by Lea Bronsen
Micaela stood in the doorway smiling, wearing the same pullover and sweatpants as yesterday. He stepped in and closed the door. In the dim light, his pale face looked clammy and his dark eyes shone with sickness. Yet the straight, confident way he held himself revealed not only the stance of a dancer, but pride and inner strength. Beard stubble covered his handsome chin. He reeked of pure masculine hotness.
Chapter Eight
Pulse racing, Anne closed the window and faced Micaela with her hands clenched at her sides. She didn’t know what else to do with them. Nervousness and anticipation raced through her. They hadn’t been face to face since he’d approached her last night, naked and very aroused.
God. The memory sent sweet tingles to her inner thighs, and from the gleam in his eye, he seemed to be recalling the same sensual encounter.
Yet, she couldn’t help being pissed at him for trying to seduce her. Because she now knew he had a boyfriend—which meant he’d betrayed both Todd and her. His behavior ultimately was root to her immoral thoughts and Brian’s desperate reaction in the cellar. She could not let Micaela come close again. She could not slip.
He glanced from the unmade bed to the pile of folded sheets on the desk before slumping on the chair with a throaty sigh.
Anne bit her lower lip while searching for the right words to say. “How are you?”
He shrugged. Keeping his shiny black eyes locked on hers, he put a hand on his throat. “Sore.”
“Yes, I heard you cough.” She pointed to the bottles on the desk. “I brought you some medicine and pastilles for your throat.”
“Grazie.” He gave a weak nod, winced, and closed his eyes, as if in pain. In the next moment, he leaned forward to cough into his hands with his elbows on his knees. The coughing sounded like the barking of a big dog and shook his body. Long, black locks hung from his head like a curtain, jerking with each contortion.
Her stomach knotted. He might be a total stranger, but all that had happened last night inevitably connected them on some level. Which level, she wasn’t sure.
When the coughing subsided, he groaned and ran a hand along his flustered face, brushing aside a few hairs glued to his skin.
She took the box of pastilles on the table and went toward him, stopping a half-meter from his feet. Damp heat oozed from him. “Do you want a glass of cold water?”
He shrugged and clenched his teeth, as if speaking would be too painful.
“Cold water helps soothe the pain.” She opened the box. The sour-sweet scent of licorice rose to her nostrils.
Eyes feverish, he reached out a trembling palm.
She dropped the candy into it, careful to avoid physical contact—both due to the risk of contagion and because she didn’t want to know what it would feel like to touch his hot skin.
He put the pastille in his mouth and leaned back in the chair with his gaze fixed on her. Breathing deep, he sucked on the candy, but couldn’t seem to relax. Each intake of air caused his features to tighten. Tiny beads of sweat appeared all over his face and ran alongside his temples and bearded cheeks.
She closed the box and eyed him for a moment, trying to consider him as a patient and not an object of her fantasy. A difficult thing to achieve with the obvious tension between them and the way he stared into her eyes. At any moment, he could unbalance her.
She searched for ways to keep their interaction professional. Focusing on his sickness was the only thing that could take her mind off of his sensuality. What would help fight his fever?
She nodded to his pullover. “You should take off your clothes.” Her face heated. God, the words had come out too fast, too soon. She couldn’t believe her audacity. As he gave a small smile, she explained, “It’ll help bring your fever down.”
He swallowed, and winced. “Fever is good.” His voice sounded raspy.
“I know. A high fever can be useful on the first day of sickness. But I think—”
Her instincts told her to put a hand on his forehead like a mother examining a sick child. But she couldn’t. It was hard enough to stand in front of this stud and passively receive the warmth emanating from his body—and ignore the tease in his glowing eyes. Her impulses had proved treacherous lately, and she feared they would bring her straight into his arms.
Brian. Cold fear rushed through her. Remember Brian!
