The Affair: Week 2

by BETH KERY

  “Oh,” she mumbled. Is that what she’d been telling him, not only with her mouth but also her body? She increasingly didn’t care, as long as he kept touching her. With him touching her, all thoughts of Amanda’s shattered expression in that living room last night vacated her brain.

  His fingers burrowed beneath her jeans, skimming her labia through her underwear. Rubbing. Pressing. The whole time, he watched her expression tightly. When he struck her bull’s-eye, she gasped at the ideal, direct pressure on her clit. Her core clenched tight. She grimaced at the sharp pinch of need and pressed her hips up against him and whimpered uncontrollably.

  He really knew his way around a woman’s body.

  Oh my God.

  To say the least.

  He lowered his head until his mouth was just a fraction of an inch from hers, his gaze holding hers fast the whole time.

  “The thing of it is, though, I’m still just being selfish. I’m not going to rest until I feel you shake against me,” he said, his tone a strange mixture of thick arousal and anger.

  His fingers found the edge of her panties and slid beneath them. She whimpered shakily as the ridge of his forefinger burrowed between her lips, gliding in the well-lubricated valley. He’d mapped her out well in his little expedition above her panties. She shook as he played her. He grunted roughly against her mouth.

  “So what do you say? Do you think you can grant me rest tonight, Emma?” he murmured, rubbing her clit and plucking and biting at her upturned lips in a way that made her burn in places she didn’t realize she owned.

  “Oh yes,” she whispered.

  “That’s what I wanted to hear,” he said hotly as both his finger and tongue plunged in unison.

  Chapter Seven

  The thing of it is, though, I’m really just being selfish. I’m not going to rest until I feel you shake against me.

  Despite his words, what he was doing to her felt far from selfish. She drowned in decadent, flooding pleasure. He moved in her outer sex, pressing and sliding, his hand every bit as skilled at this maneuver as it was the deft, precise handling of a car. He owned her mouth at the same time that he touched her. He may have expressed his doubts about making love to Emma in the backseat of a car in a garage on a night when she was so vulnerable, but his kiss was wholesale, deep and compelling, holding nothing back.

  Emma found herself giving just as completely. Her fingers plunged into his hair. She loved the feeling of it in her hands.

  His finger continued to agitate her, gliding and rubbing her clit in a way that made her core contract and her eyes roll back in her head. God, she was burning from the inside out. She was wet, very wet, she could tell by the easy glide of the stiff ridge of his forefinger, the slippery movement of his seeking fingertip. It felt so good—better than when she touched herself; more concise, more imperative. She could so easily lose herself to this feeling . . . to him.

  “That’s right,” he murmured against her lips. “Just give in to it.”

  She moaned, the fever in her rising, the friction he wrought with his skillful hand mounting. He pierced her lips with his tongue, capturing her groan of ecstasy. She grew so hot, so excited, that the souls of her feet tingled and her nipples grew painfully hard against her bra. As if he could read her body with his mind, he abruptly broke their kiss. She gasped in excited surprise when he pressed his mouth to the upper curve of her right breast. His head moved, his lips charting the swell of the flesh.

  “Oh God,” she moaned in dazed arousal when he closed lips around the nipple and sucked through her T-shirt and bra. Her hips pressed up more insistently against his hand between her thighs. He was playing her clit expertly, but she longed to have him penetrate her. Fill her. She could feel the heat of his mouth on her breast, the wetness penetrate the cloth, the delicious suction. The stimulation on her nipple and clit at once nearly brought her to climax. But then his hand moved, his dragging forefinger along her naked pelvis and lower belly leaving a wet trail of her juices.

  “Oh . . . no,” she protested, disoriented by the sudden absence of his magical touch. He lifted his head.

