by Naima Simone
“Caitlin, you didn’t tell me that Selig Richardson was back in town. I wonder why you failed to mention that little fact.”
“Why would I, Mother? I know you don’t like Selig. Besides, he returned home only for Mac and Alise’s wedding.”
“Is that so?” Janet mocked. “Do you think I don’t have eyes in my head? I saw the way he stared at you. He means trouble. Just like he did before. If not for him…”
“If not for him, what, Mother?” Caitlin stiffened, rounding on Janet with ill-concealed anger. “What? Nicholas and I would still be together? He isn’t to blame for that. The fault of our breakup rests fully on Nicholas’ shoulders. Just like the reason I left home in the first place can be placed on him.”
“What are you—”
“Nothing,” Caitlin interrupted, biting back a curse over the slip. “Nothing at all. I’m ready if you are.”
She whirled on her heel, striding away—but not before snatching up the yellow bra and panties set.
Chapter Six
“Oh damn, that’s good!”
Shut up, bitch, Nicholas grunted as he pulled halfway out of the squealing woman’s wet cunt before driving forward, forcing her to take his entire cock in one thrust. He closed his eyes, tuning out her cries and moans. If he didn’t see her he could pretend it was Caitlin shuddering under him rather than his colleague’s wife. He could imagine it was Caitlin’s ass he slapped against, her walls that quivered and milked him.
The woman’s long, silky red hair became dark and thick as he wound his fingers in the strands and yanked her head toward him. The creamy pale skin of her ass darkened to a smooth caramel, the lips of her cunt only slightly darker.
“Take this dick,” he snarled, giving her hair another jerk that had her chest arching off the walnut surface of the desk. He hammered away at her, watching his cock appear and disappear between her ass cheeks. “Mine. Mine.” Every word was punctuated with a hard thrust in her clenching sex. “Say it, damn it.”
Her husky chuckle stroked the length of his cock, cupping his balls. The glance she cast over her shoulder at him wasn’t narrowed and calculating, but wide-eyed, innocent, adoring.
“Always, baby,” she purred, swiveling her ass. “I’m yours.”
“Yeah,” Nicholas grunted, pounding faster and harder as the words squeezed his sac, sending an electrical current shooting up his spine and pouring out of his dick. “Fuck, Caitlin!” With a hoarse cry, come blasted out of his cock head so hard he wouldn’t have been surprised if it had popped the condom. He shuddered over her, the aftershocks of the orgasm leaving him weakened. Heaving one last gasp, he collapsed on her back, pressing her flat against the surface of the desk.
After several quiet seconds filled only with his harsh breaths, reality barreled back and Nicholas gritted his teeth against the blistering curse razing a path up his throat. His eyes focused and the illusion of the woman he wanted faded to the woman beneath him. With a snarl, he jerked from her tight cunt and rolled the used condom from his shrinking length. The only satisfaction he had was the damn thing hadn’t ripped. Speaking of satisfaction…
The bitch hadn’t come. Too fucking bad. That’s what she got for making him lose control and say her name. Damn it! Whipping his handkerchief from his jacket, he wrapped the white linen around the condom and stuffed it in his pocket to dispose of later. Nicholas couldn’t afford his host discovering evidence of him fucking his wife. He’d screwed up enough with the unfaithful slut he’d married.
Amy, Amelia—whatever the hell her name was—pivoted around, a knowing Cheshire cat grin spreading her glossy red, collagen-pumped lips. He fisted his hands before deliberately stuffing his dick inside his underwear and refastening his pants with a forced casualness he didn’t feel. What he wanted to do, he glowered, stuffing his shirt in the band of his pants, was shove her to the floor and thrust his cock down her throat. That’d knock that smile off her face.
Elbows braced against the desk, Amy, Amelia—what the fuck was her name?—arched her back, her breasts pushing against the thin material of her dress, the skirt remaining bunched around her hips where he’d shoved them, revealing her plump pussy lips. Shameless. Why Thom Albert would marry this whore instead of just fucking her was beyond him.
