by Lily Zante
His mouth falls open. He reaches out to touch me but his touch isn’t what I need.
Not wasting any time, I straddle him, climbing onto the chair, onto him, my legs on either side of his thighs. My breasts hang in front of him, a deliberate temptation. He’s craved this for weeks and I have deprived him. He clamps his mouth over my breast and suckles me hard. The sensation shoots straight to my belly, then slides down lower, heat, and liquid snaking around between my legs. I position the tip of his cock at the mouth of my silkiness, and I hold there. He utters a sound somewhere in the back of his throat, a low and dirty sound that calls to my feral nature. I hear it in the base of my belly, feel the reverberations of his desire echo deep inside me.
A non-human mewl, wild and guttural falls from my lips as I slide myself down his thick length. This is pure bliss. I run my hands through his hair, because I can’t get enough skin-to-skin contact. He fills me up, consumes and overwhelms my body, top and bottom. I sheath him completely, sitting down on him at last with all of him inside me.
I want to go slow and long, take my time because we haven’t done this for a while. I need him as much as he needs me. Energized, I move up and down slowly, savoring the feel of him as he fills me completely.
He growls, then puts his hands on my hips. We can’t wait. There is a desperation and urgency to our union. I move up and down, but his hands give me more momentum. Blood courses through my body, amplifying everything, heightening every feeling I have for this man. We use one another, draining and squeezing and taking every last drop of pleasure, until we come together. When I stop convulsing, when the aftershocks of our lovemaking subside, I rest my head on his shoulder, and he holds me, as if he never wants to let me go.
Chapter Forty-One
WARD
* * *
I’m a hot sticky mess, but she’s in my arms, sitting on me and I don’t want to let her go.
I am drawn to this woman and I can’t reverse it. I don’t want to be a stranger anymore. I don’t want to spend my life in my study writing all day and seeing nobody but Freya.
She moves, lifts her head off my shoulder and looks at me with her dark bedroom eyes. Then she kisses me. It’s a light press of her lips against mine, but it’s enough to rouse the cells in my body. I stand up still holding her, and her legs tighten around my waist. The robe has slipped off one shoulder and I pull it back on again.
“This suits you,” I whisper as I walk upstairs with her.
“Maybe I should borrow more of your clothes.”
“I prefer you with no clothes.”
She plants playful kisses along my neck, then squeals, “Put me down. You’ll fall.”
“Don’t trust me?”
Her leghold around my hips tightens in answer and my manhood is fully awake again.
I enter her room and throw her onto the bed. She lies back, shrugging out of the robe, widening her legs enticingly.
I wasn’t planning to leave her tonight or get any sleep; I was planning to take a shower first because her scent is all over me. She catches my hesitation as I rake my gaze up the length of her body.
Quick as a flash, I flip her onto her stomach and thrust inside her. We both moan at the same time. She is sweet, and hot and tight. She fits me like a glove. I kiss her shoulder, emotions swirling around my heart, making me feel things that have long been buried. She giggles, and I drop another kiss. It’s a gentle gesture, unlike the shitstorm of feelings I have for her. Pressed against her, buried deep inside her, we are skin to skin. I own her. She belongs to me. I drop a spattering of kisses on her back, and when she squirms again, I thrust into her. She writhes and moans, and I begin to thrust harder and harder.
The next few hours pass by in a blur. Everything I’ve been holding in, my feelings for her, my desire, my need, pours forth. We take a bath together. Ordinarily I wouldn’t indulge in such time-consuming activities, but Mari insists. There’s a playfulness around her, which is contagious. Sitting in the bathtub with her between my legs, and with her back to me, I enjoy the sensation of soaping her, of exploring every inch of her body as she lies against my chest. Under the water, I pleasure her with my fingers, kissing her wet skin as my other arm locks around her. She jerks to my touch, and I bask in the heat of our union. I don’t want to think about all the things that could go wrong. They always do. I won’t let the past gnaw at my gut and I allow myself to enjoy this precious time.
She wants to know when my book will be done, she seems to need a date for when she needs to find a new job by. I’m in no hurry to leave now. I can stay here for longer, until the entire book is done, perfecting it once it comes back from the editor. I’m in no hurry to rush back to New Orleans.
But I want very much for her to come back with me, at least for a while, to see the city I love. I’m not ready to let her go so fast. I didn’t plan for this, but now that I have her, I want her with me for as long as she wants to stay. I ask her.
“Come back with you to New Orleans?” She turns her face to look at me, but it’s not easy, given the way she’s resting against my chest.
I massage her soapy breasts, feel her nipples rise like pebbles. “Why not? I was going to courier the document to Rob, and in that week where I have nothing to do, why don’t you come back with me? I’ll pay you.”
“You already have a housekeeper.”
“I won’t pay you to be my housekeeper.”
“Then what will you pay me for?”
I have to be careful with what I say. This setup is so precarious. I can’t not pay her, because I know she needs the money. I’d rather have her with me than not. “I’ll pay you to be my personal assistant.”
She likes the sound of this because she squeals, though it could be because my fingers are rubbing against her folds. She presses against me, her breath hitching in her throat. “What does that entail?”
