The Affair: Week 4

by BETH KERY

  “Scream for me, Emma,” he grated out. He drove into her, a raging male animal intent on one thing. “Scream.”

  He kept fucking her, hanging by a thread. Then it came, a high keen that grew louder like an oncoming train the more he pounded into her clasping body. He felt her muscular walls convulse around him. He let the savage loose. Placing her knees back on the bed, he fell down over her, bracing himself with his arms. He drove straight and hard into the hot, molten core of her, grunting. He lit up like a roman candle, popping and firing at first, aching and straining for full detonation. He heard Emma scream louder, her channel gripping him, and it happened.

  He exploded into a million pieces.

  * * *

  She came back to herself, knowing she was still the practical, dependable Emma Shore she’d always been, and yet somehow knowing at the same time that she’d never be that girl again.

  She absorbed the sound of their twining, panting breaths. It was a nice sensation. It lulled her. His weight was partially on her, pressing her down into the mattress, and it too was delicious: a heavy, solid comfort. She wished he’d press her down even more firmly. The idea of fusing with Vanni Montand even more securely and deeply created a sweet, swelling sensation of longing in her breast.

  The feeling of him sliding out of her tender body was jarring and highly unwelcome. She must have made a sound of protest, because he kissed her ear and spoke in a sex-roughened, low tone that raised goose bumps along her damp nape.

  “Here. Get under the covers. I’ll come and join you in a minute.”

  She felt the edge of the sheet and duvet brushed against her naked hip and realized he’d pulled back the bedding. At the urging of his hands on her waist, she rolled over and swung her body so that her head sunk against a decadence of pillows and her feet slid between cool, exquisitely soft sheets. She blinked woozily, staring up at the striking image of him as he stood next to the bed and pulled the sheet and fluffy comforter over her. She curled onto her side, her cheek pressing against the silk of the pillow sham. Her gaze dropped over him and she swallowed thickly. He was still dressed in his crisp white dress shirt. He’d jerked up his pants as he stood, but his cock still protruded from the opening of his fly. The condom clung to his relaxed, but still-formidable sex. Her muzzy, sexually satiated state partially evaporated when she recalled how he hadn’t removed all of his clothing with that woman—Astrid—either.

  He turned, and she saw him in profile, and the intrusive thought scattered. He was so beautiful. It didn’t matter what she knew about his lack of interest in intimacy with women or his challenging sexual practices. It didn’t matter that he would get his fill of her soon, she realized as she watched him walk to the adjoining bathroom and open the door.

  Her hunger for him wasn’t something to be picked apart and tested rationally. It just was, and all she could do was pray she’d survive relatively unscarred after he’d gone.

  When he opened the bathroom door a minute or two later, her eyelids were drifting closed. She immediately perked up upon seeing Vanni walking toward her wearing a pair of low-hanging black pajamas that left very little to the imagination. Once again, she was struck by the golden-brown smoothness of his skin. His naked torso was a living sculpture of lean, well-developed muscles, his abdomen so taut she could have easily bounced a quarter off his flat stomach. Ridged, oblique muscles slanted like an arrow to his crotch, seeming to defy her not to look in the downward direction. He stalked toward her and the bed. Despite her acute awareness of his gaze on her, Emma couldn’t tear her gaze off the image of his cock pressing lightly against soft cotton and hanging between his strong thighs: the very picture of temptation.

  “Emma.”

  He stopped next to the bed. She looked up at his face sluggishly. His aquamarine eyes were narrowed and his angular jaw was hard.

  “Yes?” she rasped.

  “Don’t look at me like that.”

  She had a vivid memory of him saying something similar when he’d bidden her to him that first time in the Breakers’ dining room, and how intimidated she’d been.

  Why are you looking at me like that? he’d demanded.

