* * *
“Please move it to a money market account,” I say quietly. “It can stay there.”
* * *
The man launches into questions and address confirmations, credit card offers and emergency lines of credit. It’s funny. The more money you have, the more they want to give. I walk down the hall to the kitchen, propping the phone against my shoulder as I reach for a cup.
* * *
It’s been two weeks since our session with the counselor, and I don’t need his fancy degree or assessment to know that I might never heal from Nathan. I have buried myself in activity, in an insane hope that I might escape his memory by spending money, doing crosswords, and searching for a job.
* * *
I pour coffee into the cup, glancing at the granite countertops and thinking of my own new kitchen, in the apartment I have leased, one thirty minutes outside of Nashville, in a beautiful area closer to Dad. I left my old life in that Destin storage unit, where it will probably sit for a decade. I want to start fresh, to erase any memory of my time at Sammy’s, and—hopefully—my time with Nathan.
* * *
His money makes that hard. I can’t help but be grateful every time I swipe my debit card, walk through my well-appointed home, or open the door to my Mercedes.
* * *
Once I get a job, I’ll probably pay it all back, send him a giant check for all of it. Probably. I’m not altruistic enough to commit to that just yet. There is the matter of my broken heart, and what that is worth in severance pay.
* * *
I haven’t heard a word from him since our kiss at Dr. Bejanti’s office. No letter from Mark regarding the divorce, no call from his attorney. I’ve stopped looking at the gossip magazines, forbid myself to Google his name or scroll through the internet for pictures of them together. It is too painful to see them, too hurtful to know that they are happy and I am miserable.
* * *
I half-expect another psychiatry session to be required, given the disastrous conclusion of our group session. But no one has called, and nothing has come by mail. Something will soon. Our marriage’s death is imminent.
* * *
Dad is doing great. They have discovered his ailment, a rare blood disease that was killing his immune system and affecting his body’s ability to heal. There is a treatment, and he is in the first round of the new medication. Just this morning I reserved an apartment for him on the ground floor of my building. It seems a little premature, and I worry about jinxing his progress, but I want to be ready when he is released. This apartment will allow him to be independent, yet still close to me. Pam has already set me up with an at-home nurse, one who can help him once he leaves Crestridge.
* * *
Today is a quiet day. Dad has slept most of the morning, and I have read. It’s lasagna day in the cafeteria, and I am watching the clock for 11:30 a.m., which is the earliest time I can get a plate.
* * *
I end the call and return to his room, settling into the recliner, my coffee set on the table, my legs curling underneath me. I close my eyes. Just a quick nap, long enough to tide me the twenty-two minutes until lasagna time.
* * *
I drive, taking the long way home, through the hills, rolling down the windows so that the smell of fall and foliage fills my car. Then I slow, turning into my complex, coming to a sudden and sharp stop when I see the black Range Rover parked in front of my apartment, and the man that is leaning against its hood.
* * *
I stare at him through the windshield, watching as he straightens, looking at me, our eyes catching over fifty feet of broken blacktop. My foot wavers on the brake, my brain arguing with my heart, arguing with my instinct, my foot caught in a tug-of-war between the two. I put it out of its misery and put the car into park, opening the door and getting out in the middle of the lot.
* * *
He is so handsome it should be a sin. Standing tall, his hair messy, a loosened tie gaping over a white shirt and dark dress pants, his tan skin pulls the entire look together too effortlessly. His stature and manner reek of the casual perfection brought on by decades of wealth and breeding. He moves away from the car, stepping toward me, and I hold up a shaky hand. “Stop.”
* * *
I cannot take him any closer. Cannot have those lips coming into focus, not now that I know what they can do to me. Tearing down my walls and invading my heart, they will leave me gasping, tearful, and alone, while he returns to her. “What are you doing here, Nathan?”
* * *
He shoves his hands into his pockets, and stops, tilting his head. “I need to speak to you.” His voice grumbles, a gravelly, deep sound that makes me wet and has me clenching my hands into fists to keep from reaching out for him.
* * *
“Why?”
* * *
He steps forward, closer, his eyes on mine, everything else disappearing as he closes the gap and draws me in. I inhale sharply, his scent reaching me, my willpower eroding with every inch that I lose as he steps nearer. I am too weak. I cannot take another touch, another breath of him. I will break.
* * *
“I left her,” he says, stopping before me, his gentle hand grabbing my chin before it drops and pulling it back up, his blue eyes seducing me with their initial contact.
* * *
I frown, trying to make sense of his words. “Cecile? Why?”
* * *
“I didn’t want to do to her what I did to you.”
* * *
I narrow my eyes, stepping back, my elbow catching the side mirror of the car, causing a sharp spike of pain. “What? Fuck her and then send her to her room?”
