by Stella Gray
“Some more what?” I asked, still wary but letting her help me with the buckles.
“S’mores is a snack,” Michelle explained. “You make them with graham crackers and chocolate and toasted marshmallows, like a sandwich. Haven’t you ever had them?”
When I told her I hadn’t, she insisted we rectify the situation immediately. Then she somehow convinced my father to run out to the store for graham crackers while she helped me look for sticks in the backyard so we could toast marshmallows over the stove.
Our big date turned into the three of us having s’mores on the back porch while Michelle told us about a disastrous camping trip she’d gone on with her very unprepared sorority sisters back in college. I hadn’t seen my dad laugh like that ever, and I decided that Michelle could keep coming around for visits. We had been friends ever since. I’d even helped my father pick out the engagement ring that he proposed to her with some months later.
All this was to say, the word ‘stepmother’ carried no negative connotations for me. But I had no idea what was going through Stefan’s mind right now. I would never stand in the way of him getting to know his son and being a father—the very idea of interfering went against who I was as a person and what I’d experienced myself in my relationship with my own stepmother—but what if this new life of Stefan’s wasn’t compatible with our marriage?
Lots of couples had blended families, though, and I would be thrilled to be a stepmom myself. I imagined what kind of parents Stefan and I would be together. Kind, warm, loving. Fun. I could even teach the kid how to make s’mores, if Anja hadn’t already. Build blanket forts in the den on weekends and take him mini-golfing or to the Shedd Aquarium here in the city.
But maybe my fantasy version of our future family, with Anja as a friend and Max as our shared child, was just that—a fantasy. Maybe it was stupid to assume it would be so simple.
My thoughts reeled dizzyingly as I curled up in a tiny ball in the backseat of the Town Car. The whole way home from Konstantin’s penthouse, I struggled with this new reality. Thoughts of calling Michelle or texting my friend Grace went through my mind, but I didn’t know what I’d say, how I’d even begin to explain what was happening—and I honestly didn’t think there was anything they could say to me that would be comforting. Instead I spent the entire ride back to the condo replaying the scene in my father-in-law’s library over and over again. The whole thing had a distant, unreal quality to it.
I just couldn’t believe this was happening. That Anja was back.
I don’t know why it was such a shock. Ever since Stefan had told me about his relationship with Anja and her deportation and disappearance, I’d assumed she was out there somewhere. I’d been aware that for the last eight years Stefan had made it his mission in life to find her, and I’d been open to the possibility that she might someday be a part of our lives. But I’d never dreamed it would be like this. Never dreamed that Stefan—my husband—had a child.
I looked out the window of the Town Car at the bright lights of Chicago whirling by. It made my eyes hurt.
Anja had a son. Stefan’s son.
I’d barely gotten a look at the boy, but even at a glance, his eyes had stood out as familiar to me. They were green, with a hint of blue. The perfect mix between Anja’s stormy color and Stefan’s clear green. He also had Stefan’s dark brown hair and full lips. I knew in my gut that Anja wasn’t lying about who he was. About who he belonged to. Stefan had fathered a child with the woman he loved. The hard truth of the situation made it hard for me to breathe.
For a moment, I felt so dizzy that I had to grab onto the arm rest to stabilize myself. But there would be nothing to steady me against the fact that Stefan had another family now. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t known about the boy before, because I knew nothing would ever be the same for him—for us—now that Anja had shown up with their child.
It changed everything.
I couldn’t even fathom what Stefan was going through as he talked with Anja back at his dad’s place. What he was thinking, how he was feeling. I’d seen the blank look in his eyes at first, the complete shock. Then the way his body language had projected his anger toward his father, and the obvious emotional pain when he looked at Anja and squeezed my hand.
