What They Call Sin

by Philippa Grey-Gerou

  "I think that's enough foreplay, don't you?” His voice was primal, animalistic, and totally bypassed her brain to target somewhere deep in her root, making her hump against his hand.

  He twitched his hips twice and the trousers fell around his ankles. He lowered her onto his jacket, kicking off trousers and boots as he did so, hooking his fingers in the waistband of her panties to drag them down and toss them aside.

  "Stockings,” she murmured as he began to spread her thighs.

  "Leave them,” he grumbled, sliding his hand along the silk on one leg. “I like how they feel."

  He tried to enter her slowly, but she was too wet, too hungry for him. She arched hard against him, slamming him home.

  They both cried out at the joining, froze in that instant of completion. She begged, “Don't stop. Please don't stop."

  He stroked her hair soothingly. “Won't, pet, I promise. Just ... need a second. You feel too good..."

  "Feels good,” she agreed, moving uncontrollably beneath him.

  His look was fierce. “Gonna feel better.” And his hips slid back as he began thrusting slowly and soul deep. “Gonna worship you the way a goddess like you deserves to be worshipped, with every ... inch ... of my body."

  His words piled up on her, pushing her, claiming her, and she came explosively, spasming against him as she keened her release. He slowed his strokes as she came down, but never stopped. “Feel better, pet?” he asked when she could open her eyes again. She nodded weakly, then groaned as he began to pick up speed again. “Good. Now hold on tight.” He gathered her hips in his hands and began hammering away at her. When he was seated as deeply in her as he could be, he wrapped his arms around her and rolled.

  When they stopped, she was on top, sitting astride him, his cock still deep inside her. “I want to watch you,” he encouraged her, “watch you ride me. Just the way it's supposed to be."

  She hesitated, flustered and confused. “I don't know ... I've never..."

  "Never been on top?” Amazement showed on his face. “Hard to imagine any man not wanting to give you control. S'okay, you're fine,” he soothed. “It's simple. Just up and down. Use your legs ... that's it,” he confirmed with a groan as she hesitantly rose over him and sank back down. She gasped as she felt him go deeper, angle into her to hit some sensitive spot deep within her. “Do it again,” he encouraged, his hands settling at her waist to guide her. “Oh god yes ... perfect ... knew you'd be a bloody dream ... pet ... beautiful girl..."

  "Lindy,” she insisted, her head thrown back, lost in their pleasure. “My name is Lindy."

  "God..."

  "Say it.” She slammed hard onto him.

  "Lindy. Lindy love, fuck me hard, please Lindy oh yes don't stop Lindy Lindy Lindy Lindy..."

  The world disappeared.

  She felt him erupt within her, felt her own body give up its restraint and expand in release. Felt his arms close around her as she collapsed. Heard him still reverently chanting her name.

  * * * *

  She must have fallen asleep, because when she opened her eyes, he was already mostly dressed. She sat up, holding close the suit coat he had apparently wrapped her in. He crouched down and trailed fingers along her jaw. “Okay?"

  She nodded, still a bit dazed.

  "Let's get you dressed, then.” He helped her to her feet, then, when he was sure she was steady, reached down for the dress, sliding it unnecessarily over her head to save her having to stand on one foot for the moment. He combed his fingers through her hair, then gathered and twisted it slightly, sticking one rhinestone hair stick through the knot, leaving the rest of her hair to fall over one shoulder in a spill of curls. “You should wear your hair down,” he said, twisting one of the curls around his finger. “It makes you look so appealing."

  She studied him for a moment, then pulled the white linen handkerchief out of the breast pocket of his jacket and reached out to wipe the brilliant red lipstick off his mouth and face. He smiled softly as she worked, then took the square of cloth and did the same for her. Then he took the handkerchief, wrapped her remaining hair stick in it, and tucked it back in the breast pocket of his jacket. He handed her her shoes.

  "And my underwear?” she asked pointedly.

  He held them up on one finger for her to see, then slid them in his trouser pocket. “Consider them an enticement. You want them back? Come to my apartment tomorrow night and get them."

