ARRANGED

by R. K. Lilley

  Our booth fell silent. Everyone’s attention was grabbed.

  I barely noticed the other men. My husband was the stand-out of the group.

  He spotted me and grinned.

  My heart took a sharp little jump in my chest.

  My reactions to him were unexpected and unwanted.

  I couldn’t explain how he made me feel. I’d never experienced anything like it. Excited. Agitated. Electrified. Conflicted. Stimulated. Distressed.

  I hadn’t been having a great time, but I’d had enough to drink that I was buzzed and feeling relaxed in spite of the awkward company.

  Suddenly I was a tight ball of confused tension.

  I hadn’t expected to see him. I wasn’t sure how to react.

  I had so many questions every time I saw him. Questions I knew I couldn’t ask.

  Had he been planning this all along? Why did he look like he was happy to see me? How did he make it so convincing? Was he maybe a little bit happy to see me?

  The men approached the booth, and I rose for some awkward re-introductions.

  I knew I’d met his friends before, but they hadn’t made an impression. I’d been too nervous on my wedding day to notice much beyond my own acute misgivings.

  There was an unmistakable camaraderie between the men and the gathering as a whole.

  There were lots of inside jokes being passed right over my head.

  There was a sense of fond affection when the group of them were all together.

  Seeing him with his friends stung a little.

  He wasn’t cold with them. He wasn’t distant. He wasn’t mean. He wasn’t untouchable.

  It was a dangerous thing for me to witness.

  CHAPTER

  THIRTEEN

  We all sat down, wives next to their husbands, the single girls on the end.

  There was plenty of room, so I sat gingerly about six inches away from Calder.

  “Closer,” he prompted in voice that managed to be both soft and hard.

  It only took one word from him, one look, for my body to change. Go from solid to liquid. Chilled to heated.

  I met his eyes as I obeyed.

  He put his arm around me, pulling me close.

  “How much have you had to drink?” he asked quietly.

  I bit my lip and his eyes followed the motion. “I don’t know,” I said honestly, “I’ve lost count. More than my two drink limit.”

  “How do you feel? Not going to be sick, I hope?”

  “No, I’m fine.”

  “Good.” He smiled. It was a handsome hot smile, and I couldn’t tell who it was really for but it made my blood pound through my body a little faster. He leaned closer. “I was in the middle of a meeting when I saw that picture you posted,” he murmured into my ear. “I turned hard as a rock. Do you know how awkward that was for me?”

  I shook my head.

  “And then later,” he continued silkily, “when I was alone, I jacked off to that image. Is that what you wanted?”

  He leaned back to meet my gaze.

  I shook my head. I couldn’t tear my eyes off him.

  Why did that make me wild? The idea of him pleasuring himself to a picture of me got to me in all kinds of ways.

  He thought about me when he wasn’t with me. Before that picture I’d been so sure I was completely forgettable to him. Less than an afterthought. Easier to wipe from his mind than the damp circle left by his morning coffee.

  “Do you know how many other men must have seen that picture before it was taken down, and did the exact same fucking thing?” His tone was different suddenly. Switched from seductive to mean. Holy mood swing.

  It dawned on me then that this was another dressing down. He’d just taken his time getting there.

  “I didn’t think it showed that much,” I spoke as quietly as I could. I didn’t want anyone we were with to realize that my husband was chewing me out. My pride had taken enough of a beating with this crowd. “I covered everything.”

  “Don’t do it again,” he warned.

  “Okay,” I said. A plaintive note slipped into my voice as I added, “We already went over this, you know.”

  He leaned forward, suddenly animated. “My wife posted a nude selfie online for the world to see. For every creep in the world to jerk off to. Excuse me if I feel the need to go over it twice.”

  “It’s been erased,” I pointed out.

  He gave me a pointed look. “I saved it the second I saw it, and so did countless other people.”