* * *
He winces, his blue eyes clouding. “No. Be with her when I am in love with someone else.” He steps closer, his hands pushing my waist until I am against the car, my body responding, curving when he leans forward, pinning me with his body, the heat of his muscles hard against my frame.
* * *
I can’t breathe, the weight of his words too heavy against my chest. What I want to believe is too risky—I cannot take my heart down that path if I am wrong. It is too cruel, too much for its fragile existence to take. “What do you mean?” I whisper.
* * *
“I love you, Candy. I love you with every fiber of my being, every beat of my heart. I can’t stay away from you. I can’t live without seeing your smile or hearing your voice.”
* * *
I shake my head, pushing against his chest. “Bullshit, Nathan. You were consumed with her. She was the love of your life!”
* * *
“No.” he whispers, staring at my face. “No. I wanted the unattainable because it was unattainable. I remembered all of the good and forgot the bad. When we were apart, those four years I spent searching for her … we both changed during that time, became different people. The woman I thought I loved … that isn’t her. And if that is, then maybe now I just realize there is something better out there.” He swallows, the movement making his jaw clench, something akin to vulnerability in his eyes. “You.”
* * *
I shake my head before he even finishes, trying to clear the cobwebs and find rational thought somewhere inside. I cannot fall for this; I cannot accept his smooth words and romantic notions. I am not the desperate stripper who he met that night. I do not suck dick for money or need a knight in shining armor. I deserve someone who wants to be with me, not someone who wants what they can’t have.
* * *
“You said you wanted the unattainable because it was unattainable. I am now that unattainable property, and you just want—”
* * *
He kisses me, crushing my moving lips with his own, his hands fisting into my hair, his leg working in between mine, the full length of his body hard against my own. His hands pull my mouth tight to his, not asking, but taking my soul, his tongue claiming me, tasting my resistance as his mouth feasts on me. He speaks between
frantic kisses. “I need you … to breathe. It’s more … so much more than I ever had with her.” Somewhere, a car honks, the wind picks up my hair and blows it into the air, and I lose my resolve, softening against his body, my hands crawling up his back and clawing at his shirt. I yield easily when he lifts me, sets me on the warm hood, his head dipping down and planting frantic kisses on my neck, my chest, up the line of my jaw, his hands gripping my ass and pulling me to the edge, until his hard body is flush against me.
* * *
The time without him has been so long, my body craving him in a way that is almost painful, and I gasp when he presses against me, my body so sensitive and yearning for fulfillment. “Take me inside,” I pant. “Now.”
CHAPTER 58
He takes my key fob, promising to park the car, and I fly up the exterior staircase, fumbling with my keys until the door is unlocked, and I am inside, my jacket flying off, tennis shoes and jeans being yanked off as I move. My mind is frantically trying to slow my body, throwing words of reason at me as I move, but my lust has taken over. I need him inside of me now, and will deal with the aftermath later.
* * *
My shirt is halfway over my head when I hear the door bang open, steps moving across tile, and then his hands are helping me. My head is suddenly free, and his mouth on mine.
* * *
God, I love this man. The way he touches me, the way he kisses me. The cuts of his body and the intensity of his eyes. He is a drug that I have no way of resisting, bad for my soul, but so heartbreakingly perfect in its deliverance.
* * *
He lifts me, my legs wrapping around his waist, my hands working at the buttons of his shirt, yanking his tie over his head and then reclaiming his mouth. He lies me on the kitchen island, the open surface cold on my skin, his body shifting down, until the heat of his mouth is on my stomach, and his hands are skimming my panties down and off my body.
* * *
I haven’t shaved and try to push him off, my feet finding and pressing on his shoulders. He knocks them aside, spreading my legs and focusing on my pussy, his eyes glancing up to meet mine.
* * *
Damn. Just the look in them knocks me backward—so full of raw, uncontrollable lust. He breathes hard, staring at me before looking back down, his fingers opening me up before his eyes. “God, you have no idea how beautiful you are. Your lips, your pink center. There is nothing hotter, nothing more beautiful than this right here.” He groans, lowering his mouth, swiping a hot tongue down my open slit, his tongue tickling the skin, making me moan and spread wider, moisture dripping down the crack of my ass, my need for him so great. “You taste so good,” he whispers, as his tongue flicks over the wet knot of my clit. The intensity of the release is so strong that I moan, arching into his mouth, his hands slipping under and gripping the cheeks of my ass, pulling me into his mouth.
