Aidan (Knight's Edge Series Book 3)

by Liz Gavin

  He slung the strap over his arm and shoulder, and the guitar surprisingly hung in front of him within reach of his fingers. The perfect height. His father was famous for the attention he paid to details. Turning to check his reflection in the full-length wall mirror, Aidan’s satisfied smile turned into a wide grin.

  “I’ve got a bass guitar. I can’t believe it,” he muttered.

  He scowled at his grinning reflection.

  That was wrong.

  That teeth-showing expression worked for self-centered lead singers or camera-seeking movie stars.

  Aidan wanted to belong to the cool crowd.

  He wiped the beaming smiled off his face, drew his eyebrows together, and glanced in the mirror.

  “Much better.”

  He thumped and strummed the strings, producing dissonant and cacophonous sounds, and shrugged. He didn’t care.

  In due time, he would learn to play bass.

  For now, he focused on getting the attitude right.

  3

  Moira – 2012

  Moira Mathias gazed at her image in the full-length mirror in the bathroom, adjusting her double-D-cup breasts inside the plunging cleavage of the black, leather corset Bob had bought for her. The material clung to her body, too tight for comfort. She turned sideways and slouched her shoulders at the sight of her bulging belly. Six months after childbirth and she still hadn’t returned to her former body shape.

  Not that she hoped she would ever wear size six again, but she believed she would feel better about herself if she ditched a couple of pounds. After all, she could not grow past her five-foot-two.

  Living in Florianópolis didn’t improve her self-image. A city famous for its tropical beaches brimming with women in skimpy bikinis flaunting their toned bodies would put a serious dent on any woman’s self-esteem. On top of that, Moira’s husband’s constant jokes about her expanding figure, and the disappearance of romance from their marriage, had her constantly on the edge.

  She squared her shoulders and held her breath, smoothing the leather over her belly and hips. The sexy outfit had been Bob’s idea. Wanting to humor him, she had agreed. Still, it felt odd, and a bit stupid, to role-play in the sack. Shouldn’t it be that they had sex because they wanted to do it? Why should they work so hard for the damn thing? It should come naturally.

  Reminding herself Bob’s business put him in the middle of temptation on a regular basis, Moira began to apply some light make-up to accentuate her high cheeks and exotic eye color. Green eyeshadow brought out the golden specks in her honey-colored eyes. She didn’t want to go overboard with make-up, though. The last time she had visited Bob’s advertising agency, she rode in the elevator with a couple of models, who wore too much make-up. She didn’t want her husband to mix her with those vulgar types. She had been raised like a good girl, in a traditional family.

  She didn’t do vulgar.

  So why was it that she had been cussing a lot in her head lately.

  Moira didn’t want to overanalyze stuff, so she had chosen to ignore some red flags coming from Bob. Unfortunately, the sex games and sexy outfit were not some of those flags.

  He had always loved those things.

  Fidgeting with the corset, unable to make the saggy lump in her belly disappear, Moira’s enthusiasm began to waver. She had read somewhere that hormones could go berserk after a pregnancy. And that the imbalance provoked different symptoms, from depression to brittle nails to falling hair. Eyes still trained on her reflection, she ran her fingers through the blonde strands that reached a couple of inches below her shoulders and realized her hair had lost some of its sheen.

  Moira pulled down the corset, loosened the red lacing through the eyelets, readjusted the panels, then laced it tightly again. That was a lot of work for their biweekly night of sex. She wasn’t sure it was worth her while. Bob, on the other hand, had been keen on introducing a little role-playing in their bedroom to spice things up.

  She swirled to check all angles of the outfit. Thigh-high black stockings held in place by lacy garters over a barely-there thong, and the damn leather corset on top of it all.

  Ridiculous.

  How had she turned into this spineless twenty-eight-old mother of two, trying to please her husband by pretending to be someone else? At what point had she given up on what she wanted out of their marriage?

