Sitting on the edge of the bed, I kick off my leather shoes while unbuttoning the first few buttons at my collar. The door creaks open behind me, and I hear her shuffle out.
“How was work?” Colette asks… and I frown.
“Since when do you care about how work was?” I question, reaching down to unbutton my pants.
“I just want to know.”
Finding that unbelievably strange, I glance over my shoulder to meet her eyes, only I can’t make it to her eyes because on full fucking display is her nakedness. Those perfect C-cup breasts, taut pink nipples, and a freshly waxed pussy.
Shit.
I feel like a dog drooling over a fucking steak. I see now she doesn’t care how my day was. The question was supposed to be a distraction. Slowly rising, I stare ahead at Colette. My wife… my wife who is naked and wearing makeup and even a smile on her lips.
I try to form words, but she walks ahead in strappy black leather heels, shaking her head as she meets in front of me.
Her finger presses on the center of my lips, and she smiles up at me as she says, “No, no. You don’t have to say anything. It’s okay. I know. I know this is weird and so not like me, but…” She pauses and sighs. “Well, I’ve just been really horny lately, babe. And it’s been so long since we’ve actually fucked, you know? Like old times?”
Even her voice sounds different, but her pleading doesn’t stop me from hardening in my slacks. The tip of my cock rubs along my zipper, increasing in size and length.
She presses her chest onto mine, one of her hands sliding down to slip into my unbuttoned pants, beneath my boxers, and cup my balls. Her hands feel different, but I assume it’s from all the work she does with them now. The art, dancing, all of it.
“Fuck,” I groan, tensing. Throbbing.
I’m so fucking swollen for her, and she takes joy in that—the fact that she can still get my dick hard. Her amusement is all over her face, deep in those seductive green eyes.
She fondles my sack through and I stare down at her, heat building between us. Her nipples are hard, and after aching for this woman, my fucking wife (I still can’t believe I’m saying that) I snatch her up into my arms and drop her on the bed.
I land above her, thrusting between her legs, groaning as she moans and smiles.
Immediately, her lips crush mine as her hands work hard to shove my pants down. I lift my hips, aiding her in getting my briefs to the floor. When they are gone, I waste no time.
My cock sinks deep into her pussy, and it’s just how I remember.
Wet.
Still tight, even after having Bradley.
So fucking good.
Nothing has changed.
I tense above her, disbelieving how long it’s been since this has happened. And then, when she clutches my hips, demanding movement with her vice grip, I start quick strokes, sinking in and out, building up a vast thrust.
She moans beneath me, holding me tight, and I grunt with each swivel, each plunge. My eyes squeeze tight, and as much as I am enjoying fucking Colette after so many months, I can’t fight the vision that appears.
Because it’s not Colette I want beneath me.
It’s Angelina.
As bad as our situation is, knowing she tried to trap me makes me want to fuck the ever-loving shit right out of her, and demand she never tries to fuck me over again.
But that’s a fucking fantasy now.
It will never happen again. It’s not that easy.
We can’t. After that contract shit is settled, I am done with her.
Forever.
I don’t even realize how hard I’m slamming into Colette due to my frustrations, not that it is hurting her or anything. She loves being fucked, being punished. She’s always been this way, begging me to drive harder, go faster.
She used to love making love, until making love got boring and fucking became the only way to keep the spark in our marriage.
Soon, I am at the edge, tipping over. My body locks, and Colette grips my forearms, her back arching, sighing and then moaning as she cums with me. Believe it or not, coming inside her pussy after so long is absolute euphoria.
It’s hard to compare her and Angelina. They are both spectacular in bed, fucking mind-blowing. With each one I don’t know what the hell to expect.
Finally, my body goes weak. Limp.
I roll over, flopping on the bed. Colette sighs and pushes up by her hands, looking down at me.
Climbing off the bed moments later, she stands above me and with a subtle smirk on her lips, she asks, “Did you like that?”
“Hell yeah,” I pant raggedly.
“Good…” She steps back, swiping off her bottom lip. “I hope you’ve enjoyed your final fuck with me.”
I frown as she walks away. Sitting up, I ask, “What? What do you mean?” She glances over her shoulder before disappearing into the bathroom. I hop up and follow her inside. “Hold on… What? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
She’s standing in front of the mirror, still smiling, staring at her disheveled reflection. “I just have one question for you, Griffin,” she says. I fold my arms, watching as she opens one of the drawers and pulls out a rectangular box wrapped up in a plastic bag. “Who is Angelina Clark, and how long have you been fucking her behind my back?”
