He is so handsome it should be a sin. Standing tall, his hair messy, a loosened tie gaping over a white shirt and dark dress pants, his tan skin pulls the entire look together too effortlessly. His stature and manner reek of the casual perfection brought on by decades of wealth and breeding. He moves away from the car, stepping toward me, and I hold up a shaky hand. “Stop.”
I cannot take him any closer. Cannot have those lips coming into focus, not now that I know what they can do to me. Tearing down my walls and invading my heart, they will leave me gasping, tearful, and alone, while he returns to her. “What are you doing here, Nathan?”
He shoves his hands into his pockets, and stops, tilting his head. “I need to speak to you.” His voice grumbles, a gravelly, deep sound that makes me wet and has me clenching my hands into fists to keep from reaching out for him.
“Why?”
He steps forward, closer, his eyes on mine, everything else disappearing as he closes the gap and draws me in. I gasp, his scent reaching me, my willpower eroding with every inch that I lose as he steps nearer. I am too weak. I cannot take another touch, another breath of him. I will break.
“I left her,” he whispers, stopping before me, his gentle hand grabbing my chin before it drops and pulling it back up, his blue eyes seducing me with their initial contact.
I frown, trying to make sense of his words. “Cecile? Why?”
“I didn’t want to do to her what I did to you.”
I narrow my eyes, stepping back, my elbow catching the side of the Jeep, causing a sharp spike of pain. “What? Fuck her and then send her to her room?”
He winces, his blue eyes clouding. “No. Be with her when I am in love with someone else.” He steps closer, his hands pushing my waist until I am against the Jeep, my body responding, curving when he leans forward, pining me with his body, the heat of his muscles hard against my frame.
I can’t breathe, the weight of his words too heavy against my chest. What I want to believe is too risky — I cannot take my heart down that path if I am wrong. It is too cruel, too much for its fragile existence to take. “What do you mean?” I whisper.
“I love you, Candy. I love you with every fiber of my being, every beat of my heart. I can’t stay away from you. I can’t live without seeing your smile or hearing your voice.”
I shake my head, pushing against his chest. “That is bullshit, Nathan. You were consumed with her. She was the love of your life!”
“No.” he whispers, staring at my face. “No. I wanted the unattainable because it was unattainable. I remembered all of the good and forgot the bad. When we were apart, those four years I spent searching for her … we both changed during that time, became different people. The woman I thought I loved … that isn’t her. And if that is, then maybe now I just realize there is something better out there.” He swallows, the movement making his jaw clench, something akin to vulnerability in his eyes. “You.”
I shake my head before he even finishes, trying to clear the cobwebs and find rational thought somewhere inside. I cannot fall for this; I cannot accept his smooth words and romantic notions. I am not the desperate stripper who he met that night. I do not suck dick for money or need a knight in shining armor. I deserve someone who wants to be with me, not someone who wants what they can’t have.
“You said you wanted the unattainable because it was unattainable. I am now that unattainable property, and you just want — ”
He kisses me, crushing my moving lips with his own, his hands fisting into my hair, his leg working in between mine, the full length of his body hard against my own. His hands pull my mouth tight to his, not asking, but taking my soul, his tongue claiming me, tasting my resistance as the smooth swipes of his mouth feast on me. He speaks between frantic kisses. “I need you … to breathe. It’s more … so much more than I had with her.” Somewhere, a car honks, the wind picks up my hair and blows it into the air, and I lose my resolve, softening against his body, my hands crawling up his back and clawing at his shirt. I yield easily when he lifts me, sets me on the warm hood, his head dipping down and planting frantic kisses on my neck, my chest, up the line of my jaw, his hands gripping my ass and pulling me to the edge, until his hard body is flush against me.
The time without him has been so long, my body craving him in a way that is almost painful, and I gasp when he presses against me, my pussy so sensitive and yearning for fulfillment. “Take me inside,” I pant. “Now.”
CHAPTER 14
He takes my keys, promising to park the Jeep, and I fly up the exterior staircase, fumbling with my keys until the door is unlocked, and I am inside, my jacket flying off, tennis shoes and jeans being yanked off as I move. My mind is frantically trying to slow my body, throwing words of reason at me as I move, but my lust has taken over. I need him inside of me now, and will deal with the aftermath later.
My shirt is halfway over my head when I hear the door bang open, steps moving across tile, and then his hands are helping me. My head is suddenly free, and his mouth on mine.
God, do I love this man. The way he touches me, the way he kisses me. The cuts of his body and the intensity of his eyes. He is a drug that I have no way of resisting, bad for my soul, but so heartbreakingly perfect in its deliverance.
He lifts me, my legs wrapping around his waist, my hands working at the buttons of his shirt, yanking his tie over his head and then reclaiming his mouth. He lies me on the counter, the open granite cold on my skin, his body shifting down, until the heat of his mouth is on my stomach, and his hands are skimming my panties down and off my body.
I haven’t shaved, and try to push him off, my feet finding and pressing on his rock hard shoulders. He knocks them aside, spreading my legs and focusing on my pussy, his eyes glancing up to meet mine.
