by Noelle Adams
Luke walked into the room.
She was so surprised she squealed and held the little blouse up over her chest as a very ineffective shield. “What are you doing barging in here like that?”
Luke’s eyes had widened as processed her near nakedness. He jerked to a stop, and his gaze crawled from her heels to her lace bra and panties to her slightly messy hair.
“Luke!” Molly objected shrilly, her whole body flushing with shock and embarrassment.
“You said you were ready.”
“I’m almost ready.” Something in his expression made her feel completely exposed. She turned around, so she wasn’t facing him. Then realized she was wearing a thong, which did next to nothing to hide her bare bottom. “Damn it, Luke. You can’t just walk in here like that.”
Luke looked away from her and sounded a little stiff. “I’m sorry. I thought you were ready.”
He’d never walked into her room without knocking before and—despite the way it had flustered her—she knew he hadn’t done so now on purpose. It wasn’t a big deal, and there was no reason to make it one.
“I know.” She managed to moderate her tone, pulling on the blouse and trying not to feel so self-conscious. They’d had sex before, after all. They’d been having sex for six weeks. Luke had seen her naked. For some reason, having him see her now—outside of the context of sex—felt different. Made her feel vulnerable. “I’m almost ready. I just need to find something to wear.”
Luke frowned as he looked down at her clothes from today, still littering the bedroom floor. “What’s wrong with what you were wearing earlier?”
She gave an outraged gasp as she buttoned up the tiny pearl buttons on her blouse. “I’m not going to wear that to a fancy art opening!” She’d been wearing a trendy jacket and black trousers that were cut very low in the hips. “It’s not nearly classy enough.”
He looked back over at her, his eyes drifting down to her stockinged legs for a moment before returning to her face. “It’d be fine,” he said, looking genuinely surprised. “This is what I’ve been wearing all day.”
She scowled at him before she turned to inspect her blouse in the mirror. “It’s different for men.”
The blouse was very flattering and really showed off her breasts.
“That looks great.” Luke walked into her closet. “Wear it.”
She made an annoyed sound at his bossiness but didn’t argue, since she’d already made Luke late enough. She was about to join him in the closet when he thrust out a black pencil skirt.
“Here,” he said, “What about this?”
It was a good skirt and would look fine with the blouse, so Molly pulled it on. As she zipped it up, though, she shook her head. It really emphasized the curve of her ass and, combined with the blouse, seemed inappropriate for a sophisticated gathering. “It’s too sexy.”
Luke came out of the closet and stared, his eyebrows drawing together. “What are you talking about? You look great. Why shouldn’t you look sexy?”
Ridiculously, she felt her cheeks warm. She didn’t answer, since her response would be simply an assumption about what Luke would want in a wife. She’d always tried to do a good job in being his wife, creating a polished, elegant presence and behaving in a way that wouldn’t embarrass him in any way. He’d always followed through on his side of their arrangement, so she tried to do the same for him.
If he didn’t care if she looked overly provocative for this event, however, then there was no reason to worry about it. This outfit was a lot more her style than what she normally wore to his social functions.
He’d gone back into the closet and now reemerged with a thistle-colored cashmere wrap he’d given her on her last birthday. She wasn’t an expert on fine cashmere, but a little investigation had revealed it cost more than anything she’d ever bought for herself.
He handed it to her. “Let’s go.”
She swung the wrap around her arms, and it was the perfect finishing touch. Vaguely annoyed that Luke had to be good at everything—including picking out outfits—she turned to glare at him.
He half-smiled at her aggrieved expression. “Let’s go,” he repeated.
“I need a—”
Predicting her words, he handed her a vintage beaded purse he’d found in her closet. “We’re late. Let’s go.”
She took one last look in the mirror to affirm she looked all right, and Luke went into the bathroom for some reason.
“What—” she began as he came back out almost immediately.
With a shake of his head, he walked over and lifted her left hand, slipping the diamond engagement ring and wedding band she’d left next to the sink back onto her ring finger.
She was always forgetting to put the damned things back on.
In the elevator on their way down, Luke looked over at her, his eyes scanning her again from heels to hair. She might have been mistaken, but she thought she saw appreciation in his eyes, which made her flush with pleasure.
She wasn’t any sort of beauty queen, but she had a decent body, unusually vivid green eyes, and a smile she’d been told more than once was glowing.
It was nice that Luke found her attractive.
He reached over to her blouse and buttoned one of the tiny pearl buttons she’d missed.
“Oh,” she said, looking down at his knuckles, which were brushing against her breast. “Thanks.”
She felt a tug of arousal, although his gesture was entirely innocuous. She stepped back when he dropped his hands.
He was lean, strong, and powerful. His well-sculpted features and deep eyes were compelling. She could feel the heat from his body. She’d had sex with him six times.
But she shouldn’t be thinking about that at the moment. There were six more days before they could have sex again.
*
If Luke didn’t remove his arm from her waist soon, Molly was going to scream.
His touch wasn’t inappropriate in any way. He was her husband, after all, and it would surprise no one that he’d draped one arm around her waist as they chatted with the other guests at the opening of a special temporary exhibit of Renoir paintings—the first time in history the paintings had been shown together and the only venue in which they ever would.
