While he kissed me, his hands slid over my body, cupping, caressing, pulling me closer until he whispered in my ear, “One day I’m going to make you come with your clothes on, but that’s not what you need right now, is it?”
I shook my head. We both knew I needed to feel him inside me, so he went back to kissing me, so persuasively I forgot everything else but his breath, his touch, and the soft keening sounds he drew from me—inarticulate pleadings for more. Then I felt his hands on the front of my jacket, but it wasn’t until the cool air rushed in there that I realized he’d undone the buttons and was pushing it over my shoulders.
I broke away from his kiss then to look up into his dark eyes, watching him as he undressed me, his hands gliding down my arms to remove the jacket and throw it onto the bed. Then his hands slid up from my back to undo the clasp of my pale pink bra which fell away a moment later and joined the jacket on the bed.
His eyelids lowered as he watched himself caressing my breasts, making me moan and press them into his hands. It was all I could do to keep my eyes open as the heat of his stroking fingers on the sensitive skin and the gentle sting when he pinched my nipples wormed through me, making my body ache to press against his.
Then my skirt was sliding down over my hips—I hadn’t even felt him unzip it— and he went completely still.
I flicked a glance down at my pink La Perla garter belt and panties, a match to the balconette bra he’d already removed, and then back up to him.
I saw him swallow, his eyes very dark as he stared at my lingerie. Then he said softly, “Is this what you wear every day, under those I’m a lady, don’t mess with me outfits? Garters? Stockings? See-through panties?”
They weren’t completely see-through. Just a pale pink, but yes. I wore stockings if I was going out. So I nodded.
He pressed his lips together and I could see him breathing heavily in and out of his nose. Then he looked up into my eyes, his own slightly unfocused. “That’s it then.” He nodded to himself. “I’m going to have to fuck you so comprehensively, you don’t imagine for a second that you’re showing this to any other man, ever.”
My heart was pounding, but I said, “You know what I want.”
He nodded, but I wasn’t sure he realized that his territorial masculinity was exactly what I wanted, exactly what I needed, to feel desired as a woman.
So when he said, “Step away from the skirt,” his voice low and gruff, I did as he asked, and then he slid his thumbs into the sides of my panties and eased them off, crouching to slide his hands down my legs, leaving me only in the garter belt, stockings and heels.
“Step out of them,” he said, and I ended up with my black heels slightly apart, and that’s when he nuzzled my pubic hair, sending a shock of sensation jolting through my body to tingle behind my breasts.
I stood completely still, trying to hold in the shudder of excitement that was jump-starting my heart, delivering clutches and tingles and heat.
I’d never had a man’s face there before, but I’d given him permission and I wasn’t taking it back. I wanted to push my own boundaries so far I didn’t recognize myself inside this new woman, in the same way as he’d obviously given himself permission to overcome his previous moral boundaries.
Whatever—I just wanted him, and when his fingers slid into those downy curls to part them for his tongue, and I felt that heat, I started to shake. The hard, wet pressure sliding over my clitoris was like the ricochets of a pinball machine, jerking pleasure around inside me, making my breasts ache and filling my brain with white noise.
Both his hands cupped my ass cheeks to hold me still as his tongue did indescribable things to me, things I’d never dreamed I could experience, and though I tried to steady myself by resting my fingers on his moving head—far too quickly, my legs started to shake.
I was moaning and panting and it was hard to say, “Stop,” but I gasped it out, and he pulled back to look at me. “You’re making me…wobbly.”
“Okay.” He transferred his hands to my waist. “But I’m getting back to that.”
I smiled, but it was a shaky effort. The saying rocked my world was completely appropriate, but my lips were dry and my brain was sluggish and I wasn’t sure what I should say or do.
He stood and looked me up and down, then said, “Can you stand a little longer?”
“If I can hold onto something.”
“Leave the heels on, okay?” He pulled the solid chrome chair away from the desk and turned it around so it faced a full length mirror on the wall. Then he led me to the back of it. “Hold onto this,” he said, so I gripped it, facing the mirror, stunned by how different I looked.
My blond hair was loose on my shoulders, my cheeks were flushed, and through the slatted back of the chair I could see the garter belt, stockings and heels, along with my pearl necklace and pendant, looked startlingly erotic, like a vintage French postcard. A throbbing postcard.
He stood behind me, his hands on my waist, and said, “Do you see what turns me on?”
I licked my lips and nodded. Then I found my voice to say, “You should be naked.”
In under a minute he was, shedding the vest and jeans carelessly onto the floor alongside boots, socks and some seriously sexy teal briefs. Then he stood behind me with that glorious chest and those biceps I’d licked, that hard, muscular body I wanted to explore as intimately as he’d explored mine.
But the expression in his eyes pinned me. He was looking over my head into the mirror, with what appeared to be awe. Then he said softly, “You’re going to let me do this again, without a condom.”
It wasn’t a question, so I didn’t say yes. I simply widened my stance and gazed back at him through the mirror, stilling my anxiety about this position. Rear-entry might stir memories of Marcus but I needed to remind myself, this would be vaginal. And it wouldn’t be impersonal—this time I could see everything. I could see myself through Nicholas’s eyes, and as he ran his hands up my back, to curve around and cup my breasts, I could see him staring straight into my eyes in the mirror.