“Now there was an interesting Freudian slip,” she purred, arching an eyebrow, her green gaze glittering.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Nicholas stated, his tone as flat and resolute as he could manage. Any halfwit could have read the warning in his voice to let it go, but obviously she possessed beauty and not the brains God gave a gnat.
“Oh I think you do.” As a cunning look crossed her perfect features, Nicholas realized he’d miscalculated. She might be easy and look like a tramped-up doll, but by no means was she stupid. Of course, to oust the woman who had stood by Thom Albert’s side for twenty years and take her place as the wife instead of the mistress would have required intelligence—or damning blackmail evidence. Either way, he’d underestimated her intellect. Too bad she was too damn smart for her own good. “You see, my name is Amelia…not Caitlin.” She straightened and lifted her hand to tap a finger against her lip, the pseudo-thoughtful gesture ruined by the sly gleam in her narrowed eyes. “That can only be Caitlin Madison. Am I right?”
Instead of answering, Nicholas crossed his arms over his chest and stared at her. He hid his anger and disgust behind a cool stare.
“How delicious,” she continued with a small chortle, “and utterly humiliating for poor, poor Rachel. Not only is her husband cheating on her, but it’s with a woman he lost years ago and can’t have now.” She pretended to study her nails, a smirk tilting a corner of her lips. “Don’t you just love small towns? Ancient history is never quite ‘ancient’, is it? No wonder Rachel has been beside herself with Caitlin Madison’s return home.” Amelia tsked, shaking her head. “How tragic. She would be so hurt if she found out about the torch you carry for your ex-fiancée…and how I came about this knowledge.”
“What do you want?” Curiosity goaded him to ask even as his rage notched up another level. Did this bitch really think to blackmail him? Him? No one held power over him. Especially not some whore who didn’t know her place. She had no clue who she was fucking with—literally.
“It’s so unfair.” She pouted, the coquettish mannerism contrasting sharply with the glistening lips of her exposed sex. Nicholas could’ve sworn she was getting wet from threatening him. His dick thumped against his zipper in unexpected response. Breaking her to his will would be his pleasure. “Thom insists on placing me on a ridiculously small allowance. If you were to supplement it with, oh say, five thousand a month, Rachel’s sensitive feelings will remain intact and so will our secret.” She crossed one slim thigh over the other and the demure gesture smacked of absurdity considering she’d flashed him for all of ten minutes.
Nicholas allowed her to see his contempt and indifference in the casual lift of his brow. Her sly smile faltered before firming. The bitch continued to believe she had the upper hand.
“First, I have to thank you for reminding me of your name.” He advanced, covering the small distance separating them in two steps. He crowded her petite body, his thighs pressing against hers until she had to press her palms to the desk to hold herself steady. Either that or tilt to the side as he didn’t allow her to uncross her legs and regain her balance. “I couldn’t remember if it was Amy or Amelia, not that it mattered since, I promise, you were forgotten as soon as I walked out of this room.”
“You son of a bitch,” she sneered, an unbecoming shade of red mottling her face.
“Yes, I am. Don’t forget it either.” He curled his lip, raking his gaze over her furious face. “Do you really think your pussy is that good that I’d pay five thousand a month for it? And do you believe I give a damn if you tell my wife I fucked you?” He gave a sharp bark of laughter. “Shit, tell her something she doesn’t know. She’d come in here and fuck you if I told her to.” N
icholas reached out and grasped her chin between his thumb and finger, pinching her a little too hard as he felt the flinch she couldn’t control. He smiled. Nicholas pulled her chin down and leaned over her, his lips a scant space from her ear. “In the five minutes it would take you to ride that old man you married to a screaming orgasm I could have that pretty face of yours cut to ribbons. I could make you a monster. Or better yet,” he whispered, pressing closer, “I could have you simply disappear. Everyone would believe you skipped out with a younger man like the whore you are, never to be seen or heard from again.”
The slight gasp of fear that brushed his neck was almost…orgasmic. Yes, he breathed deep, power surging through him, buoying him up until he felt like a god, decider of her fate. Or redeemer. He stared down at her, catching the fine tremble of her lush bottom lip, the flare of panic in her wide green eyes.