  We stared at each other for a long, strange moment. Why did the fact that he’d saved a picture of me hit me straight in the gut? It didn’t mean anything. He was probably just saying it to prove a point. “Did you really?” I asked, my voice little more than a whisper.

  He cleared his throat. “Forget it. Just use a little sense next time.”

  “Got it,” I replied.

  He leaned close.

  My eyes were on his lips. They were so plump. I reached a fingertip up to touch them. And so soft.

  He moved closer. “Let’s go dance.” It wasn’t a request.

  I nodded and he stood, holding out his hand. I took it.

  He told the group that he was taking me dancing. We received several toasts into the air in response.

  He led me out of the booth, across the private room, and through a doorway that led to a much more crowded club.

  An attractive hostess met us at the door and led us to another, smaller VIP booth in a corner of the main club.

  Calder kept hold of my hand, pulling me close behind him.

  I glanced back once to find Chester trailing us. I don’t know why, but it made me blush. I’d forgotten he was there.

  We sat and the hostess fixed us drinks. I tried to order more champagne (which he switched to OJ), and he ordered bourbon.

  We were sitting close, hips touching. I turned my head to meet his gaze. My eyes devoured his handsome face. Why did he have to be so good-looking?

  “I thought we were dancing,” I remarked.

  It was much louder in here, and he had to lean his ear close to my mouth to catch my words.

  He leaned back just enough to look at me, then put his lips to my ear to answer, “We are. In a minute.”

  “Will we dance right here or over there?”

  He pulled back enough to see my face.

  I pointed at the grinding, gyrating mass of people in the center of the club. We were several floors above, overlooking them.

  He gave me a look that told me he thought I must be joking. “Here,” he stressed the word, his breath hot against my neck. “I’m not letting you near that mess. You’ll be groped six ways to Sunday.” He seemed to think about that, then leaned in again. “And not just by me. By strangers.”

  “So no groping,” I said, unable to hold in a smirk.

  “No one said that,” his voice was a low, delicious rumble in my ear.

  I shivered, a shot of lust wracking through me. My nipples went hard, my sex clenching. I had no idea what he was planning, I never did, but I was still somehow looking forward to it. Craving it.

  We received our drinks, but barely took one sip before he was standing. He moved to Chester, waving the older man over so he could be heard over the overwhelming din.

  I didn’t catch what he said, but I knew it was a dismissal when Chester shot me one worried glance and departed.

  Calder took his suit jacket off, tossing it carelessly onto a seat. He rolled up his sleeves, his eyes on me.

  He said something, and it was directed at me, but I couldn’t hear it. I stood, moving closer, pointing to my ear to indicate that I needed him to repeat himself.

  He wore no tie, and the top button of his dress shirt opened enough to show off his appealing, tanned throat. My face was pressed there as he spoke into my ear.

  God, he was tall. And big. And he smelled divine. Like bergamot, vetiver, and heaven all wrapped into one big, edible man. I wanted to lick him.

  “He re
ally likes you,” his voice vibrated against me, his mouth was so close to my skin.

  I had no notion what he was talking about. He’d completely distracted me by standing so close.

  “Who?” I asked him.

  “Chester. He’s very attached to you. I could tell he didn’t want to leave.”

  I shrugged, not meeting his eyes. “He’s nice to me, which is a good thing, since we’re always together. And he’s very good at his job.”

  I was looking at his delicious throat, but I felt him staring at my face. He stood still like that for a long, awkward moment before he let it go. I knew the subject was dropped when his hands went to my waist, pulling me closer.

  My eyes were on his body, on his too close, too tempting chest, on the big, cut biceps rolling under his shirt.

  His hands slid down my hips and over the curves of my butt. He pushed my body flush against his.

  A hot, slow trickle of arousal gathered in my core.

  “I’ve barely touched you, and I’m already hard,” he murmured into my ear. “I’ve been thinking about fucking you again. About teaching you what a proper fuck is.”

