by Clara James
“I don’t want to be alone,” I answered.
With an understanding smile and a nod, he reached down for my hand, gently coaxed me to my feet and led me to his room. From a drawer he grasped a T-shirt and handed it to me. Then, he wandered to a door in the corner of the room that opened into his large en suite bathroom. “I think there is a new toothbrush in the cabinet,” he said, pointing to a wall-mounted cabinet above the sink. “You’re welcome to it.”
I brushed my teeth, washed my streaky face, stripped off and put on the T-shirt. I held it to my face as I pulled it over my head. It smelled so reassuringly of him. Even though it was freshly cleaned, his scent lingered on the shirt and it was heavenly.
Eventually, I walked barefoot back into the bedroom and found he’d already readied himself for bed. He was dressed in boxers and also had a T-shirt on. Asking if I was okay, he yanked down the sheets and gestured for me to choose a side.
I didn’t mind, and simply shrugged, before selecting the side I’d slept on the night before. Preston then turned out the lights and got into bed next to me. He immediately shuffled close placing his arms around me and pulling me to his chest. I automatically draped a hand around his waist, but found the feel of cotton unsatisfactory and sought for the warm, solid flesh I knew was beneath.
Instinctively, Preston sensed my frustration and released me long enough to sit up and chuck his shirt over his head. Once he was laid down again, I placed the palm of my hand in the center of his naked chest and gave a contented mewl. However, after a few moments, I still felt that something wasn’t quite right. Soon, I was sitting up and pulling my own shirt off.
Completely naked, I settled back onto the mattress and pressed myself to him. Flesh against flesh, except for his boxers. Strangely, there was almost nothing sexual about our intimate position. Neither of us were turned on, we just found comfort in the closeness, scent and warmth of each other’s body. Preston began to fidget, feeling perhaps overdressed, he nudged his boxers off his hips and then kicked them down and toward the bottom of the bed. When he pulled me close again, it was with a sigh of fulfillment. Both arms tightly wrapped around his waist, I slipped one leg between his strong, muscular ones. His flaccid manhood was pressed securely along my thigh, my mound solidly pushed against his hip. We were as one. Not in the literal sense perhaps, but, in that moment, I was more connected with him than I had ever been with any man in my life.
Listening to the soft, reassuring thud of his heartbeat and luxuriating in his warmth, which surrounded me like the warm rays of spring sunshine, I slipped into a wonderfully comforting and cleansing sleep.
Several hours later, I awoke to find the bed next to me empty and whimpered grumpily at the loss. Forcing my eyes open, I lifted me head fractionally from the pillow and listened to the soft stream of a shower. It wasn’t coming from the en suite, it was further down the hall and I guessed he’d deliberately left the closest bathroom free for me. Rolling over and finding the bed suddenly much too large to be alone in, I glanced at the clock. It was a little after eight in the morning.
Feeling tired, but desperately lonely in the large bed, I heaved myself up and out from beneath the covers. I made my way to the bathroom, relieved my bladder and then brushed my teeth. As I gazed at my sleepy reflection, I noticed that the mark of Paul’s hand was beginning to show more prominently. My eyes lingered there for a moment, but my brain was zoned out. It was as if it didn’t matter any more. It happened; it was unpleasant, but it was over. And it really was over, I knew that for certain.
I didn’t bother to cover my nakedness before pulling the shower cubicle door and stepping in. At first, the spears of water were freezing and I yelped, trying to dodge out of their way. However, they quickly rose to a comfortable temperature and I surrendered myself to its purifying power. I don’t think I’d been in long before I heard a soft creak of the door.
Through the frosted glass of the door, I saw a blurry Preston, bare-chested with a towel draped around his waist. “Sorry,” I heard him say over the noise of the shower. “Just want to brush my teeth.”
“It’s fine,” I called back. But as I watched the taut muscles of his back while he moved in front of the sink, ‘fine’ was not the word I would have used to describe my emotions. Feeling mischievous and with a childlike grin on my face I grabbed the edge of the shower door and slid it open a few inches. A fine mist of water was escaping though the gap as I leaned my face out of it. “Hey,” I smiled, watching what I could see of his face in the fogged mirror. He was wearing his glasses and had the toothbrush in his mouth, with foamy toothpaste creeping out of the corners. “You want to come in here?” I suggested.
“Hmm,” he hummed, his mouth still full of bubbly paste. With a quick spit in the sink, he looked up in the mirror and found my face in the reflection. “I’ve already taken a shower in the other room, thanks,” he smiled, giving me a grateful nod before resuming his vigorous brushing.