  “Shhhh,” he whispered, the hushing sound soothing, but also firm, authoritative, as if he was saying, wait, your pleasure will come in due time. She bit her lip to stifle her ragged breathing as she watched him lift her T-shirt, his actions deliberate and focused, as if he didn’t want to rush this. He carefully arranged her T-shirt over her breasts, his stare so intent her clit pinched in anguished arousal. He whisked a fingertip over the top of her breast and inserted it inside the edge of her bra.

  “Jesus. You’re beautiful,” he said quietly when he’d pushed back the fabric and exposed a nipple.

  He looked up at her desperate whimper.

  “Just a little longer, baby, keep still,” he soothed and commanded at once.

  He dipped another finger beneath the fabric of the other cup, holding her stare the whole time, his touch scalding her. He lifted the flesh over the edge and then pushed the bra down securely beneath her exposed breasts. She forced her hips not to rise on the seat. She needed pressure on her pussy so badly. Her gaze moved down with his. Emma gritted her teeth and moaned in agony when she saw the picture her breasts made, both of them standing up pertly over the bunched cups, her nipples dark pink and very hard with arousal.

  A surge of liquid heat went through her when he groaned roughly. “Look at that, like tight little buds,” he muttered, sounding awed as he plucked at one nipple, then another. The ache of desire inside her clamped so tight, it hurt. She had to shut her eyes, the vision was so erotic—his dark, masculine fingers against her pale skin, caressing and pinching her delicate nipples, an expression of rapt hunger on his handsome face.

  She made a strangled sound in her throat. He paused in his illicit caresses, and she opened her eyes warily. Their gazes met for a heart-stopping second.

  Then his head lowered and he sucked a captive nipple into his mouth, and his finger slid again beneath her panties. Twin bolts of pleasure pierced her, pinning her to the spot, forcing her to submit. She trembled in the face of a huge, intimidating wave of pleasure. It was going to crash down on her, steal her breath—

  “Come. I’ve got you,” he rasped next to her damp breast. Then he took her nipple into his wet, warm mouth again, sucking harder this time. She cried out sharply as heaven fell. Shudder after shudder wracked her. One of his hands found its way to her back. He lifted her slightly from the seat, her back arching against his hot, demanding mouth. Then he was pressing her against him tightly, his lips now on her neck and near her ear, his finger playing her clit relentlessly.

  “That’s right,” he whispered roughly next to her ear as she shuddered yet again. “That’s what I wanted to feel. I can’t wait to be high and hard inside you and feel that squeezing my cock.” Another harsh shudder went through her at his erotic description. “Emma,” he groaned, absorbing her shocks of pleasure as she quaked against him, helpless in the clutches of bliss.

  * * *

  She sagged into the seat a moment later. He firmed his hold on her wrists and again pinned them above her head. A thrill penetrated her satiation when she saw his focused, feral stare. He captured her shaky moan with his mouth. It was a little difficult for her to return his forceful kiss at first as her lungs silently screamed for air. His rabid hunger awakened her own, however, their lips shaping, bodies straining, tongues delving, heads twisting, breaths mingling. The heat between them blasted her. Delicious.

  Dangerous.

  She pulled on her restrained wrists. She wanted so much to touch his face and hair, feel the hard strength of muscle. Instead of just releasing her, however, he heaved himself off her abruptly. The absence of his weight and heat left her feeling disoriented. Bereft. God, he’d been so hot on top of her. So hard.

  He went to a seated position and lowered his head to his hand, his elbow on his knee. H
e sat there while his heavy breathing slowed, clearly trying to master himself.

  “I just wanted to touch you,” she whispered, thinking maybe he’d thought she was trying to escape him when she’d struggled in his hold just now.

  He turned his head, peering at her in the dim light with his hand still pressed to his temple. His gaze lowered and his expression stiffened. Emma realized her breasts were still exposed, sticking out lewdly over the bunched up cups of her bra.

  “I’m not suggesting it this time,” he said thickly. “I’m telling you, Emma. Go.”

