What They Call Sin

by Philippa Grey-Gerou

  "It seems awfully unorthodox for an attorney."

  "I was pretty wild in school. Got in a lot of scrapes. Spent a few nights in lock-up. I was lucky to not get sent down."

  "So how does a London pseudo-street tough know a Manhattan art dealer?"

  "By going to law school at Columbia. Didn't like the other blokes in my class and the MBA hangers-on, so I fell in with the art and theatre crowd. Made a couple of good friends there."

  "Columbia, huh? Which is how you were so familiar with Central Park."

  "Guilty. Used to escape there a lot. Made a nice change from the law stacks."

  She fidgeted with her fork, poking it through her salad. “I ... I'm almost scared to ask this."

  He put his fork down to look at her intently. “'S alright. Ask me anything."

  She looked up at him, her head still slightly bowed. “Is there ... are you married?"

  Now he did look pained. “No. Not anymore."

  She couldn't help but feel relieved. “I'm sorry, you must think I'm a terrible hypocrite. I guess, well, I think adultery is harder on women than on men. Sex is more than just physical for us, so we feel the betrayal more, you know? The thought that I might be keeping you from someone..."

  When she looked up, Michael had gone ash white and his hands were trembling. “My god, Michael!” She rushed to his side. “Are you alright? What is it?"

  He clutched at her hand, trying to comfort her, but his ice cold skin only worried her more. “Are you sick? Should I get help?"

  "No, pet. I'm ... I'll be fine.” His voice was thick and slow when he spoke. “Really. I just ... Could you bring me a whiskey, please?” he said to the server, who had come over to see if they needed help. She nodded and went to fetch it. He turned back to Lindy. “Don't fret. Just a bit of a shock."

  "What? Was it something I said?"

  "Lindy, I ... I'm sorry, I'm not keeping secrets, really. I caught my wife with another man. ‘S why we're divorced now. Just over a year and a half. It's still just too painful..."

  "Oh god, I am so sorry!” She felt sick at what she had done. And angry at what the horrible ex-wife had done back then that made him react this way. “I didn't know. I would never belittle what you..."

  "No shame, pet. You had no way of knowing. I just can't really talk about it yet.” He squeezed her hand and looked deep into her eyes. “But this time with you has helped. Reminded me that there is still happiness to be found in the world."

  She felt tears welling up in her eyes. She leaned forward to kiss him softly before they could slip free.

  "Tonight's going to be hell for me, knowing he's going to be touching you when I want it to be me."

  She pulled back, confused. “Tonight?"

  "Tuesday night."

  And suddenly she understood everything. She had to go back to her marriage bed tonight. And he didn't want to send her there tasting of him, smelling of him, the feel of him echoing in her most tender areas, her body too tired and sated to perform for her husband. So Michael had arranged this platonic date, so they could still enjoy each other's company without the pressure or fear or guilt. He had thought of her first. And she had inadvertently hurt him.

  "Michael..."

  "Shh, don't.” He rested his forehead against hers. “We knew when we started this would happen. Had to happen. It'll be alright. Really."

  "Then why do I feel like I'm betraying you?"

  "Because you are a kind hearted woman.” He kissed her softly. “Come on,” he helped her to her feet. “Let's get you home. I still have to put in an appearance at the office. They think I'm doing research at the alma mater."

  He paid the bill and walked her out, hailing her a cab on Fifth Avenue. Putting her in the cab, he leaned down to look her intently in the eyes. “Will I see you tomorrow?"

  She nodded. “I'll tell him I'm going out with a friend. Then I can stay as late as we want."

  He leaned in and kissed her hard. “This friend know about it?” he asked when he finally pulled back.

  She nodded. “Fully briefed and prepared for any contingency."

  He smiled. “I think I like her already."

  She stroked his face softly. “Until tomorrow night."

  "Don't be late or I'll come looking for you."

  "I'll be there,” she promised.

  As the cab pulled away, she didn't look back. Instead she hunched down in the seat, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, trying not to feel like she was going off to cheat on her lover with her own husband.