  My breath was panting out of me. Every word he said, no matter how crude, was like a drug to me. I couldn’t get enough. I wanted him to want me. Needed it.

  I wanted to say something, wanted to ask him why, if he wanted me that much, he’d basically ignored me since we said I do, but I couldn’t bring myself to say the words.

  I was a coward, so I chickened out and just nodded.

  He tilted my chin up to him with one finger, and the heated look he gave me then was dazzling.

  I was in so much trouble.

  He started moving to the beat of the song that was pumping through the club, and without any conscious permission from my brain, my body started moving with him.

  It was good. We both knew how to move. We danced like we’d made love beautifully a thousand times instead of fucking regrettably once. Regardless of our history, or lack thereof, our chemistry was undeniable.

  Our torsos flush, he pushed his thigh high between mine, and buried his face in my neck, rubbing his nose back and forth along my tender skin while his ever moving hands played havoc on my hormones with every heady pump of the bass.

  His hips moved against me in a slick, greedy rhythm. As we moved, his chest brushed against my face. I licked it. His flavor was like a sweet, heady liquor.

  God, I wanted more. I wanted to touch him, to run my lips all over him, to climb up his body right then and there.

  I wanted him to fuck me again when my body and mind were like this, relaxed and languid, hazy and ready. I wanted a real consummation, his body invading mine for reasons other than bloody sheets and doctor probes. I wanted to do absolutely everything with him. Not for business but for pleasure. I wanted him to teach me what that meant.

  God I was a little drunk. Whether it was on him or the various shots I’d done, I wasn’t sure. But it didn’t matter. My mind was awhirl and lucid all at the same time, making it ripe for picking unwanted truths out of my own brain.

  I was becoming obsessed with my own hostile husband.

  My only excuse was that he was an easy man to become obsessed with. Effortless. The perfect line of his stubbled jaw, the spark in his gorgeous eyes, the lush curve of his mouth, the playful fall of his dark hair, every inch of his hard body—all of these things haunted my dreams whether I willed them or not.

  I’d reassured myself repeatedly that my obsession was superficial, and that at least it was not affection. But that night those reassurances were shattered straight into dust.

  It was so easy to like the him he was with his friends; warm and easy. Laughing and joking. Charming and fun.

  The way he touched me was the first cut. That night was the second. The barrier inside of me was being bombarded. And he didn’t even have to try.

  I needed to snap out of it. I needed to rally. I needed to stop the feelings I was feeling before this all got out of hand.

  The agony of feeling something for my own husband needed to be avoided at all costs.

  And forget about the L word. That was straight up out of the question. I blamed the liquor that it even came into my brain. Love was always a heavy burden, but loving a man like him would drag me down into the dirt, of that I was certain, and my head wanted no part of it.

  Unfortunately my body didn’t agree, and my heart kept trying to pound its way out of my chest, kept trying to bring real emotions into this fake marriage.

  CHAPTER

  FOURTEEN

  Our small booth was in a corner, and he moved behind me suddenly, tugging out curtains that I hadn’t realized were there.

  A light dawned. I glanced around. “Is this some sort of a sex club?” I hadn’t asked the question loudly, but I was close to his ear.

  He heard me, glanced back, and smirked. He leaned over to my ear to answer. “No. I know of a few in the city if you want to check one out, but this is just a regular club with some perks for the owner and his friends.”

  He pulled the curtains out until they encircled the entire booth, leaving us in near darkness.

  A heavy breath shuddered out of my enervated, trembling body.

  An instant later I felt his hands on me, his breath panting against my lips.

  He shoved my crop top up to my collarbone and snapped open the front of my bra.

  He cupped my breasts and fondled them. Flattening out his palms, he rubbed my nipples in circles.

  A moan escaped me.

  He tugged at my nipples, rubbing them harder.

  I moaned louder, but the sound was drowned out by the noise of club.