  For the first time, she realized he’d seen naked desire in her eyes even back then, and had recognized it when she hadn’t. Understanding that, her former confusion melted away. She continued to stare up at him, sliding her gaze over his torso and lingering on the small, brown disks of his nipples. Her lips parted in wonderment when she saw them roughen and tighten. Slowly, she met his gaze.

  “I can’t help it,” she said softly.

  His eyes seemed to spark. Her heart jumped with excitement but she forced herself to remain still when he abruptly reached for the corner of the bedding and flipped it back, exposing her naked body. His gaze traveled over her, hot and possessive.

  “Why shouldn’t I look at you, when you look at me like that?” she whispered, her skin prickling and her nipples tightening under his stare.

  “Because your eyes make me want to do things I shouldn’t,” he said, his gaze fixed between her thighs, his stare hungry. Her clit pinched tight. She had an almost overwhelming urge to touch herself to ease the friction. He came onto the bed next to her, and her excitement only amplified. He took her into his arms and drew her against him. A small shudder went through her at the delight of pressing to his hard male length, the tips of her breasts crushing against warm, smooth skin. Their close contact was momentarily broken when he twisted, turning out the bedside lamp.

  Then he was gathering her into his arms in the darkness. Emma exhaled shakily, her cheek pressed against a dense pectoral muscle. Her thigh was wedged beneath his legs. She could feel the outline of his cock. He was growing erect again. He felt sublime. Her curiosity goaded her.

  “Why shouldn’t you do those things to me?” she whispered. His cock swelled against her thigh. For a moment, he didn’t speak, and her entire awareness focused on the feeling of his penis throbbing next to her skin.

  “Because I rode you hard earlier, and I took you like an animal just now. You will be tender.”

  Emma shifted slightly against him, focusing her attention to the sensation between her thighs. He was right. She was slightly sore. With her amplified awareness of him, however, her sex also felt tingly with excitement. She swept her hand along the smooth, taut skin that covered his ribs, a spike of excitement going through her when she felt him shiver and his cock lurch.

  “I feel fine,” she whispered. She started slightly when he captured her wrist and pinned it next to her outer thigh.

  “Don’t try me more than you already have,” he said.

  She blinked in the darkness at his hard tone.

  He exhaled heavily, and she sensed his frustration and regret. “I want to talk to you about something else,” he said, his voice calmer and hushed. “Are you on birth control?”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “The pill.”

  “I would like it very much if you saw my personal physician tomorrow before we return to the suburbs. I’ll see him as well.”

  “Why?” she asked numbly.

  “So that we can both have exams in order to determine if we’re safe. Sexually.”

  She didn’t respond, her mind whirring.

  “Would that be all right? We can sign releases so that we can see each other’s results.”

  She leaned away from him, cool air filling in the space between their pressing skin.

  “You really do think that I’m still sick in some way, don’t you?”

  “No,” he said emphatically, his hand curling around her shoulder and bringing her back against him. “That’s not it at all. I just want to be inside you.”

  “You mean . . . without a condom?”

  “Yes. If you’re on birth control and we’re both healthy, I don’t see what’s preventing it.”

  She sagged against him. He br
ushed his fingers through her hair, causing prickles of sensation along her neck and ear.

  “What are you thinking?” he demanded.

  “Well . . . it’s just . . . how do you know I won’t sleep with someone else while you’re away one of these times?” she fumbled.

  His stroking fingers paused. “Do you plan to?”

  “No!”

  “So what you’re really asking is, how do you know that I’m not sleeping with someone else when we’re not together, is that right?”

  “Yes. I guess so.”

  He resumed stroking her hair. She could almost hear him thinking in the silence that followed. “Vanni?” she prompted after a moment, her anxiety getting the best of her.

  “I was just thinking of how to respond to reassure you,” he said quietly. “The only thing I can think to do is be honest. It’s up to you whether or not you believe me. I’d understand if you didn’t. Do you recall me telling you at the beach after I returned from France that I was having trouble sleeping and eating because I couldn’t stop thinking about you?”

