Perfect

by Delaney Diamond

  “Excuse me?” Not only surprise filled her voice. Could he hear the disappointment, too?

  “When we make love, you’ll have to initiate it.”

  He’d completed unbuttoning his shirt and it hung open to reveal a stretch of toned chocolate skin. Her eyes remained riveted there for an inappropriately long time.

  She lifted her eyes to his and cleared her throat. “I didn’t even want this reconciliation, and you think I’ll initiate sex?”

  “You never had problems initiating sex before. I remember you were quite adventurous, to the point where you’d interrupt my work from time to time.”

  She remembered, too, and heat burned her cheeks. A few times she’d gone down to his home office and convinced him to set aside work long enough to pay her some needed attention.

  “That was before,” she pointed out. Before their marriage fell apart and everything between them changed. “I happen to have self-control.”

  Cyrus shrugged, appearing nonchalant. “So do I.”

  “You’re going to go six months without sex?”

  “I don’t think it’ll take that long, but why not?” He pulled off the shirt on his way to his bathroom. The firm muscles of his chest moved under his smooth dark skin. His body was even harder and firmer than she remembered, his waist trim and taut, and his stomach a flat washboard of grooved muscles. She bit her lip in amazement. He’d certainly been taking good care of himself. “I’ve already done three years. What’s six more months?” he asked.

  He disappeared into the bathroom, leaving a stunned Daniella behind. He hadn’t had sex in three years? Impossible, surely. He had remained faithful and honored their vows all this time? She sank onto the edge of the bed.

  Once again he’d surprised her.

  ****

  A cold spray of water pelted Cyrus’s body from the overhead fixture. He must be out of his damn mind, but the thought had come to him as he made his rounds to check the property. His house manager usually performed that task, but he’d needed a break from Daniella to clear his head. When the chauffeur drove through the gate, lusty imaginings of having his wife beneath him had kicked up until he could barely think straight.

  He wanted her badly. In fact, seeing her in that white dressing gown, the silk draped lovingly over her ample breasts, had almost been his undoing, but he was nothing if not disciplined. He would prove to her he could be trusted, that he was the kind of man she could be proud to call her husband, in the same way he was proud to call her his wife.

  Cyrus lifted his head to the icy spray, appealing to the frigid temperature to erase the hard-on standing straight up from his hips.

  Unfortunately, he had insisted they share a bed. It would be torture, but he planned to stick to his decision. Even if it meant taking a cold shower every damn night.

  ****

  Two weeks passed and Cyrus still hadn’t tried to make love to her. Two whole weeks. Silently fuming, Daniella sipped her coffee, watching him over the brim of the mug.

  Across the table, he devoured a breakfast of Canadian bacon, three eggs, and a stack of pancakes able to satisfy two sumo wrestlers. He had an immense appetite, but he never packed on an ounce of fat because of his workout routine, his passion for exercise as substantial as his passion for sex. Which was why his behavior stumped her. He still hadn’t made a move to make love to her, but she thought about it constantly, even dreamed about it.

  She’d become way too preoccupied with thoughts of him, and being around him all the time didn’t help. She was actually glad when he had to work late since that gave her a little reprieve from the longing, the unbearable wanting that consumed her night and day.

  The hardest moments came at night. He’d come out of the shower smelling of soap and clean with a towel wrapped around his lean waist, and she’d have to tear her eyes away from the tight musculature of his abs. Sometimes she even forgot to breathe as she watched him get dressed and would dip into her own bathroom to hide her flushed cheeks and finally get a good breath. Night after night they lay next to each other, not touching, he on one side of the bed and she on the other. He never reached for her. He barely even looked in her direction.

  He’d demanded she come back so he could ignore her?

  She stifled a sigh and set her mug on the table and admitted that wasn’t exactly the case. During the week he stayed busy, and while some nights they’d eaten dinner together, he typically worked long hours. On the weekends, however, he’d actually taken her out on dates. Last night they’d flown to Los Angeles to have dinner at a celebrity hotspot she’d happened to mention a few days before. How he’d secured a reservation on such short notice was not a mystery. The Johnson name opened doors.