  She inhaled sharply at the steeliness of his tone. Feeling vulnerable, she hastily replaced the cups before shoving down her T-shirt. She sat up, swinging her legs out from behind him. It suddenly felt like there wasn’t enough oxygen in the enclosed space of the luxury car. Maybe he thought so, too, because he abruptly flung open the door and got out, leaving the door open.

  God. Had she really just been making out with Michael Montand in the back of a car, climaxing against him furiously? Her life was certainly throwing her some wild pitches lately.

  She hurriedly fastened her jeans, feeling dazed, and followed him out of the car. She was a little surprised her legs still held her weight when she stood, that was how undone she felt from thunderous climax and renewed arousal.

  He met her stare across the space of the few feet that now separated them. The air seemed to crackle between them. She’d never experienced chemistry like this. She hadn’t known it existed to this degree. Her clit twanged between her thighs. Without ever intending to, her gaze lowered over his body hungrily. The coveralls he wore were loose, but she could easily see the outline of his still-erect cock where it arrowed upward along his pelvis and hip at a diagonal angle, tenting the material next to it as the weight pulled the fabric down. She could tell he was beautiful there, just like he was everywhere else.

  “Don’t,” he bit out, giving her burning glance of warning that froze the air in her lungs. He started to walk away.

  “Wait. What are you doing? Where are you going?” she sputtered, her disorientation rising.

  He turned around and glanced down at the significant bulge in the front of the coveralls. “What do you think I’m going to do?” he asked with blistering sarcasm.

  His voice seemed to echo all around the garage and in her head in the silence that followed, harsh as a whip.

  “Fuck you,” she replied succinctly when the pain of that lash finally penetrated her confusion.

  His lip curled and his eyes closed briefly. He cursed under his breath just as heatedly as she had, white teeth flashing in a snarl.

  “I told you you’d end up regretting it. I told you I was selfish,” he hissed in what appeared to be pure, distilled frustration. He raked his fingers through his hair anxiously, avoiding her stare.

  “Your keys are in the ignition of your car. I’ll open the garage doors for you,” he said before he turned his back to her and walked away.

  * * *

  Emma had never looked forward to a weekend less.

  When she returned home on Friday night following that earth-shaking experience in Montand’s garage—she felt hollow and dazed, yet strangely alert, too. Raw.

  Were anger, confusion, and unprecedented lust going to become her permanent emotional state? It felt as if that’s all she’d experienced since climbing into that armoire last Tuesday. That damn armoire.

  Her Pandora’s Box.

  It certainly didn’t help things that Amanda was sitting at the kitchen when Emma arrived home, her cheeks damp with tears. A cup of tea sat in front of her on the oak table. She’d clearly been waiting anxiously for Emma’s arrival. God, this was the last thing she needed at this moment.

  “Not tonight, Amanda,” she bit out.

  “When, then?” Amanda asked. “We can’t just go around acting like nothing happened. I’ve hurt you. I know that. I love you too much to just ignore this.”

  “But not enough to keep from fooling around with my boyfriend?”

  Her harsh words seemed to vibrate in the air between them. Amanda looked like she’d been slapped and was holding her breath.

  Emma set down her purse on the table with a loud thump. She knew she couldn’t keep avoiding Amanda. She was her little sister, for God’s sake, her lifetime companion, fellow latchkey child, the single surviving column of the structure that gave the shape to Emma’s life since their mother had died. Never before had Amanda done something so hurtful. It wasn’t in her nature. Emma believed that. Despite the bizarre circumstances, it’d been Amanda’s shattered expression that had caused Emma’s mother-bear instinct to flare to life with Colin last night.

  Once there had been three—Mom, Amanda, and Emma—against the world. Then there were two.

  Now there was still two, but Amanda was moving swiftly away from her, too far to be an anchor anymore. She dreaded the idea of not having Amanda there as a confidant . . . as her only family.

  But look what she did behind your back!

  Emma stilled the choking thought with effort.

