Her Best Worst Mistake

by Sarah Mayberry

  Then he started undressing her again, and she let all her doubts slide away, as she always did when he was touching her.

  Chapter Seven

  Martin woke with a warm, soft body pressed against his side. He lifted his head to check the clock—a full hour before he needed to head home to get ready for work. He relaxed back into the pillow, inhaling Violet’s perfume—an enticing mixture of musk and deep floral notes—and let memories from last night wash over him.

  Violet in the shower, on her knees with him in her mouth. Violet in her bed, her hair in damp ribbons across her shoulders and breasts, her body bared utterly to him for the first time. Violet shuddering to climax, his name on her lips. Again and again and again.

  She was like a drug, addictive and euphoric and consuming.

  Her back was to him, her backside snugged into his hips. He slid his arm around her body, resting it beneath her ribcage. He lay for long minutes, feeling the rise and fall of her breathing, letting her warmth seep into him. After a while she stirred, murmuring something in her sleep, her backside pushing more firmly into his hips.

  It was more than enough to make him fully hard. He pressed his erection against the curve of her ass, then smoothed a hand down her belly and between her thighs. She was hot and wet down there already. Because of him? Because she was dreaming about the two of them like this, in bed together?

  He found the bud of her clitoris and stroked it gently, lightly. The merest whisper of a touch. Her body seemed to loosen, as though she’d been craving his caresses. He dipped his finger into the slick moisture between her thighs, then traced her clit again. She stirred a second time, her head lifting slightly from the pillow.

  “Martin.”

  “Shh,” he said, stroking her more firmly.

  She subsided back onto the pillow, her hips rolling slight backward so she could open herself more fully to him. He loved that about her—that she never denied her desire, never shied away from what she wanted. She was a perfect hedonist, unashamedly sensual.

  She was growing wetter, and he was growing harder, imagining how good it was going to feel to slide into her tight heat. When he couldn’t stand it anymore, he nudged her top leg forward and took himself in hand. Violet knew what he wanted, rolling onto her belly more, arching her backside toward him. Lost in hazy desire and need, he used his cock to tease her some more before sliding inside her.

  She fit him like a glove, velvet soft yet so tight. He grunted deep in his throat and started to move. He’d intended for this to be a leisurely morning shag, a slow awakening to the day, but he should have known that Violet would have her own ideas. Before many minutes had passed she was pushing up onto her knees, arching her back, leaning into his penetration, taking him deeper. Then she was gripping the headboard with her hands and he was slamming into her, turned on beyond all reason by the twin, round globes of her ass and her curving spine and the spill of red hair across her shoulders.

  “Yes. Please. Yes.” Her cries filled the room, wanton and abandoned.

  “Fuck.” He lost himself for a few seconds, pleasure rocketing through him, so intense it was almost painful.

  He came back down to earth, aware that Violet had yet to find her peak. He was still hard inside her, and he snaked a hand around her hips and found her clit. She dropped her head onto the pillow, her whole body trembling with anticipation as he stroked and teased and circled her. It wasn’t long before he felt the tight clench of her inner muscles as she tipped over the edge into climax. He kept her strung on the edge of desire for as long as he could before sliding his hand free. They both collapsed onto the bed, bodies damp with sweat, the sheets tangled around their feet.

  It was only when he reached down to take care of the condom that he realized he hadn’t used one.

  He swore softly.

  “What’s wrong?” Violet’s voice was muffled by the pillow.

  Despite his screw up, he couldn’t help but smile at the fact that she was unable to lift her head. It probably made him a caveman, but he liked that he could exhaust her so completely.

  It was a short-lived smile. She wasn’t going to like what he was about to say.

  “No condom,” he said shortly.

  There was a small silence, then Violet pushed herself up on her elbows. Her hair was in her face and she shoved it out of the way so she could meet his eyes.

  “I’m on the pill, if that’s what you’re worried about. And I don’t have anything else you need to get sweaty over. I was tested last year and I haven’t been with anyone since then.”

  He tried to hide his surprise, but Violet must have registered it because her mouth tilted up at the corner in a small, cynical little smile.

  “Surprise, surprise, huh?” she said. “Violet can keep her legs together.”

  He knew what she was implying—that he saw her as promiscuous and easy. Hell, he’d spent enough time giving her that impression over the years, why wouldn’t she believe that was the way he saw her?

  “The only thing I’m surprised about is that the male population of England has been able to keep its hands off you for that long,” he said.

  Her warm golden eyes scanned his face, looking for the truth.

  “You don’t need to butter me up. In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m kind of a push over where you’re concerned.”

  There was so much defensiveness in her guarded expression. So much fear of condemnation and rejection. He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

  “I trust you,” he said. “And I happen to believe that what you do with your body is your business, as long as you’re happy with the outcome. I’ve authored enough fuck ups in my own life without judging anyone else on theirs.”

  She seemed puzzled by his words, as though she couldn’t quite bring herself to trust them. Had he been that much of a condemning prick toward her over the years?