Anja Borjan. She was even more beautiful than Stefan had made her out to be. Of course I knew exactly what kind of women KZ Modeling hired, but I’d still been startled by the way her eyes looked like deep oceans, how perfect her shining dark hair was, her long legs. How could I compete with someone who looked like that? And Stefan had been so in love with her. At seventeen, his first love would have felt like his entire world. I’d know; I was eighteen when Stefan and I had met for the first time, eighteen when I’d realized I was hopelessly, undeniably in love with him. I was still eighteen, and the overwhelming heartache I’d experienced in the last few months had taught me more than I’d ever imagined about what first love could feel like.
So. It would be naïve of me to ignore the possibility that Stefan might want to get back together with her. Years had passed, but there was no way their feelings for each other were completely gone. Especially now that Stefan knew he and Anja had a child together. What if seeing her in person made him realize he was still carrying a torch for her? What if there wasn’t any room for me in his life at all anymore?
The worst part was, things between Stefan and I had just found their way. Had just stabilized. This huge bombshell could destroy all that. Who knew what he would say when he came home. He had kissed me before I left, but what if that had been a goodbye kiss?
I touched my fingers to my lips as if I could hold onto his touch. As if I could capture it forever.
The car finally pulled up outside our building and somehow I managed to stumble through the lobby, into the elevator, and down the hall to our condo. I stepped out of my shoes in the entryway, shrugged off my coat, and then wandered into our bedroom, my mind in a haze.
Looking at myself in the full-length mirror, I couldn’t believe how put-together I still appeared. I was broken, but you’d never know it judging by the outside. I’d gotten so good at pretending to be brave and strong, burying my true feelings, but none of it was real—it was just my years of training kicking in, creating a hard shell around me. My hair was still perfect, my black dress pressed, my new earrings from Stefan sparkling. But what good was keeping up appearances, when it was all a lie? When everything inside you was falling apart?
After pulling the bobby pins out of my hair, I unzipped my dress and hung it back up in the closet, then unhooked my earrings and left them on the dresser. Everything was coming apart. I didn’t know what to do with myself.
In the shower I stood under the spray of hot water, my tears finally flowing, but my crying was silent. I still felt numb. This wasn’t about fighting for Stefan, or fighting for our marriage. It was about giving him the time and space he needed to make his own choices about his life—his child’s life—which had nothing to do with me. The last thing I wanted to do was stand in his way. All I could do was wait. I’d never felt so helpless.
I could so easily picture Stefan being a father. I saw him laughing and smiling, the little boy hoisted up on his shoulders. Or playing catch with his son in a backyard with a jungle gym or a treehouse, maybe with a dog running around, Anja looking on with love in her eyes.
That was the image that haunted me most. Because the way Anja gazed at Stefan left no doubt in my mind. She still loved him. It was obvious. What would she do to get him back? I knew what I would do: Anything. Did I stand a chance against her? She’d had his heart first; what woman could compete with a man’s first love? Especially when that first love had been cruelly taken away from him, but was suddenly back in the picture. Back with his child.
Stefan and his son and Anja. The three of them made the picture-perfect family. They’d all look beautiful together. Like they belonged together. I didn’t fit in that picture.
Images rose up unbidden, tortur
ing me: Stefan and Anja raising their son, standing with their arms around each other, watching the boy with looks of admiration and joy on their faces. Stefan taking Anja in his arms and kissing her, cupping her face gently the way he’d done to me. Touching her stomach, whispering in her ear, sharing his hopes of having a second child with her. I imagined them trying for that child, their naked bodies fitting together perfectly as they made love on a lazy Sunday morning. Stefan’s hands roaming over Anja’s lithe body, his lips trailing kisses down her throat, her breasts, him fucking her until she screamed his name with that sexy Eastern European accent, her body arching up off the bed with the pure bliss I knew he was capable of giving a woman. And she’d please him, too. Unlike me, she was experienced. Worldly. She would know how to satisfy Stefan in ways I couldn’t.
Sinking to the shower floor, I covered my eyes and cried out, finally giving voice to my pain. My body shook with sobs and I wished Stefan was here to hold me. But he wasn’t. And there was no one I could turn to.