  Chapter 15

  Lindy sat curled up on the couch in the den, remote in hand. Must See TV was proving to be a not so must, it was pledge time again for PBS, and the movie channels, in a quirk of synchronistic programming, all seemed to be showing films from the eighties that had not improved with age. Finally, she gave up altogether and turned the television off.

  Gabriel sat in a nearby armchair, several slim files near at hand, his after dinner scotch half drunk near his elbow. He was focused on the documents he was reviewing and didn't seem to notice the TV going off.

  She stretched ostentatiously, yawning delicately. When he didn't look up, she rose to stand beside him, leaned forward to kiss his cheek just forward of his ear. “I'm going to go up. Will you be long?"

  He made a notation on the page. “I just have to finish this and I'll be up."

  "Don't be long, or I might fall asleep on you,” she teased.

  He looked up at that. “Then I'd have to wake you up, wouldn't I?"

  She smiled at him with a wink and, with a flirt of her hip, turned to go upstairs.

  Her heart was pounding, more with fear than with anticipation. What if she did something wrong? Or something he didn't like? What if he didn't like any of it? Stop that, she berated herself. He loves you. He'll love anything you do. Just relax and enjoy yourself.

  In their room, she lit a few candles on her bedside table and turned down the bed. Then she went into his closet to grab her negligee for the evening, taking it into the connecting bathroom to change.

  She was just brushing out her hair when she heard him come into the bedroom. “Lindy?"

  He was just hanging his tie neatly in the closet and had started unbuttoning his shirt when she stepped back into the bedroom. He stopped when he saw her. “Is that one of my shirts?” he asked in confusion.

  "Mmm hmm.” She knew the crisp white cotton stood in stark contrast to her warm tan. The collar was open enough to show cleavage and the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. She crossed the room slowly, giving him time to take her in. She stopped in front of him and let her hands drift up to undo his buttons for him.

  "Lindy, what's going on?"

  "Nothing.” She pushed the shirt down off his shoulders and dropped it on the floor. “I just thought maybe we'd be a little different tonight."

  He put his hands at her waist as she began undoing his trousers. “Have you been hanging out with Cara Dominick again?"

  She just smiled mysteriously, protecting her secret without lying. She pushed the black slacks off his hips to drop on the floor next to the shirt, leaving him clad only in tasteful blue silk boxers. She intertwined her fingers behind his neck and drew him down to kiss him.

  His lips were thinner, tighter than she remembered. She went to work on them, nibbling and licking, drawing out his tongue with her own. She turned him slowly and backed him up step by step to the edge of the bed. She pulled back from the kiss to see his eyes dark, his brow furrowed in curiosity. She licked lightly at her bottom lip as she hooked her fingers in the waistband of his shorts, sliding them down to free his velvet hard cock.

  She pushed him lightly to fall on his ass on the bed, then straddled his knees. He leaned back on his hands, watching as she slowly undid the buttons on her shirt, then letting her lift his hands to her breasts to fondle and thumb over her nipples. She lowered her head to lave and nip along his throat and shoulders as he squeezed and pulled at her soft flesh. As her mouth moved lowe
r, she pushed him again to lay down fully on the bed as she continued to explore the sensitivity of his chest and stomach. Finally, with a last shudder of trepidation, she dropped to her knees in front of him.

  Her first close view of him, in the dim light of the candles, brought unbidden, unwanted comparisons to her thoughts. Gabriel was a bit thicker but not as long as Michael, the veins tangling around his shaft in a riot of pulsing blue veins as opposed to the almost symmetrical veins along Michael's member. Where Michael's cock angled up in ideal position for penetration, Gabriel's stood straight out, leading the way in conquest. She ran the flat of her tongue experimentally up the shaft. It jerked in her hand. Pleased with the reaction, she continued, circling up and down and around, slowly working her way up to the head.

