by Lily White
She tries to step away from me, but I move to trap her against a crypt, her back pressing against the stone as eyes that have driven me to a point of madness lift with secrets swimming behind them.
My fingers snatch her chin before she can back away from me, my eyes pinning hers, silence lingering between us.
“Why are you really here?” I whisper, my body inching closer. I’m daring her to answer, daring her to remember, daring her to recognize the shadow that stands over her in every photograph on my walls.
She attempts to free her face from my hand, but it’s weak at best. Not really an attempt at all. Just something she does so she can tell herself that she hasn’t asked for what will happen.
I lower my head, search her face, bring my lips within a teasing inch of hers. Frantic breath colliding with calm. Frightened eyes battling determination. Soft versus hard. Light versus dark. We are opposites in every way, and yet still so very much the same.
“Why are you here?”
Another shake of her head, the denial so thick, I can slice it down the middle, watch it slide out from behind the meaty flesh.
“Tell me.”
Defiance blazes in her eyes. “I’m here to show you-“
My thumb presses against her lips. “Tell me the truth.”
Her gaze narrows, and I grin.
“It’s because he doesn’t make you happy. There’s your answer. So the new question is: At what point will you finally admit it?”
My lips brush hers, so soft it could have been an accident. But even that has been enough to shake her to the core, to widen those eyes still glimmering with old tears.
I’m done playing, my bonds free, my shackles left in the middle of a sunlit field where angels and headstones stand in silent repose mourning the hero that died the minute she stepped up to me.
“Answer me.”
A moment of indecision before she does. Not with words or excuses. Not with explanations or pretty stories. Not with anything but the girl I know lingers beneath the polished wrappings, with the monster that has the ability to drop me to my knees.
Her mouth presses against mine seeking permission. Soft. Hesitant. Unsure.
I won’t make it easy for her, though, won’t rush the first time she will betray her vows.
Adeline wants someone else to blame for what we both know she needs.
I won’t be her scapegoat.
However, I will meet her in the middle, my palm moving to cup her cheek, my body pressing against hers with the same need I feel vibrating just beneath her skin.
Dropping my hands, I grip her hips, lifting her to the crypt while my teeth trap her bottom lip. She startles, a momentary pause, a sound in her throat that threatens to destroy what little restraint I still have.
“Why are you here?” I whisper against her frustrated mouth, my neck arching up now that her head is above mine.
I will make her say it.
She needs to say it.
“Why do you keep asking me that?”
Locking my hand over the back of her head, I keep her from moving away from me. My fingers curl into her dark hair, our lips parted and brushing together as our breath combines into a stew of aggravating temptation.
“I just wanted-“
“Wanted what?”
She growls, and the tiny sound plucks at the corners of my lips, but then the monster in her comes out, Adeline’s rebellion against my attempt to control her knocking me so off balance that I lose the war when she presses her mouth against mine and sweeps her tongue out to snap the last thread of restraint I have left.
I should have known she’d come out swinging. It’s what always drew me to her in the first place.
Mouth wide open, she kisses with the wild abandon I always knew she would. I’ve tasted it before, experienced her insanity many years ago in a parked car.
But now, rather than fighting myself about how her body should be used, I surrender to the insanity right beside her, my hands slipping up her arms to pull the straps of her dress down, to free her tits so that my palm can explore them with the possession I feel.
Adeline’s legs fall open, and I press closer, the stone crypt she sits on hard against my body, the cold seeping past my shirt.
Moans crawl up her throat that are so wrong for where we are. We’re disturbing the dead. Violating their resting place. But the defilement feels right for us somehow, our interwoven pasts blending together into a storm of tempestuous sin.
Trapping her bottom lip between my teeth, I open my eyes and look up to find her staring at me, a shudder tearing through her as my hand slides up her thigh to shove away the skirt, my thumb sliding up her panties to discover them drenched.
Releasing her lip, I lick the sting away, run my mouth along her jaw, flicking her panties aside as she tilts her head to expose her neck. My mouth presses against her pulse point, my cock painfully hard as my fingers explore between her legs, her heartbeat a frantic pounding as I sink a finger inside her.
Adeline had been an obsession before this. But now, after touching her, after learning what it feels like to be inside her body, obsession is too weak a word for what I feel for her. I’m not sure a word will ever exist that can define what bloomed to life.
I need to claim her.
To possess her.
To crawl beneath her skin and make her mine.
I need to be the fire that roars to life inside her, need to be the shadow that she reaches for every time she closes her eyes.
Hands in my hair, Adeline cries out as my mouth drops to her breast, my tongue swirling the nipple on a tease. Sliding another finger inside her, I pump my hand while sucking her nipple into a painful point that I bite in punishment for all the trouble her body has caused me.
When my thumb brushes her clit, she curls her fingers into my hair, pulling my head up to kiss me, an orgasm coming on so fast and hard that I have to swallow the scream that bursts from her throat, her muscles locking over my fingers to keep them from pulling out.
Gripping my free hand in her hair, I yank her head back, running my mouth down the line of her neck until I trap the tip of her breast in my mouth, sucking hard as her body rides my fingers through the last waves of pleasure that slam through her.
