Sweet Ultimatum

by Naima Simone

  Up until a week ago, she’d been so sure she’d made the right decision. That was before Selig reappeared in her life and she had to confront the consequences of her actions. For so long she’d imagined him happy and whole. She never would have guessed the bitter truth of a hurt, angry man who lived every day with her choice.

  Her choice.

  There lay the issue. The decision had been hers. She’d robbed him of the right to make his own and sentenced them both to years of loneliness and bitterness. Her motivation had been pure and driven by love, but maybe the choice hadn’t been the right one. A strong, proud man like Selig wouldn’t have backed down from Nicholas. He would not have retreated. Instead Selig would have told Nicholas fuck him and bring it. Caitlin smiled again and amused warmth sparked in her chest. That would have been exactly how Selig responded.

  The humor faded as fast as it had appeared. She’d realized that, and in her desperation to protect him, had stolen Selig’s control over his life and handed it over to Nicholas along with hers. Of all the reasons to resent her decision, Caitlin believed that would be the one Selig loathed most. Still, he had to know. She dragged in a deep breath and held it for several long seconds before releasing it on a heavy sigh. Dipping her head, she stared down at her folded arms, her decision weighing on her. She risked losing him if she rejected him and guarded her secret. She risked losing him if she confessed everything and watched the renewed affection in his gaze return to resentment…

  She would tell him.

  “You look as if you have the weight of the world on your shoulders,” Selig teased, appearing at her elbow. Only the weight of my world, she reflected. Caitlin turned toward Selig to make some casual reply and found the retort trapped in her throat by a sudden swell of emotion. She blinked, lashes fanning in the effort to force back the tears pricking her eyes. She couldn’t lose him! She wouldn’t survive it this time. Before she’d had a baby to consider, to live for. What did she have now?

  “Hey, baby,” Selig whispered. He cupped the nape of her neck and pulled her forward to plant a comforting kiss to her forehead. “What’s wrong?” He leaned back, tilting his head and studying her face for the reason behind her tears. “Tell me.”

  Her heart thudded against the wall of her chest like a caged animal. She stared up at him, realizing her expression must have revealed her fear because Selig lifted his hands and cradled her face between his palms. He grazed a light kiss over her lips.

  “Caitlin, talk to me.”

  She inhaled a last breath, covered her hands with his and gently drew them down. It was now or never.

  “Selig, I…”

  “Selig. Caitlin.”

  Equal parts frustration and relief engulfed her as Mac stepped out onto the balcony. After a glance at his solemn expression, Caitlin shoved aside her feelings and stepped forward, alarm winging through her.

  “What is it?”

  “We just received the news,” he replied, holding up the cell phone clutched in his hand. “Rachel, Nicholas Gordon’s wife. She’s dead.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Selig yanked his tie from side to side, loosening the knot before slipping it over his head. He tossed the purple and black silk on the bed and moments later his suit jacket joined it. He sighed, unbuttoning the top two buttons of his dress shirt.

  “Damn.” He paused over the third button and shut his eyes, trying to block the images of the casket, flowers and mourners. “I hate funerals,” he muttered, digging his thumb and forefinger into his eyes and rubbing ruthlessly. They never failed to remind him of his parents’ funeral. The overpowering scent of flowers. The muffled sobs of family and friends. The casket that stood like the elephant in the room, pretending it didn’t exist, that your loved one couldn’t possibly be in that box soon to be lowered into the ground and covered with dirt.

  Selig shook his head. He didn’t like Nicholas—okay, he hated him—but Selig wouldn’t have wished the death of his wife. A freak car accident. The injuries had been so extensive the casket had been closed.

  Selig shuddered. He was on familiar terms with the pain caused by the loss of a loved one. No, in spite of his feelings for Nicholas, even he didn’t deserve that.

  Pivoting on his heel, he walked out the bedroom in search of Caitlin. She had declined his offer to escort her to the wake, deciding not to attend. He understood why she didn’t feel comfortable going, and yet he couldn’t shake the feeling there was more to it.