Damn. Just the look in them knocks me backward — so full of raw, uncontrollable lust. He breathes hard, staring at me before looking back down, his fingers opening me up before his eyes. “God, you have no idea how beautiful you are. Your lips, your pink center. There is nothing hotter, nothing more beautiful on Earth than this right here.” He groans, lowering his mouth, swiping a hot tongue down my open slit, his tongue tickling the skin, making me moan and spread wider, moisture dripping down the crack of my ass, my need for him so great. “You taste so good,” he whispers, as his tongue flicks over the wet knot of my clit. The intensity of the release is so strong that I moan, arching into his mouth, his hands slipping under and gripping the checks of my ass, pulling me into his mouth.
Then he performs, burying his face into my pussy, his mouth hot and wet on me, settled on my clit, his gentle strums across the sensitive bud making me squirm. I prop up on my elbows, watching him, the view so carnal, so fucking hot. He, on his knees, his face buried between my trembling thighs, blue eyes fixed on mine as he sucks and flicks my clit to perfection. There’s the strong arc of his shoulders, the strength of his hands, squeezing my ass as he worships my body. I am close, my body hiccupping, twitching and shaking beneath his mouth, when he slides one hand lower, pressing on the pucker of my ass, borrowing moisture from my center, and dipping inside of that hot, tight hole.
It pushes me over the edge and I scream, the orgasm blinding in its intensity, my eyes squeezing shut, his finger tight inside of me, his tongue stretching the orgasm further, knowing instinctively when to soften, how to prolong the waves of pleasure.
I don’t know when he pulls out, when his mouth leaves me. I am a mess of post-coital languish, stretched out on my kitchen counter, the large bar top the perfect width for my stretched-out form. I feel my legs as they are moved, hear his voice as he moves around me, and feel him slide me off the counter and into his arms.
The bed. Soft beneath me, his weight above me, he spreads my legs, somehow naked, his clothes removed while I was in orgasm-recovery mode. He is glorious — his body so perfect, the length of his shaft so virile, my cave-woman impulses in full force.
I see man.
I need man.
He spreads my knees and strokes his cock, putting a finger in, testing my readiness, his eyes hardening at the touch. “Jesus, Candy. You are so ready for me.”
I don’t respond, my heart finding nothing to say. I am ready for him. I have been ready for him since the moment he walked into the Palace. I am just ready for so much more than he can give me.
Then, he presses the stiff head of his cock against my slit, and any logical thought goes out the window. At this moment, everything my body needs, he is about to provide.
I am as tight as the first night he fucked me, and he swears as he slides his cock all the way in, so deep that I gasp. “You are so tight,” he groans, leaning forward, my legs wrapping around him. “You haven’t …” His eyes ask me the question, and I shake my head, biting my bottom lip. “Fuck,” he swears, lowering his mouth to mine, his elbows framing my head, his mouth taking me in and stealing my heart.
“No one feels like you do,” he whispers, thrusting with his hips, setting a slow pace, every drag of his manhood making my body yelp in satisfaction.
“No one makes my cock ache like you do,” he says, sliding down slightly, the angle changing, his hands cupping and squeezing my breasts together, his rough thumbs rubbing over my nipples. “I have spent every night thinking about your body, every night picturing you stretched across my bed. I miss your mouth on my cock, miss your sweet ass bent over before me, in sore need of a fucking spanking.” The last words are ripped from his mouth, and he moves higher, thrusting hard, the firm length of him burying inside of me. I moan, begging him for more, and feel him respond, twitching inside of me, his strokes quickening.
“I love your bare cock inside of me,” I moan, wrapping my hands around his neck and pulling his mouth to my tits, his eager response lighting a flame to my arousal, my core tightening around his cock. “I love how hard you fuck me, like you have to get every inch inside of me, like you will never get enough.”
“I won’t,” he grounds out, lifting from my breasts. “I will never. Ever. Get enough of you. It’s not just this. I need you all. In bed and out. I want to wake up next to you every fucking day. I want to have babies with you and watch them grow up. I want … I just — ”
As much as I want to hear his words, I can’t hold back the orgasm that rips through me, my body bucking beneath his, my panicked eyes meeting his, a look that he instantly understands.
And fuck, he knows exactly what to do. Drilling me hard and fast, my head dropping back, breasts shaking as he gives me every inch of him, his slick, hard cock so thick, so perfect, so animalistic in its possessiveness. We are animals, broken down to our core needs; I am his mark, and he is feasting. As I come apart, as my orgasm shakes me down to the soul, as I experience the true, piercing pleasure that breaks me down to nothing, I know only one thing: I will never be able to resist this man. I am his, to do with as he wishes.
CHAPTER 15
ONE YEAR LATER
He will be home soon. The gates will open, his car will turn down the drive, and then he will be here. Just like every day, except that today I tell him my secret.
Three months ago, we signed a new document — one that nullified any prior document and prenuptial agreement of any kind. If we separate, I am entitled to half of everything. I no longer need my safety net — the millions that are still tucked away in my checking account. The money has been like a virus, eating away at my otherwise perfect life. I need an antidote. I need to be cleansed.