  True to form, Cyrus had walked in like a celebrity himself, was shown a well-appointed table, and then they’d spent the night enjoying a multi-course meal that could only be described as an out-of-this-world dining experience. Her mouth still watered when she thought about the tender steak cooked to perfection, roasted vegetables, and a wine so perfect she’d purchased several bottles to bring back to Seattle.

  The night had been pleasurable, and she’d had certain…expectations when they arrived at home. Yet once they’d climbed into bed, he’d given her a chaste kiss on the cheek and then rolled over and gone to sleep.

  His indifference annoyed her.

  Cyrus looked up at Daniella from his now empty plate. Tendrils of smooth, dark hair brushed her cheeks and kissed her shoulders before falling down her back. “What are your plans today?” he asked.

  What would she do if he kissed her—the kind of kiss that would have her flushed and breathless? He’d learned the true meaning of blue balls the past couple of weeks. Their lack of intimacy drove fantasies through his mind at a constant rate, and kissing her on the cheek last night had only made the situation worse.

  Day after day he worked out hard—harder than ever, trying not to crack. At this rate, he’d soon turn his entire body into one giant muscle.

  “I’m going to the gallery to get some work done.” She stood and walked over to the coffee pot. She took a travel mug from one of the cabinets. “I guess you’ll be working in your office?”

  “For most of the day,” he admitted.

  He stood as well and watched her pour coffee into the container. She appeared composed and calm, and his resolve wavered. Maybe he’d made a mistake and should satiate the ever-present need for her that hummed through his body. The idea was starting to look better and better.

  He placed his dishes in the sink.

  She screwed the top on the mug and said, “I’ll see you later, then.”

  They moved at the same time. His arm bumped her breast, and he heard her sharp intake of air. A simple apology should have sufficed, but untempered desire raged through him and he caught her by the arms.

  They both froze.

  They stared at each other. Tension, familiar and unwelcome, tightened his shoulders.

  His hands contracted around her soft skin. He could take her now. If he lifted her against the wall and dragged aside her panties, he could be inside of her within seconds without a single objection. The evidence of her own brittle resolve was laid bare in her eyes, but he’d made a promise and intended to keep it.

  Somehow he managed to reel in the hunger and go against his protesting body. Somehow he managed to release her and step back.

  “Excuse me,” he mumbled.

  She breathed through her mouth. “No problem.” She swallowed and averted her eyes before rushing off.

  He watched her leave. She was being extremely polite—they both were, but the tension between them had heightened. It was only a matter of time before one of them cracked under the strain.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Daniella awoke in the middle of the night to find Cyrus’s hands on her body. In the near darkness, they roamed over her thighs and ass.

  “What are you doing?” she asked breathlessly.

  His mouth was against her neck.
“You came over here. I have to assume this is what you want.”

  Indeed, she could see half the bed in front of her, and she lay wedged up against Cyrus with a hot throb between her legs. She’d had another erotic dream. This time her subconscious self had sought him out and sent her to his side of the bed.

  He cupped her breasts through her nightgown, squeezing as if judging their texture. Heat swept across her skin and she trembled, thoroughly aroused as if foreplay had started hours ago. She twisted restlessly as he feathered his thumbs over the tips of her nipples. His hands felt so good she wanted the flimsy, gossamer barrier removed. She wished she could tear it off to enjoy the touch of his hands on her bare skin. Arching her back, she thrust her breasts against his palms. A helpless moan—a sound filled with unbearable yearning—spilled from her chest.

  “Missed these,” he groaned.

  He continued to fondle her, plucking her nipples and squeezing his favorite part of her anatomy. He pressed her breasts together and slipped a hard leg between her thighs, grinding his erection into her backside. The motion evoked erotic sensations and spread fire through her veins, making her ache to have him inside of her as soon as possible.

