by Sun Chara
“Come on then.” Her hands were clammy and she held on tight. “Where to, my friend?”
Several hours later, Ellie stood in the kitchen, blotting moisture from her brow with her sleeve and wondering who had flashed a camera at them, then hurried down the street. It had been the moment she’d paid the street vendor for the hotdog and bottle of water. Shaking her head, she took a soda from the refrigerator, slammed the door shut, and dismissed the incident.
Humming a tune, she opened the can, and the carbonated liquid fizzed. She raised the soda to her mouth and the phone rang. A giggle teased her lips. She lifted the cordless from the counter, plunked down on a chair, and propped her foot on her knee. “Hello.”
“Ellie.”
Her heart flipped and her foot hit the floor. “Yes.”
A beat of silence.
“I won’t be home until very late, if at all, tonight.”
A quiet moment from her end.
“King needs to be fed.”
“Done.”
“Who?”
“You won the bet, remember?”
He laughed, but it sounded half-hearted through the airwaves. “Yeah.”
She set the soda can on the table and outlined the Pepsi logo with her index finger. “He took me for a walk.”
“Hmm,” he said. “Infringing on my territory.”
“What d’ you mean?” She curled her fingers around the can, condensation dampening her palm.
He started to say something and she held her breath. “Had fun?”
She sighed her disappointment, but he couldn’t hear that. “Yes.” She fidgeted on the chair. “He missed you.”
“And have you missed me, too, Ellie?”
Loaded seconds plodded by.
“Guess that answers my question,” he murmured, background noises crackling through the line. “Gotta go.”
“Peter, I-I—” but the dial tone droned in her ear.
She replaced the receiver. She should have asked him about the emergency. Should have answered his question, ‘have you missed me?’ But she couldn’t. Not just yet.
Was he playing with her emotions? Have her so emotionally dependent that she’d feel a helpless damsel who had to rely on him for her survival? She balked at the thought and hurried from the kitchen, soda can forgotten on the table. She refused to behave like she had no mind or life of her own apart from her husband. And there lay her dilemma.
She ran into the den to find solace and stopped short. The curtains were closed and ashes remained in the grate, the gloomy atmosphere reflecting her life. She shrugged the notion away and grabbed the afghan, a wedding gift from Peter’s mother, off the back of the sofa. Kicking off her boots, she flung herself on the couch and, drawing the covering close to her chin, snuggled in the warmth. Images of last night replayed in her mind. She punched a cushion and turned over on her tummy. After an hour of tossing and turning, Ellie closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.
*
Peter drove along the circular path to the veranda and turned off the ignition. Rubbing the sting from his eyes, he squinted at the digital clock on the dashboard. Three a.m. Every muscle in his body ached, and he leaned back against the plush upholstery for a moment.
When he’d rushed to the hospital, he expected a routine surgery and was confronted with a tug-o-war with life and death. Hospital bureaucracy compounded the situation, and he’d been ready to blow a fuse at the mumbo jumbo causing a delay. Seconds counted in saving the boy’s life.
Already pegged a rebel doc in the hospital wards for his unconventional bedside manner, he was the bureaucrats’ target boy despite his stellar success with his patients.
Of course, since he’d vied for the Chairmanship of the Board, they turned up the heat, knowing he championed patient rights for extended medical coverage … then there was the research. With just days before the election, they were scrambling for anything that might discredit him.
Time had ticked by and, with it, the child’s chance of survival. Unable to reach the parents, Peter made an executive decision based on documents he’d received, authorizing medical intervention in their absence.
If the operation failed, Peter could be embroiled in a lawsuit, or worse, a malpractice suit. It would annihilate his life’s work and his future. But there was no alternative. He’d tightened his jaw and scrubbed up for surgery.
Now, he dragged himself from the car and cool air smacked him in the face. He stumbled up the steps to the front door. After two attempts, he fit the key in the lock, stepped inside, and closed the door quietly behind him.