“I know,” I informed him with a giggle. “But do you want to come in here?” I repeated a little more saucily than before.
His eyebrows rose and his hand stilled. “Oh,” he said, the word muffled around the toothbrush. Slowly, he slipped it from his mouth and he began to smile. “Oh,” he repeated.
“So, you getting in or not?” I asked, laughing at his hesitancy. Curling my right leg around the shower door I rubbed the arch of my foot up and down the edge, hoping that it looked sexy.
His smile grew broader, as he placed the toothbrush on the edge of the sink. “Give me one second,” he said. I lost sight of his face, as he quickly bent at the waist and drew in large mouthfuls of water from the faucet. He quickly swilled and spat, then slipped his spectacles off his nose and tossed them down on the counter. Then, he whirled around and with one hand pulled the towel from his waist. “I was going to ask how you’re feeling this morning,” he chuckled, gripping the door and sliding it wide open. He didn’t seem to care about the needles of water that started a small puddle on his floor. “I guess, I’ve got my answer,” he added with playful waggle of his eyebrows.
As he quickly tugged the shower door closed and his face finally got a good look of mine, his features darkened. For a second, I didn’t realize what was troubling him, but as he reached forward with his left hand and cupped my cheek, I made the connection.
“It’s okay,” I told him softly, flashing him a reassuring smile.
“No it’s not,” he insisted. “It’s far from okay.”
With the jets of water striking the top of my neck and rolling down my back, I slid my wet fingers over his and clasped his hand. I lifted it slightly from my face, just far enough for me to turn my mouth toward his palm and tenderly press my lips to it. “It is okay,” I reiterated. “It doesn’t matter any more.” Easing my free hand around the back of his neck, I tugged his face down and delicately molded my mouth to his. It was a brief kiss of reassurance and as I tipped my head back, I smiled at him. “This is all that matters now.”
A little reluctantly, he nodded. “Yeah,” he agreed.
“Come here,” I urged, stepping back until I was fully under the water and taking him with me. The stream struck him just beneath the chin and beaded down his chest in sexy rivulets that mesmerized me. His torso was the most beautiful thing I’d seen, to view water droplets caress that skin, making it even sleeker and shiny, was another revelation.
As the path of water moved to his hips and thighs, my gaze became focused on his shaft, which was hanging unresponsively between his legs. My knee-jerk reaction was to feel offended. I was naked, and I thought he’d understood that I wasn’t inviting him into the shower to help wash my back. Surely, all men got immediately hard in that situation. However, when my attention snapped back to his face, I saw him still examining my cheek with a concerned look worming its way deeper and deeper into his brow.
“Preston,” I whispered, trying to coax his focus to my eyes, although I would have accepted any other part of my body too.
/> “Hmm?” he mumbled, slowly lifting his serious gaze a couple of inches.
Moving the hand that I continued to hold, I guided his palm to my abdomen. Pressing him to my belly, I ushered his fingers in small circles over my glistening, smooth skin. My other hand slipped from his neck, over the front of his shoulder and traced one firm pec. Then I followed the line of his sternum and the valley between his abs. Reaching his belly button, I let the tip of my finger dance around the edge, before moving down to his pubic bone and the neat patch of hair that covered it.
No longer needing me to coax his hand, Preston’s fingers drifted upward. He caressed the curve of one breast, taking the weight in his palm and gently teasing my nipple with his fingertips.
By the time my fingers reached his shaft, he was already hardening. When I wrapped my hand around him and gently stroked up and down, he grew exponentially. It was a sudden burst of arousal that made him rigid and ready. The velvety soft skin of his manhood seemed to coat solid steel. The feeling of his firmness caused a swell of desire in me.
The hand at my breast had gone still; he continued to hold me but was no longer massaging my tender skin. When I looked up into his face, I found his eyes closed in concentration, his tongue flicking over his bottom lip.
“I want you,” I whispered, taking a shuffled, sliding step back until I met the cold wall.
His eyelids quivered open and he stepped toward me, squashing his hand between our upper bodies and my hand between our lower. When his hip met mine, I lifted my left leg, rubbing my inner thigh against his outer, before lifting my knee all the way to his waist.
Preston’s breath was coming hard as he leaned forward, his panting mouth so close to mine. With winded half-gasps, he tried to kiss me, clasping at my lips in a wet, desperate, shaky grappling that nibbled at me and gave me brief tastes of his minty tongue.
