An Improper Ever After

by Nadia Lee

  My wife wants closeness. So I’m going to give it to her—sans consummation—even if it kills me.

  But before I can pull away, she wraps her legs around me, tilts her pelvis just so and digs her heels into my back. She moves without giving me a second to retreat, and I glide right into her searing, wet core.

  A small kernel of logic tries to tell me I shouldn’t, but the need overwhelms everything. My blood pulses in my veins, and I just…give up. “Tell me if I’m hurting you.”

  She looks me dead in the eye. “The only way you can hurt me is by stopping.”

  No cavalry would be able to drag me away now.

  She’s so primed that it only takes a couple of powerful thrusts before she starts to climax, her pussy gripping my cock tightly. My eyes roll in my head, but I keep driving into her. Even my lust-addled brain can tell I’ve lost. But I’m not willing to go down like a man with no self-control. I maintain my pace, sinking all the way in every time.

  She orgasms again, her wet hair spread around her thrashing head. Pleasure puts a rosy glow to her beautiful face, and my control slips as two tears leave the corners of her eyes.

  When her pussy spasms around me, I lose it. I let go with a deep, guttural groan. I feel like I’m being ripped apart. It’s more than a god fucking amazing orgasm riding me, it’s like being swept out to sea.

  Afterward I roll away so I don’t crush her, then pull her close so she lies with her side flush against mine. I stare at the ceiling as my breathing returns to normal, two thoughts sliding into my mind like razorblades.

  First: It doesn’t matter what I’ve been telling myself. She’s got her hooks into me so deep that I don’t think I can ever be free of her. And I don’t want to be. I’ve never acknowledged the fact, but I do now.

  Second: I know something’s happened in the last twenty-four hours. Elizabeth’s warning twists in my gut. I teased my wife mercilessly, gave her several orgasms that should have ripped her apart…but she didn’t say, “I love you.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Annabelle

  My head is spinning, my breathing shallow. I let myself stay dazed until it deepens, then return to reality.

  The almost violent need Elliot has for my body should leave me happy. But instead I’m conflicted. Everything we have is based on primitive, physical lust. If it hadn’t been for that, he would’ve never propositioned me. Anyone would’ve been okay to fulfill his father’s condition.

  Admitting that to myself has given me the strength to keep the words inside me. I’m never going to say “I love you” to a man who can’t say it back and mean it. I deserve that much in a relationship.

  I shift, then stop when I notice the stickiness between my legs. A sudden chill racks me, and I jerk myself up, a sheet clutched to my chest.

  “What’s wrong?” Elliot asks, his eyes suddenly alert.

  “You forgot the condom,” I blurt out.

  When he doesn’t respond immediately, I look down at him. He is absolutely gorgeous, lying next to me on the bed, and the effect of his magnetism hits me like a freight train, stealing my breath. His thick, silky hair is messed up, but it only adds to the raw, masculine beauty of his masterfully carved face. One hand is tucked under his head, while the other rests on his chest, the arms lean and muscular from regular swimming. I know how strong his body is—I’ve felt it often: when he carried me like I weighed nothing in St. Cecelia, every time he finally loses control and drives into me…

  But there’s something else that makes me hesitate. The small hint of insufferable insolence almost always present in his expression is gone, and it makes my internal alarm clang. Something has shifted without my noticing, and I don’t know what that is or what it means.

  “Didn’t you hear what I said?”

  “I heard you,” he says mildly, as though we’re discussing what to have for lunch. He doesn’t even move from his rather lazy repose.

  “Are you clean?” Even as I ask, I know what the answer is. He’s too meticulous to be careless with something as important as his sexual health.

  “Of course. You?” he asks in an easy tone that doesn’t tell me much.

  My face heats. From him, it’s a reasonable question, since I’m the one who was stupid enough to get drunk in high school and get… I push the thought out of my head and nod jerkily.

  “Well, then.”

  Why isn’t he more freaked out? There’s more to the situation than whether or not one of us has an STD. We agreed when we signed the deal: no kids. “Maybe the timing’s wrong,” I say, thinking fast. “Besides, it’s only one time.”