It had never been more obvious that he desired me as a woman. I could almost smell testosterone pumping out of him, along with that delicious musky scent that was his alone. Not only that, I knew that his desire was focused solely on me, on the unique attributes that I possessed which had somehow been exactly what he wanted. You couldn’t fake the sort of desire I saw in his eyes, and I’d never dreamed of seeing that look directed at me, but now that I had it, I greedily wanted to enjoy it.
“You tell me if this hurts,” he said softly, and I nodded, then he moved up behind me and guided himself through the slickness he’d created, which sent tingles of delight singing around my body, then I felt the prodding as he found my entrance. His other hand rested gently on my midriff, below one breast, steadying me. “Okay?”
I nodded, and held my breath, waiting for pain, but as he slid smoothly inside me, my eyes widened in pleasure and a low moan of animal appreciation growled in my throat before I could stop myself. He was a tight fit, but the sensations were creamy and silken, deep inside, pulling on the outer flesh, arousing it even more.
He’d been watching me closely and didn’t bother to hide his smile of purely masculine satisfaction. “Practice makes perfect,” he whispered, and his hand on my midriff drifted down my belly to cup my pubic mound and squeeze it gently. That set off fireworks that combined with other, deeper sensations as he pulled back and then slid inside me again.
My eyelids fluttered and wanted to close but he said, “I want you to watch.” Then his voice lowered, “Because I can’t take my eyes off you. Off us.”
So I did what he wanted—I watched us make love, feeling ever more aroused as his fingers slid through the soft folds and stroked my clitoris, making me shudder and moan shamelessly as the pleasure built. His other hand stroked one breast and then the other, rubbing each nipple between finger and thumb until it stung, until the sensations that were building and tightening inside me
wound so sharply that they snapped, and as I gripped the back of the chair and gasped out a long-drawn-out cry, his hand came under my midriff again to hold me up.
Because he wasn’t finished.
And that excited me more. I gripped onto the chair to hold myself up as aftershocks jittered through me, and his two hands slid down to my hips, holding me firm as he plunged in and out and I gasped in breaths, watching his eyes darken and narrow as he pounded into me and then seconds later, slammed home with a groan that sounded as if it was coming from somewhere deep.
He wound his arms around me then and pulled me up into his body, shuddering against me for the longest time before he settled and stilled. When it was over he closed his eyes and rested his cheek on my hair, letting his breath out in a long, deep gust.
My legs were seriously wobbly then, but I didn’t want to separate from him, so I twisted my body in his arms and kissed him, as sweetly as I could, and said, “Thank you. Again, with the best sex I could imagine.”
We were such a good fit, it was making me anxious, and I wasn’t sure why. Was I afraid of getting addicted and then having my fix withdrawn? There was no foreshadowing of that, so no need to worry. But for some reason it was hard to stay in the moment.
Nicholas, however, was oblivious to my concerns as he kissed the tip of my nose. “You have no idea what you do to me,” he said softly.
“Something good?”
“Oh yeah. Wrecked, in a good way,” he added, and ran a hand over my garter belt. “Every time I think you couldn’t possibly be sexier, you surprise me.”
His gentleness, coupled with a virility that really turned me on, was exactly what I needed—the sense of being wanted as a woman, and yet never dominated, even though he was clearly in charge when we had sex, because I wanted it that way.
For a fleeting, shocking moment, I wondered if he was the only man on the planet who would suit me so well, and I wondered if that was why I suddenly felt anxious. Although it didn’t make sense to worry about losing him. He was in love with me. I should be more concerned about the fact that I wasn’t in love with him, because if that didn’t happen, there probably wasn’t any future for us.
“You’re frowning.” He slid out of me and turned me around so he could hold me gently against his broad chest. I rested both hands on his hard pectoral muscles and felt his heart pounding beneath them. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Adele.” I jumped to the first excuse I could think of.
He glanced at his watch. “Ten minutes away,” he said and nodded to the bathroom. “Shower?”
I turned my head to glance into the grey marble bathroom. “May I go first?”
It was his turn to frown. “Not together?”
I disengaged myself and walked over to the doorway. The toilet was in a separate room inside. I turned back to him. “That’s fine. But no open toilet doors.”
His grin was slow but glorious, and standing there naked, he looked suddenly boyish and full of mischief. He crossed his heart with a finger and said, “Hope to die.”
I shook my head, smiling back. “I don’t want anyone to die.” I’d said it to banter, so the last thing I expected was for him to glance away frowning, and then look back at me with an ominously solemn expression.
“It’s too late for that,” he said, and a sudden sick premonition swirled low in my belly. I held out a hand to ward off whatever was coming, but he grasped that hand and said, “I know you don’t want to hear this but…your husband is dead.”
Chapter Fifteen
“Dead?” The world slowed down, and my pulse with it as I stared at his ‘bodyguard’ face. This wasn’t a moment for joking, and I knew he wasn’t lying. Marcus was dead and I should have been shocked, grieving, but something else was happening. My cheeks were growing hot with anger. “When did he die?”