I thumb her clit, and it no longer seems to matter as she shudders to my touch.
Later, when the birds begin to sing, I curl up against her in bed, breathing in the scent of her hair. I haven’t lain with a woman like this in years. I haven’t let anyone come this close.
“Goodnight,” I whisper.
She’s quiet, and I’m not sure if she heard me. I kiss the top of her head. After a while, she asks, “Are you staying?” in a groggy voice, on the edge of sleep.
“Yes.”
She huddles closer to me, then flings one of her legs in between mine until we’re a tangle of warm bodies.
“Ward!” Mari hollers directly in my ear. I am so bone-weary, I can’t even open my eyes. “Ward!” She shakes me roughly. “Get up!” She sounds hysterical. My eyes fly wide open. I reach for my bedside table, trying to find my watch, and failing.
“Get up!” Mari cries, rushing around the room in a frenzy. My attention immediately fixates on her. I sit up, so caught up in her nakedness that it takes a moment or two for me to realize I’m in her bed, in her room. I blink a few times, then look up at the ceiling, look at the room. Memories of last night flood back.
“Get up,” she cries, swiping my robe from the floor and throwing it on. She flies towards the door.
“Where are you going?”
“Jamie’s here. We overslept!”
She disappears just as I’m about to tell her to ignore Jamie. I have a workout in mind, but it’s not with Jamie. “Mari!” I yell after her, not understanding why she’s rushing to answer the door. We could pretend we went out.
But of course, that wouldn’t be so plausible in the light of day. I’m still groggy with post-sex haze. I have a growing boner, and Mari isn’t here.
Swearing under my breath, because we could have been doing something better than a goddamn workout right now, I make myself get out of bed.
There’s nothing worse than getting ready for a workout I don’t want.
* * *
MARI
* * *
Jamie’s here and he won’t stop ringing the doorbell.
&n
bsp; I didn’t want to get out of bed. I could have lain in Ward’s arms all morning. I could have had more of what we had last night. I rush downstairs as the doorbell rings again.
I open the door and Jamie stares at me in shock, his gaze going from my face and trailing down the length of my body.
“What are you wearing?” he asks. His voice is harsh, severing the bubble of last night’s memories I had been floating in.
Oh, god.
I forgot. I put my hand to the robe, securing the edges so that it doesn’t gape open. Somehow, I manage to tighten the sash that’s holding the outfit together. I wish I’d stopped to think before I raced downstairs.
He looks at me, suspicion black like poison in his eyes.
“I washed it, and I ... it ended up in my pile of clothes,” I stammer, knowing that he isn’t buying any of this.
“You’ve overslept,” he says, making it sound like an accusation instead of a statement.
“Good morning!” Ward’s voice behind me is good-humored and bright. I’m shocked by the speed with which he got ready and came down. I don’t dare turn around even though I’m curious to know how he looks, and whether Jamie will put two and two together.
“I’m heading straight to the gym,” Ward says, “You two catch up.” He disappears, leaving me with a grouchy looking Jamie.
“What’s going on?” Jamie asks, his gaze slipping to my neck. I pray that Ward didn’t leave any tell-tale kisses there, that Jamie can’t read the guilty look I’m trying so hard to hide. I’m useless hiding things.
“Nothing is going on,” I cry, trying to sound exasperated that he would ask me such a thing. I’m failing miserably. I walk into the kitchen, knowing that there is nothing casual, or normal about me coming downstairs wearing Ward’s robe and having overslept, and with Ward coming downstairs after me. None of this is normal, and Jamie isn’t stupid.
“He’s annoyed with me,” I say to Jamie, making up a story on the go, and struggling to make it sound believable.
“He didn’t sound too annoyed.”
Jamie doesn’t follow me into the kitchen but hangs around in the doorway. He doesn’t want to talk, but I am desperate to prove that nothing happened last night, even though all the evidence points to the contrary.
“He’s annoyed with me, you remember how he was with the pen?” I’m trying to buy more time so I can figure out a better excuse. Instead, Jamie raises an eyebrow.
“Coffee?” I say, putting the coffee maker on.
“Since when do I have coffee before the workout? And since when does Ward ever go to the workout before me?” Jamie snaps.
I pick up a wooden spoon as if to make a point. “I’m fed up. I hate this job. I’m sick of answering the door, and cooking, and cleaning, and I’m sick of tiptoeing around on eggshells around that man. I’m better than this.”
Jamie blinks at me as if I’ve had some sort of meltdown. I have. But it’s a completely different type of meltdown. Again, he’s not buying this. I can see the cogs of his brain turning and trying to piece it together. “I need to speak to Danny,” I say. “One of his contacts emailed me to arrange a job interview.”
Jamie’s face twists. He then turns and leaves.
I wait a moment before I allow myself to breathe out. My ruse was pathetic. It didn’t work. He knows. He knows what I’ve been up to, and he’s already judging me. This makes me angry, and I rush upstairs to shower and get ready. After that I rush back to clean the study first while waiting for Jamie to finish.
But after the workout, Jamie doesn’t stop for our usual chat and he leaves without saying a word. I won’t even know where to begin in order to explain how this, me and Ward, happened.