He paused, adjusting his eyes to the shadows, then walked to the den. A cup of hot coffee would hit the spot.
Peter rolled his shoulders to knock the kink from his muscles and, tossing his briefcase on the armchair, flopped on the sofa.
“Yikes!” Startled awake, Ellie swung her arms at him.
“What the—” Peter bolted from the cushions.
“Peter.” Woozy, Ellie pushed hair off her face and blinked at him.
Moonlight filtering through the crack in the curtains sliced through the darkness in the room.
“Ellie.” He shrugged from his jacket and tossed it across the room in the vicinity of the armchair. “Sorry, I didn’t know you were here.”
A seductive siren. Hair mussed, sweater riding low and exposing the smooth curve of her shoulder, the neckline dipped, giving him a glimpse of the swell of her breasts. A stab of emotion pierced him. She stretched, and he viewed more; that had him nearly buckling over. He took a step closer, wanting to ravish her with his mouth, his hands, his body— Of course, he couldn’t. If he did, he’d lose her for sure. He heaved a breath that ripped through him, then hurled from his lungs like a grenade.
“You look awful.” She stifled a yawn and, wiggling, pulled the wool cover from beneath her legs.
“Gee, thanks.” He plopped down on the corner of the sofa, a wry twist to his mouth.
“What happened?” She rubbed sleep from her eyes.
“An eight-year-old was flown in from a ball camp in San Francisco.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose and shut his eyes, easing the sting. “A freak accident.”
“And?”
“Might lose him.” He lifted her legs onto his lap, stroking. And me with him, he thought. He had wielded the scalpel with a precision that only came from years of experience. Even with that, he prayed he’d made the incision at the correct spot, the first time. Perspiration oozed from every pore in his body and settled on his forehead. He’d get no second try. Tense minutes, hours, ticked by while he stood beneath the bright lights of the operating theater, the boy so still beneath his hands.
“That bad?”
“Acute brain trauma from intracranial hemorrhage.”
A long, quiet moment passed between them.
“Kid leaped to make a save and rammed into the goal post, his head snapped back, smashing against the wood. X-rays showed pressure, large spot on the brain. Bleeding. Had to operate. Fast.”
Prickles of premonition erupted on Ellie’s nape, but she remained quiet, allowing him to vent his distress. For the first time, he was actually sharing something of his work with her. A glimmer of hope for them? Uncertain, she refused to read anymore into it than what it was. Him expressing his concern for his patient.
“Would take a miracle to pull the kid through.”
“I believe in miracles, Peter.” She brushed his sleeve with her fingertips, the deep lines of strain on his face tearing at her heart.
“Do you, Ellie?” He took her hand and planted a light kiss on her palm.
“Yes.” The one word, a soft caress between them.
“Wish I could.” He drew her into his arms and pressed his lips to her temple.
She wrapped her arms around him, stroking the nape of his neck, wanting him, comforting him, and feeling the fever rising between them. His mouth slid down her cheek to her lips, his tongue penetrated, tasting her, giving, taking. He deepened
the kiss and her tongue sought his, stroking, soothing him. Endless moments later, he glided his hands around her midriff and upward, cupping her breasts.
She moaned with pleasure, her nipples straining against the material of her sweater. He moved his mouth to the hollow of her neck, fanning her skin with his whispered words. “I need—”
She weaved her fingers through his hair and curved into him, signaling her answer.
A shaky breath and Peter scooped her up in his arms, afghan and all. With his mouth still working its magic at the pulse of her throat, he strode from the den and up the stairs to their bedroom.
Chapter 12
Peter kicked the bedroom door open and fell on the bed, holding onto her for a long moment. He began to undress her and the sensual feel of her skin beneath her silk undergarments had him heating up. Breath struggled out of him and perspiration dampened his skin.
It had been so long and here he was on the brink— He flicked the lacy lingerie from her body and pushed her back against the pillows. She lay upon the satin like a goddess. His for the taking. And definitely he would take, sample, and feast on every curve, every shadow, every moist crevice, every luscious inch of her body.