  He frowned, hating the idea that he’d hurt her. Especially because he understood now that his animosity toward her had sprung from a deep, primitive attraction that he’d refused to acknowledge. Classic schoolboy stuff, really—pull the hair of the girl you most want to notice you.

  “You don’t believe me?” he asked.

  “You’ve got to admit, it’s a big about-face from the death stare to this.”

  “The death stare?”

  She lifted her chin and looked down her nose at him, her eyes coolly judgmental as they flicked up and down his body.

  “At the risk of pointing out the bleeding obvious, you weren’t exactly my biggest fan, either. Droopy Drawers. Stick-up-my-ass. Ring any bells?”

  She blushed, a delicate flood of color that rose from her breasts up her chest and into her face.

  “I didn’t mean any of that.”

  He made a disbelieving sound. She smiled a little sheepishly.

  “Well, I did. But only because I secretly wanted to shag you senseless.”

  They both stilled as her words hung in the air. The truth that neither of them had dared admit out loud until this second.

  All those years that he’d been with Elizabeth, telling himself and her that they were the perfect couple—and all the time he’d secretly wanted to shove Violet to the ground and have his way with her, repeatedly and at great length.

  “I want you to know, I would never have so much as laid a pinky finger on you if you and E had married,” she said suddenly, her expression very fierce.

  “I know.”

  Just as he would never have touched her. Neither of them were built that way.

  She had a crease mark on her cheek from the pillow, and a faint red mark beneath her ear that he suspected was from him. Her lips were very pink, even without lipstick. He leaned forward and kissed her, just because he could.

  He caught sight of the clock again as he pulled back.

  “I have to go,” he said regretfully.

  She smiled faintly, her eyes filled with the same regret.

  He kissed her again, then rolled
away and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He was very aware of her watching as he dressed, and he threw her a self-conscious glance.

  “Everything okay over there?”

  “Just admiring the view. You have a very nice ass.”

  He felt a ridiculous rush of pleasure at her blatant appreciation of his body. Funny, but he’d never considered himself a particularly vain man before, but the idea that Violet admired his body made want to climb back into bed again.

  “I really have to go,” he said.

  “I know.”

  There was a devilish glint in her eye as she leaned back against the pillows. The sheet slipped, revealing a glimpse of pale pink nipple.

  “Be fair. You’re killing me here,” he said, indicating the growing bulge in the jeans he’d just zipped.

  She laughed and tugged the sheet a little higher. “Better?”

  “No. But smarter.”

  He finished dressing, then grabbed his phone and car keys and returned to the bed to drop a final kiss onto her lips.

  “Have a good day,” she said.

  “You, too.”

  It wasn’t until he was pulling out into busy early morning traffic that he realized that neither of them had mentioned when they would see each other again, or where.

  There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that he would see her, though. She was in his blood. Under his skin. No way was he walking away from the way she made him feel. No way.

  There was no guaranteeing that she felt the same way, though. The thought made him frown as he wove his way through traffic. As she’d said the other night, Elizabeth was her friend. Although he and Elizabeth had parted ways amicably enough, he could understand that there were other issues at play for Violet beyond the fact that they enjoyed combustible chemistry.

  He wondered if she’d told Elizabeth about them. Then he thought back to the tortured expression on her face when she’d told him she was catching a taxi home and knew she hadn’t.

  If he was a gentleman, he’d back off and leave her to sort things out with her friend. Violet and Elizabeth had known each other for years, after all. A fling was hardly worth compromising such a long-lasting, deep-seated friendship.

  Even as he thought it he knew he wouldn’t be following his own suggestion. He’d already established that he had precious little will-power where Violet was concerned. He wasn’t ready to give her up yet. When the passion died, when he could share the same air as her and not feel as though his skin was two sizes too small, fine. But until that moment happened—as it eventually would—or until she drew a line under their liaison, he was going to let himself have her.

  The rest of the week passed in a blur. Violet was run off her feet at the shop by day, and every night she was on her back, giving in to the apparently endless desire she had to be skin-to-skin with Martin St Clair. Tuesday night they were both so desperate they did it on the stairs to the flat, unable to wait the few seconds until they made it to her apartment. Wednesday he appeared at lunch-time and she locked the front door before he took her from behind in the back room. Thursday was Christmas Eve and she knew from long experience that Martin’s law firm traditionally had drinks after work, an event she’d helped Elizabeth plan several times over the years. Even though they hadn’t discussed it, she knew she wouldn’t be seeing him tonight. In fact, in all likelihood it would be a few days before she heard from him again, given the time of year. A fact that made her feel ridiculously hollow.

  It was just sex, after all. She’d survived for months without it before. She could manage a few days now.

  Her thoughts drifted to Elizabeth as she tidied the shop after closing time. They hadn’t spoken for a few weeks now and Violet experienced an increasingly familiar pang of guilt as she thought about her friend. She felt the distance between them profoundly, but the thought of lying to E down the phone line stilled her hand every time she reached for the handset.

  She needed to find some way through this, for the sake of their friendship, but every time she thought about confessing what had happened with Martin—what was still happening—she felt sick and shaky.

