“No talking,” Norah instructed. “Not one word.”
She began to take off his shoes and socks, but Jude did not fight her for a second. The sensations along his solid frame was incredible.
Her hands were slipping off his pants, and she removed his clothes skilfully, pulling off his boxers simultaneously.
She pulled back, and there was silence, but before he could call out, he heard her return.
A moment later, his feet were dipped in a pool of warm water, and he felt more jets on him.
“Wow!”
“Shh!” she insisted. “No noise.”
Obediently, he clamped his mouth closed and waited for her to undo his red button-down work shirt, but as she worked with her hand, her mouth found its way to his neck.
Soon, his shirt was on the floor, and her hot breath was exploring his broad chest, stopping to tease his nipples with her teeth.
Groaning, Jude reached for her but she pinned his hands down to the arms of the chair, and he was left with the feeling of her silky blonde hair trailing along his chest.
Ensuring he was not moving, she cupped his swollen sack and stroked his shaft before lowering her face toward him.
Jude moaned again as his member entered her mouth, the combination of her hands, the chair and the rhythmic motion of her mouth surreal.
Deeper she plunged, his engorged unit tickling the back of her uvula and causing him to tense and relax at once.
Faster she worked, her hands cupping him more firmly and his body seemed overcome by a million sensations until she finally pulled back, her one hand still caressing his balls.
Suddenly he felt a splash of hot and cold over his crotch, and he knew the treat was not over.
In seconds, she had straddled him, but he was finally allowed to touch as she placed himself over his raging erection.
She slid herself along his freshly lubed organ, and he knew she was riding him backward.
He grasped his hands around her waist, feeling the lace of her teddy under her hands and abruptly he was inside her most delicate hole as her hands gripped the armrests.
She cried out as Jude lunged upward, determined to finish what she had started, and he felt her fingers working furiously against her nub as he pressed into her darkly and deeply.
Harder he grew, and her cries became screams as his thrusts turned into primeval throws.
He pressed her down, feeling her shake and finally allowed himself to explode inside her but not releasing her until he had spent himself in entirety.
As if timed to perfection, the chair abruptly stopped vibrating as the last drop spilled from Jude’s loins and Norah sat quivering in a straddle upon his lap.
“Mm, can I speak now?” he purred in an almost mocking tone. She laughed shakily.
“Only if you let me down gently,” she agreed.
Jude slapped her rear and picked her up with strong arms, placing her on the floor before removing the blindfold from his eyes.
“That was amazing,” he told her. “Just what I needed.”
She turned and smiled at him, her blue eyes bright with allure.
“I thought you might need that after a long day at work,” she replied. “I made you dinner, too.”
Jude laughed, standing to locate his pants.
“It’s two o’clock in the afternoon,” he replied. “What are we, seventy?”
She chuckled.
“I have to work tonight,” she replied. “So early dinner it is.”
He shrugged in agreement.
“Sounds good. I have to get home anyway.”
Norah half-smiled and turned away.
“I had a feeling you might say that too,” she said, and Jude felt a fission of apprehension.
“Sorry, I’ve just had a long day,” he said quickly, not wanting to fight with her. He didn’t really have the energy.
“You could always stay here,” she told him. “You have a key, remember?”
He nodded and thought quickly.
“I know but the –“
“Dog?” Norah finished, turning to face him from the doorway. There was something about her tone which Jude found unsettling, and he bobbed his head.
“Yes. Marcus can’t be home all day by himself.”
She peered at him for a long moment, gesturing for him to follow her into the kitchen.
“I understand,” she called back to him as he fumbled to do up his shirt. “But you know what I don’t understand?”
“What’s that, babe?”
“Why your wife doesn’t take care of the dog.”
Chapter Three
“Marseille, you’re putting in over sixty hours a week. I’m just worried you’re going to burn out,” the director said, her brow furrowing in concern. “I understand that money is tight, but you won’t do anyone a bit of good if you’re running on empty.”
Marseille looked up sharply.
“Has someone complained about my work?” she demanded. “Have I been making mistakes?”
Clarissa shook her white head.
“No, not at all. You’re the most skilled PSW on our team,” she replied quickly. “And I would like to keep you for a long time.”
“Then let me get in my hours,” Mars insisted. Clarissa frowned and sat back in her chair, studying the younger woman pensively. Marseille grew uncomfortable under her scrutiny.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked nervously.
“Is something going on at home?”
Marseille bristled immediately at the mention of her home life.
“No,” she replied hotly. “I just want to get the hours in while I can.”
“While you can -?”
Understanding lit up Clarissa’s face, and she nodded eagerly.
“Oh! You’re trying to start a family!”
Color painted Mars’ cheeks, and she shrugged noncommittally.
“You just never know what the future will hold,” she said evasively. “There’s no reason I shouldn’t put the hours in now.”
Clarissa nodded.