  As she slid her mouth down over him, she glanced up to see him propped up on his elbows, watching her. He looked curious and slightly amused, but his eyes closed in reaction as she took him deep into her mouth. Her lips and tongue made wet, sloppy sounds as she devoured him, her noises the only sound in the room. She cupped his balls, fingering them gently as she sucked away eagerly, until she felt the slight hitch she had come to identify as a signal of impending eruption. She slowly drew off him, her hand following her mouth up and off with a long, gentle stroke.

  She rose to her feet, dropping the shirt on the floor as she moved astride him, positioning him at her slick entrance. With a gasp she took him in, allowing gravity to do the work as he filled her slowly, inch by inch, at her direction.

  She looked down at him. This was a new perspective for her. For the first time ever, she didn't feel overwhelmed by him, stifled and trapped under the bulk of his body. She felt free, liberated and in control. She rose up on her knees and sank back down, savoring the sensation. She looked at him with hooded, sultry eyes to see him looking amused.

  He allowed her barely a dozen strokes before he gripped her around the waist and stood up, pivoting them to land among the pillows with him on top. He began thrusting into her, pressing her down as he pounded his pleasure out of her.

  Suddenly she understood something that Michael had said to her. She never had had any power in bed with Gabriel, and he had no interest in giving her any. With Michael, control flowed back and forth between the two of them like water, so she had forgotten that there was any other way. But now she knew. Knew the joy of leading another human being to that kind of pleasure, finding her own happiness there.

  Except Gabriel didn't want that.

  He drove harder, deeper, small animal noises pushing out of him with each thrust. She knew the signs, knew he was close.

  Knew she wasn't anywhere near.

  Something inside her broke. She saw her marriage differently all of a sudden, with the eyes of new knowledge. It made her want to weep.

  She closed her eyes and thought of Michael. She needed the comfort of his arms, the solace of his body now as her husband used her for his own pleasure. She imagined herself miles away, wrapped in his arms, sharing the pleasures of the flesh with him, distancing herself from what was happening here in her bed.

  Gabriel came with a hoarse shuddering moan and sagged down against her. He lay there for a moment, crushing her, before finally rolling off to his own side of the bed. “That was great, babe. Really. We'll have to try it again sometime.” And he rolled over, his breathing slowing into sleep almost immediately.

  Lindy lay there in the dark for long hours, ashamed and lonely and confused.

  Finally she gave up and crept from their bed going to sit in the dark, chilly sunroom.

  Where she stared silently at the phone.

  Chapter 16

  Work had been a total waste of effort.

  He sat behind the faux wood desk in his temporary office in the cluster reserved for consultants and tried to concentrate on the convoluted web of contracts, agreements and incorporations that was the actual purpose for him being stateside. But he couldn't focus. He felt trapped, caged, desperate to bite and claw his way out.

  He paced the room manically, trying to concentrate, but the words kept smearing in his brain, illegible, incomprehensible. He threw the pages in his hand on the desk and drilled his palms into his eyes. He had to focus, had to stop thinking about her, had to stop thinking about thinking about her. About tonight. About memory. And history. About loss. He had to focus, damn it! He was too emotional, too connected. He needed to get some detachment or it wouldn't take much to set him off.

  At four thirty, Gabriel stuck his head into the office. “Don't forget we're meeting with the team from Robartsmaan for an update tomorrow at ten. Have you got those source reallocations done?"

  Rogue didn't look up. “I'm finishing them now. Have you finished the HR benefits assessment?"

  "Mostly. Caroline's wrapping it up. I'm going home."

  "Have a nice night.” He managed to keep his voice flat.

  "Yeah, whatever.” Gabriel turned and left with a brief word to Rogue's assistant, Carly. Rogue heard the perky blonde chirp, “Good night!"

  He rose to stand in the doorway, watching the path his rival had taken. Carly looked at him funny. “You okay, boss?"

  "I'm fine,” he said thickly. But he wasn't. He felt a rage welling up inside him, a desperate need to lash out and destroy. With a jerk, he turned and snatched up his coat. “I'm going home."

  "Already?” she asked incredulously. “But you've only been here...” She stopped at the fiery look he gave her. “No problem! You have a great night."