  Her face clouded. “I can't..."

  "Shh sh sh,” he stopped her. “No can'ts, no shouldn'ts. If you want them, come. If not, I have another memento of this evening. I'm in suite twelve thirty-seven at the Plaza. Come after seven. If you want them back."

  Finally she nodded. “We'll see."

  "All I ask."

  "But shouldn't I know who I'm coming to see?"

  He looked confused.

  "Your name. Won't you tell me your name?"

  For a moment he seemed as though he'd forgotten he even had a name. Finally, he said, “Michael. I want you to call me Michael."

  "Michael.” It felt good on her tongue.

  "Lindy.” And when he said it, it sounded like an invocation.

  Finally, they could put it off no longer. “If you go back the way we came, I'll go through and come back at the other end of the patio. No one should even notice."

  She nodded, handing him back his jacket. “Thank you."

  He leaned in for one final, soft kiss. “Until tomorrow, Lindy."

  "Good night, Michael.” And she watched him walk away.

  Gabriel seemed conciliatory in the car on the way home. “So, did you have a good time?"

  She couldn't meet his eyes. “It had its high points."

  "Weren't you wearing your hair differently before?"

  "It came down while I was dancing. I decided to change it."

  "Mmm. It suits you."

  Chapter 5

  She had the cab drop her off three blocks from the hotel.

  The lingering warmth of September had faded, the cool gusts of October whipping down the canyons of the city to chill its residents. She hunkered down in her cashmere coat as the last rays of sunshine disappeared behind the skyscrapers.

  Why am I doing this?

  It's a twenty dollar pair of underwear. Let him keep them. The little perv.

  But she kept walking, up Sixth Avenue until it opened up into the great sweep of the entrance to Central Park. And, waiting there, the Plaza Hotel.

  She slipped in through the Fifty-Ninth Street entrance. There were too many eyes at the front door, too many people watching. She wasn't doing anything wrong. But people saw what they wanted to see and assumed the rest. She didn't want to take that chance.

  She had also been very careful that other assumptions weren't made. She had spent hours getting dressed, trying again and again to make certain she wasn't sending the wrong signals. She didn't want him to think she was there for a repeat of their previous encounters. She had finally settled on a white sleeveless turtleneck sweater and tan slacks. Casual, professional and modest. She wore loafers and a simple gold chain, long enough to reach her navel, to accent the outfit. Her hair she left loose around her shoulders, the way she wore it every day. She did nothing to alter her morning make up aside from touching up her pale pink lipstick. Short of showing up bare faced and wearing an old housecoat, she didn't think she could have made herself any less appealing. She hoped he got the message.

  She climbed the stairs to the second floor lobby and caught the elevator there, away from prying eyes. As the lights counted up to twelve, she felt her heart speed up, her palms start to sweat. She had to force herself to step out of the elevator when the doors opened on the twelfth floor. The hallway seemed endless. Finally, she stood in front of his door. She knocked lightly.

  The door opened, and he stood there. And she realized suddenly that it wasn't his actions she most had to be afraid of. It was her own.

  He, too, was dressed casually, in a black t-shirt and charc
oal slacks, neither of which concealed his attributes. There were twists of silver around his throat and wrist, and the ubiquitous boots completed the outfit.

  Her blood throbbed in her ears. She was overwhelmed with the desire to present for him, to lift her chin and tempt him with the length of her throat, to lick her lips in promise of what else might go there, to roll over and offer herself up for his pleasure. She wanted him again, so badly it almost made her weep.

  Instead, she blurted out, “I shouldn't have come."

  He smiled. “And yet here you are. Why don't you come in?” He held the door wider for her.

  She stepped in without hesitation. “I'm married."

  "Yes, I know,” he said, closing the door behind her.

  "You know?"

  She felt a jolt of electricity as he took her left hand in his, curling her fingers to display the engagement ring and wedding band on her third finger. “You never tried to hide this. And I heard you and your girlfriends talking about your anniversary, that first day..."

  She tried to pull her hand back, but he wouldn't release her. “You knew, and you still...?"