When the water ran cool, I stepped out, wrapped myself in a towel, and headed to the guest room. I couldn’t bear to sleep in our bed, not after what had happened tonight. Not after my imagination had so vividly played out all the possible ways Stefan would make love to Anja. I could so easily see her in that bed, in my place. Head tilted back, eyes closed, her full lips parted in ecstasy. Her long legs wrapped tight around his torso as he thrusted into her with deep and reassuring strokes, making up for all the years they’d spent apart, his hands gliding through her dark hair, their bodies in perfect harmony. Stefan might not even want to sleep next to me while he was going through all of this. I told myself I’d sleep better in the guest bed, too.
I put on my pajamas and crawled under the crisp, cool sheets. It was just like it had been before, with the two of us in separate rooms, living separate lives. Stefan had a whole new reality spreading out in front of him. A new family. A son. And his first love, safe and sound and back in his arms where she belonged after all these years.
I thought I was done crying, but the moment my head hit the pillow and I imagined my life without Stefan, imagined him choosing Anja, choosing a life with her and their son, the tears came again. I was completely, utterly alone. My cries echoed off the empty walls of the guest room, and as I felt myself drifting off to sleep I tried to convince myself that it was for the best. That what Stefan really needed right now was his space.
Maybe our marriage was already over.
Tori
Chapter 4
I slowly came awake to the sound of the bedroom door closing, the soft hush of clothes hitting the floor, the shift of the bed as Stefan slid in beside me. It took me a moment to remember where I was, the guest room still dark and the shadows unfamiliar to me.
My first instinct was to wriggle back toward him, but I stopped myself. I wasn’t sure what to do. Being close to Stefan, feeling connected to him, opening my legs wide for him and riding his cock, yes, I wanted all of that, and badly—but I had no idea where I stood now, no idea what had passed between him and Anja back at Konstantin’s apartment. Giving in to what my body craved without any thought of the consequences would be a mistake. It was possible I’d already lost Stefan, and didn’t even know it yet.
Before I could ponder things any further, though, I felt him snuggling his warm, naked body into my back. Letting out a sigh, I realized that resisting him would be nearly impossible.
He pulled my hair gently over my shoulder and started kissing the back of my neck, his lips firm and his breath hot against the sensitive skin at my nape. I could smell the alcohol coming off of him, but I couldn’t bring myself to push him away. The truth was, I didn’t want him to stop. I needed him, emotionally and physically. And god, he was giving me the most delicious chills. Closing my eyes, I bent my head to give him better access to my neck and let myself revel in the sensations, desire curling tightly in my lower belly.
His strong hands circled my waist, pulling me even closer to him. Through the thin fabric of my pajama pants, I could feel his cock, pressing hard and needy against my ass.
“Tori,” he murmured, grinding into my backside. “I need you.”
My heart seemed to squeeze in my chest. I didn’t know if his words were true. It was obvious that he wanted me, and desperately, but I didn’t know if it was the booze talking, or pure animal lust, or if Stefan genuinely loved me and needed to be with me in this moment.
I was torn. There was no denying that my body had already begun to respond to his touches, but I didn’t want sex to confuse the situation. Was this the right thing for us to do considering everything that was going on with Anja and the boy, and our marriage quite possibly in jeopardy? On the other hand, I loved him. I always would. Every part of me cried out for him.
Stefan’s hands roamed my body, sliding up under my tank top to cup my breasts. Then his fingers tweaked my nipples just the way I liked, the way that made me so hot I couldn’t see straight, so hot that all rational thought fled my mind. I squirmed in the bed, grinding my ass back into him. He knew exactly what he was doing to me.
There was no holding back the soft moan that escaped my lips as he pinched and stroked both of my nipples at the same time, sending bursts of pleasure and pain through me, waves of hot need going directly to my clit. It felt so good, it was hard to imagine stopping. My hips were grinding faster under the sheets, meeting and encouraging the thrusts of his bare cock against my ass. I was desperate for him, for his dick, for his attention and affection.
