"Ali, are you sure?" he asked.
She loved that he would ask one last time. But to hell with his gentlemanly scruples. "For the love of God, John. Will you please just make love to me?"
Chapter 13
Making love to John had been everything Alison had dreamed it would be, if not more. Memories of Phillip had been effectively blotted from her memory.
John had made passionate love to her three times, and each one was better than the last. But now the eastern sky was beginning to turn grey and the spattering of stars she had been watching for the last half hour were beginning to fade into nothingness. Morning was coming. And with it, all her fears and doubts about having an illicit affair were once again awakening. The damage it could do to Rebecca's and Phyllis's future was something she should not have ignored.
She had her affair. Her fling. But it was time to return to reality before she ruined her daughters' futures. And before John asked her to marry him.
Turning over, she gazed at the man she was in love with. Her heart lurched in her chest, and a cold chill shuddered through her that had nothing to do with the fire that had gone out during the night. In repose, John was magnificent. He didn't have the bulky muscles or athletic physique of her late husband. He was leaner, more sinewy than massive. And his body was crisscrossed with scars from the torture he had endured. But to her, he was perfection.
A white sheet was draped over his hips and one of his legs, much like a Roman senator wearing a toga that had slipped to his waist. Dark hair matted his chest and arrowed downward, disappearing beneath the sheet. But Alison didn't need to see where it went. She had spent the better part of the night exploring that thick patch of fur and his manhood that jutted out from it. So different from the light dusting of hair that had covered Phillip.
A malicious grin drove back the darkness enveloping her. Phillip had often bragged about his prowess in bed. His insinuations had led her to believe he was a giant among men. At least where his cock was concerned. But one look at John's manhood last night had dispelled all of Phillips claims. Her husband hadn't been small by any means, but when compared to John, he was only half a man.
Tentatively, she reached out and trailed her fingers up the thick mat of hair on his chest. Whirls of hair circled his small, dark nipples. Alison traced each once and then began a slow, leisurely trek back down toward the sheet.
When she reached the corded muscles of his stomach, they quivered and bunched. Alison grinned and then noticed a rise in the sheet just below the edge. She didn't need to look up to see that he was now awake. The same thing had happened two other times during the night. Both with delightful results.
Pushing aside her mounting concerns, Alison slipped her hand beneath the sheet and sifted her fingers through the soft thatch of hair surrounding his thick manhood. It twitched when her fingers brushed up against it, then quickly sprung erect.
He touched the top of her head, and his strong fingers caressed her. "Are you sure?" he asked. The tenderness in his voice caused a lump to form in her throat. "I know it has been a while for you. Are you sure you're not too sore?"
Was she sure? Alison dropped her head to rest against the corded muscles of his stomach. She could hear the rhythmic beating of his heart as her head rose and fell with his steady breaths. He wanted to marry her. And if she did, then they would have a lifetime of making love. But she just couldn't get past her fears to grasp the dream he was offering. Not yet. Maybe not ever. So this might be the one and only time she would get to experience this with him.
Sliding her fingers through the nest of hair, she encircled his cock and squeezed as she turned and kissed the heated flesh beneath her lips. He moaned and tightened his grip in her hair as the muscles in his stomach contracted. Alison reveled in the power she held over this remarkable man as she ran her hand up the velvet steel of his shaft. She loved exploring the contrast between the hardness of his body and the silky softness of the skin covering his cock.
His hips rocked and the sinewy muscles in his stomach bunched beneath her cheek. "Ali," he groaned. His fingers tightened in her hair and she felt him beginning to roll over while pressing her backward.
She slipped out from beneath his grasp and gazed up at him. "No," she said.
His right eyebrow shot up to his hairline, "No?" he repeated.
She smiled as seductively as she could and pushed him back down onto the bed. "My turn," she said.
A slow, carnal grin lit his face as he settled back against the rumpled sheets. He lifted his arms and stacked them behind his head. A twinkle lightened the caramel brown of his eyes to a tawny color.
"By all means," he said, fixing his seductive gaze on her.
Alison’s heart was thundering in her breast. They had made love three times last night. The first had been an unbelievable explosion of erotic pleasure. Fast and furious, as neither one of them had made love to someone in a long time. The second time had been slow and seductive. An exploration of the sensual pleasures they had both missed over the years. And the third time had been playful, filled with laughter, tickling, and youthful banter.
If this was to be her last time with him, then Alison wanted to enjoy every minute of it. And she wanted to control it—something her husband had never allowed.
Sifting her fingers through the soft mat of hair on his stomach, she glided her hand upward. His muscles quivered and coiled and then quaked when she scraped her fingernails across the harden points of his nipples.
Jerking his arms out from behind his head, he looked like he was about to devour her. But the steely resolve she had come to know in him held him suspended. His arms remained poised over his head and his eyes were eating her up. But she’d had enough of torturing them.
Flinging her leg over his torso, she straddled him. The heat of his stomach scorched her mons, drawing forth the familiar wetness. His mouth fell open, but no sound came out.
His reaction to her empowered and emboldened her. She had never felt such heady power over another before. Nor over her own body and destiny. John had given her that, and she loved him all the more for it.