“One word.” Nicholas tilted his head to the side, bending his knees to catch her gaze that had dipped away from his. “I hear one word about what happened here and you’ll have a little midnight visit.” He squeezed the flesh he still gripped in his fingers. “One. Word.”
Leaning down he crushed a hard kiss to her lips, swallowing her whimper of pain as well as the faint metallic flavor he knew came from her teeth cutting into her tender flesh. He thrust his tongue deep and savored the shiver that shuddered through her—relishing even more that it didn’t emanate from arousal but fear.
With one last sweep of her mouth, he released her, releasing her from his grasp but not his gaze or his promise.
“One word.” He backed away from her, tugging the lapels of his suit jacket, the two words echoing between them in the heavy silence. With a smile that grew wider as he neared the door, Nicholas turned around, twisted the doorknob and pulled it open. He couldn’t resist glancing over his shoulder and carrying the picture of her with him. The skirt of her dress pushed up high around her thighs, her chest rising and falling in uneven breaths, and most of all, the stark terror darkening her emerald gaze.
She realized what she’d fucked. Only one other woman saw beyond the sophisticated veneer and knew what lurked beneath.
Damn if it didn’t feel good that someone else knew.
Just fucking freeing.
With a chuckle, he closed the door behind him.
Chapter Seven
“What are you doing here?”
Selig grinned. Now there was a warm welcome. Caitlin stationed herself in the doorway, blocking his entrance into the small rental cottage. Her slender arm stretched out across the threshold, her bare feet planted wide. Add the scowl, she appeared ready for battle.
She might not be far off the mark. It wasn’t a battle of fists he’d come in search of, or a battle of words—well, not unless those words included the dirty ones he uttered during sex.
“Now that is not neighborly of you, Caitlin.”
“You’re not my neighbor, so I repeat, what do you want?”
He took in the long, thick strands pulled back from her face into a dark ponytail. His lowered his inspection to the lush fullness of her breasts, the slight flare of hips under the battered, low-rise jeans. With a sound of impatience, Caitlin crossed her arms over her chest, obstructing his view. He chuckled, his gaze lifting to the lovely face that tried to remain impassive, unaffected. Yeah, he knew better. Just as in the mall the day before, her nipples were a dead giveaway to her arousal. His mouth watered to have his tongue wrapped around the stiff tips. He’d wanted them Friday night in the library, but their circumstances had cheated him of the opportunity to take his time with them, suck and nibble them until she shuddered in climax from it alone. He could do that for her. One of many things he could—would—do for her.
“Lunch.” His reply surprised her, confusion winking through the aloof expression before it settled back into its usual place. “I’m inviting you to lunch.”
“Lunch,” she repeated, suspicion in her narrowed gaze.
“Lunch.” Selig lifted his palms up, indicating he didn’t have anything under his sleeve. ‘Course it wasn’t his sleeve she had to worry about. The thought made him grin wider. “A meal.”
“No thank you.” He’d expected her abrupt denial and had come prepared. Janet Madison had unknowingly presented him with leverage in the sexual war he waged with her daughter. Caitlin’s mother didn’t approve of him. She never had. Image—especially that of New Eden’s snobbish elite—ranked high on Janet’s list of priorities. Wouldn’t it be a shame if they all found out David and Janet’s precious daughter had taken up with that upstart, Selig Richardson, again? Janet would be mortified.
Caitlin wouldn’t allow her mother to be humiliated. Selig shoved aside the hurt of the young man who had fought for acceptance and approval—and had fallen short. He buried guilt over his bullying under the layers of anger and lust.
“You sure?” He cocked his head to the side, enjoying baiting her.
“I’m sure. No thank you,” Caitlin reiterated, her voice firm.
“Okay then.” Selig turned around, hitting the “lock” button on his valet key. He faced Caitlin in time to see panic widening her eyes at the flicker of the headlights and the short beep of the alarm.
“What are you doing?” she demanded, the cool façade disappearing like ice under a hot, July sun. She unfolded her arms, her hand shooting out to wrap around his wrist. “Selig, what are you doing?”