But I didn’t want to let myself be taken by him, body and soul, when I knew full well that there was still a chance he’d walk away to be with Anja and his son. When what I should be doing was building a wall between Stefan and myself, blocking off my feelings for him.
God, I could feel myself getting wetter every second that he had his hands on me.
If I was being honest, I wanted to protect myself from even more heartache—but I wanted to take care of him, too. And I could tell that he needed me, by his words and actions. That in itself was intoxicating.
I loved my husband. There was no doubt in my mind. And if our relationship was solid, was as strong as I thought, then it would withstand a blow like the one it had taken tonight. These new revelations might shake us, but they wouldn’t destroy us. Wouldn’t change what we had built together.
That’s what I wanted to believe.
Because I needed him just as much as he needed me.
And, if I was wrong about everything—if nothing I felt in my heart about Stefan and me was actually true—then this might be the last night that we were together.
I pulled away, turning in Stefan’s arms to face him. He searched my eyes, but before I could speak his lips halted my words, his tongue stroking aggressively against mine. I was hungry for him. Our mutual desperation was unstoppable as we devoured each other’s mouths.
If he was drunk on his father’s whiskey, I was just as drunk with my own desire, my hands wrapping around his neck as he rolled me onto my back, tugging my pants and underwear off and my top over my head.
“Stefan,” I panted between kisses, “I need you, too. I need you now.”
His hands slipped down, forcing my legs open, wrapping them around his hips. He rubbed the head of his cock against my swollen lips, the sensation so intense that I cried out into his mouth. He didn’t let me go. Didn’t give me a moment to breathe as he kissed me deeper.
I felt hot tears at the corners of my eyes, the intensity of my emotions and my desire overwhelming me. Trying to blink them away, I only succeeded in forcing them out, and Stefan immediately pulled back.
“What did I do?” he whispered. “Am I hurting you?”
Answering that was too fucking complicated. Lying was easier.
“No,” I murmured. “I just…love you. I need to be with you.”
Reaching for him, I pulled his mouth back down onto mine until I was lost in his kiss again. I didn’t break away until I had to stop to catch my
breath.
“You should have stayed with me earlier,” Stefan said as his hand slid between my legs, tracing my seam. “I wanted you to stay.”
I shook my head, hissing as his fingers found my clit, stroking softly.
“You needed to be with her,” I said. “Alone.” As he pinched my clit between his thumb and forefinger, tugging gently, I gasped. It felt good. Too good. So good it hurt.
I loved it, the pain and pleasure mixing together. It was perfect. He was perfect.
“I needed you,” he insisted.
Tears threatened again, so I unhooked my legs from around his waist and rolled onto my side. I was afraid to speak, afraid that anything more I tried to say would be my undoing, but Stefan only came up behind me and spooned my body in his, holding me tight as he nuzzled my hair. We were positioned the same as before, his cock still raging hard as it pressed into me. Fighting this was futile. I knew exactly what I wanted.
I arched back against him with renewed urgency, wanting to feel him, wanting to be close, but knowing I’d be unable to look at my husband without tears welling up in my eyes.
His hand slid down to my pussy, where I was wet and ready. He stroked my clit again, making me moan slowly, deeply, drinking in every drop of pleasure. Then, without warning, he thrust a finger deep inside of me, forcing my hips back harder against his cock.
“Fuck,” I groaned, bearing down on his finger, wanting more.
“You like that?” he asked. “You like it when I fuck you with my hands?”
“Yes,” I said. “I love your hands. I want you to touch me.”
He pumped his finger back and forth gently, too gently, making me cry out with need.
“You want it bad,” he said, each word accompanied by a thrust of his finger, going deeper and deeper. “I can tell. You’re dying for me to fuck you.”
“Yes,” I begged, my hips thrusting, my juices wetting his whole hand. “Please fuck me, Stefan. I can’t be—” I gasped out a breath as he curled his finger to tap my G-spot. “Oh fuck, that’s good. Don’t stop. I can’t be without you.”
