Forever His Desire

by Valerie Lynne

  “For what?” Jennifer asked, her lips downturned. “There is nothing for you to be sorry for. You didn’t do anything wrong.” She turned her focus back to her coffee mug, releasing a disgruntled laugh. “I know better than to let Rosalyn get under my skin. Yet, I always do.”

  Andre sighed, his heart squeezing. “I love you.”

  Fingers trembling, Jennifer lifted the coffee mug to her mouth and pressed her lips over the cool porcelain. Andre watched as she slowly sipped, his lips tightening as he noted the open bottle of whiskey placed before her.

  Oh, please. No, don’t blame yourself. None of this is your fault, Andre silently pleaded as Jennifer drained the contents from her mug. “I’m not sure it’s wise to be mixing that with your pain killers.” He nodded to the whiskey bottle. “That’s how people kill themselves.”

  Her lips twitched with what appeared to be amusement. “No such luck. You’re stuck with me, Andre Jenkins. You asked me to marry you, remember?” She held the back of her hand before him, the small diamond sparkling within the ray of mid-afternoon light streaming through the window.

  “Not stuck.” Andre shook his head. “How can I be stuck when I’m head over heels in love with you? By now, you should know that you own my heart.”

  She’d braced an elbow onto the table, holding her cheek in her palm. A soft whimper-like sound leaked from her lips as she averted her eyes downward.

  Andre’s stomach dropped and he rushed to kneel down at her feet. With one hand pressed to the back and the other positioned under her chair, he maneuvered the wooden seat along with Jennifer still in it, to face him. “Let me see that beautiful face,” he said, gently tipping her chin up.

  “I was so scared.” Jennifer’s voice quivered. “If anything were ever to happen to you, I’d surely die.”

  “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me, too. No matter what Rosalyn says or does, never doubt you’re my everything.” He rubbed his palms up each of her thighs, his dark eyes lost in a turbulent blue abyss. “I’m addicted to you and those gorgeous blue eyes.” His fingers trailed higher, slipping beneath the nightgown she still wore. “And your smooth skin, your scent, and those fucking amazing tits.” He leaned closer, his lips inches from hers. “These soft lips.”

  “Andre,” Jennifer gasped, reaching to pull his hand away from beneath her skirt. “You’ve got a concussion. I want you so badly, but the doctor says you need to rest.”

  A guttural groan slid from his lips. “Dammit. You’re right.”

  Jennifer laughed softly. “When are you ever going to learn that I always am?”

  Chapter 11

  Jennifer

  Although she’d urged Andre to rest for the remainder of the previous day, he’d been determined that they were going to talk things through regarding Rosalyn and her obsessive desire to split them apart. Curled beneath a blanket, they’d cuddled on the couch until well after midnight. The only time Jennifer had left the comfort of their cocoon was to greet the pizza delivery driver at the front door.

  As hard as she tried, there were no words that appropriately conveyed the sheer terror that had ripped through Jennifer the night of the accident. How distraught she’d been when she’d peered over her shoulder to discover Andre’s lifeless body slumped beside her. The sinking in her gut as she struggled to shift her bruised limbs across the seat to get closer to him. The agony of the unknown as she reached out to feel for his pulse. The pure hell that severed her heart with the fleeting knowledge that Andre might not actually be unconscious—but perhaps, dead.

  Nothing she said gave justice to the magnitude of the previous night’s grief. Seated together in the bed of the truck, the waves crashing to the shore and the shrill ring of the foghorn in the distance, Jennifer prayed. Begged for a second chance. Andre couldn’t die. He was too good. The accident was all her fault. She prayed and prayed, as hard as she could, desperate for the promise of a tomorrow with the man she loved.

  A huge weight had been lifted off Jennifer’s shoulders as Andre wiped at her tears, silencing her despair with his murmurs of love and forgiveness. Wrapped securely beneath the protection of one strong arm, Jennifer rested her head on his chest, the comfort of his heartbeat beneath her palm lulling her into a deep sleep.

  “THANK YOU FOR AGREEING to talk with Rosalyn,” Jennifer said with a yawn the following morning. “I should get ready.”

  “In a little while.” Andre drew her closer, crushing her against his side. “I’m too comfortable right now. And you don’t have to thank me. I should’ve confronted her long ago.”

