by Nadia Lee
Need pulses in my veins, throbs through me. My dick aches so hard it feels like it’s about to break.
Desperate to maintain some semblance of control, I cup her breast, kneading it, toying with it. My thumb brushes over her beaded nipple more lightly than a feather, but she shudders violently.
“More,” she moans, breaking away from our kiss long enough for that one word. And I give it to her, circling the tip with my thumb, my touch light and teasing. Her fingers in my hair tighten until my scalp feels the sting. I pick her up and prop her on the vanity; her thighs part wide to let me stand between them. She rocks shamelessly, her cunt wet.
She can’t fake this. She can’t will her body to be this ready for me. She either wants my dick in her pussy or she doesn’t. And I’m inexplicably grateful for that bit of honesty from her, then ticked off with myself for feeling anything positive.
She is wanton, her eyes barely slits as she looks at me, her body liquid and undulating with desire. Her nipples are so tight I know they have to hurt every time she draws a breath. She digs her small, even teeth into her swollen lower lip. I’m so attuned to her, I know what she wants, but I don’t want to give it to her. Not like this.
“Beg for it,” I say. “Tell me exactly what you want; don’t leave anything out.”
“You.” She shudders. “Your mouth on my breasts—one after the other.” She licks her mouth, and the muscles in her throat works as she swallows. “You on your knees as you eat me out.” Flush tints her cheeks. “Your hands in my hair as you”—the flush spreads to her chest—“fuck my mouth and my hand between my legs so when you come, I come too.”
I order myself to be disgusted—the way I felt disgusted by the other Annabelle when she moaned and writhed against me in the closet while the wedding guests milled about on the other side of the door. But instead my wife’s words are like flames, burning away my self-control. I want to give her everything that shaky voice of hers is asking for.
Because I know she means every syllable. Her voice might be quavering, but her gaze has been steadily on my face the entire time.
She drops her eyes to my cock, her lips parting softly. I look down and see clear beads of liquid dripping down my thick shaft.
Unable to stop myself, I step forward and take her mouth in a kiss. This time it’s lush, the intent to arouse and pleasure.
Belle clings to me desperately, and I reward her by tweaking a nipple between my fingers. She gasps against my lips, and I feel myself growing even harder.
I pull away to take her other breast into my mouth. I suck it deep inside, my tongue running over the hard nub. Her back arches, and her sharp cry echoes around the bathroom walls. I run a hand along her inner thigh, and she spreads her legs wider. Her wet heat beckons me closer, and I dig my fingers into her slick folds.
“So fucking hot,” I groan.
“Don’t stop,” she begs.
I laugh darkly. A horde of barbarians wouldn’t be able to tear me from her now. I tease her opening, feel the muscles clench with emptiness. This intimate, I can sense everything—her sweet scent, the tiny quivers of her flesh that say she is dying for what I can give her, and the shuddery breaths she takes to control herself.
Except I don’t want her in control. I want her out of her mind. I want her shattered.
I switch to the other breast and plunge two fingers into her.
She cries out, her inner muscles clutching the digits like her life depends on it. I give her time to adjust while I suckle her breast. It isn’t long before she’s rocking against me, needing me to move.
I leisurely work my fingers in and out, making sure to stimulate the front wall of her vagina, as my thumb circles around, and then over, her swollen clit. Her breath grows more jagged and rougher, the sounds in her throat primal and raw. She tightens her grip in my hair as though that will anchor her. I drive her ruthlessly, relentlessly until her body bows and jerks helplessly in climax.
Remembering what she’s begged me to do, I lower myself and thrust my tongue into her dripping cunt before she’s come down from the high. She shakes violently as I start in, her arms barely holding her up. Her leg muscles tighten, her toes curling. Her heels dig into my back, and I relish her reaction. I lick at her, suck her in and thrust into her until her muscles spasm in another orgasm. She shoves a fist against her mouth, and I grip her thighs hard.
“Don’t you dare muffle your reaction to this,” I growl against her quivering flesh. “You’re going to come again and scream until your throat is raw.”