  She turned onto her back, and he rolled on top of her. The familiar weight of him pressed her into the mattress. Chest to chest, she felt the heavy thud of his heart against hers. Their rapid beats appeared to be synchronized.

  She cupped the back of his head, brought his mouth down, and parted her lips, an open invitation as she readied for his tongue, anxious for a taste. A drugging kiss ensued, leisurely yet devouring, hungry yet affectionate. Their mouths slid over each other, moist and warm. He tugged her bottom lip between his teeth and nibbled softly, then moved lower to suck gently on her chin.

  “Is this what you want?” he whispered against her arched throat. “Tell me.”

  “Yessss,” she said in a sibilant whisper. “I want you.” Manicured fingers moved over the fine curls on his head, scraping his scalp in a silent cry of relief that her need would soon be satisfied. He’d made her wait so long, made her suffer night after night.

  “Killing me the past few weeks,” he muttered, sounding almost angry. He nipped her shoulder with his teeth. “I exercised like a madman, and when exercise wasn’t enough, I took matters into my own hands.”

  She felt a little thrill that he’d pleasured himself to thoughts of her. Happy she hadn’t been alone in her torment, she whispered, “I did, too.”

  He groaned against her neck and pushed away the straps of her nightgown to lavish kisses on her throat and shoulders. Everywhere his mouth touched, it set her skin on fire. “It’s nothing like the real thing.”

  He hooked his fingers in the waistband of her panties and worked them lower, slowly. His mouth followed the same path. It brushed over the hair between her legs, and she gasped at the fleeting pleasure. His tongue trailed along her inner thigh until he’d dragged the silky material down her feet, where he nibbled on her ankles and kissed her soles.

  It was as if he wanted to shower affection on every single part of her body, and she welcomed the thoroughness, urging him on with husky, appreciative noises.

  The rest of their clothes came off even faster. His pajama bottom and her nightgown were tossed aside to form a pile on the floor.

  His fingertips skimmed the curls at the juncture of her thighs. She jerked, her nerves raw and sensitive, her every thought concentrated on that one spot. Air hissed through his teeth when he encountered the wetness there, and she closed her eyes to savor his touch. He parted the tender flesh between her legs and slid his digits through the moisture. She squirmed beneath his probing touch and grabbed at his hand, silently begging for relief. She wanted more, and he must have understood. First one, then two fingers entered the wet opening. She gloried in the intimate exploration, lifting into the thrusting motion.

  “Stop playing with me,” she panted.

  His lips curled into a smile against her skin, and smug laughter tickled the side of her neck. Daniella kissed his jaw and ran her hands over his sculpted chest and the firm muscles of his arms. He had an incredible physique, and she couldn’t get enough of touching him.

  “Lower,” he directed. “I want to feel your hands on me.”

  Daniella closed her hand around his impressive length. He was firm and hot in her palm. She started with a feather-light touch, grazing the smooth, hard skin of his shaft.

  “Harder,” he muttered, pushing with vigor against her fingers.

  She tightened her clasp and stroked him until his breathing fractured and his belly trembled.

  “Just like that,” he said, his voice sounding strained and husky. His hips slid back and forth in a counter motion, while his lips dipped to an engorged nipple and pulled it into his mouth. He concentrated his attention there for some time, swirling the tip of his tongue around it, sending a direct message to her clit.

  She tightened her grasp even more and pulled, tugged, until he could no longer take the contact and wrenched her hand free. “Keep this up, and you’ll make me unload all over your pretty breasts.”

  “Do it,” she whispered. She’d let him come on her breasts and ass before. She couldn’t imagine allowing another man such liberties. Only Cyrus. The act added a raw, dirty element to sex, one she’d surprisingly enjoyed.

  “You’re a naughty girl,” Cyrus said with a wicked smile. He took each of her hands and stretched her arms above her head. “But that’s not how I want you tonight. This is how I want you.”

  He positioned his hips between her legs and she opened, eager and ready to receive him. No other sensation on earth was as pleasurable as Cyrus’s virile body taking possession of hers. She closed her eyes tight, anticipating the flood of sensation.