  “Yes,” she whispered, entranced not only by his words, but also by the deep rumble of his voice vibrating against her skin and ear.

  “I tried to be with another woman.” She stiffened in his arms. “I’m sorry to be so blunt, but I thought, considering the circumstances, maybe it was called for.”

  “What happened?” Emma whispered warily.

  “I started out with the single-minded intention of getting you out of my head,” he said thoughtfully, his fingers curling in her hair, his palm cupping her head, his fingertips rubbing her scalp. Despite her anxiety over the topic, she found her eyelids drooping at his touch. “But it didn’t work. I didn’t want her.”

  “How do you know there won’t be another that does make you forget me?” she whispered.

  Her head dipped as he exhaled deeply. “I just know. You have my word. I know I’ve told you I’m selfish, but I’m also honest.” One finger caressed the shell of her ear, making all the tiny hairs there stand on end. “I’ve never asked this of a woman before. I’d prefer to have the boundary there, to be honest. Both in the literal and figurative sense,” he added dryly. “But you’re very rare,” he continued slowly, his voice low and gravelly. She had a distinct mental image of him staring up into the darkness, his expression thoughtful. “I dislike myself enough at times. I couldn’t bear to make it any worse by . . . spoiling you in any way . . . something so fresh.” Her heart paused in her chest when he faded off. “It’s something I just couldn’t do,” he resumed more firmly. “So in short, the only thing I can give you is my word. Maybe that’s not enough for you. I can tell you this, though. When I was in high school and college, I was a walking, talking lit fuse. I was determined to travel fast and furious all the way to hell without even a brief stop. Nothing made sense to me. Nothing mattered. It’s a wonder I made it to adulthood alive. Then something happened that brought me to my senses, something that made me realize the one thing that did matter, the one thing I could control, was my word. I couldn’t control anything else but that. It became my anchor. If I said a thing was going to happen, it happened. Too much else in the world didn’t make a bit of sense, but that, I could control. I’ve fought to make that my reality ever since then.”

  She exhaled shakily and touched her lips to the crinkly hair on his chest. It felt like fingers clutched at her throat hearing him say those poignant words.

  “Emma?” he prompted after a moment.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  His fingers moved on her scalp. “If I’m only going to have you for a limited period of time, I want you completely, and on my terms. Will you see Dr. Parodas tomorrow?”

  She should say no. She was crazy to be considering it. It was a level of intimacy far beyond their agreed-upon relationship. But the mental image she had of him staring up at the ceiling, believing himself to be protected by the darkness, plagued her.

  He was so alone, even here, while she was pressed so tightly to him, skin to skin. She wasn’t his savior. She wasn’t much of anything but a very average young woman. And yet, there was that connection she felt to him, a connection she couldn’t entirely explain away by naïve imagination.

  “Yes,” she whispered, forcing the word out of her constricted throat. “I’ll do it.”

  * * *

  He fell asleep before she did. Emma lay there, feeling the subtle rise and fall of his chest beneath her cheek, entranced by the sensation, lulled by his clean, spicy scent mixing with the subtle perfume of sex, the fragrance heady and delicious. Being in Vanni’s arms cast a spell around her. The last thought she had before drifting off to sleep was that perhaps her entrancement was why she’d agreed to sacrifice so much of herself, when he was offering so little in return.

  * * *

  She awoke in a warm cocoon to the sensation of her sex being cupped in a possessive gesture while a large hand stroked the curve of her hip lazily. Emma realized she lay on her side, facing the windows while Vanni lay behind her, his long, hard body curling against her backside. His cock pressed against her ass, the only thing separating her from his stiff, pulsing erection a thin layer of cotton. Morning light filtered around the luxurious drapes. His fingers moved slightly on her sex and she purred sleepily.

  “I haven’t slept that well since I was a kid,” he said near her ear, the deep, raspy sound making the skin of her neck roughen. “But even so, all night I dreamed about this.” His fingers moved again subtly on her pussy. “Are you tender?”