He rarely spoke, preferring to let his actions do the talking for him. Which, for a lawyer, she thought was funny and endearing.
Now he just waited to see what she was going to do. Emboldened, Alison slid backward, the friction against hard muscles of his stomach drawing a moan of her own from her lips. Once she felt the probing tip of his manhood against her buttocks, she lifted up and positioned herself directly over him. A lascivious grin split his lips as he slid his hands to her thighs. In his steadying hands, she slowly lowered her body, impaling herself on his manhood, inch by scintillating inch.
Once she was fully seated on him, Alison leaned backward, dragging a deep moan of pleasure from both of them. Awkwardly at first, she rose up and then slid back down. Within seconds she had found a rhythm, with his help, that drove both of them toward a climax. She had wanted to stretch this out as long as she could. To enjoy being part of him. If it was to be her last coupling with him, then she wanted as many memories as she could garner.
But there was no way she could stem the tide of pleasure that was enveloping her. Within minutes, her body was humming with ecstasy. Alison shuddered as she flew into the heavens. His deep, gravelly baritone rent the air as he cried out her name and filled her with his seed.
By the time Alison resurfaced, a blinding light was shining through the open curtains. So languished from their long night of lovemaking, it took her several minutes to realize just what the position of the sun meant. A cold chill rocketed through her as she stared in horror at the midday sunshine.
Searching the room, Alison also realized she was quite alone. Her clothes were neatly pressed and carefully folded across a chair near the bed. Her shoes were lined up in front of the chair much like she had done to John's last night.
Images of Phyllis and Becky waking up and finding their mother gone ripped through her and stole her breath away. It wo
uldn't be the first time she’d had to leave them during the night. But she no longer worked at the hospital, so they wouldn’t know why she had stayed out all night.
Shame and regret rolled through her stomach as she sprung from the bed and dressed as quickly as she could, all the while praying she could get home and into the house before her daughters or one of her servants realized she was not there, despite knowing it was a ridiculous idea. All of them would have been up for hours by now and would know she hadn't been in bed all night.
Stumbling over to the chair, she sat down heavily and pulled on her shoes, a single tear coursing down her face and marring the tip of her half boots.
"Oh good, you're up," John's cheery voice startled her.
Jerking around, she glared at the man standing in the doorway. "How could you?" she demanded.
His brow wrinkled as he advanced into the room. "How could I what?"
Alison stared at him in disbelief then waved her hand toward the window. "It's the middle of the afternoon! My daughters, they won't know where I've gone. They are going to be terrified." She stood up and advanced on him. "And just what am I supposed to tell them when they asked me where I've been all night?"
His demeanor shifted, but he held his ground in front of her. "You tell them that the patient is doing much better. That he had a setback, but is now expected to make a full recovery."
Alison's mind whirled as she tried to put together what he was telling her. Shaking her head, she demanded, "What in the bloody hell are you talking about?"
"I sent a man around early this morning to tell your housekeeper that you had been called away during the night. A friend of mine was badly injured and needed your help. And being the only nurse I knew, I of course sent for you."
The cold rope in her chest eased as she tried to wrap her mind around what he was saying. Over the years she had been asked to attend dozens of men and women who had been hurt and injured. A number of those calls had come in the middle of the night.
"But how..." She started to ask.
But of course he knew about her propensity to be called away in the middle of the night. It was how they had met after all. Mollified somewhat, she shook her head and felt a little foolish.
"But why didn't you just wake me?" she asked.
He grinned sheepishly at her. "I couldn't. You looked too peaceful. And I wanted to talk to you this morning."
The cold chill slammed into her again. He was going to ask her to marry him. She just knew it. He had purposely allowed her to sleep late so she wouldn't have any other choice in the matter. Either marry him or have her daughters' futures destroyed. And the hell of it was, she was no longer sure of what her answer would have been. Now she was certain.
"So you've endangered my reputation and that of my daughters, so you can indulge your whim." It was a condemnation, not a question, and she knew it.
He literally flinched as if she had struck him. His mouth fell open and he looked back at her in bewilderment. "No," he finally said. "I would never endanger you or your daughters in any way."
Alison looked around and then settled on the sunlight streaming through the window. "Then what do you call this?" she demanded. Turning back around, she fixed her gaze on him. "No one is going to believe I was nursing someone. My family knows I've given that life up." And she had, despite lately thinking about going back to it, or something similar. "You should have woken me up," she insisted. "Lying to my family is my choice and not yours, Mister Netterman."
He took two steps backward and came up against the open door. His face closed off even as his eyes bore into hers.
"Ali, by the time I woke up it was already mid-morning. The sun had been up for more than an hour. I did the only thing I could think to do. The only thing I could to protect your reputation. Which I had promised you I would do."
Her mind whirled and she felt a little faint. Memories of last night fluttered through her mind. Especially their last interlude. The one she had initiated just as the night-time sky was beginning to lighten. She knew she was being unreasonable, but she couldn't help it. His presumptiveness was too much like Phillip's.
"I appreciate that," she grouched. "But you should have woken me up nonetheless. It was my decision to make, not yours."