  “Coming out anytime this century?” Bob sounded through the closed door. “I don’t want to end up having to jerk off, not after spending a fortune on your sexy lingerie.”

  She didn’t remember asking for the outfit.

  “Just a minute, hon.” She applied two drops of his favorite perfume on her cleavage.

  Time to face her husband.

  Opening the door to their bedroom, she leaned against the threshold, aiming for a sexy pose, and justified. “I was making myself beautiful for you.”

  “Took you long enough. Let me see how it turned out. Turn around.”

  She twirled.

  “That will do it.” Naked and perched on the side of the bed, Bob didn’t show his age. Moira’s gaze took in his flat stomach and firm muscles, and she had to remind herself he had recently turned fifty. He patted the center of the mattress. “Hop on.” As she crawled to the middle of the bed, his hands cupped the butt cheeks the thong exposed, squeezing them together. “You’ve got quite an ass now. This is something I don’t mind that the two brats made bigger.” Kneeling behind her, Bob nestled his semi-erect cock against her butt crack, leaning on her back, cupping her breasts. He reached inside the strapless corset and rolled her nipples between his fingers. “You’ve always had huge boobs, so the kids only made them saggy. But they did make your ass more fuckable.” He nudged her tiny hole with the tip of his dick. She flinched. Bob huffed. “I’d say ten years is a long time for a man to wait to fuck his wife’s ass, don’t you think?”

  She looked over her shoulder. Bob’s smirk contorted his classic features as he poked her again with the thick head of his cock. “I can’t help it. I’m terrified at the thought. Ask me anything else, and I might consider. Not this, though.”

  Anal was a hard-limit for Moira, and Bob was well-aware of that, but he would bring up the subject on a regular basis. At that point, she believed he did it to annoy her more than anything else. Her best clue was that he would quickly drop the subject.

  Confirming her suspicions, he shrugged. “I’ll settle for the next best thing. Turn around.”

  When she faced him, Bob buried his fingers in her hair, held her head in an angle that favored him, and nudged her lips with his half-mast cock. She opened her mouth, and his shaft glided over her tongue. As Bob thrust in and out of her, slowly going deeper, his erection got stiffer. She focused her attention on the muscles in her throat, relaxing them to accommodate his considerable girth. She didn’t want to choke.

  “That’s a good girl,” he muttered through gritted teeth, as he increased the speed of his stabbing movements.

  When he grabbed her hair, and shoved his cock down her throat, Moira panicked as air got cut off from her lungs. Finding it hard to breathe, she hollowed her cheeks, but still tears rolled down her cheeks from the effort. Feeling uncomfortable on her hands and knees, Moira tried to kneel. She reached up to grab Bob to keep her balance, but he shoved her hands aside.

  “Stay as you were. I’m almost there.”

  His tightened balls bumped against her chin, and his swollen cock twitched against the back of her throat. Controlling the gagging reflex when the first jets warmed her throat, Moira was surprised by Bob’s retreat from her mouth.

  For a fleeting second, her silly heart fluttered. Maybe tonight he’d stick his fucking dick inside her fucking pussy and fuck the hell out of her. She could use some of that as opposed to her battery-operated best friend.

  But, her hopes got quickly crushed, when he stuck his cock inside her cleavage and unloaded himself. Stunned, she watched the whitish goo seep through the metal eyelets onto the dark blue bedspread
.

  Fuck!

  She had changed the bed linen just for that night. Now she would have to wash everything.

  From a nearby chair, Bob fished his briefs out of the haphazard pile of clothes he had created when he undressed. He donned it before he slipped under the covers, his back turned to Moira. His snores filled the room as she crawled out of the bed. She turned off the light on the nightstand and tip-toed back to the bathroom.

  Ridding herself of the sticky corset, Moira got under the shower to wash off the rest of the mess Bob had made. She considered using the handheld shower to get off and relax, but realized there was no tension, no pent-up sexual energy for her to deal with.

  She felt nothing.