She and Luke had arrived more than an hour after the event began. Now they were just making small talk and drinking champagne, and Luke had his arm around Molly’s waist. Occasionally his hand would inadvertently slip a little lower and brush against her ass.
Absurdly, it was turning her on.
Yesterday had been exactly a week from the last time they’d had sex. It wasn’t as if they always had sex on the same day of the week. Sometimes they were too busy or sometimes one or the other of them was out of town. But yesterday sex had been a possibility again, so Molly had allowed herself to anticipate.
Which was why, when she came home from work and Luke wasn’t there, and when she’d eaten dinner and Luke wasn’t there, and when it was after ten in the evening and Luke wasn’t there, she’d been a little disappointed.
She’d just gone to bed.
An hour later, she’d heard a knock on her bedroom door. She hadn’t been sleeping, just lying in bed in the dark, so she’d called out, “Come in.”
Luke had entered, murmuring, “I know it’s late. But did you want to—”
She hadn’t let him finished. She’d pulled him into bed with her.
Both of them were hungrier and more eager than usual. After minimal foreplay, which was mostly just undressing each other, Molly had wrapped her legs high around his back, and he’d fucked her deep until she’d come. Then he’d pulled out and turned her over onto her hands and knees. He’d fucked her from behind until she’d come again.
Molly had always been able to come more than once during sex, but she’d never experienced multiple orgasms consecutively. She wasn’t sure if that was what was happening as he took her from behind, or if it was just one orgasm that lasted longer than she’d thought
was possible. But it felt so good for so long that she’d been sobbing helplessly from it. Her elbows had buckled and she’d screamed into a pillow as the pleasure overwhelm her.
Luke had been grunting like a primitive animal and gripping the flesh of her bottom, but his control finally gave out and he came in a series of jerks and gasps. They’d both collapsed on the bed afterwards, drenched in sweat and too breathless to even talk.
When they’d recovered, complimented each other on impressive performances, and said goodnight, Luke had gone to his own room and Molly had been so deliciously sated that she’d fallen asleep immediately and hadn’t stirred all night.
The memory was so erotic that Molly’s body hummed in response, intensified by the feel of Luke’s arm, his hand, against her. Her nipples were tight—so tight she was afraid they were visible through the slippery fabric of her blouse. And arousal pulsed between her legs.
It was ridiculous. There was no reason for such a response. She’d never been plagued with overwhelming lust—not for Luke or anyone else. Certainly, she’d been turned on plenty of times, but it had never affected her like this, from just a memory and a few idle touches.
She assumed, once she got more accustomed to having regular sex with Luke, the hot thrill would fade enough to not interfere with her life in this way.
To her annoyance, Luke appeared completely unaffected and unconscious of the effect his arm was having on her. He was completely caught up in his role as master of the room, schmoozing and politicking his way through the crowd.
As they moved away from the couple they’d been chatting with, Luke’s hand slipped again until it curved around her ass. Molly gasped, even the light touch firing off her nerve endings.
Her cheeks burned at her physical response, and she was acutely conscious of Luke’s hard body at her side. She imagined him naked in her bed. She imagined touching him. Him touching her.
Suddenly needing to escape, Molly murmured in his ear that she was going to run to the restroom.
Then she did.
In the bathroom, she stared at herself in the gilt-framed mirror—red cheeks, flyaway hair, wild green eyes, nipples sharply visible beneath the fabric of her blouse. Surely everyone who saw her would know she was suffering from an overload of lust.
She washed her hands in cold water, resisting the temptation to splash some on her face, since all it would do was ruin her makeup.
She jerked in surprise when a toilet flushed and a vaguely familiar, elegant, gray-haired woman emerged from a stall.
The woman smiled at Molly as she walked to the sinks. “It’s Molly, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Molly said, with her practiced Mrs. Lyons smile. “I’m Molly. I’m sorry. I can’t remember—”
“We haven’t officially met. “ The woman pumped soap out and foamed up her hands. “I’m Janice Cokesbury. I was a friend of Diane Lyons’s.”
“Oh,” Molly said, with a weird drop in her stomach at the mention of Luke’s mother. She’d raised Luke as a single-mother and had died of cancer when Luke was just starting his career. He didn’t talk about his mother much, but Molly knew he’d loved her more than anyone in the world. “I’m sorry we haven’t met before.”
“Me too. I’ve been wanting to meet you. I used to worry about Luke, for Diane’s sake. I don’t know why, since he’s so successful. I just thought… He was such a shy, sweet boy.”
“So you knew him back then?”
“I met him a few times when he was very young, but Diane talked about him all the time. She always worried about him, since he was so reticent as a boy, so much so that he was sometimes unable to ask for what he wanted. I was so glad when he married you, since I could tell he hadn’t let his reticence stand in the way of his happiness. And I’m so glad you’re obviously still in love with each other, three years later.” Janice had rinsed off her hands and finished drying them. Then she leaned over and gave Molly a kiss on the cheek. “You’ve really done him good. I’m so very glad to meet you, dear.”