I should have told him already. But everything has been so perfect. It is as if the man I was with before was preoccupied, and now he is free. Focused. On our life together. There are no rules; there are no secrets, except for mine.
The first few weeks we dealt with Cecile, her calls, her attempts to stop by the house. Drew is the one who finally controlled her, in his final task as Nathan’s employee. I think he has rejoined the police force, and I heard Cecile has moved to Paris. There has been no word from their camps in almost ten months, a silence I am grateful for.
I sit by the pool, my face turned to the sun, and wait, the soft pants of our dog beside me. I listen for his car. My eyes drift over to the guesthouse. What was once my home has been redone. It is now my office. The trophy wives of our expensive corner of the world now come to me for their parties, their teas, and their eight-year-old’s lavish birthday parties. The bed was taken out, a large worktable put in its place. The walls are now covered with idea boards, the bookshelves full of magazines and scrapbooks. I am not the local’s first choice for weddings and charity galas, but events too small to be dealt with by the big planners — those are my bread and butter. It keeps me busy, and I love the work, gaining confidence and experience with each event.
I am officially a wife. No longer just in name, but also in action. The stoic, cold man who I once knew is now a sexy, playful man who spoils me rotten and tells me every night how much I mean to him. Normally right before he throws me on the bed and rocks my sexual world. He tapes love notes to the mirror, wakes me up with kisses and soft caresses, and has completely won my father’s heart, becoming close friends with the old man who once knew him only from photos. My father is now well, on daily medication, but living a normal life. He has a place in town, fifteen minutes away, and is a frequent guest in our home.
Home. I’ve called it that before, but have only just realized that is what it has become. I look down at my hands, at the check that lies there.
$4,500,000.00. The interest it earned paid back the amount I spent on my car, furniture, and clothes. Cashing this check will leave a balance of just over fifteen thousand, enough to pay off the remaining student loans and credit cards that I have lingering about.
It will be a weight off my shoulders, giving it back, even though I am on his accounts now, and know the full extent of his wealth. This money is not needed; it will be excess cream on an already overflowing cup. But for me, the act is symbolic. I am giving him my trust. Destroying my safety net. Putting my faith in him — in us.
The check won’t fix everything. I still harbor secrets. At moments when he is being especially sweet, when his eyes are full of love and shining at me like I can do no wrong … I think about Drew. I feel enormous guilt over the secret of our sex. Even though it meant nothing, even though I was filling a hole that Nathan had dug, it sits there, on my conscience, heavier than the money. One day I will have to also share that secret. But not today. Today is about the money, and righting that wrong.
My hands fist nervously around the check, wondering at his reaction. But I know that he loves me. Loves me in an way stronger than he ever felt for Cecile. It took a while for me to fully grasp and accept that. For me, I think I always knew how I felt. I was lost to him the moment I saw him, the moment his eyes followed me in the dark club. I was always his, and I finally believe that he is fully mine. To have. To hold. Till death do us part.
I hear the drag of gates, the crunch of tires, and know that he is here. Gripping the check, I stand and move to meet my husband.
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:
I had so much fun writing this series, and diving into the lives of Candace and Nathan. Before hitting the ‘publish’ button, I sent it out to a group of beta readers, to get their thoughts and suggestions. They all had opinions on the end of this book, but it was a divided group. Half of the readers wanted to know Nathan’s reaction to Candy’s secret – the other group liked working it out in their own mind. I, personally, liked ending it on this note, but I’m an oddity at times.
For those readers who do want more closure, and who want to see Nathan’s reaction, please visit http://www.alessandratorre.com/dumontsecret/ to see an extra scene that shows this ending. It is a password protected page, the password is: sequins
Two quick things….
Reviews. The cardinal rule that no author ever ever is supposed to break is to respond to reviews. That being said – sometimes I read a review that makes my day, week (a
nd sometimes month!) and I itch to respond so bad it hurts. There are many days when I am in a writing funk and then I read a review which makes my face crack open with happiness. So even though I don’t comment on your reviews – please know that I read them, treasure them, and send you good karma from Florida. You will never know how much any authors appreciate the few minutes you spend expressing your thoughts on their work, both good and bad. Thank you.
Contact me. I would not be able to write without readers. So please, feel free to track me down on twitter, facebook, or through my email. The best way to stay informed of giveaways, upcoming book releases, and sneak peeks is through my monthly newsletter, you can view and sign up for it here.
Again, thank you so much for picking up this series. I hope you enjoyed it!
xoxo,
Alessandra Torre
About the Author
Alessandra Torre is a new author who focuses on contemporary erotica. Her first book, Blindfolded Innocence, was published in July 2012, and was an Erotica #1 Bestseller for two weeks. Alessandra is currently working on the sequel to Blindfolded, which will be released in 2014.
Alessandra lives in the Southern United States and is married, with one young child. She enjoys reading, spending time with her family, and playing with her dogs. Her favorite authors include Lisa Gardner, Gillian Flynn, and Jennifer Crusie.
Do Us Part (The Dumont Diaries (#4)) Page 5