  Not even a tingle.

  As she toweled herself dry, she peered at her face in the mirror, searching for the usual signs of distress, or self-loathing, or disgust.

  She found none of that.

  Her eyes were clear, but neutral. She didn’t understand why until it dawned on her.

  Bob’s attitude didn’t hurt her anymore.

  She didn’t feel like a cheap whore anymore.

  She didn’t feel like a real-size sex toy either.

  He had done it.

  His insensitivity had made her numb.

  There was only so much a person could take. He had exceeded her limits.

  She shrugged and swirled to go back to bed.

  At least, she didn’t have to fake orgasms anymore either.

  4

  Moira – 2012

  A couple of weeks later, Moira dropped a hamper she was carrying and dove for the nearest phone set to answer the fucking call before the shrilling noise woke up Dani and Felipe. They rarely slept at the same time, so she wanted them to keep sleeping. She had so much housework to catch up with.

  “Hello?” she whispered into the mouthpiece, out of breath.

  No reply.

  She hated when that happened. She could hear whoever was on the other side of the line breathing. Why didn’t they say something?

  “Hello? Can you hear me? I hear you fine.”

  They hung up. Or it got disconnected.

  She preferred to think the problem was a bad connection instead of a prank call. After almost two years of that routine, repeating itself at least twice a week, Moira had no illusions the calls were not random.

  She didn’t care enough to bother with them, though. A few years ago, she would have flipped, turned the third degree on Bob, demanded answers.

  She shrugged. Not anymore.

  Retracing her steps and collecting the laundry that had spread over half the living room floor when she dropped the plastic hamper, Moira cussed under her breath when the damn phone rang again.

  “Hello.”

  “I’m taking a couple of clients home for dinner, but the weirdoes are vegetarian, or vegan, or something equally stupid. The guys don’t eat meat, or any kind of food remotely connected with animals. Have Justine prepare something they could eat, will you? We’ll be there around six.”

  “Justine is off today. Could you take them to a restaurant?”

  “No. These guys are all about outdated traditions, and old-fashioned morals, and uptight standards. But, their construction company is one of the biggest in the country and they want to contribute big bucks to Ronaldo’s campaign. So, I’ve been singing my family’s praises to them. They’re eager to meet the missus and the brats.”

  “It seems to me your candidate should be hosting these people instead of us, then.” She snorted. Allowing Ronaldo Meneses, Bob’s biggest client, anywhere near a potential donor for his campaign could turn into a serious disaster. A political suicide waiting to happen. Ronaldo, a local politician, had a shady past and an even more obscure present.

  “He’s out of town.” Bob puffed into his mouthpiece. “So what if Justine is off work today. You cook, don’t you? I mean, how hard can it be to boil water? Throw in a couple of veggies in the pan. Or, thaw some frozen main dish. It’s not rocket science.”

  Moira glanced at the grandfather clock that dominated the wall dividing the living room and the intimate dining room. She had little over three hours to get it all done.

  She could manage, if she multitasked and coordinated things well.

  “I guess I can whip up something.”

  “Good. Make yourself useful. See you in a while.”

  Leaving the hamper where she had settled it on the living room floor, Moira rushed to the kitchen. She cut a few potatoes into large wedges, stuck them in a pan, filled it with water, and took it to the stove to boil. She returned to the living room, grabbed the hamper, and continued to the laundry room.

  She went through the pockets of Ted’s favorite suit, to avoid ruining his precious business cards like she had done once. Why Bob kept all his clients’ cards inside his pockets was beyond Moira. He was well-adapted to technology. He carried his fucking top-of-the-line cell phone everywhere. One would think he had heard of the magic and wonder of electronic address books.

  Well, one could wish.

  This time, he had emptied his pockets before throwing the clothes in the hamper.

  “Spoke too soon,” she muttered as her fingers connected with paper, when she shoved her hand inside the last pocket, one in the slacks that paired with the Italian suit.