He stared at her for an agonizing long second, then nodded his head. "You are of course right. I should have woken you up. And I'm sorry, Ali. It won't happen again, I promise you."
Alison felt childish but couldn't help it. She took a deep breath and tried to rein in her riotous emotions.
"Thank you," she said, and then in a bid to change the subject, she asked, "What did you want to talk to me about?" She immediately regretted asking the question, as she was once again reminded of what she feared he wanted to ask her.
"My family have invited us to a ball Friday next. And my mother has sent around an invitation to accompany them to the opera tonight as well."
"What?" she squeaked, her heart plunging to the depths of her stomach.
"I thought it would be a good chance to show you off to my family and friends. To let the world know we are officially courting."
Her banked temper reignited in an instant. Images of Phillip dragging her from one social event to another, so he could show her off, flashed through her mind. In her heart she knew John was not trying to do the same thing, but added to his high handedness of not waking her up, it felt like a betrayal of some kind.
Alison could feel her body beginning to shake as she glared back at John, whose face was quickly losing the jovialness he’d had, growing concerned. With each painful heartbeat Alison couldn't breathe. She couldn't move or hear anything but the echoes of her past. Phillip's boastful voice taunting her from the grave. Alison wanted to lash out but knew it wasn’t fair.
She shivered violently as her vision dimmed and then blurred. She couldn't be here. The frantic thought exploded in her brain as she sought a way out of the room. She didn’t want to accuse John of being just like her late husband, but neither could she remain in his presence.
"Ali, what's wrong?"
John's distant voice reverberated in her ears as if he were miles away instead of right in front of her. Desperately, she pushed passed him and raced from the room. She turned first one way and then the other. Then his hand touched her shoulder, and she pulled away and sprinted down the hallway toward the stairs.
She had taken the servant stairs and crashed through an open door into the kitchen. Across the room, she saw the same door she had used to enter the house the night before and rushed toward it. Behind her, she could hear John calling to her and his heavy footsteps as he quickly followed.
Ignoring him and everything else, Alison raced out the back gate and past the mews behind the house. But just before she could reach the street, strong powerful hands gripped her from behind and pulled her back into the relative seclusion of the alleyway. Reflexively she balled her fists, turned, and swung at the man holding her. Her fist bounced off his chest, and John caught it and held it firmly, but gently, in his.
"Alison, what's wrong? What are you doing?" he demanded.
With her mind whirling, she could barely make out his face, but something in his voice cut through her anger, and she looked around. She was in the alleyway and facing the street. A street now teeming with people and horses.
"I have to go home," she whispered. "I have to go home."
His hands tightened on her as he stared down at her. She could see the confusion and desperation in his eyes. "Please, John, I need to go home."
He nodded. "Alright, Ali. I'll take you."
Her heart lurched painfully and a shiver ran through her. Alison shook her head, she needed time to think. "No, I'll walk," she said.
His eyebrow rose and his grip tightened. "You can't walk home from here."
"Why not?" she demanded, her anger was begging to overcome her again.
He bent down so that he was eye-to-eye with her. "Ali, this isn't Mayfair. It might not be the D
ials, but it isn't safe for a woman to be walking alone here."
"Then I'll hire a hackney." She was being ridiculous and she knew it, but she just couldn't help herself.
He stared into her eyes as her heart beat franticly in her chest. "Please, Ali, what is this about? What have I done to upset you so badly?"
What had he done! her mind screamed. Then softer, more measured, What had he done? Nothing that any other man courting a woman wouldn’t have wanted to do. And then she realized just what had frightened her so. It wasn't him. It was her memories and anger over what her husband had put her through, and had been too naïve to understand.
Her shoulders slumped and she went limp, as the tears she had been holding at bay broke free and blinded her. He gathered her into his arms, and she gave in to the torrent of tears she had been fighting. An eternity passed as she gave in to her misery and soaked the front of his shirt. Finally, after untold minutes, her tears began to abate, and a coldness crept over her.
He must have sensed the change, as he gathered her closer and began moving them back down the alleyway and into the back garden. Once there, he shut the gate and led her over to a wrought iron bench along the back fence. Carefully, he maneuvered her around and then gently settled her on the bench.
Alison closed her eyes and dropped her head into her hands. He deserved an explanation for her bizarre actions. She had never in her life lost her temper as she had just now.
She felt him kneel in front of her and his hands came to rest on her knees. And then he waited. Silently. Patiently. As he always did with her and her daughters. She hated that about him. Or loved that about him. Right now she wasn't sure which was true.
"Ali," he finally prompted.
Alison took a breath. "John, I..."
When she didn't say more, she felt him shifting, and his hand tightened on her knees. "Please, Alison. Please tell me what I did wrong."
Oh dear God in heaven. He hadn't done anything wrong. In fact, as far as she could tell, the man was near perfect. And if not perfect, then he was everything she hadn't known she wanted in a man. He was leagues removed from what Phillip had been and the careless way her husband had treated her. And John was everything she had wanted in a father for her daughters as well.
Alison's Scandalous Affair (The Fallen Angels NOVELLA series Book 1) Page 11