“Peter.”
A question or an invitation? He didn’t want to go there. Analyze that. So, he didn’t answer, couldn’t.
She stroked his cheek with her fingertips, and he swallowed the lump of emotion in his throat. He lifted his lashes a fraction and met her gaze. What he glimpsed shook him. Trust for him? Passion for him? Doubts buzzed in his brain and, ruthlessly, he shoved them aside. Hunger gnawed at his insides. He just wanted to feel, touch, taste the heat of her mouth, her skin, her secret places. Almost roughly he took her finger in his mouth, lavishing it with his tongue until she sighed her joy.
This woman he’d married flamed his blood, made his heart pound with such intensity, he could hardly breathe. It was so powerful, this yearning, this feeling that a ripple of fear chased through him. For the first time in his life, he didn’t feel in complete control and he was at a loss. And Peter Medeci always had solid command of his life.
Ellie reached to unbutton his shirt, but he stayed her hands, tearing it apart. Then he unbuckled his trousers, tossed them aside, and hauled her against him.
He devoured her with his mouth, his hot breath mingling with hers. Like a man beset by demons that finally found his haven, he plundered her with his tongue, her body with his hands.
Sexual hunger ignited an inferno of the senses. He shifted and his erection pressed against the apex of her thighs. Ellie curved into him and locked her arms around his neck, her fingers weaving a frenzied tempo through his hair. He groaned into her mouth and palmed her breasts, his thumbs flicking her nipples.
Exquisite torture.
Ellie purred her pleasure. A husky breath and he fondled one breast with his fingers while sliding his lips over her chin, down her throat to her cleavage. He lavished her other nipple with his tongue, licking, nipping, and finally pulled it full into his mouth, suckling.
His hand torched its way to her abdomen. He dipped his fingertip in her navel and followed with his mouth. He flicked the shallow crevice with his tongue, his moist fire branding her. She sucked in a breath, and her moan of delight brushed over him like a victory cry.
He stroked lower, his hands gliding across her hips and skirting her mound of curls. Arching into him, Ellie signaled her acceptance, but he continued his quest. He explored her shapely legs, and then took a detour, feathering his fingers across the sensitive arch of her foot. She whimpered and he flamed a path along her inner thigh to her moist folds. A suspended moment and he buried his mouth in her soft curls, his hand following. He slipped his fingers inside her, stroking a magical rhythm until she bucked against his hand.
“Peter,” she breathed his name, sensations spiraling inside her, coiling tightly, ready to explode.
He straddled her and inched his mouth up her body until he claimed her lips. He pillaged with his tongue, his hands cupping her buttocks and lifting her to him. A breathless moment, and he slid his steel length inside her, pushing through her slick layers.
Ellie cried his name and, wrapping her limbs around him, pulled him further inside her. He began to move. As his tongue plunged deeper in her mouth, so his shaft plunged deeper into her moist warmth, fusing her to him. With every rhythmic thrust, he rode her deeper, faster, higher into exquisite fervor.
“Ellie, Dio mio,” he gasped into her mouth, catching her pleasured moans with his tongue.
Sexual fever escalated and, with a final thrust, Peter rode her to the pinnacle. Suspended for a killing moment, she shattered against him, and then he caught her there, as wave upon wave of sensation pulsed through him. When the spasms eased, he pressed her head upon his heart and a kiss upon her temple. She cuddled into him and he drew the sheet over them both.
“Peter …”
“Shh.” He shut his eyes and stroked her hair, his breathing shaky.
“Peter,” she said again, his name a whisper from her lips. But he was already asleep in her arms, the sound of his breathing the only ruffle in the quiet. She lay close by his side, the afterglow of their lovemaking like a halo around her. A sense of peace filled her heart. How fleeting it would be, she’d know soon enough.
Endless seconds ticked by and, finally, Ellie drifted off to sleep.
*
“No! Scalpel. No! Incision, here!”