  Playfully, she swatted Andre’s chest. “Damn right you should have.”

  Andre’s lips quirked up into a half smile. “Always the straight shooter.”

  An unladylike snort rolled from her lips. “Don’t you know it.”

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Andre said, surprising Jennifer as he tossed her beneath him and began to tickle her. Jennifer shrieked, her arms flailing as she wiggled wildly.

  Without warning, his body spasmed. He jerked away from her, crumbling down onto the mattress beside her. Curled up into a fetal position, Andre groaned and wrapped his arms over his head as if to shield himself.

  “Andre?” Wide-eyed, Jennifer jolted up onto her side, balancing her weight onto her forearm to hover above him. “Oh, honey,” she said, her stomach twisting as his face contorted in agony. Her fingers trembled as she reached out. Lightly, she began to rub a circular pattern over his temple. Andre flinched. Instantly, Jennifer thrust her hand back. “I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?” she asked, horrified to think she’d caused him any more pain.

  He squeezed his eyelids shut. “No. More,” he hissed between clenched teeth.

  Slowly, Jennifer resumed the gentle ministrations, feeling somewhat better when Andre drifted off to sleep. At least an hour had passed before her thumb cramped up, forcing her to stop. Wrought with concern, her mind spun out of control. She replayed the events of the previous night.

  She peered down at him, tears once again streaming down her cheeks. Strong and masculine, Andre had always been her protector. Seeing him so weak and in excruciating pain tore her apart. I won’t be selfish anymore. You can’t talk with Rosalyn today. It’s going to have to wait.

  Chapter 12

  Andre

  Could it be any brighter outside? Andre squeezed his eyelids into small slits, flipping the car’s sun visor down as he turned on the ignition. Maybe he should have agreed to let Jennifer drive him to Rosalyn’s house. However, once Andre had his mind set on something, it was impossible to sway him. Jennifer knew this better than anyone else. That still didn’t stop his fiancée from playing dirty. She always knew exactly how to use her feminine wiles to distract him. Far be it for him to object to her erotic persuasion?

  His lips tugged at the side, his mouth lifting into a self-satisfied grin as the memory of Jennifer’s silky auburn locks splayed over each of his thighs, her arms wrapped around each of his calves as she pleasured him.

  God! Just the thought of her makes me hard.

  Andre shifted his weight, his dick bulging against the confines of his jeans. He gripped the wheel, screwing up his eyes as he tried to concentrate on the road. His cock twitched. Visions swam of Jennifer’s sultry lips sheathed over his cock, sucking, licking, drinking her fill as he exploded his need for her into her mouth—claiming her then, now, and forever as his.

  That woman. I swear she’s a fucking sorcerer. Always leaving me horny; my raging hard-on making me beg for more.

  It was so tempting to turn the car around. Drive back to their condo on Cottage Street and wile away the rest of the afternoon with the woman he loved. As appealing as the idea was, Andre knew what had to be done. He’d already put off this inevitable confrontation with Rosalyn for far too long.

  He lowered the volume on the radio. “Stressed Out” by Twenty One Pilots was barely audible, the volume turned down so low that he could hardly make out the so
ng lyrics as they thumped through the speakers. He drove down the slight hill on Memorial Boulevard and past St. Mary’s Church, famous for having been where John F. Kennedy and Jacqueline Bouvier pronounced their wedding vows. Then turned onto lower Thames, the sidewalks still thick with tourists in spite of the chill autumn winds that blew violently off the ocean. Within minutes he’d reached Kings Park, his heart leaping with the possibility of his future children as he saw a young mother with two small children chasing each other and laughing with delight as they goofed off playing in the leaves scattered about.

  Andre turned off the car’s ignition, having parked in front of the home Rosalyn resided in with her parents on Columbus Avenue. He stepped onto the well-manicured lawn, shoving the keys to Jennifer’s old Hyundai into his pocket. Head down to shield himself from the unbearable brilliant afternoon sunlight, Andre strode past the many gardens, adamant to make his point to Rosalyn short and quick. He squinted down through his dark sunglasses, trudging up to the front door of the impressive house and pressed his finger firmly to the doorbell. A shrill melodic tune rang out from the other side of the door. Andre grimaced, tossing his hands over his ears as the unwelcome chimes pulsed through his eardrums. Leave it to her to install a hoity-toity doorbell.