“What?” He shrugged as if nothing were amiss. “Since you don’t want to come out to lunch with me, we’ll eat here. Where anyone passing by can see my car.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “In front of your house.” He flipped his trump card over, unable to hide his smug delight in the insinuation. She blanched as his words sunk in. He glimpsed a flare of fear in her dark eyes and resentment stirred in his gut. Did she worry that much about whether or not people saw them together? Did she not believe him good enough? A dark idea slithered in his mind, leaving him cold. Could his lack of worth be the reason she’d ended it all those years ago?
Once again, the defiant little boy inside him raised his fists and Selig quieted him. That was ancient history. Only the present mattered. It didn’t mean jack-shit if she didn’t want to be seen with him—what he wanted from her was best not put on display for public review.
“You bastard.”
Selig stepped forward, his body crowding hers into the doorway. The rebellious set of her mouth and the icy glare she leveled on him belied the whispered softness of the insult.
“My parents were married when they had me, sweetheart, and remained that way until the day they died. My legitimacy, or lack of it, doesn’t have anything to do with us. Now the decision is yours.” Selig reached out flicking the end of her ponytail with a finger. His eyes bore into hers and a flutter of admiration brushed his chest when she met his stare head-on. “Do you come with me for lunch in a secluded place with privacy and no prying eyes? Or do we stay here—for God and all of New Eden to see?”
A tense silence rife with fury rose between them. Moments later, Caitlin’s lashes lowered, hiding her eyes from him. The slight breath of her resigned sigh teased the skin of his throat.
“Let me get my shoes.”
* * * * *
“You really meant lunch.” Selig’s lips twitched as Caitlin regarded the bowls and plates of food in disbelief and amazement.
“Why, Caitlin,” he drawled, standing across from her on the other side of the blue blanket covering the wood floor of the great room, “whatever did you think I meant?”
She lifted her eyes to him, her lips twisted into a rueful smile.
“To be lunch.”
The bark of laughter rose up out of him before he could stifle it, her honesty catching him off guard. Shaking his head, he waved a hand toward the floor, inviting her to take a seat.
“As delicious as you are—and you are—I need something with calories.” Selig lowered to the floor. Kneeling, he picked up a plate and spooned food onto its surface. “I picked up all your
favorites. We have salad with Italian dressing—no tomatoes—shrimp Alfredo with garlic breadsticks. And strawberry cake for dessert.” He passed her the steaming plate of food, the slice of cake on a saucer.
Caitlin accepted, her hands folding around the edges of the plate.
“You remembered my favorite foods?” she murmured, setting her lunch on the blanket, her eyes moving over his face in wary incredulity.
“How could I forget, Caitlin?” Selig snorted. “No matter where we dined, you always ordered the same thing. I would try different restaurants on purpose, and you managed to find shrimp alfredo and salad with no tomatoes on every menu. It’s etched in my brain.”
Her soft laughter drifted across the small space separating them.
“I’m a creature of habit.” She twirled the fettuccini around the tines of her fork, lifting the pasta to her mouth. Her eyes closed on a hungry groan as she pulled the fork free. The sound of pleasure went straight to his balls. That and the expression of ecstasy suffusing her features. Thick lashes lifted and met his stare. “This is amazing.”
“I’m glad.” Selig cleared his throat, attempting to cover the sudden hoarseness. Shit, she wore almost the same expression when she came. Her dark eyes gleamed, glazing over with satisfaction. Her lips, usually swollen from his kisses, parted and an identical flush of bright color slashed across her cheekbones. He grabbed the fork, stabbing it into the food. What the hell? This was a new one. She made his dick hard just by eating. He was fucked.
“Ham and cheese on rye with butter pickles and spicy mustard.”
The words slammed into him, rocking him to a core he’d believed impenetrable. He gaped at Caitlin. She’d rattled off his favorite meal from memory, no hesitation. His cock throbbed behind the zipper of his jeans. Knowing she recalled so intimate a detail aroused him as if she’d taken her small palm and slid it down his dick.