  Even as I say it, my insidious mind reminds me it only took once to get pregnant last time.

  Oh my god. Last time. I squeeze my eyes shut, bringing a shaky hand to cover my face. I don’t want to think about that ugliness at all. This is nothing like before. I wasn’t forced, I’m not some naïve clueless girl of fifteen, and the father of this child isn’t going to be a mystery if I get pregnant.

  “If you say so.” Elliot’s softly spoken words penetrate my churning thoughts. “I’m sure you know better than me.”

  “Why aren’t you more upset?” I drop my hand from my face and study his utterly relaxed body. Just what the hell is going on? I feel like I’m in a middle of a hockey game where the rules have suddenly changed.

  “Do you want me to be?”

  I don’t know how to answer that. So instead I say, “You should’ve remembered the rubber.”

  He nods. “True. I apologize.”

  Oddly enough, his easygoing attitude bugs me more than getting upset would. I straighten and stare straight ahead.

  He starts to push himself up, then drops back on the bed and pulls me gently down over him. I settle onto his bare torso, my breasts pressed against his chest. I can feel his strong, throbbing heartbeat, and my heart accelerates to match his tempo. It still astounds me how my body adjusts to his until we fit perfectly. It’s either magic or madness. Liquid heat ripples through me despite the strong orgasms I just had, and I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to this need I have for him.

  “This isn’t about being responsible or hoping for the best,” he says. “I’m not going to worry about anything until…if it happens. And I don’t want you to worry, either.”

  I nod, somewhat placated by his explanation. He’s being logical, and worrying won’t solve anything.

  “There’s something else. It’s about your former roommate—Caroline.”

  Caroline. The last time we spoke about her, it was about him checking out my assertion about her betrayal.

  “If she ever bothers you again, you have to let me know. I should’ve told you this earlier, but didn’t. Another mistake.” He tilts his head while adjusting me, so he can look at my face. “She hasn’t bothered you since…the articles, has she?” I shake my head, and he says, “Good.”

  “What happened between the two of you?” I whisper. “I saw pictures of you at the same hotel.”

  “Fucking parasites.” The muscles in his jaw flex. “Let me guess. They said I was there to bang her, didn’t they?”

  “Something like that.”

  “I put the fear of god into her after I extracted some information.”

  “I see.” But I don’t. Not really. He didn’t have to take her to a hotel for that. And as inane as it is, I don’t want Caroline or any woman with Elliot in a location as private and conducive to an affair as a hotel room. Given the events of the last week, I should be relieved that Elliot and I are finally on better footing, but I’m not because I recognize I’m being jealous.

  The emotion is entirely pointless. Even though I’m his wife, I know where I rank in his life, especially after our horrible argument on Sunday. The peace between us is temporary, like everything else we have. When Annabelle Underhill goes through with her threat, who knows what will happen? Just imagining how Elliot might react deflates me like a popped balloon.

  I close my eyes. My time with him is almo
st a quarter over. I can do this.

  “What are you thinking?”

  Why did you choose a hotel to talk to her? “Nothing.” I look away, then roll off him. “I should clean up and get dressed. It’s late now.”

  “We don’t have to be at the airport for another five hours.” His slightly pinched eyebrows say I haven’t really fooled him.

  “Then let’s see a little bit of the area,” I say. “I’ve never been in San Francisco before.”

  He studies me, his gaze moving over even the smallest lines on my face, then nods. “If you wish.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Elliot

  By the time we check out, there aren’t that many hours left before our flight. We end up at a seafood restaurant for a light lunch of shrimp cocktail and grilled wild salmon, then I take her shopping. I figure that should cheer her up—I’ve never met a woman who doesn’t like to buy a handbag or three. Or shoes. Jewelry works too, but I didn’t check with the concierge for an acceptable jeweler.