“Elliot, I ca—”
I don’t let her finish. I push her to another climax, then another and another and she screams through them all until her voice breaks.
She collapses, clinging to my shoulders. After a short moment, she pulls me up and kisses my mouth, her tongue gently licking at my lips. If I didn’t know better, I’d find the gesture tender and loving.
I’m just about to pull away, but she wraps her hand around my straining erection. My vision turns hazy for a moment as pleasure courses through me. The pressure in my dick is relentless and brutal. I could come after just a couple of strokes from her, but I’d rather die than lose control like that.
Her lips brush over my hammering heart. “Thank you, but you forgot something…”
I should move away, but I can’t. I’m a man, and I want what I want.
She drops to her knees before me and takes me deep inside her mouth. My eyes roll up and it’s all I can do to keep my legs stiff.
Belle doesn’t drive me to an orgasm with single-minded focus the way I did to her. Her mouth is sweet as she pleasures me. It’s as though she is making love to me in the most primitive way, and even as my mind rebels, rejects the idea, my body is helplessly drawn to her, craving more of her tenderness.
When she cups my balls and pulls me hard and deep into her mouth, I’m lost. I shatter with a hoarse cry, and she drinks me in, her soft gaze on me.
And in that moment, I realize one thing I’ve tried to deny since discovering her deception.
No matter what, I crave her with an intensity that borders on madness.
Chapter Three
Annabelle
I stay at Elliot’s feet as he gathers his breath. He braces his hands against the edge of the vanity, and stares down at me, his chiseled face stark with the recent orgasm.
Finally he squeezes his eyes shut and tilts his head back. Then he stands straight and says, “The shower’s yours. I have a few conference calls.”
Slowly I push myself up. My legs are like soggy pasta, the flesh between my thighs hypersensitive. His right hand twitches, then he clenches his jaw and leaves me alone in the bathroom.
I inhale deeply and review what just happened.
If I’d been thinking more clearly, I would’ve known nothing would change from sex. What just happened was great—it’s always been fantastic between us—but it isn’t enough to fix what’s broken.
Have hope. He isn’t indifferent.
I can work with anything but indifference. Maybe one night isn’t enough time for him to cool down and regain the proper perspective. With more time he’ll be willing to listen—really listen.
I’ve been telling myself what Elliot and I have is only for a year, so it doesn’t matter how things pan out between us. But I care about what he thinks, how he feels. I wasn’t just saying it when I told him I loved him. I did and still do love him. So even if all we have is a year, I don’t want it to be a bad year. I want to leave my mark on him so he’ll always think of me with…well, something warm and sweet, even if it’s not love.
By the time I step into the shower and wash, I feel better. The warm water is soothing. Back in the closet I pull on a simple sleeveless yellow dress. I’m not going to make a move against Mr. Grayson until Elliot and I have a calm talk. Mr. Grayson knew about Elliot needing a wife, so maybe whatever he was having me do actually had more to do with my husband. Elliot and I should come up with a game plan so neither
of us is working against the other inadvertently.
Just as I enter the kitchen, Nonny emerges from her room. She’s put on a black dress and matching sandals, and her hair is pulled back in a high and tight ponytail. A thicker than usual layer of concealer betrays the fact that she has dark circles under her eyes. Anger and shame simmer in equal parts in her eyes…which won’t meet mine. I don’t know what she and Elliot talked about yesterday before he left the penthouse, but whatever it was didn’t solve the problems between us.
I go to the kitchen and hand-wash the crystal tumbler I left in the sink earlier. Nonny watches me, then looks away.
Guess she isn’t making the first move.
“Cereal?” I keep my voice as neutral as possible. Trying to pretend that nothing’s happened is an insult to both of us, but I don’t know what else to do.
“No.”
Nonny walks to the fridge, making sure not to touch me, and takes out a small tub of strawberry-flavored Greek yogurt. She stands, waiting until I move out of the way, then opens the top drawer for a spoon.