  “I’m not hurting in the way you’re thinking,” Emma said.

  “I’ve betrayed you.” Amanda said stiffly, as if she spoke toxic words that burned her throat and tongue.

  She looked into her sister’s beautiful, tear-stained face. “Changes come, whether you want them to or not.”

  “Please tell me I haven’t ruined our relationship forever.”

  “You’ll always be my sister, Amanda. I’ll always love you. But things have changed. How am I supposed to trust you like I did before?”

  Misery settled on Amanda’s face, giving the quick impression she’d aged five years in an instant. “And to think,” she whispered after a pause, “all because I couldn’t control myself. All because I wanted something I didn’t really need.”

  The memory of Montand’s thick self-disgust for his lust flamed into Emma’s awareness. “Who’s to say you don’t need it? If not Colin, then passion. Risk.” Emma mumbled distractedly, the image of Montand clouding her consciousness.

  “You’re condoning me kissing your boyfriend in the name of taking a risk?” Amanda asked incredulously.

  “No. I’m saying that some things are inevitable. Life is filled with the unexpected and irrationalities and change. You must have wanted Colin an awful lot to have acted on it, given the circumstances.”

  “Part of me still can’t believe I let it happen.”

  “And the other part?” Emma asked wryly.

  “I know you probably don’t want to hear this, but I think . . . I think I’ve fallen in love with him.”

  “And Colin? Does he feel the same way about you?”

  Amanda nodded, more tears filling her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Emma. God, this is so screwed up.”

  Emma sighed. She felt wrung out. Exhausted. Heartsore. “I should have broken things off with Colin a long time ago. I’ve been living in a dreamworld, acting like everything is fine, holding on to him because he was my own personal safety net. I was in the relationship for all the wrong reasons.”

  “Tell me what to do to make this right, Emma.”

  “I can’t make everything better for you on your timetable, Amanda,” she said, frustration entering her tone. “That’s not fair to expect it.”

  Amanda swallowed. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I just don’t want to lose you, and I’m scared.”

  “I’m not going anywhere and neither are you. We’ll eventually get past this. But right this second, I’m just . . . really tired. I’m going to bed.”

  Amanda nodded, tears leaking down her cheeks. Emma was usually her comforter. But there was nothing she could say to soothe her little sister at that moment. She was too confused herself, and her frothing emotions and thoughts had nothing to do with Colin.

  * * *

  Saturday morning, she
finally sat down with Amanda to talk, knowing her sister wouldn’t rest until she eradicated her guilty conscience. Given Amanda’s red eyes and pale complexion, she had a feeling her sister had been up crying all night again. Besides, Emma couldn’t help but be curious about the circumstances between her sister and Colin.

  “So your feelings have been growing stronger ever since the two of you have been spending so much time together?” Emma asked after listening to Amanda’s emotional confessions over morning tea.

  “We have a lot in common. You know I’m interested in forensic medicine, and he’s learning so many amazing things in his new job. Plus, we’re so comfortable together.”

  “And that’s what you want? Comfortable?” Emma asked dubiously.

  “Well yeah. Who doesn’t?” Amanda said, as if it were obvious. “But I never planned to act on the feelings I was getting for him, Emma. Please believe me. I never will again, if you say the word, despite the way I feel about him. The other night, it just . . . happened. You’ll never know how terrible I felt, seeing you standing there, imagining what you were thinking of me.” Emma had the rather random, uncharitable thought that Amanda looked absolutely gorgeous even with her face all red and splotchy and her long hair pulled back in a haphazard bun.

  Emma sighed. “If you really like Colin, you shouldn’t just give up on the whole thing because of me. It’s like I told you yesterday, you’ll always be my sister.”

  “But . . . but what about you and Colin?” Amanda asked in a quavering voice.

  “It’s over. It’s like I said last night. We were comfortable together. There was no real romance. What happened last night just brought all that to the forefront. What are you going to do in regard to him?”