  He found her in the great room, arms wrapped around her slim body, staring out the window. She reminded him of a fawn. Beautiful. Wary. Fragile. He propped a shoulder on the doorframe and watched her. After a few moments, she broke the odd stillness. Her shoulders lifted and fell on a silent sigh and her head bowed, the dark curtain of her hair swinging forward and hiding her profile from him.

  He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t stand there while something tormented her. Something she refused to share with him. It had started with his car accident, elevating after Rachel Gordon’s death. No matter how many times he asked her to confide in him, she insisted nothing was wrong. Sometimes he spotted it in her eyes, the desire to trust—he pulled up short as if slamming into a brick wall. Yeah, the brick wall of his stubbornness.

  Revelation could be humbling. He wanted her trust. He craved her love. Yet he’d been too afraid to offer her either one. Self-preservation held him back from giving her the very thing he desired from her. How did he expect her to trust him with her secrets when he refused to do the same? He couldn’t.

  Selig clenched his fingers into tight fists. He’d once vowed to destroy the emotional shield she’d built even if he had to bloody his fists in the process. He stared down at his fists for several long moments, and then slowly straightened them. Yeah, he was going to bleed, only not from breaking down her walls, but from shattering his own.

  He shifted his eyes from his hands to the woman he could never eradicate from his heart. He’d convinced himself that all he wanted was her body when it had been an excuse. She filled the dark, lonely places of his soul. In the sweet haven of her body, he found sanctuary. He’d seized the chance to have that again even if for a little while.

  He would have to admit that to her too. But first…

  “His name was Clarence Armstrong. I’d represented him before—a petty theft rap. This time was different though. He’d been arrested for torturing and murdering a woman he’d picked up at a bar.” Her head shot up, her body stiffening as his story unfolded. “The case made the papers and led every nightly news broadcast… I was in my element. I loved it—the notoriety, the challenge and adrenaline rush of a capital murder trial.”

  He needed her warmth. Selig stole closer, halting when his chest almost, but not quite, touched her back. He didn’t touch her, not certain that Caitlin would want his hands on her when he finished.

  “I didn’t even ask him if he’d killed the woman—I didn’t care. My job entailed getting him off by any means necessary. And that’s exactly what I did. I twisted the evidence to suit my theory of the crime, which was a police frame up with my client the convenient scapegoat, though no proof of police misconduct existed.” Selig rubbed the nape of his neck, kneading it roughly. “I mocked their evidence and dug up information on their experts to make them appear incompetent. I attacked the victim’s reputation, even though she was dead and couldn’t defend herself. I conducted a smear campaign on everyone involved from the police force to the victim so I could add another number in my win column.”

  He paused, waiting for the recriminations that were bound to follow that damning statement, but Caitlin remained silent. Heart pounding, Selig continued.

  “It worked. Armstrong was acquitted. My firm was delighted, of course. We made the top story of every news report and the front page of every newspaper. A sweet victory—and short-lived. Three weeks later they rearrested Clarence Armstrong for the murder and rape of a sixteen-year-old girl.” His body shuddered as he inhaled a deep breath. Though more
than a month had passed, the revulsion he’d experienced that day would never fade.

  “Armstrong called me from jail and I went down there. I had to see his face. I needed to believe the police had made a mistake. But I took one look at him sitting in that cell and I knew I glimpsed pure evil. He smiled at me and I was sick right there in the jail. He’d killed that girl as well as the woman I’d gotten him acquitted of. It was my fault. A mother no longer had her daughter. A brother no longer had his sister because of my arrogance. I’d sold my soul for a sound bite on the six o’clock news and a little girl lost her life.”

  Silence greeted the end of his confession. During the telling, a soft rain had begun to fall, the light pelting of the drops against the window an accompaniment to his shallow breathing. Selig wanted to grab Caitlin, whirl her around and examine her face for signs of disgust or disappointment. He wanted to know, yet fear bound his hands down by his side.

  “You’ve carried this burden for how long?” Her soft voice ricocheted in the quiet room. “You’ve blamed yourself for something out of your control. You didn’t murder that woman or the girl. He did. You aren’t omnipotent.”