“I’m sorry.”
Her motion’s jerky as she stirs the thick white stuff. “You did what you had to do.” Still, she keeps her gaze on the food in front of her.
“If you know that, why won’t you look at me?”
She snaps her head up and stares at me. Her face is set in a positively mutinous line, something I’ve never seen on her before. “Happy now?”
“Nonny…”
Her brow creasing, she looks back down at the yogurt. “You should’ve told me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Forget it.” She polishes off the yogurt in three big spoonfuls. “I’m running late.”
I glance at the clock on the wall. She has plenty of time.
“We need to talk.”
“Yeah, like weeks ago.”
“I’m trying to talk now.”
“Like I said, I’m running late. I have some things to do before school.” She turns around and goes into her room.
I make myself fresh coffee and drink it silently, blinking away the tears burning in my eyes. What do I do now? I’ve never felt so alone before. Even though the people in Lincoln City turned their backs on me, Nonny has been always by my side. I didn’t realize until now how much that meant to me.
She leaves the condo soon after, backpack slung over one shoulder. She doesn’t say goodbye, doesn’t even look my way. It’s as though I’m dead to her.
My phone beeps. I pick it up listlessly, then notice a text from my best friend Traci. She’s from Lincoln City, like me, and her family lost everything because of my dad’s Ponzi scheme. It’s a miracle that she’s gotten over the betrayal and anger, and I’m grateful. I can use a friend.
Are you okay? I saw the articles about you and Elliot. You know I’m here for you if you need a shoulder or sounding board or anything.
Suddenly it seems like a great idea to see her. Traci’s smart and discreet. If nothing else, she’ll cheer me up and help figure out what to do about Nonny.
I text her back. I’m okay, but I could use a friendly person to talk to. You have any free time?
Her response is almost instant. Of course. Today or tomorrow? I can take an early lunch.
I look at the closed door to Elliot’s office. Today is good. Time?
Eleven thirty at Galore? It’s a sandwich shop not too far from the office.
I remember that place. Elliot took me there after our courthouse wedding because I was nearly fainting with hunger. Has it been only two months since we got married? I know the place. See you there.
I check the time. Almost ten. I write a short note for Elliot, then go back to the bedroom to put on some makeup. Traci won’t care, but I don’t want to run into any acquaintances of Elliot’s and cause embarrassment by looking so haggard and tired. Everyone already knows about my stripper past and will have drawn whatever conclusions they’re going to draw. I don’t want to look pathetic over it. I haven’t done anything illegal or unethical.
I carefully apply concealer and foundation to hide the dark circles under my eyes, then put some color onto my cheeks. The lip-gloss adds a nice shimmer to my mouth, and I pull my hair back in a ponytail and put a pair of big sunglasses over my face. I’m not ashamed of what I’ve done, but at the same time I don’t really want to deal with people recognizing me either.
By the time I step inside Galore, it’s only eleven twenty. I shrug mentally. Being early never killed anyone.
The sandwich shop is nice and cool inside, A/C running low and ceiling fans doing the rest. The dark wooden tables and chairs are empty now, but soon they’ll be crowded. I get an order of a ham and cheese sandwich plus chips and Coke Zero and take a table in the back, thinking it’ll give us the most privacy. Traci shows up at eleven thirty five.
She struts in like a model, dark brown curls bouncing around her shoulders. Her carefully mascaraed hazel eyes are bright on her round face. She’s dressed in a fashion similar to before—her tight skirt a little too short to be professional but long enough to pass muster. The deep purple sleeveless top has a plunging V-neck, but again, it covers just enough to be okay for an office setting. Her stilettos look like something Torquemada might have designed, but she seems perfectly fine in them.
She spots me easily in the nearly empty shop and joins me with a bowl of chicken and veggie soup, a half sandwich and an iced coffee. I stand up, and we hug tightly before taking our seats.
“That’s all you’re eating?” I ask.
“Yeah. Don’t have time to work out these days, so I gotta cut calories.”
“I had no idea you were so busy.”