  She wasn’t stupid, she understood that some of that sick, shaky feeling was a throwback to what had happened when she was sixteen, but it didn’t make any difference. She was still terrified of confessing her actions to her best friend.

  And yet she also couldn’t find it in herself to deny Martin.

  When she was with him, the world shrank to a few square feet. There was only his eyes and his mouth and his hands and his cock and the way he looked at her and the way touched her and the things he said to her and the way he moved…

  She sighed heavily. She was a hopeless case, guilt- and lust-ridden in equal degrees. A mess, in other words.

  She treated herself to take-out Indian for dinner, then hunkered down in front of the TV to watch sappy Christmas specials. As she did every year, she planned out the following day in her mind. Something decadent for breakfast—because it was Christmas, after all—then she would take a drive into the country to get some fresh air. With a bit of luck there would be some kids with new bikes and skates to enjoy along the way, then she would come back home and get snuggly on the couch. She had a couple of movies she’d been saving, and she’d make her favorite comfort meal of macaroni and cheese and eat a whole block of fruit and nut chocolate while sniveling and laughing at the TV. Then she would go to bed early, and she would have survived yet another Christmas day.

  It had become a tradition of sorts, her non-Christmas. For a while Elizabeth had tried to lure her to her grandparents’ house for a big cooked lunch, complete with plum pudding and brightly wrapped gifts, but Violet had always resisted. She wasn’t so pathetic she had to borrow someone else’s family for what was, really, just a commercially-driven holiday. Once Martin had come along, she’d been extremely glad she’d remained firm. Sharing Christmas with him every year would have been one bridge too far, and extracting herself from the arrangement without offending Elizabeth’s grandparents next to impossible.

  Besides, there was something solid and reassuring about her solo Christmas. No one could let her down. No one could change plans on her. No one could decide she was no longer worthy of their love and respect and reject her from their home. So while it might be hard to be alone while the bulk of the Western world was eating turkey and plum pudding and exchanging gifts, it was also a reminder of the fact that she had her own back, and that she was strong and resilient and her own person.

  She was watching a chat show when the intercom buzzed. Despite knowing that Martin was busy on the other side of town, her belly did a little backflip in anticipation. She crossed to the intercom and pressed the button.

  “Hello?”

  “It’s me.”

  “Don’t you have a party?”

  “I bailed.”

  She grinned, unable to repress the delight she felt at his confession. Martin was ferociously ambitious. He’d spent many, many years doing whatever was needed to be accepted by the senior partners in the law firm. A few months ago, the notion of ducking out on a company function would have been unthinkable to him, she was sure of it.

  Yet tonight he’d done just that, and he’d come to her.

  She buzzed him upstairs, then glanced down at her baggy flannel pajama pants. She was tempted to make a dash to her bedroom and change into something more glamorous, but she could already hear his tread on the stairs.

  He would have to take her as he found her.

  She reached up and pulled her hair out of the pony tail she’d shoved it into when she finished work and fluffed it quickly before opening the front door. Martin was still in his work suit and navy overcoat and he brought the cold in with him as he stepped over the threshold.

  “You look frozen,” she said as he shrugged out of his coat.

  “I had to park two blocks over and walk.”

  “Do you want something hot to drink? Coffee, tea? Some brandy?”

  “No.”<
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  He reached for her, his mouth finding hers unerringly. He tasted of Scotch and his hands slid down her back, quickly finding their way beneath the waistband of her pajamas. He stilled when he cupped her bare backside, lifting his head to look her into her eyes.

  “Expecting me?”

  “I always go commando in my jim-jams.”

  “Remind me to throw a pajama party sometime soon.”

  He walked her backward up the hallway to her bedroom, pushing her down onto the bed and them lowering himself on top of her. She loved the intensity of his caresses, the way he shaped and soothed and taunted her with his hands and mouth, as though his only purpose in all the world was to give her the most pleasure possible. She was only too happy to oblige, sighing and shivering beneath his assault.

  He coaxed her to climax twice before sliding inside her and beginning a slow, measured ride. When his hand slipped between their bodies to find her again she shook her head, sure that she couldn’t possibly go again.

  He murmured sweet, dark, dirty things in her ear and showed her how wrong she was, wringing a back-arching orgasm from her before burying himself to the hilt and finding his own release. Even though she was limp with satisfaction, she made him roll onto his belly afterward and kneaded the tension of the day from his shoulders.

  “Bad day?” she asked as she felt his muscles give a notch.

  “Yes. We’ve got a big bankruptcy case on at the moment. Evidence by the boat load, millions of statements… Keeping a track of it all is next to impossible.”

  “You’ll do it.”

  He lifted his head so he could look at her over his shoulder. “You’re confident on my behalf, given you have no idea if I’m even competent or not.”

  “Of course you’re competent. You’ve earned everything you have. You’re dedicated and meticulous and honorable.”

  He went still. She suddenly felt very silly, as though she’d commented on something she shouldn’t have or overstepped the mark in some way.

  “Thank you,” he said quietly. “Believe it or not, I needed to hear that.”

  She stretched out on top of him, blanketing his body with hers, and pressed a kiss to the nape of his neck.