  "As I recall, neither of us were thinking much with our heads at the time, pet. You knew you were married, too.” He lifted her hand to his mouth, never taking his eyes from hers, and gently, softly kissed the knuckles on either side of her rings.

  "Don't,” she begged hoarsely.

  He looked innocent. “Don't what?” He turned her hand over.

  "Please..."

  Whatever he planned to do was interrupted by the phone ringing.

  He cursed and dropped her hand with a gentle squeeze, crossing the room in two long strides to snatch up the phone. “This is Fitzwilliam ... What? No, I can't ... because I have other plans tonight that don't involve styrofoam food containers and piles of paperwork. Paperwork, I might add, that I've been riding you for two weeks to get done ... No, I will discuss it with you in the office tomorrow ... I will see you tomorrow.” She could hear the irate voice on the other end of the line still trying to command his attention as he took the cordless handset away from his ear and jabbed the end button. A moment later he punched the operator key. “Yes, this is Mr. Fitzwilliam in 1237. Can you hold my calls for the rest of the evening? ... No, no exceptions. And no visitors, either ... Thank you. I'll be down later to check my messages.” And he hung up the phone. “There,” he turned back to her, “now we shouldn't be interrupt ... what's so funny?"

  She was trying not to laugh, but the tension she felt made the amusing seem downright hysterical. “Your name is Michael Fitzwilliam?"

  "You find that funny, do you?” He sounded insulted, but his amused smile set her at ease.

  "It's just so ... uptight sounding for you."

  He rubbed the back of his neck, looking away sheepishly in a manner that made him look almost young. The smile was still in his eyes when he looked back to her with a shrug. “Whole thing's Michael Walter Christian Alastair Fitzwilliam. ‘S why I usually go by my nickname."

  "Which is?"

  "Rogue."

  She swallowed most of the laugh, but her face gave her away. “Rogue Fitzwilliam. Much better."

  "And what's the last name goes with an unusual name like Lindy?” There was no malice in his words, only humor.

  "James. Lindy James."

  He thought about that for a moment, obviously sounding it out in his head. He shrugged and nodded. “Pretty. Well, Lindy James, why don't you take off your coat and sit for a minute."

  "I shouldn't. I really should..."

  "Would you like something to drink? I have..."

  She thought of how quickly even mild alcohol trashed her system. “Most definitely not!"

  "I have coffee,” he finished with a smirk. “Unless you want something harder."

  Don't think about the innuendo, don't don't don't. “I think I should just get what I came for, and get home."

  "Oh? And what's that?"

  "You know what it is."

  "I have a very poor memory. Why don't you remind me?"

  "You have my ... my...” Her hands fluttered and her face flushed.

  He laughed, a rich, sensual sound that rained fire through her brain. “This is precious! You can give your knickers to a complete stranger, but you can't say the words to ask for them back? Adorable!"

  "I didn't give them to you!"

  "No,” his voice dropped and he began moving toward her. “You let me take them off your delicious, inviting body with my own two hands."

  "Stop,” she said breathlessly, placing a hand in the middle of his chest to halt his progress.

  "What I can't understand,” he continued, his sultry voice taking on a hard edge, “is how a woman as beautiful, as sexy, as passionate as you has been left so inexperienced. Does he lock you away in your own virginal bed every night?"

  "I haven't been a virgin for a very long time. And I'll have you know we have sex at least once a week."

  "Once a...?” His eyebrows climbed into his hairline. “Once a week? Got you in his soddin’ day planner, does he?"

  "No!” But she knew he might as well have.

  "So what was Tuesday? A between times scratch?"

  She felt like he'd hit her. And she must have looked it, too.

  "Bloody hell. Date night.” He jerked away from her. He went to the bar and spilled dark amber liquid into a glass, picked it up and stood staring at it. Lindy slumped down onto the couch, dropping her head onto her hands.

  "You deserve better."

  She looked up at him, but he hadn't moved. “How do you know what I deserve? You don't even know me."

  "I know enough. You're an amazing woman, Lindy James. You make love with your whole body. You are a passionate, sensual creature but you don't even know it because that git of a husband of yours doesn't even bother to show you what you're capable of!"

