondling of her breast and the moves of his erection between her thighs, only separated by their clothes. “Excitement.” His voice was loud in her ear. His moustache tickled the skin of her throat as he leaned forward, hot breaths leaving dampness before he placed his sharp teeth on the sensitive tissue and bit.
She yelped, jerked sideways, but his fingers entangled in her hair held her in place.
“Do you know what would happen to me if I lost you?” His voice cracked.
For a second, a cruel rush of sorrow filled her chest.
Yes, I know what that would feel like. I love you, too, Brian.
He released her hair. His strong hands moved to her ass cheeks, cupped them, and with perfect ease, lifted her.
She squealed, helpless to the shelf scraping her spine. Unbalanced, blind, she flapped her arms in the dark before leaning forward and clutching Brian’s shoulders.
With a few adjustments, he positioned the hard bulge in his pants into the crevice of her inner thighs, pressing it against her panties. So ready.
Oh God. The intimate touch made her inner muscles clench with lust.
Did he want to fuck her here? Standing?
“I’ll do anything to keep you.” He buried his face in her cleavage with a choked, guttural sound, his moustache prickling the skin between her breasts.
She didn’t know what to say, could only fight back the warm tears threatening to fill her eyes.
He moved his face in front of hers, quick breaths brushing her lips.
Thank God I can’t see your eyes and what they’re telling me.
“You want to be fucked hard and fast, Anne,” he muttered through gritted teeth, “I’ll fuck you hard and fast.” With no further warning, he dropped her to the floor.
She welcomed the cement underneath her feet and let her hands slide down from his shoulders, grazing the metal buttons of his shirt pockets.
He grabbed her arms, spun her around, and pushed her against the wooden shelves. One met the front of her thighs, another dug into her lower ribs, and the third—on which sat the cartons she brought earlier—provided support for her head.
Tiny, sour-smelling dust particles snuck into her nostrils as she rested her chin atop the solid wood, and she barely held back a sneeze. Fumbling with her hands, she found two vertical pillars on both sides of the shelf and clutched them
for balance.
Relentless, Brian brought his hands to her hips, stroking her feminine curves, then lifted her skirt to her waist. He pulled at the lace band of her panties until the fabric slid down her legs. He groaned as he moved a couple of cold, meaty fingers into her wetness and probed around, nails scratching her inner walls.
She gasped from the sudden violation, her cunt gripping his fingers as if welcoming his cock.
“This is what you want, isn’t it?” His face pressed into her back. “You slut.”
Oh, it was the first time he’d said that word.
He removed the fingers, stepped back a little, and the zzzzip of his pants sounded behind her. “My own slut.”
Raw excitement caused her to leak desire for him.
Strong hands grabbed her hips, forcing her back to arch and her ass to point backward. “My own beautiful sweetie.”
Yes.
He grunted and held her in position while poking his hard cock against her entrance. The tip felt wet, his seminal fluid mixing with her juices. He moved a hand to her abdomen and pulled her closer with quick thrusts of his hips until the large erection, little by little, inched inside her.
She closed her eyes in surrender and rested on the shelf. The rough wood was the only secure, stable thing in her life at this moment, the only thing she could trust would stay.
With small grunts, he pulled out, and in again, each time slamming her ribs against the second shelf. She wanted to build her release together with him, but her arousal contrasted with growing sadness. “I love you, Anne.” His fast, gliding movements made her tunnel walls heat. Ragged breaths and wet, sucking sounds filled the small cellar. “Don’t you see? Don’t you know?”
Yes, I do. She wanted to cry, wanted to apologize, but found no words. Instead, she clutched the wood pillars so tightly, she imagined her knuckles turning white and ground her teeth. Tears snuck out between her closed lids.
Brian’s groans increased with the speed of his thrusts then he seized up behind her with a cry. Hips jerking, he emptied his seed and dug his fingers into her stomach.
“My beautiful!” He buried his face into her back again and sobbed. “My own beautiful baby!”
Chapter Seven
Silence. Except for Anne’s faint breaths, each drawing fine dust particles into her lungs. Her pulse pounded in her throat, and her head spun. Brian had walked out a moment ago, slamming the door behind him. But in the total cellar blackness, minutes seemed like hours.
Reeling from the shock of the emotionally wrought fuck, she waited another beat in the dark, trembling, before releasing her hold on the pillars.
The water heater clicked in a corner, and upstairs, shoes clonked on the living room floor.
She lifted her chin from the rough wood and turned, leaning back against the hard shelves, and gritted her teeth until her jaw ached. The surreal situation with the power cut and the horny bicyclists weighed on her more than was healthy, too. She didn’t know what to make of anything. In less than twenty-four hours, her safe little world had turned upside down.
Warm semen slid down the insides of her thighs, chilling as cold cellar air crept up under her skirt. The still-sane part of her brain hoped Brian’s sperm would serve something this time. She drew up her panties and slumped to the dusty cement floor, the back of her head resting against a pillar. She pulled her knees and ass up and imagined the semen gliding back in. She didn’t care if the baby was conceived during emotional turmoil. The most important thing was, she wanted a child.
Something climbed up her bare ankle. Imagining a furry, long-legged spider, she screamed, slapped her skin, and scrambled to her feet. Her grazing shoe soles on the dusty cement filled the eerie silence, adding to her angst.