Adeline’s body softens as she comes down from that high, her fingers relaxing in my hair. I’m two seconds away from apologizing to the Rinehart family while pulling her to the ground to claim all of her as mine when tension shoots across her shoulders, words whispering over her lips that I know are the beginning of the end
“Oh, my God...”
No, no, no, no, no...
I glance up to see a stricken look marring her face, guilt rolling through blue eyes that just seconds ago had been hooded and burning with sensual heat.
Reaching up to grab her face, I attempt to stop the runaway train of her thoughts.
It’s too late.
“I have to go.”
“Adeline-“
She shoves my hands away, panic blazing over her cheeks. Yanking the straps of her dress back in place over her shoulders, she struggles to push me away, her mind already so far gone that calming her down would be a fight.
“Adeline.” I grab her hips to hold her in place, my fingers bruising the skin for how tight I hold her.
“Let me go.”
“No.”
Her eyes whip to my face. “Let me the fuck go!”
Her foot kicks out and catches me between the legs. Getting kicked in the junk sucks, but when you’re hard and it happens? Holy fucking shit...
I double over, and she takes the opportunity to shove me away far enough to jump down and run toward the front of the mausoleum.
It was stupid of me not to remember she’s a fighter when she feels threatened.
Sucking it up, I ignore the pain running down my legs to chase after her, my hand gripping down on her elbow just as we reach the front gate.
She spins on me, eyes wild. “I have to go.”
“Talk to
me.”
Her head turns left toward an older couple laying flowers on a nearby grave, her voice lowering to a hiss of a whisper when she warns, “If you don’t get your hand off me, I’ll scream. Don’t fucking try me.”
I let her go, hold my hands up as if in surrender. Adeline doesn’t hesitate to run off, my eyes following her as she races across the cemetery and away from me.
“Fuck!” I punch the iron gate, the loud metallic clang drawing the attention of the older couple.
Staring back at them, I lean against the wall of the mausoleum and stab my hands through my hair.
It doesn’t matter that she’s married. I don’t give the first shit about the fight she’ll put up against what I will do.
I won’t let her go again.
Flat out fucking refuse.
Adeline
It was bad enough returning home knowing what I’d done. Lost to a moment of weakness, a moment of passion - of lust - I could have crawled back on hands and knees back to my husband and it wouldn’t have been enough.
I cheated on Grant.
Those words repeated in my head over every mile between the cemetery and my house.
And even though I must have said them a hundred times in the hours I spent pacing the empty halls and sprawling rooms of his mansion, they never took hold. Never made sense. Never sank in deep enough that I could process what happened.
I was a wreck when he came home that night, the guilt igniting when our eyes met, and I looked down to see he’d brought flowers, jewelry, and wine.
Quick to apologize for what he’d said to me before I left to see Ari, Grant spent the evening promising to make it up to me, whispering against my ear that I deserved better than what he gave.
He didn’t force the pills on me like he’d threatened. He listened to me when I told him how to stop me if I fought.
I think it’s the peace between us that made the agreement unnecessary.
Two weeks since I cheated on my husband and I haven’t fought, cried or screamed once in the nights that rolled by.
“You look beautiful.”
Strong hands wrap over my shoulders, the tips massaging down into muscles that haven’t been free of tension since the cemetery.
Lifting my eyes, I meet Grant’s stare in the mirror. He takes the brush from my hand, his fingers carefully holding my hair as he runs the bristles through it.
“The new cut looks nice. It’s a much better length on you.”
Having to force a smile, I flick a glance at my hair, exhaling slowly because I hate how it looks. Normally I wear it long, the ends brushing the small of my back. But per Gloria’s demand, it now stops below my shoulder blades, layers cut into the length to make it lay flat.
“Thanks.”
He sets the brush down on the vanity and turns me around to face him. “What are your plans for today?”
The usual, I don’t say. It would have sounded ungrateful, like I don’t appreciate what he’s given me.
“I have to schedule the company event that’s to take place a month from now. I’ll probably drive out to the venue and meet with the vendors to ensure all the details are correct. After that, I need to pick up your dry cleaning, and then I’ll meet Gloria for a late lunch like I normally do.”
“Meet me instead.”
Surprise lifts my eyes to his. “I thought you had a meeting?”
His lips stretch into a practiced smile.
“I do. With a new investor. Harrison Nash is big money and not easily impressed. I thought having you along would make him warm up to me. I’m dying to bring him on.”
“What do you need me to do?”
Grasping my chin between his thumb and finger, he tilts my face higher, leaning down to place a chaste kiss on my lips.
“Sit there and look pretty. You do it so well.”
Ignoring how his comment rubs against every nerve inside me, I force another smile.
“Text me the details and I’ll be there.”
Releasing me, Grant straightens his body, his hands going to the knot of his blue tie to tug it into place.
“I knew I could count on you, Adeline.”
Green eyes meet mine. “I have to go. I’ll have Patricia send you the location and time.”