  "Michael, please..."

  "No! You deserve to hear it, to know what you are, what you can be. I'll be gone in a month, and there won't be anyone left to tell you. I have to make sure you know."

  "Gone?” Her heart clenched.

  He looked into her eyes again, and even from across the room she could see the intensity, the tinge of sorrow in them. “I've been here two months already, on a project for my firm. I've got one more to go until the project is done and I go back home."

  "To England."

  He nodded. “London. I have a townhouse there, in Clapham."

  She felt numb. “Sounds nice."

  The silence between them was palpable, a third presence in the room, holding them hostage.

  Finally, he burst. He slammed the glass down on the counter and went to her, sitting on the coffee table in front of her, taking her hands in his. “Give me this month. Let me show you everything. Give me a month, thirty days, and then I will be gone, and you can go back to your life a little wiser, a little more whole. Let me do that for you."

  "Michael, I..."

  "Don't say no, Lindy. I can't spend the next month in this blasted city knowing you are somewhere in it and I can't see you, talk to you, touch you. Say yes. Please."

  Chapter 6

  She was overwhelmed by him. By his words, by his passion, by his presence. He seemed to fill the whole room, supporting her, enfolding her. And she admitted to herself that she wanted this. Wanted to know what it felt like to be desired so totally that all else was unimportant. Wanted to know what it felt like to want someone else so completely.

  She cupped his cheeks in her small hands as she leaned forward and kissed him.

  It was a gentle, open mouthed, curious kiss. Her hands slid along his jaw to tangle into the soft hair at the base of his neck. His own hands came up to gently stroke the loose curls swinging against her shoulder. The kiss was like honey, slow and sweet, awakening all her senses. She could smell his sweat and cologne, but underneath it was a trace of leather and cigarette smoke. He tasted like sun warmed apples, sweet and tangy and wet. His heartbeat pounded in her ears, bu
t she could also hear the small, hungry sounds vibrating deep in his throat as the kiss became more passionate.

  She pulled away gently, and she saw his face show vulnerability, uncertainty. She smiled softly at him, although she was certain her eyes were enormous, and reached down to unbutton her coat and slip it off her shoulders to fall on the couch behind her.

  His eyes darkened as they slid over her. “Beautiful,” he breathed, lightly caressing her bare arm with his palm, making her shiver.

  She flushed. “Not really."

  "Yes, really.” He frowned at her, reaching out to grip her waist and draw her to him until she sat astride his lap. She gasped as she felt his erection pressing into her sex through two pairs of slacks. “You have no idea the power you have over men, pet.” He began licking along her jaw line with the hard point of his tongue. “That first day in the restaurant, watching you suck off that bloody spoon, I was about ready to bend you over the table and fuck you there in front of all your friends. You make me forget there are rules in this world.” His mouth continued working the sensitive skin behind her ear as his hands pushed under the knit of her sweater to slide warmly along her back and stomach.

  Her head lolled back and she arched against him, making him groan. The sound flooded her, made her feel powerful, and she rose up, watching him as she slid back down on his hips.

  His head snapped back and his mouth opened in a pant. He gripped her hips and made her do it again, watching her watching him. “You like that, pet? Like knowing what you can do to me?"

  She rose over him again, eyes locked with his. “Yes."

  He growled and stood up, wrapping his arms around her back and buttocks as he devoured her mouth. She twisted her legs around his middle, clutching at his shoulders as he carried her through the living room to the adjoining bedroom.

  He stopped at the foot of the king-sized bed, tugged at her gently to stand her on the floor. He broke their kiss for a moment to grip the hem of her sweater and pull it off over her head in one smooth motion, the gold chain caught in the folds of fabric as well. Her hands were busy working their way under the warm fabric of his shirt, pushing the cotton aside to trace the sculpture of his belly and chest. He pulled his shirt off as well, and she marveled again at the alabaster perfection of his skin. She nuzzled at his chest, mouthing each curve and line, relishing the feel of his hard muscle against her lips.