* * *
He buries his face into my pussy, his mouth hot and wet, his gentle strums across the sensitive bud making me squirm. I prop up on my elbows, watching him, the view so carnal, so fucking hot. His face between my trembling thighs, blue eyes fixed on mine as he sucks and flicks my clit to perfection. There’s the strong arc of his shoulders, the strength of his hands, squeezing my ass as he worships my body. I am close, my body trembling beneath his mouth, when he slides one hand lower, pressing on the pucker of my ass, borrowing moisture from my center, and dipping inside of that hot, tight hole.
* * *
It pushes me over the edge and I cry out, the orgasm blinding in its intensity, my eyes squeezing shut, his finger tight inside of me, his tongue stretching the orgasm further, knowing instinctively when to soften, how to prolong the waves of pleasure.
* * *
I don’t know when he pulls out, when his mouth leaves me. I am a mess of post-coital languish, stretched out on the counter, the island the perfect width for my stretched-out form. I feel my legs as they are moved, hear his voice as he moves around me, and feel him slide me off the surface and into his arms.
* * *
The bed. Soft beneath me, his naked weight above me, he spreads my legs with his knees. He is glorious—his body so perfect, the length of his shaft so virile, my cave-woman impulses in full force.
* * *
I see man.
* * *
I need man.
* * *
I want man to make me fucking his.
* * *
He strokes his cock, putting a finger in, testing my readiness, his eyes hardening at the touch. “Jesus, Candy. You are so ready for me.”
* * *
I don’t respond, my heart finding nothing to say. I am ready for him. I have been ready for him since the moment he walked into Sammy’s. I am just ready for so much more than he can give me.
* * *
Then, he presses the stiff head of his cock against my slit, and any logical thought goes out the window. At this moment, everything my body needs, he is about to provide.
* * *
I am as tight as the first night he fucked me, and he swears as he slides his cock all the way in, so deep that I gasp. “You are so tight,” he groans, leaning forward, my legs wrapping around him. “You haven’t …” His eyes ask me the question, and I shake my head, biting my bottom lip. “Fuck,” he swears, lowering his mouth to mine, his elbows framing my head, his mouth taking me in and stealing my heart.
* * *
He pauses, his head lifting, our kiss broken, and there is one quiet moment where he only looks into my eyes. “I love you,” he whispers. “I’m sorry. You deserve so much better than what I gave you.”
* * *
When he thrusts forward with his hips, it is slow, his muscular thighs trembling, and I yelp from the satisfaction, both of my body, and my heart. “I will treasure you,” he says, the words thick with emotion, every drag of his manhood a new lesson in pleasure.
* * *
“You better,” I breath, and his eyes light with a smile.
* * *
“I will earn your love,” he promises, sliding down slightly, the angle changing, his hands cupping and squeezing my breasts together, his rough thumbs rubbing over my nipples. “I have spent every day thinking about your smile, your heart. I’ve cursed myself for everything that I don’t know about you, and for all of the moments I’ve missed.”
* * *
His fingers bite into my skin and his eyes change, that predatory arousal taking over them. “And I have spent every night thinking about your body, every night picturing you stretched across my bed. I miss your mouth on my cock, miss your sweet ass bent over before me, in sore need of a fucking spanking.” The last words are ripped from his mouth, and he moves higher, thrusting hard, the firm length of him burying inside of me. I moan, begging him for more, and feel him respond, twitching inside of me, his strokes quickening.
* * *
“I love your bare cock inside of me,” I moan, wrapping my hands around his neck and pulling his mouth to my tits, his eager response lighting a flame to my arousal, my core tightening around his cock. “I love how hard you fuck me, like you have to get every inch inside of me, like you will never get enough.”
* * *
“I won’t,” he grounds out, lifting from my breasts. “I will never get enough of you. It’s not just this. I need all of you. In bed and out. I want to wake up next to you every fucking day. I want to have babies with you and watch them grow up. I want … I just—”
* * *
As much as I want to hear his words, I can’t hold back the orgasm that rips through me, my body bucking beneath his, my panicked eyes meeting his, a look that he instantly understands.
* * *
And fuck, he knows exactly what to do. Drilling me hard and fast, my head dropping back, breasts shaking as he gives me every inch of him, his slick, hard cock so thick, so perfect, so animalistic in its possessiveness. We are animals, broken down to our core needs; I am his mark, and he is feasting. As I come apart,
as my orgasm shakes me down to the soul, as I experience the true, piercing pleasure that breaks me down to nothing, I know only one thing: I will never be able to resist this man. Not his body, and not his heart. I am his, to do with as he wishes.
CHAPTER 59
ONE YEAR LATER
He will be home soon. The gates will open, his car will turn down the drive, and then he will be here. Just like every day, except that today I tell him my secret.
Trophy Wife Page 23