  “I got him off…”

  “You did your job.” She shifted, turning until she faced him. Tilting her head back, she studied him and Selig swore he could feel the gentle caress of her gaze. “I wish you could see what I do,” she whispered. “You are so beautiful. And not just your face and body, but here.” Her hand slipped between them until it lay on his chest, over his heart. “You wonder what kind of man you’ve become? You’re a man who worries that a mother has lost a daughter. You’re a man with a heart, a conscience and a soul. If you didn’t, Selig, you would have defended that man again knowing his depravity. A tragedy happened due to the sickness of one man. Don’t give him three victims.”

  He shook his head, desperate to believe, but unable to abandon the guilt that had plagued him for so long. “If not for me, that girl would still be alive…”

  “Are you God now?” She rose on her toes and brushed her lips across his mouth, taking the sting from her words. “If I could give you absolution, I would—but only you can do that. How long will you persecute yourself before realizing forgiveness starts here?” Caitlin patted his chest. “Selig, a man whose conscience would torment him because of a mother’s grief is a man who has goodness in his soul. You are not depraved or beyond redemption.”

  “How do you know?” The question was ripped from the depths of his soul. Even his voice sounded ravaged. He wanted to believe—he wanted to be the man she saw.

  “It’s simple.” She smiled, cupping his face in her palm. “I have faith in you. If I have to believe in your goodness and integrity enough for both of us, then I will.”

  Her words beat in his head, his soul. Selig closed his eyes and turned his head to press a kiss to the soft skin holding not only his cheek, but his heart. The tight knots in his stomach loosened, his breath came easier. Faith held out her hand and after a moment of hesitation, he reached out for her. Several long moments passed before he could identify the unfamiliar emotion squeezing his heart.

  Hope.

  Opening his eyes, Selig lifted one hand to her face, tracing the vulnerable shape of her mouth, the smooth skin of her cheekbone and the graceful arch of her brow. The first touch of his lips to hers sought permission and when her mouth softened under his, the second touch consumed. He tangled his fingers in the hair at the nape of her neck, tilting her head back farther so he could have more. His tongue dipped, savored and worshipped. Caitlin’s arms encircled his head, her fingers tunneling through his hair, gripping tight. The small bite burned through him, straight to his cock. He ground his growing erection against her stomach and rumbled his approval when she rolled her hips, stroking him with her sex.

  He needed… Damn, he needed. He tore his mouth away from hers, planting feverish kisses along her jaw and the slim column of her neck. He dragged his tongue across her skin, drawing a small sound of pleasure from her lips. Finding the corded tendon that followed the slope of her throat he bit down with just enough pressure to mark her, claim her as his. Her hoarse cry snapped the tenuous control he’d maintained.

  Selig bent at the knees, cupped her ass in his hands and hoisted her up. Caitlin wrapped her legs around his waist, her dress riding up her legs until he could glimpse the black underwear covering her pussy. His mouth went dry with want and in the next instant watered for a taste of the cream he knew waited there for him. He spun on his heels, hastening across the room and back through the hallway to his bedroom. Her teeth sank into his neck as he crossed the threshold, nearly buckling his knees.

  “Damn it, Caitlin,” he moaned, hips grinding and rocking his cock between her soft thighs. “That’s it. Suck, baby.” Her mouth was driving him crazy. He tilted his head to the side, loving that she marked him as hers. He wanted whoever spied the brand to know he belonged to her, that this beautiful, loving woman claimed him.

  He crossed the room to the bed and laid her back on the cover. Caitlin placed a last kiss on his neck and, with fingers tangled in his hair, dragged him down for another kiss. His mouth slanted over hers, taking control and losing it. He nipped at her lips, sucking her tongue deep into his mouth and giving her his in return. It was wild, wet and he couldn’t get enough.

  Selig reared back, yanking the shirt from his pants and tearing it over his head, not bothering with the buttons. Moments later, his belt clattered to the floor behind him and he ripped at the button on his slacks before tugging the zipper down. He pulled his cock free, grimacing in pleasure as he stroked the painfully erect flesh. A bead of pre-come glistened in anticipation at the slit on the swollen head.