  “Andre,” Rosalyn exclaimed a bit too enthusiastically as she opened the wooden door and quickly unlocked the screen door to allow him in. “What an awesome surprise,” she said, gesturing for him to step forward. “I heard about your accident. Please do come in and tell me what happened.”

  “How long does that doorbell continue to ring?” Andre mumbled, stepping over the threshold and into a living room that appeared to have come right out of a 1950s sitcom.

  Rosalyn shrugged, waving his question off as if he were being silly. “Isn’t it fun? Daddy says it’s overdone. But I just love the sound of the chimes.”

  Overdone? No! Fucking torture is more like it. Just as he was about to answer, the hideous noise came to a stop. Thank God. Andre breathed a sigh of relief. The only sound breaking the blissful silence was the clip-clop of Rosalyn’s high-heeled mules from behind him.

  “What did I do to earn a visit from Newport’s most handsome police officer?” Rosalyn asked fiddling with her gold dangling earring.

  Straight to the point, Andre ignored Rosalyn’s blatant flattery. “I can see you’re on your way out.” He took in her vibrant blue maxi skirt, a snug-fitting eyelet tank top that buttoned up the front peeking out from beneath a lightweight cardigan sweater. “I’m hoping you’ll have a few moments to spare before you leave. I’d like to discuss our relationship.”

  “My, my, Officer Jenkins, you sound so serious,” Rosalyn teased, batting her eyes. “Have you come to your senses and decided I was born to be your bride?”

  “Ros—” Andre began, wincing as he removed his sunglasses, the late afternoon sunshine streaming through the room’s many windows.

  “I’m trying to make you laugh. My goodness, Andre. What happened to your sense of humor?” Rosalyn interrupted. “It isn’t every day that I get a visit from you. I’ll go shopping another time.”

  “This shouldn’t take long,” Andre stated, the end of the sentence coming out in a rush, as unbearable pain spiked through the center of his forehead. Andre closed his eyes, breathing though the agony.

  “Andre, what’s wrong?” Rosalyn snaked her arm around his bicep and then quickly ushered him into the living room.

  “I’ll be fine. It’s just my head,” he answered, managing to release a half-hearted laugh. “Remember? The accident? News travels fast. You must have heard I have a concussion.”

  “Yes, I do remember and you’re probably overdoing it. Please. Sit down,” Rosalyn fussed, pointing to the ugly couch covered in a drape floral tapestry. “I’ll be right back. Let me get you something to drink. And some aspirin.”

  “It’s not nec—” Rosalyn had left the room before he’d finished his sentence.

  This isn’t a social call. For fuck’s sake, she doesn’t get it. She hasn’t listened to a word I’ve said. I’m not staying for long.

  A few moments later, Rosalyn floated back into the room. “Here, drink this. I made it this morning.” She smiled, handing him a tall glass of iced tea along with two pills. “You look positively exhausted, Andre. I’m sure these pills will help.”

  “What are they?” he asked, inspecting the top of the red capsule with yellow at the other end.

  “Um—” After a brief hesitation, Rosalyn continued, “You know what. I can’t recall the name. My primary care physician gave them to me. I get awful migraines. They’re like some kind of miracle potion. I’m sure they’ll help you too.”

  “I’d better not take them. It’s never good to take medicine prescribed for someone else.” Andre thrust out his hand to give the pills back to Rosalyn.

  “Don’t be silly. It’s just headache medicine, Andre,” Rosalyn said. “Trust me. They won’t kill you.”

  As another spasm ripped through his temples, Andre decided maybe Rosalyn was right. It was time he gave in and took something for his headache. It didn’t make him weak to admit he needed something to take the edge off. “Where are your parents?” Andre inquired, popping a pill into his mouth and washing it down with the refreshing iced tea. He raised an eyebrow as Rosalyn proceeded to lower herself onto the couch, and shimmy unnecessarily close beside him.

  “They went to Foxwoods Resort for the weekend.” Her ruby-red lips curved into a coy smile as she arched her neck. “Relax, Andre. You seem so uptight. I don’t bite...unless, of course, you want me to.”