She took a deep breath, avoided Micaela’s stare, and tried to control her choking voice. “I think what you need now is to bring the fever down.” She had read about it in mommy magazines. When a child had a high fever, the best way to stabilize its body temperature was to remove all the clothes and keep only a thin cloth of cotton on.
He shrugged with a white-toothed grin before proceeding to remove his pullover. Once more, damp heat drifted to her with the smell of musk and sweat, though not an unpleasant one. She couldn’t help breathing in his manly scent and wanting to memorize it.
When he folded the sweater over the chair arm and straightened, she stifled a gasp of admiration. The man was better looking than any god from Greek mythology. Dim light shone on his tanned and perfectly sculpted torso. She could only gape and stare, transfixed. Blood pulsed in her temples.
Now was a good time to leave. She’d helped him and had no business staying. From the way her body reacted to him, the situation could quickly get out of control. But she was too weak.
His dark, seducing eyes held hers and seemed to scrutinize her reaction—before a new coughing fit forced him to lean between his knees again. Scorching barks filled the room. His torso jerked back and forth, thrashing his long hair around. He coughed so hard and so long she thought he would throw up, and she stood helpless before him.
When the coughing stopped, he drew ragged breaths, groaned, and rubbed his face.
Wanting to do something to help—maybe just put a palm on his shoulder to calm him—Anne stepped forward.
With a grunt, he shot his hands to the backs of her legs, behind her skirt, and pulled her toward him. She stumbled between his spread legs with a small cry, knees pressing against the edge of the chair. He buried his face in her lap, guttural moans drowned in her skirt.
She should have pushed him away but didn’t.
Face nestled against her, he lifted her skirt and stroked her naked thighs with hard hands, sculpting her muscles, heating the skin—probably not from sexual teasing, but need, as if rough handling could ease the pain in his throat and lungs.
He moved forward on the chair, and his hot crotch met her knees. Her inner thighs and stomach filled with such intense heat, she couldn’t move. Her corrupt body overruled every reasonable thought and willingly melted into his forceful embrace. She gasped as her traitorous pussy reacted, opening and wetting with lust.
Against her will, she reached down, found his head, and entwined trembling fingers in the sweaty black locks. She pulled at his hair, pressed him to her burning core. There was no stopping, no reasoning.
Micaela’s hot, quick breaths heated the fabric of her skirt. He moaned, and the rumble resonated inside her. His groin hardened against her knees, the erection evident. With one strong hand on her butt, he moved underneath her skirt with the other and stroked up her inner thigh until meeting the wet panties.
Gasping again from the sharp rush of desire, she spread her legs like a cheap whore and allowed his fingers to explore her innermost secret and precious place. She closed her eyes, breathed deep, and followed each of Micaela’s teasing moves. His fingers not only crept inside her panties like thieves, but took possession of every sensitive part of her pussy. No doubting his experience. One by one, he parted her thick folds, explored the inner lips, and trailed the tingling skin approaching her clit.
She whimpered from sharp lust. Her breathing hitched, and her juices ran as she anticipated the bolt of lightning that would soon rush to her womb.
But instead of touching her tiny point of nerves, he went back with slow, precise movements and stopped at the entrance of her cunt, lingering. What a tease!
She grunted impatience. The hard cock pressing against her knees left no question about the effort it took for him to wait.
Unwilling to cooperate, she pushed forward, pressing her cunt against his fingers. Two slid in, and she jerked her head back with a small cry of satisfaction as they grazed her inner walls. A new, intense wave of heat washed over her. Her muscles contracted around his hard fingers, demanded to be invaded, conquered, brought to another world.
He chuckled into her lap. “You so wet. So hot.”
Her eyes flew open. She’d forgotten other sounds existed in life than ragged breaths and moans.
With a rumble in his throat, he removed his warm hand from her panties and let her skirt fall. Cold air brushed the insides of her thighs, replacing moist heat as he backed off, though his other hand stayed curled on her butt cheek, each finger deep in her skin, as if he didn’t want to let go quite yet.
Why did he move away? She peeked down at the same time as he looked up.