  Belle glows like a polished diamond inside the stores. Her unbound red hair frames her face and bounces around her delicate shoulders. The green of her eyes looks even more vivid under the display lights, and the mustard-yellow maxi dress with floral lace trim is casual and feminine, perfect for a lazy shopping excursion. She’s paired it with a light, cream-colored cardigan for extra warmth and to hide the bruises.

  The weather is chilly compared to Los Angeles, and I’m glad I packed a pair of slacks and a sweater. I shove my hands into my pants pockets, my untucked blue button-down shirt covering my wrists. I watch my wife examine the selection of bags the clerk has brought out.

  Although I pretended to be calm earlier to play it down, I’m anything but. I forgot the condom. I’ve never been so careless. I should’ve known better, protected both of us.

  At the same time, it’s not like the idea of tying ourselves together with a baby hasn’t crossed my mind. That probably makes me an underhanded son of a bitch. How craven I’ve become with my need for her. It isn’t like me to want anyone this desperately. Not even Annabelle Underhill got to me like this.

  I study Belle to see if she’s in pain, but she seems okay so far…other than moving with extra care to not to bump into anything. I would love nothing more than to find the person who pushed her, but I know the chances of that are nil. If anyone had seen something, Elizabeth would’ve heard by now and she would’ve called me. I keep going over potential suspects, but discard them all. Keith is a coward and doesn’t have the guts to engineer something like this, not at an event with so many eyes. Annabelle Underhill had a date, although I can’t remember if she was in the dining room when my wife left the table. Dad is an asshole, but he’s not into physical violence, even by proxy. Sneaking around and backstabbing people is his MO.

  Of course, it could be something less sinister. Maybe somebody was moving something—equipment used at the dinner function, perhaps—and bumped into my wife or something…

  I shake my head. Ludicrous.

  Belle runs her hands over various bags, admiring the fine stitching and luxurious leather. Even from here I can tell everything is high quality and ridiculously expensive. Still, she pushes them away.

  Undeterred, the clerk brings out more items. My wife smiles wistfully, brushing her fingertips along the supple material, but shakes her head again.

  I frown, wondering what’s going on. I can’t believe she didn’t like any of them. A couple items managed to snag my attention, and I have about as much interest in women’s handbags as a dog does in carrots.

  But maybe she doesn’t want to buy anything because she doesn’t want to splurge on herself. Now that I think about it, she hasn’t spent a penny on herself other than when I insisted. I make a face. Belle is entirely too frugal for my taste. I already told her she can charge whatever she wants to her credit card and I’ll take care of it.

  I push myself off the wall and hand the clerk my plastic. “We’re getting this, this and this, and those three over there.” I gesture, pointing at the items my wife lingered over in particular.

  The salesperson gives me a professionally poised “Very good, sir,” but I can see her eyes light up as she takes my card and goes to gather the merchandise. Another clerk immediately comes out with a tray of champagne; I pluck a flute and instruct them to bring out some freshly squeezed grapefruit juice for my wife. A picky order, but I don’t care. They can kiss my wife’s feet after the amount of money I just dropped.

  Belle is staring at me with her mouth slightly agape. “You shouldn’t have.”

  “Yes, I should. Why do you think I carry plastic?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Methinks the lady shouldn’t protest too much. A husband is entitled to spoil his wife.” I scrawl my signature on the five-figure sales slip. Everything is beautifully wrapped and presented in glossy shopping bags.

  Belle looks at me, her teeth worrying her lower lip, then finally looks away with a sigh.

  “What?” I know she wants to say something.

  “Nothing.” She shrugs, then shakes her head.

  She’s entirely too emphatic, and that generally means “nothing” is really “something.” I want to force her to say what’s on her mind, but I stop as apprehension shivers through me. What if it’s something I don’t want to hear?

  Fuck.

  I wish I hadn’t talked to Elizabeth at the dinner. Then maybe I wouldn’t feel so off balance and unsure. Women are always predictable. They want money first and foremost, and are willing to do almost anything to get it. That’s why you see a perfect ten hanging out with a fat guy old enough to be her father. Someone like my sister, who honestly doesn’t care about such materialistic things, is rare…an anomaly.