  He bent down to my breast, drawing the tip into his mouth. He sucked it while his fingers rubbed my other nipple. He did this thoroughly, moving from one side to the other.

  The sensations overwhelmed me. I clutched at his hair, holding him to me, and didn’t bother to hold back my moans as he sucked my nipples until my eyes rolled up in bliss.

  I squirmed, my hips moving, seeking something, anything, just more.

  Could he make me come with just his mouth on my breasts? I didn’t think so, but I had a genuine moment where I thought he just might.

  The question left my brain as he moved down my body, dropping to his knees on the hard, dirty club floor.

  I was shuddering like a leaf. In anticipation. I had already learned that when this bitter man put his mind to pleasuring me it was oh so sweet.

  He shoved my skirt up to my waist and tugged my panties down to my ankles. I stepped out of them, and he casually thrust them into his pocket.

  He pulled one of my legs over his shoulder, burying his face against my sex. He inhaled me.

  I nearly came right then, but he was only getting warmed up.

  His fingers softly parted my folds, and he burrowed his face deeper against me. His tongue fluttered whisper soft over me as he teasingly licked my cleft.

  I clutched his hair and held on for the ride. It was all I could do to stay upright.

  He rimmed my trembling slit with the tip of his tongue, taking his time at it, moving slow as dripping honey.

  My heart was stuttering wildly, my wet tongue kept licking at my lips as though that would make my throat less parched as I cried out in quick, breathy pants.

  He kissed my pussy for a very long while, going at it like it was romantic, like he was in love with it, like he was making out with my mouth instead of my sex. His head moved back and forth with his movements, kissing, licking, sucking, nibbling.

  I’d thought he was good with his hands. He was an artist with his mouth.

  Finally, after all the drugging tastes and teases, his tongue speared into me, shoving as deep as it could.

  I screamed in pleasure. The club noise drowned it out the second it hit the air.

  I knew he heard it because the second he did, he went wild. He started fucking me with his tongue, fucking with the concentrated purpose I’d only ever seen him use when he
was trying to get the bottom of a glass of straight bourbon.

  He was making these exquisite little noises as he ate at me, noises I felt more than heard, hungry noises like he was licking the bowl for the last spare trace of cream.

  I loved it, loved the way he made me feel, the way he made me come alive under his hands, his mouth.

  I gripped his silky hair in both hands and rocked my hips, swiveling my aching cunt into his face.

  I cried out a protest as his tongue withdrew, but it turned to encouragement as it stroked its way to my clit. He lapped there gently for one lick, two, three.

  It was so excessive and yet lacking, it was too much and somehow I needed more, everything, now.

  “Please,” I begged him, not caring if he heard, not caring who heard. I needed more. I needed to ignite again.

  He shoved his fingers into me and started punching them in and out hard. I felt my own juices dripping down my leg. It almost hurt, but even that felt good.

  He pinched his lips oh so softly around my clit and drew on it until I felt my flesh teasing between his flat straight teeth. It was a tender draw at first, but suddenly and without warning, he sucked hard.

  The nerve endings in my loins shredded. I screamed into the chaos.

  Yes. There it was. That ignition inside of me. He’d done it before, but this time was more, deeper, hotter, hungrier. I came with my whole self, with shivers that ran the length of my body in a rush of heady ecstasy that spread down to my toes.

  It took me a long time to recover. I was pretty much useless while he righted my clothes.

  I couldn’t look at him.

  He refastened my bra, caressing my sensitive breasts as he did so, kneading at my flesh and pinching my erect, sensitive nipples like he couldn’t help himself. He sucked on them while he tugged my skirt down and straightened it, smoothing the material down my thighs. He pulled back and positioned me so I was sitting up on the seat. I wanted to lie down. I wanted to spread my legs and beg him to do it all again.

  He righted my bra and put my top back in place.

  “My panties,” I reminded him, my voice drowned out by all the noise.