Patricia, his secretary. I’m not sure how I feel about my husband not having the time to send me the information himself.
I watch Grant walk out of our bedroom after grabbing his suit jacket to pull it on. It’s hard to name exactly what I’m feeling. Anger, maybe? Or doubt.
He sees me as a pretty face and a charming smile, a shiny trinket to be shown off and admired. I exist to make him look better, rather than doing anything for myself.
But still, if either of us has a reason to be angry, it’s him.
I haven’t told him about what happened in the mausoleum, and I never will. And every time I want to rage at something he says, or the way he sweeps me aside as nothing more than an accessory, I remember that I’m the one at fault in this marriage. That I betrayed him.
As promised, I spend the morning seeing to the details of the firm’s annual formal event. Everything has to be just right.
The event will cater to old investors and new as a show of power and wealth. It’s a social function, yes, but Grant explained the men would end up with cigars and cognac at some point, tossing money around while contracts are discussed. He needs them happy and impressed, relaxed and agreeable.
While he tends to business, it will be my job to ensure the wives, girlfriends and mistresses are entertained. It’s a bit of a problem for me. I’ve never made friends with women easily. I’m not just nervous about the event, I’m terrified.
I fear saying the wrong thing. Admitting to something that will embarrass Grant if it gets back to him through the rumor mills always present among the elite.
Thankfully, Gloria will be there to keep an eye on me, but she isn’t a true friend. More like a babysitter who will report back to Grant if I do something wrong.
The pressure is overwhelming.
“Was the menu to your liking, Mrs. Cabot?”
Startled back to the task at hand, I glance up at Derrick Lane, the head chef for the luxury hotel I’ve chosen as the venue. Kind brown eyes hold mine, his once dark hair now softened by grey. He wears his chef’s coat and a pair of black pants, ever the professional in a setting where perfection is expected.
“Yes, except there are no options for vegetarians on the menu. Could you add a fourth option for those that prefer to eat something that didn’t at one time have a face?”
Derrick flinches as if taking personal offense to the statement, and while I know it’s rude of me to make the comment, especially to a man who makes all forms of food an art to be devoured, I’m still clinging to my old ways.
Grant has a nasty habit of ordering my meals for me, most often involving a slab of something dead, but when I can find the chance to rebel, I take it.
Inclining his head, Derrick plucks the menu from my hands and asks, “Would a quinoa, avocado and sweet potato timbale do? I can also offer a potato cream with caramelized leek soup as first course.”
It’s a hefty amount of starch, but I trust his judgment. “That sounds delicious. Thank you.”
Another nod before he turns to walk off with his new assignment.
Relaxing into my seat, I survey the large ballroom where the event will be held. I spent the past few hours going over everything. Decorations, food, wine and champagne choices, music, and security details. Checklist complete, I check my phone to see if Patricia has sent me the information for lunch.
You would think I was one of Grant’s employees with how professional and cold the message is.
As it is, I have an hour to grab Grant’s dry cleaning, return it to the house and drive across town to get to the restaurant.
I stand from my seat and leave to manage my other wifely chores, arriving at Gardenia’s on time for the late lunch. A bit surprised by the choice, I paus
e in the front waiting area to examine the menu they have framed on the wall.
Grant is a meat and potatoes man, yet this restaurant caters to a vegan diet.
Eyebrow crooking at that, I wonder if my husband chose it for me.
A spark of heat blooms in my chest, but I won’t allow it to ignite into a flame of appreciation...or hope that my husband was finally learning to accept who I am rather than demanding I become who he wants.
Still, there is a touch of warmth. Why else would he choose this particular restaurant?
Speaking of the devil, a hand presses against my lower back, a soft set of lips lowering to my ear.
“You know, it’s strange. I stepped inside and was immediately drawn to a woman so beautiful, it was impossible to look away. I should have known it would be my wife.”
I turn and wrap my arms around him, pushing to my toes to peck his cheek. “Thank you.”
Green eyes drop to mine. “For?”
“Choosing a vegan place to eat.”
Brows tugging together, Grant glances up at the menu on the wall, his lips pulling into a scowl. “I didn’t choose it.”
My heart drops into my feet, the spark of hope I’d felt only a second ago doused in water. “Who did?”
Grant runs a hand through his hair and pulls away from me. “I left the choice up to Harrison.”
“Mr. Nash is vegan?” It makes me like this new investor more, also makes me happy to have an excuse for the vegetarian option I’d added to the menu earlier.
“Apparently,” Grant grumbles.
He flashes me his professional smile. “We should find our table. I’d hate to keep Harrison waiting.”
It’s the opposite, in fact, the minutes ticking by with Grant growing more aggravated where he is seated beside me as Harrison Nash keeps us waiting instead.
Still, my husband will smile and brush it off as no problem. When it comes to business, the investors are always right. Nothing they do is openly discouraged.
Instead, Grant brings his frustrations home to me where I’m lucky enough to suffer the bad moods and fallout.
My phone pings, and I pull it from my clutch to read a text from Gloria about additional details for the company formal. To my side, Grant mumbles finally and stands from his seat.