  Now I’m with another anomaly—my wife. And there’s a sinking feeling that I don’t have what it takes to keep a woman like her.

  “Want to hit a few other stores?”

  “No.” Belle checks the time. “We have two hours left until our flight.”

  Since traffic in the Bay Area can be pretty nasty, I dump all the shopping bags in the trunk of our Audi rental and open the passenger door for my wife. She slides in, one taut and silky calf showing through the side slit in her dress. The second she’s seated, she smooths her skirt, and the golden skin is gone from view. Still, it’s a hell of a sexy peek. There’s an innate sensuality to her that’s far hotter than a buck-naked lingerie model.

  My body tightens as heat prickles along my spine, and I wipe my mouth with my hand. I’m acting like we didn’t spend our morning in bed, fucking each other’s brains out.

  I climb behind the wheel and start driving. She smells so good next to me—warm and sweet—and her breasts rise and fall gently with each breath, offering a tantalizing view above her modestly cut bodice. I’m so distracted that I almost don’t hear her question.

  “Last week you said you were going to pay Mr. Grayson off. Do you mind…if I do it?”

  “Um…” I blink, trying to reorient myself. “I thought you didn’t have the money.”

  “I don’t, but…” She hesitates, then straightens herself. “I want to use your money to pay him off. But I’ll pay you back.”

  “Not necessary,” I interject. From the way she tightens her jaw, I doubt she agrees with me.

  She continues, “I want to see him face to face…let him know he can’t try to control me anymore.”

  Closure on your own terms. I can understand that. Still… “Isn’t he dangerous?”

  “I don’t think so.” She shakes her head. “I mean, yes, I think he is a user and not aboveboard, but I don’t think he’s going to get violent if that’s what you mean. Also, I plan to meet him someplace public.”

  I consider. She’s probably right. Grayson works for Keith, and Keith may be a snake, but he’s also a coward. He won’t ever do his dirty work in the light of day, and certainly he doesn’t have the guts to get physical. When I discovered he was stealing from m
e and Lucas, I hit him in the jaw—twice—and he just cowered and covered up. It is as though he’s afraid to fight back.

  Nevertheless, this is my wife we’re talking about, and I don’t like the idea of her going out there to confront his agent on her own. I open my mouth, about to gloss my real thoughts and then go ahead and do what I think is best anyway, but stop. If I want to fix what’s broken between us, I can’t just do whatever the hell I feel like regardless of her wishes. “Hmm… I don’t like it.”

  “I know, but it’s important to me.”

  “How about if I come with you?”

  “I don’t think that would be wise. Like I said before, he’s my problem, and I want to deal with it.”

  I stare at the red light. Traffic’s heavier than I expected, and the bright sunlight reflects off the roofs of the cars around us. I squint through my shades and tap the steering wheel with my thumb. Belle turns toward the window and looks out at the street on her side with various shops and slow-milling pedestrians.

  “It is okay for you to lean on me once in a while,” I say as the light turns green and I hit the gas.

  She doesn’t speak or react in any way. We’re in the same car, but somehow I feel like we’re miles apart.

  “Can we start over?” I ask suddenly.

  “I thought the honeymoon was the new beginning.” She crosses her arms. “Elliot, this isn’t some…computer game. We can’t just ‘start over’ every time we don’t like the way things are going.”

  I swallow. She’s right, and I can’t think of anything to say.

  Just…don’t be too stubborn and turn her tender feelings for you into pain. Because the next stage will be indifference.

  I can’t be too late. My wife isn’t indifferent.

  But I can’t help but feel that she’s slipping away, grain by grain like sand clenched in my fist.

  * * *

  Annabelle

  By the time Elliot and I finally make it to the penthouse in L.A., I’m exhausted. The flight was short, but still felt grueling. My shoulders have been almost touching my pendant earrings ever since we boarded, and the tightness has spread to my skull and mid- and lower back. The pain hurts worse than the injuries from last night. I’d like to think it’s the trip making me tense, but I know better.