Molly was speechless, her head spinning with inexplicable emotion, self-consciousness, and something like guilt. She managed to say, “Thank you. I’m very glad to meet you too.”
“I didn’t mean to embarrass you,” Janice said with a little laugh. “I have a bad habit of just saying what’s on my mind.”
Recovering her composure, Molly laughed too as they left the restroom together. “I know exactly how you feel.”
As they stood at the entry to the gallery, looking in at the chatting, mingling guests, Molly’s eyes landed on Luke, who was talking to a local politician and her husband. Luke was smiling and his appearance conveyed nothing but composed civility, but something about him looked stretched to Molly.
He knew how to work any room he stepped into, but he didn’t like the woman he was speaking to now. Molly knew it, although he’d never told her.
She thought about what Janice had said about Luke’s needing somebody. He always seemed so self-sufficient. He’d made his fortune on his own. He worked harder than anyone else in his company. He’d never shown the smallest sign of needing her or anyone else.
But, standing in a gallery of Renoir masterpieces, Molly wondered for the first time if he did.
As if he’d sensed her watching him, Luke glanced over in her direction. His expression changed slightly, in a way she couldn’t identify. He looked just a little softer, and he made a small gesture of his hand, calling her over to him.
Molly started to respond instinctively before she remembered Janice was still standing beside her.
“You go on,” Janice said with a warm smile. “We’ll talk later.”
After a friendly farewell, Molly walked over to Luke, and she took the hand he extended. Luke pulled her to his side and into his conversation without even breaking the flow.
His hand was warm and hers was cold, and Molly felt strangely confused for no reason that made sense. They’d held hands plenty of times over the last three years, in their pretense as a couple in love. For some reason, though, she was deeply conscious of the way her smaller hand felt in his grip.
It was almost a welcome distraction when she started to think about sex again. Getting aroused at the drop of a hat was very frustrating, but at least she could explain it. At least she could understand it.
When they were able to escape the politician, Luke slid his arm around her once more and bent down to press a soft, lingering kiss on the corner of her mouth.
He’d done it hundreds of times to prove to the world they were a happily married couple.
But this time, it sent shivers of pleasure up and down Molly’s spine.
She couldn’t help but wonder if it might be possible for them to reopen negotiations.
She had to admit—it might be nice to have sex more than once a week.
Four
“So how’s Luke doing?”
“Fine,” Molly said, using her fork to mix the glazed pecans and balsamic strawberries throughout her big salad, rather than leaving them all clustered at the top. “Working all the time, as usual.”
Erica ran a popular gossip blog and was one of Molly’s good friends. Despite their difficult schedules, they tried to get together at least twice a month to catch up. “Is that an annoying thing or a good thing?”
At Molly’s raised eyebrows, Erica explained, “I mean, a good thing because you have your space if he’s always at the office.”
“It’s fine. I get plenty of space, but it’s not like I don’t enjoy hanging out with him.” Erica knew they were in a marriage of convenience, but Molly hadn’t told her friend that she and Luke had started having sex. It was just too awkward to explain.
“Oh. That’s good. It’s good that you like him, even if you don’t love him.”
Erica had never said a negative word about Luke or about Molly’s decision to marry him, but sometimes Molly suspected Erica didn’t really like him. She knew Erica wished she could have married a man she loved.
Trying not to get defensive, Molly just smiled. “We’re both perfectly happy.”
“Have you heard from Baron lately?”
It wasn’t hard to figure out where that question was coming from. Once Molly had started to talk to Baron again, Erica got her hopes up about a reconciliation.
Erica was a romantic. Molly tried not to hold it against her.
“He calls every couple of weeks.”
“Is he dating anyone?”
“Not that he’s said, but I can’t imagine he’s celibate. He’s Baron, after all.”
“Yeah. But, if he found the right person, don’t you think he’d settle down.”
Molly shrugged. She’d hoped and dreamed that would happen back when she was fucking Baron. “Maybe. But I definitely wasn’t the right person for him.”
“You never know.”
“Erica, I’m married.” Molly glanced down at the rings on her left hand. They made her think about Luke.
“Yeah, but it’s not a normal marriage. I mean, if you fell in love, you’d get divorced, right?”
Molly knew her friend meant well. She knew Erica worried about her. She bit back the harsh retort that came to her lips. “Yeah, I guess. But no man is going to make a move on me when I’m married to Luke Lyons, of all people. And I don’t have time for a relationship anyway. I know it’s hard for you to believe, but I’m really happy as things are.”
“Okay. Good. I’m glad.”
Molly didn’t entirely believe her.
***
When she got home, she saw Luke had left a box of expensive chocolates on the granite bar the kitchen.
People were constantly giving Luke random gifts as gestures of ingratiation, appeasement, or civility. Luke had always been very generous about sharing his loot with her—especially when it was edible.
Molly perked up when she saw the chocolates and grabbed a few, making sure to avoid the ones filled with liqueur or fruit. Then she pulled a fork and steak knife from one of the kitchen drawers and stuck them in the bag she’d taken home from the restaurant.
She was crunching on an almond-caramel chocolate as she headed back to Luke’s office. The door was half-open, but she tapped on it anyway, rather than just pushing in.