Merde! She hated this, hated everything. Being blinded by darkness, corrupted by a gorgeous stranger, suspected of marital deceit by her husband, and now attacked by a miniature creep!
Pulse pounding in her ears, she spun and reached out in the dark for the shelf. She met a flat, wooden surface and felt along its surface, trying to block out the images of a spider family waiting to eat her alive. Beneath her palm she found a cold cylinder shape and picked it up, turning the flashlight on.
Relief washed over her as the cellar came to life. She swept the cement floor with light, but found no eight-legged beast. She double-checked her bare legs. No traces of blood.
She wiped dust off the back of her skirt, pointed the flashlight ahead to the stone stairs, and climbed up to the kitchen.
Strategically placed candles lit the small room, throwing shadows on the furniture and walls and turning every object into dancing silhouettes. She switched the flashlight off. The power had not returned, but warmth from the candles brushed her bare forearms, enveloping her.
Voices drifted from the living room, and she peeked through the door. Brian stood in front of the main entrance, talking to the French family, dressed in raincoats. A suitcase and large bags sat on the floor.
Micaela’s coughing resonated in the open space, interrupting their talk. The children stared in his direction.
She had promised Todd aspirin. Where was he? And what else had she been doing before she went to the cellar? She turned and tried to collect her thoughts.
Ah, the food.
She opened the fridge, emptied its remaining contents—cheeses, ham, eggs, and vegetables—into a picnic basket, and went back to the cold cellar, lighting the familiar black void with the flashlight. Such an easy task, now. Funny how complicated life could be at certain times and then surprisingly simple at others.
She placed the basket atop a shelf and returned to the stairs.
When she reappeared in the kitchen, Todd stood in front of the stove, cross-armed, staring at a boiling kettle. Yellow candlelight danced on his thoughtful face as he turned to her, features drawn.
“Hey.” She gave him an encouraging smile. He had more on his plate than she did.
“Hey. I’m making a cup of tea for Micaela. He hasn’t eaten anything since last night.”
She nodded, closed the cellar door, and clicked off the flashlight. “Of course, make yourself at home. How is he?”
“Not well. He has a fever.” Worry flickered in his deep-emerald eyes.
“I’m going to get you the aspirin from upstairs.”
Shuffling steps sounded behind her, and Anne jumped. She was on edge and dreaded facing Brian again.
Brian entered the kitchen and looked between her and Todd with a placid face, hazel eyes devoid of emotion.
Anne sucked in a breath. Hurt and shame lurked, threatening to burst out.
He nodded to Todd. “Your friend’s pretty sick.” His low voice sounded constricted.
“Yeah. I hope he hasn’t caught pneumonia.”
Brian turned to her, eyes still expressionless. “Anne, why don’t you get him some medicine.”
“Yes.” With an inward sigh of relief—glad she was off the hook and could leave—she made for the door.
He stretched out an arm and stopped her, blocking the exit.
Her heart leapt. What did he want?
“By the way, the French family is leaving. They’ve had enough of the bad weather and want to go south.” He nodded to Todd. “That means a room is available for you and your friend. If you intend to stay.”
Calmness washed through her. For a second, she’d believed he would bring up what happened in the cellar and scold her in public. But he’s not going to make a scene.
“That’s great!” Todd smiled. “It wouldn’t be wise to move on now that Micaela is sick.”
“But I have only one room for the both of you. The other tenants are staying a while longer. I’m not sure how many days, but—”
“That’s fine. Thanks.”
“It’s fifty euro a night.”
“Sure, no prob.” Todd broadened his smile. Probably one less stone for him to carry.
An ill loved one was so heartbreaking. In the past two and a half years, Papa ha
d progressively suffered from Alzheimer’s, losing memory, messing things around in the house, and failing to recognize his own family. Maman’s decision to move into an apartment in town was the only wise thing to do, and though she never told Anne much about her feelings, watching her beloved husband reach the end stage of life in such a condition must be extremely painful.
I pray Brian and I never have to go through that.
Brian turned to her. “Would you mind changing their bed sheets?”
“Not at all. I’m on my way.” She exited the kitchen.
Her heartbeat slowed. Flashlight in hand, she went up the creaking stairs to the landing. Micaela’s hoarse cough sounded in the living room behind her, and she paused to listen, hand on the paneled wall, wondering what she could do to help. Not much, yet.
Brandishing the flashlight, she walked past the tenant rooms and entered her empty bedroom. Among a variety of medical supplies in a cupboard, she found a small box of licorice pastilles and bottles of soluble aspirin, vitamin C, and cough mixture.
She grabbed a pile of clean sheets from the bigger closet—the one against which Micaela had pinned her—and carried everything to the vacant tenant room down the hall.
The door was unlocked. She put the sheets and medicine on a small desk in the corner. The room contained a double bed with ruffled sheets, a small table on each side, and a chair. The distinct smell from the previous tenants lingered. Dim light peeked in from two windows overlooking the street. Rain clattered on the glass panes, and playful gusts of wind made the hinges shake.
She opened a window to let in fresh air. Her hair blew back and danced around. Horizontal raindrops whipped her face, but she welcomed each cold sting as if it could wash away her confusion. Chains of heavy black clouds moved from one side of the village to the other, weighing on the neighboring buildings before being replaced with new clouds. Thunder raged like some monster in the distance, threatening to crack open the skies.
The door handle clanked behind her. She froze then turned with her heart in her throat.