  He breeched the entrance to her body, easing in slowly so she could get used to him again. With a tremulous whimper, she lifted her pelvis to his, but he was going so slow. He rolled his hips in a merciless grind, his pelvis stroking her clit and making her wetter, as if her body wept from the sheer pleasure of it.

  “Open for me,” he instructed. “Open wide for your man.” His movements remained slow and sure, driving her out of her mind with the steady, sexy rhythm. She did as he asked, and he leaned down to speak into her ear. “Good girl. Just like that.”

  The words of praise shot heat straight to her loins, sending her arousal into the stratosphere. She lifted her hips higher, taking all his length, moaning in satisfaction as his fullness rubbed against her sensitive walls.

  She whispered his name, then cried it, over and over.

  “That’s it. Say my name,” he panted. “Scream it.” His hands tightened on her wrists and his thrusts became more aggressive. “You know how I love that shit.” His knees opened to spread her wider. Their passion mounted, the intensity creating a tight coil in her stomach. “You know what you do to me, don’t you, Dani? Dani…Dani…”

  The intensity of their lovemaking never disappointed. She wrapped her legs around his waist, drawing him further into her silken heat. She pumped her hips with more urgency, and he rocked forward with a faster tempo, intensifying the pulse between her thighs. He went deep, his breaths nothing but shallow gasps.

  He was relentless now he had her where he wanted her. With nothing to hold onto, her hands tightened into tense fists, her body rocking beneath his as he alternated between shallow and deep thrusts.

  A deep climax shot from her core and burst free. She tightened and arched beneath him, her breath coming in short painful explosions as she was dragged through a cloud of ecstasy that left her momentarily dazed. Intense pleasure tightened her throat. As the remnants of the orgasm wrung the last bit of energy from her body, Cyrus continued to pump his hips. Gasping, his chest heaving, his movements became even more frenzied. Then he thrust once, twice, three times. He froze on the last as he discharged inside of her, a strangled noise deep in his larynx.

  “Dani.” He always said her name at the end, a helpless breath of a sound th
at told her loud and clear how deeply their lovemaking affected him.

  She slipped her wrists from his weakened hands, and with his warm breath against her collarbone, she slid her hand up and down his damp back. Tight muscles reacted to her touch, and a tremor ran through him before he rolled onto his side and gathered her close.

  Vaguely, she heard him murmur something, but she was too dazed, too spent to comprehend. Her eyes drifted close, forcing her to rest. She didn’t have a choice, really. She knew her husband. Since he hadn’t had sex in three years, he would do his damndest to make up for it tonight.

  And she had every intention of keeping up with him.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Daniella awoke to a dark room and soft, plush sheets and covers.

  She’d had sex with her husband. Had spent all night doing it, in fact, and loved every minute. Her nerve endings were raw and her muscles ached somewhat, but she smiled from the memories.

  She rolled over in the huge bed and stared at the empty space beside her. She stretched her arm and the sheets felt cool, which meant Cyrus had been gone for awhile. He was probably on his weekend run, per usual.

  She rolled into the spot he’d vacated and buried her face in the pillow. The scent of him remained there, and she reveled in it, the same as she had last night. She could stay there all day, indulging in his manly aroma. Instead, she slipped naked from the bed and went into her bathroom to put on a lightweight robe. She brushed her teeth and then went downstairs.

  It was Sunday, which meant Ms. Ernestine was off. Daniella didn’t bother making coffee because Cyrus wouldn’t drink any. He had an aversion to anything remotely like a drug. She poured herself a glass of orange juice and searched the cabinets and refrigerator for items to make breakfast.

  All of the canned and jarred goods in the cabinet had the label facing outward, and like items were grouped together. Another one of Cyrus’s quirks. Thanks to Ms. Ernestine, he hadn’t driven her crazy with his OCD. The housekeeper made sure the kitchen was organized in the exact order he wanted.