His dark, mischievous eyes met hers, long locks hanging in his face. He grinned and shook his hair back before opening his mouth and placing glistening fingers on his pink tongue, holding her gaze with a gleam of naughtiness. God, he was such a tease, wrapping those sexy lips around his digits and sucking!
She prepared for a new round of seduction when he frowned, took his fingers out, and stared at them. Suspicion marring his features, he shot her a glance before sniffing his hand.
Her chest tightened. What was wrong, did she smell? Due to the power loss, she hadn’t been able to shower this morning, but she had washed with a cloth and soapy water. Surely that had to be good enough.
He looked up again, black eyes hardening. “Why you so wet?”
Wet? She was so engulfed in desire, it took a moment to comprehend his words.
Then it dawned on her. Oh mon Dieu. She was wet because Brian had come inside her in the cellar.
Chapter Nine
Before Anne could think of something to say, Micaela took his other hand away from her butt. The chair’s legs grazed the floorboards with a loud, scorching sound that seemed to accentuate his sudden anger and create distance between them.
“You been busy.” Glaring, he rose.
“No, wait.” She was taken aback. An inexplicable frustration built inside, squeezing her heart and making her head spin. “But, my husband….”
“So?”
“H-how can you be angry?”
“You have problem to see I like you?”
At a loss for words, she shook her head.
“Is obvious, no?”
“Y-yes, but—”
“Maybe I don’t want to share you, you know?”
“Share me?” She began to see the kind of person he was. A proud man, easily jealous, acting on his emotions without thinking. “But Micaela, I’m married! You’re not making sense.”
“Fuck.” His talking provoked a new series of coughs. Bending over, he went to the window. His torso jerked with each bark, and his long hair thrashed. Hands on his knees, he almost retched.
She glanced at the bottles on the desk, but the way things looked, he would probably refuse her help. Hurt rushed through her chest. One moment, they were intimate and connecting on the highest possible level, and the next, he rejected her, treated her like she had the plague. She stared and prayed for his coughing to stop.
He sank to the floor, face in his hands, and leaned against the wall. His body shook, naked torso glistening with sweat, hair sticking to his skin.
She swallowed the lump in her throat and flattened her skirt. She should ask Todd to take care of him instead.
A car engine started outside, and she looked out the rain-spotted window above Mica’s head. Dark clouds swept over the village roofs at frightening speed. She’d been so busy—yes, with a second man, God forgive me—she had ignored the raging storm and the violent gusts of wind threatening to blow every loose object into the air.
A knock sounded behind her, and she pivoted as the creaking door opened. Not caught in the act, at least. That was something. She’d had enough of bad surprises today.
Todd stepped in, his and Mica’s rucksacks in hand. His green eyes glanced at her before tightening with worry as he looked past her and saw his sick boyfriend. Without a word, he dumped the sacks on the floor and hurried to kneel next to him, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder.
She bit her lip, fought back the sting of jealousy, and looked away. These two men being together was the order of things. Did she need to be reminded? Micaela slept with Todd, and she with Brian. And come to think of it, how the hell did she change so incredibly fast, after the disturbing events in the cellar? Metamorphosing from the hurting, humiliated wife to the selfish, adulterous mistress in a few minutes. What kind of person did that make her?
She took a deep breath. Now was not a good moment for introspection. She looked around the small, sparsely furnished room and tried to recall her purpose for coming here.
The sheets.
Todd whispered something to his lover, but she blocked the guys out and went to the unmade bed. Four persons had slept on these two mattresses. Not much space, but one couldn’t expect much more from a bed and breakfast. She removed the ruffled sheets and replaced them with the clean, fresh ones, smelling of apple-scented conditioner.
“Hey, Anne?” Todd called from the window.
Her heart leapt. What now? She turned, swallowing.
Arms wrapped around Micaela, Todd sent her a worried look. “Is there a doctor around here?”
“Um, yes. There’s a bureau médical in the village center.”