  He looked up and his breath caught in his throat. Caitlin half-reclined on the bed, elevated on her elbows, skirt bunched up around her waist revealing the black lace thong that covered nothing. As sexy a picture she made, it was her expression that held him entranced. The hungry stare fixed on his cock. His cock jerked in his hand and when she slicked the tip of her tongue over her bottom lip, another surge of fluid leaked from the tip.

  “You want this, baby?” Fuck. He winced at his tone, rough with need. “Caitlin? Do you want this?”

  Her eyes flicked to his face before returning to the hand he stroked up and down the thick length.

  “Yes,” she breathed, scooting to the edge of the bed. “I want you in my mouth. I love that. I dream about it.” Her admission rocked through him. If possible, he grew harder, longer.

  “Come and take it, baby. Show me what you dream about.” Her fingers replaced his, squeezing his cock before setting a rhythm that had him gritting his teeth against the pleasure. When her lips closed around the head, sucking tight, pleasure shot straight toward ecstasy. He groaned, clutching her head between his hands and staring down as her pretty lips descended over his dick. She swallowed half his length before sliding up and suckling the tip. “Damn it, Caitlin.” He tossed his head back. “You’re trying to kill me.”

  Holding her head still, he thrust his cock into her hot waiting mouth. With the head lodged at the back of her throat, he stilled, reveling in the moist heat of her mouth. A moment later, he eased his hips back, sliding free inch by inch. The hot abrasion of her tongue stroked the underside of his shaft, drawing his balls tight and taking him to the edge.

  Fuck…it was so good.

  He repeated the motion once, twice and on the third pass, Caitlin nipped the tender underside of his cock head as he tried to pull out. Lust roared through him, sizzling up his spine and hurtling closer to orgasm.

  “Damn you,” he groaned. Bending forward, he slid his fingers up her thighs, under the lace and burrowed between the soaked lips of her pussy. She flinched, her cry vibrating along the length of his cock and going straight to his balls. “You like that?” He speared two fingers deep in her sex, the muscles clamping down and milking. “Damn, your pussy is wet.”

  She rode his fingers while her mouth continued to work hi
s dick. Her tongue swirled around the head, flicking the weeping slit, tracing the thick vein running down the length to the sac below. She sucked first one ball then the other into her greedy mouth.

  “Fuck!” The pleasure was an electric sizzle in his balls, signaling his impending release. Not without her though. A silent snarl lifted the corner of his lip as he thrust another finger in Caitlin’s pussy. Her head fell back on her shoulders in a soundless scream.

  She shuddered, the orgasm catching both of them by surprise. Her eyes widened, her face twisted in agonized pleasure. Her pussy clamped down tight on his fingers and he almost shot his come, imagining it was his cock instead of fingers in that juicy embrace. He continued to pump and stroke, giving her every measure of the release.

  At last, her lashes fluttered close and Selig withdrew his hand from between her thighs, lifting them to his mouth and sucking them clean. Shit, she tasted like the sweetest cream. He could eat her all night and never grow tired of her flavor. He glanced down and found her watching him from under lowered lashes while he savored every drop. Her eyes stayed on him while her own fingers inched down her stomach and beneath the band of her panties. The sheer material hid nothing from him, not the slow circle over her clit or the shallow dip in her pussy. Stepping between her spread thighs, Selig hooked the band of the panties and tugged them down her legs. As soon as they cleared her ankles, he gripped the base of his cock and moving closer, nudged her wet folds with the head. Caitlin dragged her fingers away from her sex, but he stopped her when she would have abandoned her clit.

  “Touch yourself,” he ordered. He didn’t remove his eyes from the elegant fingers playing over drenched, pink flesh as he reached for his wallet in his pocket. He couldn’t look away if he wanted. The erotic dance mesmerized him. With quick, hurried movements, he removed the small foil square from the billfold and ripped it open. Impatient, he rolled the protection down his cock, and shifting forward, lodged the head inside the entrance to her pussy. He pushed forward and groaned. “Shit…” The tight feel of her muscles, they squeezed his shaft and sucked him deeper into her perfect, wet heat.