“What did he say?” I ask Ward when he comes back downstairs after his shower.
His face breaks out into a dirty grin “He said I was getting big.” He flexes his arm and proudly shows off a bulging bicep. The tease. Does he know what the sight of his muscles does to me? I could indulge in innuendo and entice Ward back to bed in the middle of the day—this would be a new challenge—but I am determined to find out whether Jamie was suspicious.
“But what did he say? About me wearing his robe? And us not opening the door. Didn’t he find it odd?”
“He didn’t say anything.”
“He knows,” I say, wringing my hands. It shouldn’t matter, but it does. In all the time he’s known me, I’ve made bad mistakes. I’ve been hurt and I messed up, and then I got hurt again, and now I’m doing this.
He can’t know the truth of me and Ward.
“Why are you so worried?” Ward’s hand grazes my cheek, but it doesn’t settle there. He moves his hand away and pours himself a cup of coffee. This is what I expect from him. He’s not going to daydream about the things we can spend time doing, even after the night we’ve had. He’s focused and goal-oriented and he’s already thinking about the book and everything he’s got to do today.
He’s not thinking of me.
I’m about to answer, but he’s walked out. His mind is elsewhere and I’ve lost him already.
Chapter Forty-Two
MARI
* * *
My life flips on its side. Things are going well with Ward, but Jamie is the one who is now giving me grief.
He’s not being outright rude, but he’s ignoring me. Barely says ‘hi’ when he arrives and then rushes out so fast that I never catch him in time to confront him.
Ward and I have settled into another routine. There are no rewards this time, not like before. He doesn’t always sleep in my bed, but on those nights he does, it’s not always about the sex. We talk.
He’s also starting to open up to me. Telling me things from his childhood and how he got into writing. I learn things about his stepfather that make my blood boil. I discover how much his mother let him down. I come to understand him better.
He tells me about how he took to writing when he was in his teens and a teacher at school encouraged him.
“She said she loved my writing, and that I had a gift, and she told me I should put it to good use.”
“You loved to read?” I ask him.
“More than most boys. I would get lost in books. It was the perfect escape.”
“And what did you write about?”
“Anything. High school essays and stuff, I did well at them. I found that I could express myself through my words and having someone believe in me was such a revelation.”
He’s lying on the bed, and I’m propped up against the headrest. We’re fully clothed, and I have his head on my lap. Staring down at him, it’s so clear to see how much he has changed. The mountain-man beard went a long time ago. Today he has a four-day growth, and I prefer him like this. I skim my hand over his jaw, stroking his almost-beard as if it’s a much-loved pet. He’s shirtless, of course, wearing only sweatpants, so I get to run my hands over his muscles and his hard, toned body.
“She believed in you because she could see how gifted you were,” I say, stroking the side of his face.
“Having someone believe in you makes a world of difference.” His brows push together. He’s thinking, and I know better than to ask him what he’s thinking about. With Ward, I’ve learned that he will tell me when he’s good and ready. It’s impossible to pry stuff out of him. He’ll tell me when he’s good and ready.
He’s been talking about his New Orleans home and says he wants me to come back with him for a week or so while Rob looks over the book. He says he often needs a break when he’s done with the first draft of a book because it’s so intense and he needs to switch off completely. Usually he would go away, out of state somewhere because he needs to unwind. This surprises me because after all his talk of being a recluse and wanting to stay at home, I never assumed that someone like Ward would want to travel much. But he assures me he does. Only now that he’s been here in Chicago, he wants to go home for a break. His plans have changed, and I don’t know how much I’ve influenced them. For all his talk of leaving
here, he now has plans to come back and do the edits.
It means I get to work for him for a little while longer.
One day Ward is busy in the study rewriting his crucial end scene. He woke up early and told me he still wanted to do the workout with Jamie but he had to write the new ending first and he didn’t know how long it would take.
When Jamie shows up, I tell him that Ward is busy and asked if he could wait around for thirty minutes or so because Ward doesn’t want to miss his session. I joke with him about how much Ward has changed but he doesn’t laugh. Instead he stares at his watch in annoyance. “He wants me to wait here?”
This wouldn’t be a problem. It would mean more time for me and Jamie to talk, but we haven’t been all that friendly since the day I answered the door wearing Ward’s robe. Our relationship seems to have stalled and sputtered just as mine and Ward’s has blossomed.
It doesn’t stop me from trying to make amends. “Have a cup of coffee,” I say, with more optimism than I feel. When he starts to follow me, I go over to the coffee machine and pour him a cup. “Ward loves his workouts so much now. You’ve obviously had a good effect on him.”
“Not as much as you.”
I twist my mouth, thinking of something to say. I can no longer deny that anything has happened. It’s too late for that.
“Why are you still so angry with me?”
At first, he looks so choked up that he can’t speak. “What is it?” I ask, alarmed and worried that there’s something bothering him that I don’t know about. I move towards him and touch his elbow. “Jamie?” I wonder if there is something else, something I’ve missed. I’ve been thinking he’s annoyed at me, but maybe it’s something else entirely.
“You,” he hisses. “You can’t help yourself.”