“Hey.” She reaches over and squeezes my hand. “I always have time for my best friend.”
“Thanks, Traci. It really means a lot to me.”
“I’m just worried about you, that’s all. But you seem to be taking the…well, you know, the news pretty well.”
“I don’t care what the tabloids say.”
She peers at me while sucking her coffee up through a straw. “Is Elliot okay?”
“I…” I hesitate. Elliot is okay with my past as a stripper, just not the other stuff. But something holds me back, and I can’t tell her the whole truth. I don’t know if it’s because of the way she abandoned me when I was at my lowest or if it’s something else, but my gut tells me to keep my mouth shut. “I mean, he already knew, so…” I shrug, not wanting to lie outright to her face.
“But it’s one thing for him to know, another for it to go public.”
“I honestly don’t think it matters to him that much.” His siblings and parents, on the other hand… I have no clue what they think about all this. Oh no…Elizabeth. His saintly sister is probably scandalized.
“Probably not,” Traci muses out loud. “It’s not like he’s a choirboy. I mean, he has that sex tape in his past, so I can’t see how he’d be upset with you about this. His family, either. They should be thanking you for marrying a guy with a reputation as wild as Elliot’s.”
“Right.” Except his family knows why we married in the first place, so they probably aren’t feeling all that much gratitude. Not that I would ever tell Traci. It’s strictly Elliot’s family’s issue, and I can’t make an executive decision to share something that isn’t mine to begin with.
“The problem is Nonny,” I say, not wanting to talk more about Elliot. “She’s really upset.”
“Oh no. The poor kid. She didn’t know?”
“Well, no, of course not. It’s not something I wanted to tell her.”
“Is she being bullied because of your…previous job?”
I pause for a moment. I’ve never thought of that. I just assumed she was embarrassed, but maybe other kids in school are teasing her. Even though she seemed to have gotten some cool points for being related to Ryder Reed—distantly, through marriage—kids can turn on one another so fast. Lord of the Flies isn’t a classic for nothing.
“I don’t know,�
� I finally answer.
Traci sighs. “You might want to find out. See if you can do some damage control.” She taps the rim of her glass. “But I think that the biggest thing that can fix the situation—if she’s being bullied or something—is for you and Elliot to make up and put on a good public show as a loving couple. Maybe, I don’t know, go to some kind of Hollywood party together or something? Once people see that you guys aren’t bothered by your past, maybe the kids in her school will leave Nonny alone too. It’s not any fun to pick at a wound that doesn’t exist.”
I frown. “You’re right.” Except…Elliot and I don’t have any special event we can attend together while looking like we’re in love. Even if there were one, given his reaction in the bathroom this morning, I don’t know if he’d go for it.
“I just want you to make up with him and be happy. And take better care of yourself.”
I force a smile. “I am taking care of myself.”
She gives me a pitying look. “Come on. I’ve seen zombies with more pep.”
“I…”
“Don’t worry. Most people wouldn’t have noticed, but who am I? Traci, your best friend since kindergarten, that’s who. And I can tell.”
I swallow and nod.
“Seriously. Multivitamins.” She gives me a small smile and squeezes my hand. “Feel better now that we’ve talked?”
“Yes.”
“Like I said, I’m always here for you if you need somebody.”
“Thanks.”
We finish our lunch while chatting about her job. I’m not interested in what’s going on at OWM simply for altruistic “I’m being a good friend” reasons—although I am curious about how she’s doing under a boss who seems as demanding as Gavin Lloyd. I want to know what’s going on there because of my ex-boyfriend, Dennis, who seems convinced that one, my husband is out to get him, and two, I’m the only one who can stop him. I swear he’s gone paranoid. There were signs when we were living in Lincoln City, but he was never this bad. Is this recent worsening somehow the result of what his father did? Jack Smith joined my dad in the Ponzi scheme, and when it fell apart, he gunned down my parents and then blew his own brains out with the last bullet. And Dennis’s been very careful to hide his true parentage from everyone.