“I agree,” she conceded, leaning over to sign off on the paper in front of her. “Please don’t be upset that I had to ask. It’s my job to take care of my employees, after all.”
Marseille swallowed a response and bobbed her head, rising before Clarissa could change her mind.
“I have to go. Mr. Blessin is expecting me in twenty minutes, and with rush hour traffic, it’s going to take me longer than that to get across town.”
“Of course,” Clarissa said. “Drive safely.”
Marseille hurried from the office, making her way out of the building before Clarissa reached her outer office.
She shouldn’t have been so defensive. She knew that Clarissa was only being motherly. It was no secret that Marseille was a valued employee at the Carson Agency. The group itself catered to a more affluent clientele, and Clarissa had to ensure that the company was running as smoothly as possible.
If even one client was to complain about the way a PSW was behaving, it could open the floodgates and ruin the company on word of mouth alone.
Marseille recognized all of that, but she could not deny the fact that the meeting had annoyed her.
I’ve been working for Carson almost four years now. If I want to do eighty hours a week, she shouldn’t question me. I have never had a complaint.
On the contrary. She was very well received by even the most colicky of the clients, and she was often asked to return.
And I need all the clients I can get.
Contrary to what she told Jude and Clarissa, the money had almost nothing to do with the hours she was keeping.
Instead, Marseille was doing her best to avoid spending time alone with Jude.
She was happy to attend outings and family functions with him, but she dreaded the thought of being alone with him in the house.
He would want to try for a baby.
Since she had made her somewhat public announcement to the f
amily, she had wished with all her heart that she could take the words back.
It seemed as if Jude had taken the word to mean they must attempt to procreate at every turn in every possible instance. There was no reprieve and Mars was growing to resent her husband.
Does he want a baby because he thinks it will solidify me never leaving him? She wondered. She was ashamed by the thought, but she couldn’t deny she might have a valid notion.
After all this time, why does he still think I would leave him?
More guilt flooded her.
She knew exactly why. Her attitude screamed it at every turn.
Marseille was aware that she needed to sit down with Jude and talk to him about the rollercoaster of emotions which had helped build their somewhat unstable marriage but whenever the opportunity presented itself, Marseille found herself unable to verbalize what she wanted to say.
No matter how I phrase it or what I do, we will always have that umbra following us everywhere we go. Maybe he is right; maybe a child will dispel the past once and for all.
Yet the thought of carrying his baby was disturbing her to her.
So instead of taking the bull by the horns and discussing the elephant in the room, they continued to squeeze past it as it grew and grew while they pretended to be a happily married couple.
And Marseille began to devise ways to avoid being alone with her husband at all cost.
Jude had texted her while she was in her meeting with Clarissa but she had not bothered checking the message.
While she had exaggerated her need to leave to her boss, she did have an appointment across town.
I’ll text him when I get to the Blessin’s house.
Pausing at a light, she reached forward in the Kia and flipped on the radio. Her heart stopped as a song floated through the speakers and to her ears, somehow displacing her.
Suddenly, Marseille was not sitting in the middle of Manchester, New Hampshire. She was in a nightclub in Burlington, Vermont, doing shots of tequila and laughing raucously.
“God, I love this song!” she screeched as the pop tune flowed through the bar.
“Uh, you know this is Katy Perry, right?”
“So what?” Marseille chortled, slapping his arm. “Come dance with me.”
“No way, babe. There is no way you’re getting me up there with you. I will not be caught dancing to Katy Perry two days before I am deployed to the middle east.”
“Shut up!” Marseille howled, grabbing his hand. “Dance with me.”
He pretended to glower at her but suddenly, she was in his strong arms, and they were on the dance floor, locked in each other’s eyes.
“I love you, babe,” he told her. “Even if you like Katy Perry.”
She pushed herself onto the pads of her feet and pressed her lips to his.
“I love you,” she replied. “Even if you have no taste in music.”
“Do you regret marrying me?” he asked as he drew her into his arms.
“I will only regret marrying you if you don’t come home to me.”
“I will come home to you, I promise.”
“I know you will.”
A series of horns blaring shattered her reverie and the car shot forward even before Marseille had fully collected herself. Hot tears were falling down her cheeks and willed herself to stop sobbing.
A few blocks from the Blessin house, she stopped on a side street and wiped her face quickly, trying to regain her composure.
Why did I let him go? I should have stopped him when he asked me, and I let him go.
She gritted her teeth.
This was the problem.
She was still living in the past, and so was Jude.
This is not fair to anyone, she thought, shaking her head. Tomorrow I am going to do what I should have done last week. I am throwing out the birth control pills and cutting back my hours. Jude and I are going to have a baby.
She tried to smile at herself in the mirror, but she couldn’t deny the insurmountable sadness in her soul.
“Jude and I are trying for a baby,” Marseille blurted out, and Dr. Rainier stared at her for a long minute.