Immediately, my face goes board straight, eyes locking on her through our reflections. She spins around to face me and I stare down at her, mortified.
“What?” I whisper-hiss.
“You know,” she waves a finger, “you should really keep your office door locked, Griffin.” Her face goes rock hard, lips pressing thin. “I saw the emails. All this time you’ve been acting distant—staying away from home. And in fucking San Diego,” she snaps.
She spikes the bag at me and I clumsily catch it as she storms out of the bathroom. I can’t follow where she goes, though, because when she passes by, I spot a box on the countertop.
A familiar one that she had before.
Fertility pills.
I focus on the box, the ripped foil proving that she’s already taken two, and not only that, as my eyes move south, I see her fucking birth control pills are in the trash now.
I glance down at the bag in my hand, and then rip it open, finding an unused pregnancy test. My heart drops to my stomach at the sight of it.
“Colette, what the fuck have you done?” I barge out of the bathroom.
She’s standing in front of the window, now wearing a robe, arms folded tight across her chest.
“I knew something was up, Griffin. I just knew. You have never given up that easily on me, so I got nosy, and since I found it was another woman—oh boy!” She releases a dry, hoarse laugh. “Just realize you’ve really fucked up, Griffin.”
“Did you just fuck me to force a fucking pregnancy?”
Heat blinds me. I want to slap some fucking sense into her. How could she do this? Colette swore she would never have another kid, even when I begged her to.
I begged her over and over again to try after Bradley passed, but she refused. She threatened to have her tubes tied if I asked again, so I didn’t. I backed off and waited until she would be ready again… but now this? Trying to get pregnant out of spite?
“Yes, and I’ll do it again, and again, Griffin. Good thing it’s the time of the month for me to ovulate.” She grins. “And at least I know that with a baby around, you won’t dare try and leave me for her. She’s not about to keep you, because if I can’t have your attention, neither can she. What other way will I get you to come home more? To stay away from her? I know what kind of girl she is. Someone after your money. Someone who will fuck you endlessly just to get it. You can hardly take care of me, better yet make me happy. How in the hell will you be able to take care of two women?”
“That’s besides the fucking point, Colette!” I grip her shoulders, jaw locking. “You didn’t even want this! Why would you do this to yourself!?” My voice feels hoarse. Weak. Shit on top of a
nother pile of shit, that’s what this is.
“Because,” she breathes, stepping towards me and shrugging out of my hold, “I’m not going down for you or because of her. This stays between us. I know that. And you aren’t foolish to tell anyone else, not if you know what’s really good for your future.” She walks to the door and grabs the doorknob, but before she goes, she lifts a single finger and says, “Oh, and by the way, I’ve been fucking Gabriel for two years now. Yes, Gabriel Adams, your best friend. Behind your fucking back. He’s the one that confirmed to me earlier that you are a lying, cheating bastard. You told him her name. Luckily, he’s our lawyer. He can’t say a fucking thing.” She looks me over with pure disgust. But how the fuck can she when she just admitted that? “How does knowing that feel, husband? Hurts, doesn’t it? Fucking jackass,” she spits.
The door slams behind her.
And I am left in the wake of her wrath.
I hear the front door shut a short distance away, but I don’t know where she takes off.
I don’t know where she’s going and for the first time, I fucking care. I care because she could be running off to Gabriel, and I refuse for that to fucking happen.
She’s not his, she’s mine—my wife—whether she wants to be or not.
Damn it. Look how fucking stupid I sound? How selfish—how inconsiderate!
First Angelina, and then Colette, and now Gabriel? Fucking Gabriel, my best friend of six years. Out of three of those years he’s been a liar, a cheat, a backstabber.
And if he would do something that low behind my back—fuck my wife while he knew I was trying so desperately hard to open her up and make her happy again—there’s no telling what he’ll do to see me down.
Shit, was he even telling the truth about that fucking contract, or did he want me to believe it was bullshit so I wouldn’t make more money, sign a better deal, and keep both Angelina and Colette…? Because he knows Colette isn’t going anywhere, even if she has a reason to.
Maybe everything is a fucking lie. Every single one of them a backstabbing bitch, a spiteful fuck. But, even if they are, they are the only ones I can get answers from.
Before thinking, I’m out of the bedroom, down the stairs, keys clutched in hand, and in my car, driving straight to the one person I know I shouldn’t be around right now.