Frantic words crashed through early dawn, startling Ellie awake. Gently, she shook her husband’s shoulder. “Peter.”
Disoriented, he opened his eyes, and then slammed them shut, concealing his confusion.
“You were having a bad dream.”
“Sorry.” He shoved both hands through his hair. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”
He took a deep breath, then the air hurled from him like a miniature tornado. Drawing her closer, he nuzzled her neck, her scent a turn-on. He raised his head and met her eyes, drowsiness making them a darker brown.
Uncertainty jabbed his gut. Would she pull away from him?
A heart rending moment and relief coursed through him.
She smiled and stroked his stubbly cheek with her fingers. Wrapping her arms around him, she pulled him to her bosom. While he dallied there with his mouth, he slid his leg between hers, his coarse hair grazing her flesh. A kittenish growl, and she pushed him back against the pillows, straddling his hips.
“Ellie?”
“It’s my turn, husband.”
If she had this one last time with him, then she’d make every moment count. She married him for better or worse and she was banking on the former. Dare she bare her soul and unlock her heart to him, once again? Insecurities plagued. She felt like she was falling to earth without a net and fear stabbed her heart.
Heaven or hell? She’d know by morning which it would be.
She glided her fingers across the ripcord strength of his back and pressed her lips to his shoulder. A flick of her tongue, and she tasted the salty sweat of his skin. A low growl and he framed her breasts with his hands. She gasped her delight and arched her back, exposing the fullness of her bosom to his touch. He grunted with pleasure. He brushed her nipples with his thumbs, licked with his tongue, nipped with his teeth, and pulled first one breast into his mouth, then the other.
An aching moment when she pulled back, then knowing he wanted more, pressed her breasts center stage upon his chest. She brushed against him. His chest hair stimulated her nipples, and she bit her lip as erotic sensation pierced her. She raised herself a fraction and splayed her hands across his torso, working her way upward to his nipples, touching, teasing, caressing. She took a shy bud in her mouth, laved it to erection, and Peter jerked beneath her. He signaled he was rock-hard, but Ellie continued her playful antics across his chest. She took the other nipple in her mouth, swirled her tongue around it, licking to and fro, nipping it with her teeth.
“Woman—”
She shut him up by capturi
ng his mouth with her own and teasing it open with her tongue. A heartbeat, and he took charge, holding her head to the spot and plundering her mouth with his.
While his tongue mated with hers, Ellie reached down and found his solid length. She took him in her hand, stroking him base to tip, and he surged, filling her palm.
He groaned his throbbing need, his hands tightening over her shoulders. “You gonna kill me.”
“Shh.“
Sitting astride him, she guided his sex between her folds and began to ride him. Friction drove him deeper inside her, heating nerves to high-pitch fervor. A guttural sound shot from deep inside him. He cupped her derriere and pushed her further down upon his shaft, his hungry gaze feasting on her breasts. Then, his eyes strayed a notch higher and locked with hers.
Vulnerability and passion charged between them and time suspended.
A high-wattage moment and Ellie lowered her lashes, riding him to the crest. He matched her rhythm, tension coiling and detonating inside him. Her name burst from his mouth at the same moment she cried out his name.
After their breathing regulated, Peter brushed a curl from her moist brow and stroked her shoulder, his heart battering his chest. Still joined to her, he cast her a sexy smile and maneuvered her on her back. “Wife,” he breathed against her lips, his tongue plunging deep inside her mouth, the instant his steel length plunged deeper inside her.
Chapter 13
Ellie fluttered her eyelashes open to the sound of the Santa Ana winds whipping the Los Angeles area. The windowpane rattled. She snuggled into warm blankets and blushed, remembering their lovemaking through the night. A contented sigh slipped from her mouth. She turned, reaching for him and grasped a long-stemmed rose nestled on the indentation of his pillow. Disappointment wove through her heart. She picked up the flower and brushed the petals across her lips. Last night, their mind-boggling sexual play had been just another habitual echo in their marriage.
Love her, leave her.