“Twenty minutes ago. We were in the kitchen making soup when the message came through.” He had no expression on his face, but his words hid nothing, and he clearly expected no mercy from me.
“And that’s when you decided to…have sex?” I’d been about to say make love to me but that wasn’t love. It couldn’t be.
“I did,” he replied, and his calm honesty was suddenly too much for me.
“I can’t…” I blinked at him. “Who are you?”
He took a deep breath. “Someone who is crazy, stupid in love with you. Marcus wasn’t. Besides, he’s the past—”
“And you’re the future?” I couldn’t have sounded more incredulous if I’d tried. I looked around the room blindly and then marched to the bed and snatched up my clothes, going into the bathroom and locking the door behind me.
I was so furious I didn’t bother to strip. I snatched the hand shower and squatted in the shower in my high heels, with my stockings still on, to rinse away the evidence of our intercourse, not bothering to wait for the water to warm. The cold stung my overheated genitals but that felt appropriate, and I could care less about my awkward posture.
In seconds flat I was finished, and after drying myself and re-dressing, I was back out in front of him, in under five minutes.
He was dressed and had his bodyguard face intact.
“Door,” I snapped.
“So you’re not going to let me explain—”
“No. Adele is minutes away. I do not want her knowing what I did within an hour of her brother’s death. Is that clear?”
I was trembling on the inside, but I knew I could hold this together. Fury was so much easier to manage than fear or sadness.
Nicholas said nothing. He opened the inner catches and released the vault door and stepped back.
I glared at him and said, “I want my phone back.” Then I stormed out of the room and led the way upstairs to the living room where I paced in front of the picture window, waiting. He disappeared, probably into the kitchen to attend to the meal I was not going to eat. As soon as Adele arrived, she and I were leaving!
A minute later he returned and put my phone on the coffee table. I waited until he’d left again before I stalked over and snatched it up. There were five messages from the medical service, asking if I’d received their notification about Marcus not surviving the surgery. The hospital wanted me there. Could I confirm receipt of the information?
I sent them a hasty text to inform them that I was on the way with his sister, then I texted Jill, Fritha and Angela together to let them know Marcus was dead and that I was busy with Adele and would contact them again in the morning.
I knew they’d respect that.
Then I waited, letting my anger build to unmanageable levels. I knew I’d have to control it when Adele arrived, but I wanted it as an impenetrable barrier while Nicholas and I were alone. It was the only thing holding me together.
Finally, I heard distant noises and then footsteps so I moved across to look down the hallway for Adele. Gisel walked silently behind her precious charge, and the second I saw Marcus’s sister, I knew she’d already been told.
Her thin shoulders were slumped inside the deceptively simple forest green dress she wore with the mint boots Marcus had teased her about. That one detail was enough to tighten my throat, but as she drew closer, I could see her pencil thin frame was shaking.
Gisel wore the black jumpsuit that appeared to be her uniform, and she paused at the doorway to the kitchen and then entered it, clearly wanting to speak to Nicholas. So Adele approached alone, her long dark hair swept over her forehead and up into a ballerina’s bun. Her elegant arms were bare and wrapped around her chest, as though she was trying to hold in the hurt.
But as she walked the final few steps to reach me, what struck me most were her dark, tragic eyes. There had never been anything of Marcus’s robust charm about her. She’d always been a delicate shadow beside him, and without him to anchor her, she seemed so insubstantial, I was afraid she’d collapse.
I held out my hands and she clutched them, shaking so much I led her to the lounge and sat beside her.
Her teeth were chattering when she said, “I’m so sorry, Louella,” as though I had the greater pain.
In that moment I burned with shame. I should have been grieving, not having orgasms. I still wasn’t grieving. But that anger wouldn’t help her, so I shoved it aside.
“No, I’m sorry,” I said. “You’ve just lost your only family.” Their parents were dead and they had no aunts or cousins. It was a pitiful state to be in, and if ever there was an epitome of ‘orphan’ I would imagine it looked like Adele—thin, shaking, and with haunted eyes.
“But,” I added, “You know that despite the divorce, I was always going to be your sister.” I tried to smile. “I’ve never had one before, so I’m not letting you go.”
She blinked back tears, and in that moment I remembered how young she was. Ten years younger than me, but so sheltered from life, it could have been twenty. Her adult years had been spent within the ballet academy, training impossibly long hours to achieve the perfection required to step onto the stage. Her poise was the only thing that had ever made her look her age, and now that was gone.
Marcus had called her his clever butterfly, because she’d graduated with honors in physics. But her heart had always been in dance, and when their parents had died, Marcus had encouraged her to pursue it.
At the time, we’d been newly married, and his desire to see her live her dream had wormed its way into my heart, reassuring me that I’d made the right choice. I’d always wanted to marry an attractive man who was big-hearted and a gracious host. But it had never occurred to me that I should also be attracted to the man I married—that I should desire him.
Nicholas—hate him though I might in that moment—had shown me what I’d been missing. But Adele must never know that, and as I shared with her the news I’d received from the hospital, I tried to gauge how ready she might be to hear the rest.
Husband Heel (Husband #3) Page 19