  "Just ... finish those presentations for morning and you can go.” He dismissed her with a wave as he stormed out of the office.

  He walked the whole way back to the hotel, four blocks west and fourteen blocks north, seeking relief through force of muscle and the chill October air. The city was enveloped in the halftones of twilight, the headlights and display windows garish in the disappearing daylight. His feet pounded out the rhythm of his pulse on the pavement, hard and fast and unrelenting. He didn't look up, plowing through the mass of humanity rather than look at them, make contact with them. Wasn't that how this had all started? Making contact?

  He made it to the hotel somehow and went up to his room without stopping. He opened his door and went straight to the bar, quickly finishing off the bottle of whiskey and the vodka, and had gotten a good start on the gin while waiting for room service to deliver two more bottles of whiskey. It arrived, eventually, with a carafe of coffee as well. He glared at the attendant, grabbed the bottles off the cart and shut the door in his face.

  He was trying for the fastest drunk on record, but inebriation only weakened his ability to suppress all the thoughts and images racing around in his brain.

  Her words came back to slash at him from all directions, their sharp edges painful and hot.

  He had wanted to lash out at her assertions, show her the suffering laid out on his soul by his wife's betrayal. But he couldn't just tear open his shirt and show her the scars. They were too deep, too secret to be seen or known by anyone. The images that were so painfully brilliant to him were invisible to the rest of the world.

  And of course thinking of the moment brought the image vividly to his eye. Gabriel and Hope, locked in a dance of flesh, her porcelain skin made even more pale in contrast to his ruddy tan, his heft overwhelming her small body. But as he watched, she changed. The pale straw of her hair darkened, turning auburn and soft. Her skin darkened to a honey tan and when she opened her passion-ripe eyes, they glittered green in the firelight. And in his mind, Rogue watched as the prick fucked the hell out of his own wife. As he had every right to do. As Rogue had no right whatsoever.

  He hurled the tumbler across the room to shatter in a shower of expensive crystal shards, destroying the image in his head. A hysterical laugh welled up in his chest and escaped briefly before he worked himself up to his feet and staggered across the room to the bar to get another glass.

  Prick.

  Prick, prick, pricking, pricked. By the pricking of my thumbs ...
Gabriel pricked Hope and Rogue bled. Rogue pricked Lindy and Rogue bled. Wasn't it someone else's turn to bleed?

  He downed another mouthful of whiskey. Soon it would be Lindy's turn to bleed. When she found out her husband, the man that she had for better or for worsted was a philandering, manipulative whoreson. She would feel that deeply. Hadn't she said so? She was a woman, and women read more into sex than men, so she would read more into his affairs and it would kill her. Take that fragile, naïve, trusting heart of hers and crumple it up like old wrapping paper. He knew it would. She felt everything so deeply.

  He loved feeling her deeply.

  Loved feeling her, loved fucking her, loved loving her.

  Hated himself for destroying her.

  He sobbed drunkenly and slid down the wall into a pile of limbs and bottles. What was he doing that was so different from Gabriel? He was using her, planning to hurt her in such a way that she would never recover. For something she didn't even know about. And leaving her to suffer the consequences alone. What would Gabriel do? Would he leave her? Would he beat her? Bastard wouldn't want used goods in his own house.

  Son of a bitch.

  The bottle in his hand was empty again. He reached around, trying to find a full one but came up empty. He slumped back against the wall, defeated.

  He didn't even know who he was anymore. The young man he had been before Hope would have been too much of a gentleman to even consider using a lady in such a way. But she had taken him, changed him, made him harder and more aggressive even before she had betrayed him. He had wanted to be everything for her, and so had allowed her to shape him, remake him in her image. He had lost himself in her, completely and utterly.

  He was finding himself again in Lindy.

  In her clever innocence, she had shown him himself, made him remember what he could be, what he wanted to be. Compassionate. Creative. Playful. Romantic. Hers.

  Which he could never ever be.

  Birds started chirping, and he looked to the curtained windows to see the pale light of dawn.