This person is the only one I still have some sort of trust in, even if it’s not much at all. It sounds strange and so fucking stupid, but it’s true.
If I get Angelina to crack under my pressure, she’ll tell me the whole truth.
She’ll have no choice but to, because there’s no way I feel so much for her—feel so passionately about her, to the point that I couldn’t stop thinking about her even after the lies—and she doesn’t feel the same.
There’s just no motherfucking way.
END OF PART ONE
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Sudden Flames (Sweet Promises #2) will be released early 2016!
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In the meantime, enjoy this quick (and super hot!) excerpt from Sudden Flames!
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The look on his face is like a child being punished after being disobedient. It breaks my heart because it’s so innocent, pure, and raw, and yet… so full of emotion and brokenness.
Since the beginning I have wanted to mend this man. I have wanted to make things better for him, even though I had an ulterior motive. He never knew, but there was one.
Through my tipsy stupor, I start to wrap my arms around him to comfort him, but he shoves me away and I land on top of the mattress. A gasp spills through my lips, and before I can think, he pounces on top of me, trapping me between his thick arms. I hear the ripping of fabric, my shirt being pulled apart, my black bra and stomach revealed.
His fingers curl around the edge of my leggings and he yanks them down, causing another loud ripping noise. My mouth moves in protest, but I can’t speak when my eyes lock with his.
They’re hard.
Furious.
He grips my wrist in one hand, shoving them above my head, and the other goes down to my pubic bone. For a split second, his eyes soften, and he looks down, watching his own fingers lightly tread down the V between my legs.
He stops just at my clit, sinking his middle finger between the folds. Then he presses down, and I buck, gasping from the sudden pressure.
His eyes move up to mine again, eyebrows strung together, mouth pinched tight. His middle finger continues gliding down, and I squirm, but he forces me still, nostrils flaring, his finger now running in and out of my pussy.
He fucks me with his long middle finger, in and out, faster and faster. With each minute, he’s slamming, and by the third minute, there are two fingers deep inside me, forcing their way in and out. He places mild bites on my shoulder, still finger-fucking me, still going.
“Oh, God, Griffin…. Please,” I beg.
“Please, what, Angelina? What exactly are you begging for?”
“For you to… forgive… me.” My voice breaks. He doesn’t want me to speak. Every time a word gets out he’s driving his fingers harder, his thumb working magic circles on my clit, eliciting heat. Fire. He has me cupped in his hand, at his mercy.
“Keep begging me. Beg me to fucking stop,” he growls in my ear, right before his teeth capture my earlobe and graze it. I moan when he pulls his mouth away, the warmth of them an unbearable mix with those magical fingers. “You want me to forgive you, you fucking beg, Angel.”
Angel… oh, God. So maybe he isn’t as angry as he seems. He only calls me that when he means it… from what I know of our experience so far. My back arches, and I clutch the sheets above my head. He still has my wrists locked in his hands. I don’t know how he’s doing this, bringing me so high, so close to the moon and stars, but it’s happening. It’s real, and it can’t be denied.
“Beg,” he demands.
“Please, Griffin… please,” I whimper.
“Please? Please what, baby? Huh?”
“Please forgive me…”
“Forgive you for what?”
“Trying to… trick you—oh God! Lying! OHH! GOD!” He’s going faster now, slamming, massaging all at once. Shooting stars float, fireworks in the sky, almost reaching high enough… and then it happens.
A great boom.
A massive explosion.
I shatter beneath Griffin’s frustrations and his rough embrace. I cry out—I’m not sure to whom—but it feels so fucking amazing and so intense. Wave after wave hits me; I shudder and quake, my thighs locking around his hand as he slows down, still rubbing my clit, still drawing out my gratification.
When my body finally dies down, my hips and back descending, my head rolling to the side, I’m finally looking in his direction. He pulls his fingers from between my thighs, brings them up, and slides them between my parted lips.
“Taste yourself. Your betrayal. Your fucking lies,” he growls. “You fucking lied to me, stabbed me right in the fucking back, Angel, and yet, you still make my dick as hard as a fucking rock.”
He moves his hips forward, rubbing his erection across the outside of my thigh. I feel it, it’s familiar and I can’t deny the fact that I’m craving it.
Because that’s where the ultimate pleasure lies.
Thank you for sticking with me on this crazy ride with Griffin, Angelina, and Colette! Please, if you would be so kind, leave a REVIEW! I would really, really appreciate it
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Sudden Desires Page 17