He nodded. “Your husband left a few minutes ago—I should have told you earlier, sorry—to help a neighbor secure his roof. He said tiles had blown down. But, if Micaela gets worse, do you think you can drive him?”
Her heartbeat accelerated. After what had happened between them, taking that hunk in her car had to be the stupidest idea ever. But there might be no choice. His cold could turn into pneumonia at any time. She nodded. She would do it, and whatever occurred during their drive, she would take the consequences later.
God, what a slut I am. How could she handle her marital betrayal so easily, as if already accepting it?
“Okay, thanks.” The lines on Todd’s forehead smoothed. “Let’s just see how it goes, first. In this crazy weather”—he glanced out the window—“it wouldn’t be too smart to hit the road.”
“No.” She imagined her little Peugeot bounced around by storm winds or hit by flying objects. If Micaela’s state worsened, they would have to choose between two evils.
“I can’t believe this fucking shit.” He shook his blond hair. “Not exactly how we pictured our summer holidays.”
She wanted to say she was sorry, but didn’t. Sorry for what? Their ruined vacation? His boyfriend’s illness? Or because, only five minutes ago, she’d had his boyfriend’s fingers up her vagina? Jesus.
She sighed and pointed at the bottles. “In the meantime, there’s medicine for him.” Yeah, like saying something nice could ease her conscience. Well, at least she did have a guilty conscience. It had to count.
Todd nodded. “Thanks. That might be good, actually.” He stood, helped his lover to his feet, and walked him to the bed.
Micaela resembled the living dead, with feverish eyes in a pale face and a hunched posture. So unlike the cocky, oh-so-charming bicyclist who had knocked on her door before the storm. Avoiding her, he lay down on the clean sheets with a deep sigh and closed his eyes. His sweaty torso, with black chest hairs glued together above the dark nipples, heaved irregularly.
Todd sat beside him, leaned forward, and stroked his face with slow, careful movements. His evident love filled her with warmth.
She couldn’t help wondering why people abhorred attraction between two persons of the same sex. What difference did it make? If fear of the unknown—and hatred, ultimately—came down to the “dirtiness” of anal sex, let it be known that hetero couples enjoyed it, too.
Surely what mattered in this debate had to be that lovers were happy together and fulfilled each other.
Irritation gnawing at her, she found candles in a drawer, lit them, and placed them on the bed tables and the desk. Shadows danced on the now-yellowish walls. It didn’t take much to make this room a little cozier.
“I wish I’d had time to clean.” She glanced at the bare floorboards. The low light revealed how much dust the previous tenants had left behind.
Todd turned, features drawn. “It’s not necessary. We only need a place to sleep.”
“At least I could’ve wiped the floor.”
“No, no, it’s fine.”
She shrugged. “Okay. But if you need anything, don’t hesitate.”
“Thanks. For everything.” His eyes smiled.
Hmm, if you knew what your lover did to me only minutes ago, you might reconsider….
Head buzzing, she picked up the dirty sheets and the flashlight. When she left the room with a last glance at the guys, Todd had taken Micaela’s hand and brought it to his lips.
She entered the darkened hall, turned on the flashlight, closed the door, and stood outside, eavesdropping, chest tightening again.
No doubt she envied Todd. A lot. It had only taken the Italian hunk a little fondling for her to surrender and desire him, despite having sworn she wouldn’t let him come close again. At the same time, she was happy these two men had each other.
A new round of coughing came through the wall. She pictured the suffering Micaela and winced, trying to block out his painful barks. Her stomach knotted; she couldn’t help feeling sorry for him.
Todd’s voice rose, insistent but soothing, and after a while, the coughs subsided. He must have given him the mixture. It worked wonders.
She released the breath she’d held when a muffled moan reached her, and another. Not groans of sickness, this time, but more like long grunts of….
She blinked. They couldn’t possibly—
Turning off the flashlight, she strained her ears. A new moan issued from behind the door, and low words she couldn’t understand.