  The hairs on the back of his neck rose. “Okay. About that.” Andre shifted slightly. The motion created little distance between them. “You may not realize it, Rosalyn, but jokes, such as that one, are inappropriate. They make my fiancée uncomfortable and her discomfort makes me unhappy.”

  Rosalyn scooched impossibly closer and unfastened the top two buttons of her tank top. With her hip practically atop his thigh, she leaned closer and whispered, “What if I told you, I’m not joking?”

  Andre’s jaw clenched.

  Rosalyn placed her hand onto his thigh. “Believe me, Andre, I’ve never been more serious. Jennifer doesn’t have to find out. Mommy and Daddy aren’t home. Why not take advantage of this situation? I won’t tell if you don’t.”

  “Knock it off. I’m not interested.” Andre jerked away, bolting up from the couch. The room whirled around him as his body swayed. Light-headed, he fought to regain his stance.

  “Andre!” Rosalyn sprang from the couch and wrapped her hand around his waist to help him steady himself. “Please sit down. You don’t look well.”

  “Let go of me.” His blood boiled as she clung to his arm. He reached behind his back, capturing her hand in his and none-too gently pried her fingers off. “Look. I don’t want to sound like an asshole.”

  “Ooh...so forceful,” Rosalyn cooed, shimming her breasts as she took a step closer to him. “I like a man who takes charge.”

  “Stop. It.” Andre sneered, the scent of her overpowering perfume making him want to vomit.

  “I know how to make you relax.” Rosalyn placed each of her palms flat against his chest and smoothed them over his pectoral muscles. “I know how to make you a very, very happy man.”

  “I told you. I. Am. Not. Interested.” Andre spun around, eager to get away from her. His vision blurred, the floor twisting beneath him. He took a step, his foot not meeting the ground as he tumbled forward. A hard thud rattled his teeth. Painful spikes pierced through his skull moments before everything faded into black.

  A LOW GROWL RUMBLED from his chest. “Fuck...yes. Feels. So. Fucking. Good.” Although his head ached, being awakened by Jennifer’s greed for his cock had always been a huge turn-on. “Keep doing that. Use me for your pleasure,” Andre encouraged, his eyes still closed.

  His dick hard and throbbing, he needed to plunge deeper between her wet folds. Andre reached out and firmly cupped her ass within
each of his palms. His fingernails dug roughly into her skin as he bucked up forcefully between her straddled thighs. A guttural sound escaped from his throat as he filled her to the hilt. “Ride me fast, Blue Eyes.”

  “Oh, Andre.” An unfamiliar moan wafted above him. “I’ve waited so long for this,” a woman’s voice cooed. Her mouth clamped down over his, her tongue poking roughly between his lips. The sickening sweet smell of floral perfume choked him, his ears filled with the sound of smacking sounds while she nibbled, sucked, and slobbered all over his mouth. What the fuck? Andre’s eyes snapped open. Holy hell!

  “Get the fuck off me!” He pushed against the woman above him, his limbs like rubber as he scrambled up onto his forearms and into a seated position.

  Why the hell am I so damn weak?

  A startled cry rang throughout the room as Rosalyn lost her balance and flopped down into a lump beside him.

  Andre’s eyes narrowed down onto his groin. His cock hung through the opening of his white cotton briefs having immediately gone limp. With trepidation his eyes journeyed lower, his stomach twisting into a knot as nausea threatened to drown him. Rage rained down on him as he noted his jeans had been shoved down to his ankles. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

  “You wanted it,” Rosalyn accused as she scrambled away from him on all fours and then leapt up off the floor.

  “I was unconscious! I didn’t know what the hell I was doing.” In a cold sweat, Andre yanked his jeans up, his head swimming in dizziness as he clambered to his knees. “For fuck’s sake—I thought you were Jenn.”

  After patting her skirt down, Rosalyn dared to say, “Oh, sweetie, if that’s what you want to think, so be it.”

  “You vile, conniving bitch! You know damn well I’d never fuck you. I’d never cheat on Jenn. Especially with someone like you!”

  “Your bulging hard-on proved otherwise.” Like some sort of she-devil, she rushed toward him, stopping to glare at him. “Don’t feel guilty for giving in to your need for a real woman—like me!”