“Congratulations?” the psychologist asked carefully. “Are congratulations in order?”
She looked at him, her face a naked mask of anguish.
“I don’t know,” she whispered. “Is this the wrong thing?”
Dr. Rainier sighed heavily.
“Marseille, I can’t answer that for you. This is a subject that you have both had very different opinions about. If I recall correctly, you have always been against it. Why the change of heart?”
She sat back in the high back wing chair and considered his question carefully.
“It’s time to let go, isn’t it? It’s been six years, Dr. Rainier. If I can’t let go now, when will I ever do it?”
“Marseille, there is no stopwatch on readiness. You are ready when you are ready. Some people take months; others take years. Some people are never ready, but that is why you have come to me. My job is to help you through your challenges. You know how I feel about you and Jude and what you did, but if you are going to continue to surge through, you must be prepared for obstacles. You already knew that.”
She nodded miserably.
“Why did he marry me?” she choked. “He had to have known it would be this way.”
“Why did you agree to marry him?” Dr. Rainier asked. It was not a new question, but it was one which had never been properly answered.
“You know why,” she whispered.
“Then you will find he likely has the same answer for why he married you. You both hoped it would get better. I think Jude believes that it has. Does he know about your regrets?”
“It’s not a regret!” she snapped sharply. “Marrying Jude is not a regret.”
“No?”
Marseille glared hatefully at the doctor, knowing what he was implying but not wanting to take the bait.
“We needed each other. We helped each other through a terrible time. I don’t regret marrying him. That’s an awful statement.”
“He loves you,” the doctor offered. “And I believe you love him. But do you love him enough to have children with him?”
“If I married him, obviously I knew that was inevitable,” Marseille barked, but she knew she was not angry with the psychologist.
“Because we live in the fifties and your job is to bear children?” Dr. Rainier asked dryly.
Marseille scowled at him.
“Because I knew that Jude wanted kids.”
“Why do you think Jude wants kids with you?”
And that is the question. Why does he really want kids with me?
Dr. Rainier’s green eyes widened with interest.
“You don’t know why he wants kids?”
“What a stupid question!” Marseille fired back. “Why does anyone want kids?”
“I would dare to say that you and Jude are not like the other couples I have known which makes me question your motivations for having children together.”
The words were all words she had thought before. She had no reason to be defensive and yet when the doctor said them aloud; they sounded disgusting, perverse.
What is wrong with us? She wondered suddenly. We shouldn’t be having children. We should be getting a divorce.
But there would be no divorcing Jude. He had saved her, and she had saved him. They would live out the rest of their lives in a warped sense of responsibility for one another.
“I think it’s time you and Jude sat down and talked for once, really talked, Marseille. You may find that you are both on the same page after all.”
She jerked her head up in shock.
“What has he said to you?” she demanded, terror filling her bones. “Did he say he doesn’t love me? That he wants to leave me?”
Dr. Rainier laughed dryly.
“First of all, I couldn’t tell you what Jude and I talk about in sessions as you well know. But secondly, and
more importantly, I don’t think you believe for a second that Jude doesn’t love you. All I am suggesting is that you two finally sit down and talk about all of those terrible things you’ve kept bottled up for so long. It will do you both a world of good.”
“Shouldn’t you be there for it?” Marseille asked hopefully. Dr. Rainier smiled thinly.
“We’ve tried that before, remember? All it did was get you both to clam up. You are very uncomfortable airing your personal issues around others.”
“We should try it again,” Marseille urged. “I’m sure that Jude and I are more comfortable now –“
“It will be even worse now, Marseille. You and Jude had both seen me independent of one another, and you have both told me things that I am sure you don’t want the other to know. It will not make for a good session. Why are you so afraid to talk to one another alone?”
Marseille knew why; they had never known each other, not really.
“I don’t know,” she lied. “But you’re right. I will go home and talk to him.”
“I think that’s a good idea before you commit to bringing any children into your relationship, don’t you?”
Marseille stood, and Dr. Rainier glanced at his watch.
“We still have ten minutes, Marseille. Anything else on your mind?”
She smiled tightly. He didn’t want to know what else was on her mind.
“Nothing I want to get into with ten minutes left,” she replied. He shrugged.
“Fair enough. See you in a couple weeks then?”
She nodded.
“Sure,” she agreed. “I’ll make an appointment on the way out.
But as she exited the inner office, she bypassed reception and continued down toward the elevators. It’s the same game she played every week; pretend she wasn’t coming back, but she would call when she got home and make an appointment when her brain began to bubble over with confusion.
Rainier doesn’t help, she thought mournfully. He’s never helped.
She desperately wished she knew what Jude told the psychologist, but there was no way of finding out. It was privileged information, and Jude certainly wasn’t going to tell her anything.
He was right about one thing; she had to sit down and confront Jude with everything. They needed to make a decision about their future.
The Lost Seal: A Seal Romance Page 3