  She fished a folded pinkish sheet of paper and, without thinking, opened it.

  Livid, she folded it back, and slumped against the dryer. Her heart shrank, and her stomach churned. One thing was suspecting something. It was a whole different ball game when evidence sprang on you.

  For the past two years, before she got pregnant with Felipe, Moira had noticed subtle changes in her husband. As she got bigger and heavier, she had blamed her disfigured body for his indifference. If she were to be honest, Bob had blamed it, not her. Every time she had tried to initiate a sexual contact, or even a simple caress, he would disentangle himself and tell her he couldn’t handle her pregnant belly.

  “I can’t do the mommy thing. Sorry. It’s kind of gross,” he would say and vanish from the room, sometimes from the house.

  In hindsight, things took a different shape. He must have been having an affair then. After all, he hadn’t rejected her when she was pregnant with Dani. On the contrary, Bob had insisted on having sex up to a couple of weeks before delivery date.

  She cut her stare to the note again.

  Son of a bitch.

  Both her husband and the woman.

  Mostly her husband.

  That Wilma person probably had nothing to lose. Moira bet she was fascinated by Bob. The bastard could be charming when he chose to. Certainly, his thriving business played a part in the other woman’s fascination with a married man, father of two small kids.

  Maybe the woman didn’t know he had a family.

  Rereading the scrawls on the note, Moira was appalled to find out that Wilma was aware of Bob’s marital status. She didn’t care.

  Apparently, neither did he.

  “I’m wearing those anal beads you gave me. They remind me of your thick cock inside my ass, filling me, stretching me, making me come like no other man has ever done.

  I’m so glad prude Moira doesn’t know how to treat her man. Because I get to show you how much I want you.

  My first and only.

  My forbidden lover.

  Every time you walk by my desk, I squirm and wish I could barge into your office, sit on your face like I dream of doing. I’d love to have your tongue lapping me, your lips sucking me, while the staff go about their business. The thrill of risking being caught alone would make me come all over your gorgeous face. Earlier today, I had to lock myself up in the toilet and get off on my fingers.

  Twice.

  Counting the minutes until tonight, my stud.

  Your little sex slave, Wilma.”

  Moira frowned as a memory stirred to life in the back of her mind. It could not be right, though.

  Or could it?

  She grab
bed her phone, which had been lying on top of the washing machine, and logged into her social media account. She scrolled down her photo albums until she found the one with pictures from last year’s Christmas party at Bob’s office. Her stomach dropped.

  That couldn’t be right.

  She opened an internet browser, and a few clicks later, she set the phone aside and stared into space.

  Shit.

  The idea was almost too disgusting to be believed, but she couldn’t deny facts. There was only one person called Wilma working at Mathias & Fernandes Ltd. now. Wilma Fernandes, Silvio Fernandes’s only daughter. Wilma was Bob’s partner’s daughter, who had started as an intern at the office, a little over a year ago, when she turned eighteen.

  Fuck!

  The pictures Moira had been tagged in, from two months ago, did not leave room for much doubt. Wilma Fernandes, a stunning brunette, was going to have a baby. If Moira remembered their conversation at the party correctly, Wilma said she couldn’t reveal who the father was, but she expected to do so very soon.

  Son of a bitch!

  Bob had knocked up his partner’s barely-legal only daughter. And he was leading the girl on because he had never mentioned divorce to Moira. Unless he planned on keeping both families. Moira doubted he would be up for that. She also didn’t believe Silvio would be happy with that arrangement. And it wouldn’t be advisable to cross a person like Silvio Fernandes.

  The term Mafia boss came to mind, but Moira had other issues to focus on.

  If the cheating bastard she called husband didn’t care about their family, she did. In fact, the only reason Moira had not packed her things and vanished from Bob’s life yet was her inability to provide for Dani and Felipe on her own. Without a safe net in the form of family members, she didn’t see how she could find a decent-paying job. One for which her lack of higher education wouldn’t be a problem.