  She bit her lip. “I’m fine,” she whispered. In fact, her sex ached with a dull throb. She wasn’t used to having as much sex as she’d had yesterday, nor was she accustomed to Vanni’s forceful, all-consuming manner of lovemaking. His hand stilled between her thighs. She felt his warm breath on her neck when he exhaled heavily.

  “You’re lying, Emma,” he said, sweeping the hand that had been cupping her sex up her belly. Emma swallowed thickly when she felt the warm dampness on his fingers. His cock flicked against her backside. She tried to turn to put her arms around him, to assure him that she was fine, but he stopped her with a firm hand on her shoulder. “Trust me,” he said near her ear, his voice a dark, seductive threat, “you don’t want to test me. I felt you flinch just now. I’m going to go jump in the shower.”

  “No, Vanni,” she protested when he moved away from her. She turned over and reached for him, but he was already standing by the bed. He looked down at her, his face rigid, his blue-green eyes glittering.

  “You’ll have to have an exam in less than an hour with Dr. Parodas. Do you really think it’s advisable?” he asked, his handsome mouth quirking, one eyebrow shooting up and giving him a devilish demeanor.

  “Maybe you’re right,” she said slowly, but her gaze sunk down his ridged, sun-bronzed abdomen to the vision of his erection tenting his pajama bottoms. “There’s something I should probably confess to, since you were being so honest last night,” she mused, stretching luxuriously so that the sheet slid below her nipples. His gaze darted downward hungrily.

  “What?” he asked warily.

  “I knew it was apricots.”

  When he didn’t respond immediately, her gaze slid up to his face. He wore a storm cloud expression.

  “Dammit, Emma, you’re going to pay for that,” he grated out, pointing a condemning finger. He came down on the bed next to her, his mouth set in a grim line, and her heart began to race. She tried to reach for his cock, but he caught her wrists and pressed them to the pillows. She couldn’t help laughing softly, even though he looked so fierce. “Don’t you dare look so smug,” he breathed out, and her laughter faded even though her smile lingered. “And don’t say I didn’t warn you, either.”

  He dipped his head, immediately spearing her lips with his agile tongue, sinking into her, taking his fill. Her flesh turned to warm, sweet syrup beneath Vanni’
s angry, wild kiss, and she remained completely unrepentant.

  Look for THE AFFAIR Week Five, on sale October 14, 2014.

  Keep reading for a preview of

  BECAUSE WE BELONG

  Available now from Berkley Heat

  Francesca walked out of the dressing room carrying a blouse, jeans and underwear, pausing when she saw Ian enter the suite. Her fiancé met her gaze, somber as a judge, and locked the door. A smile pulled at her lips.

  “I was about to shower,” she said.

  His eyebrows went up, his bland expression conveying dry disbelief. You’re doing no such thing, she could just imagine him thinking. Francesca chuckled. She knew what he intended every time he locked that door. His actions would have made her smile—not to mention her heart begin to pound faster—at any time, but today, it made her uncommonly happy. He’d been so preoccupied and worried about his mother’s health, tortured that he’d made a wrong decision in regard to her medication and care, convinced there was something else he should be doing, but wasn’t. The care and protection of his mother had been ground deeply into his very bones since he was a child too young to be forced to consider such matters. He couldn’t escape the heavy responsibility as a man. Sadly, Helen Noble was making little to no improvements. Ian had been making frequent trips to London, crowding his already packed work schedule.

  “Lucien and Elise are coming for dinner. We don’t have time,” Francesca reminded him.

  He walked toward her. She wondered how long it would last—that shiver of anticipation she experienced—every time she saw that hungry gleam in his blue eyes and that predatory stalk. They’d been together now for over half a year, and her excitement had only grown. His recent preoccupation and worry only made that need to join with him sharper and more imperative.