The shower water was washing over our faces, entering our opened mouths as we both began to gulp in air as quickly as we could. The fingers that I held tightly on his member were between my thighs, the head of his shaft pressing against my folds. I guided him down just an inch until he was perfectly aligned with my passage. Then, I released my grip on him and snaked my arm around his shoulder.
I felt his chest heaving violently against mine, setting my nipples on fire with the sensual play of his chiseled physique. His hips were edging forward, but he was doing so agonizingly slowly. No thrusting occurred at that stage, no dips in and out to gently prepare my body. Instead, he warmed me up with a long, smooth entrance that gradually extended my sex.
It was sweet torture, wanting so desperately to be filled, but feeling every slight twitch and movement he made as he dragged out the pleasure of our joining. My eyes slipped shut, my head tipped back against the tiled wall and I drew in urgent lungful’s of air. My hands were entwined at the back of his neck and I pulled him fiercely to me, my lips moving soundlessly and brushing over the freshly shaved skin of his cheek.
His thick rigidness finally reached its hilt and he was enclosed tightly within my clenching and quivering sex. “Julia,” he said softly, uttering my name as if it were a secret only we shared; as if it were something precious. “Oh, Julia,” he repeated, groaning this time in pleasure, his hips grinding against mine.
That sound, the sound of my name spoken in gratification and thrill, in his deep, tender voice was by the far the most erotic moment of my life at that point. And I climaxed, right then and there; I squirmed at the sudden onset of swirling warmth and uncontrollable spasms. “Oh, God,” I panted. “Preston,” I mumbled.
His body wasn’t quite motionless, but he wasn’t thrusting. Instead, he gently moved his hips, circling them soothingly and teasing his pubic bone against my clitoris.
“Ahhh,” I screeched. “Say it again!” Among the cries, my hands were tangling into his wet hair, trying desperately to grasp him.
“Julia,” he whispered intimately into my ear.
Another convulsion of pleasure rocked through me and I bucked against his hips.
He was still breathing hard, I could feel and hear that. And yet, he was somehow finding the presence of mind to control himself. He continued to do so until the orgasm that was causing my entire body to shake subsided. With a genuine smile, he looked into my barely focused eyes. “You okay?” he asked.
I nodded as best I could with a neck that felt like Jello.
His grin growing wider, he began to move. It was slow at first, while he coaxed my body back into the game. A rhythmic writhing that called primordially to my entire being: body, mind and soul. The movement was occupied by his masculine, breathy grunts, a sound that was almost as magical to my ears as the sound of him whispering my name. Soon, he felt me respond; my hands gripping him tightly, my sex completely open to him, my lips caressing his face and neck as I murmured sounds and words that I hoped would spur him on.
Preston then began to move with purpose, our wet bodies meeting smoothly each time, melding to each other as though we were actually moving as one. We were in sync, there was no rough bumping of hips, no harsh slap of skin on skin. Instead, we withdrew and thrust in perfect harmony. Our bodies constantly sought the other out, see-sawing in a desperate attempt not to let go.
It was bliss, perfection; it was so much more than just sex. And it felt incredible. He was me, I was him; we were both taking and giving pleasure in equal measure. And this time, when I crested the height of ecstasy, he was right there with me. While I whimpered his name and my body clamped aggressively around his manhood, his body was convulsing and offering me its warmth.
“I...” he breathed, his hips jerking. “I love you,” he grunted, with one final lazy thrust.
White spots dancing in front of my closed eyelids and blood pulsing hard against my eardrums, I slowly stroked the back of his neck, silently willing him not to pull away too soon. He didn’t seem to have any intention of moving though. His cheek was pressed to mine, his forehead, resting on the wall next to my head.
“I love you,” I replied, my voice sounding very distant.
Chapter Ten
Escape
An hour later; it felt like those wonderful moments in the shower were just a dream. We were sitting in his living room, me cross-legged on the couch wearing the jeans I’d been wearing the night before and one of his sweaters, while he was perched on the edge of his coffee table with his open laptop resting on his legs.
It was stupid of me to suppose that reality couldn’t disturb us, but I’d hoped that, even just for that one day, we could pretend there was no one else in the world. Preston, however, had gone into ‘mission’ mode.
“I think it would help if you file for divorce first,” he said. “And cite his infidelity as the reason.”
“I can’t prove that though, he’s bound to have deleted all of that stuff from his computer by now.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he dismissed with a flick of his hand before adjusting his glasses.
“Well,” I mumbled doubtfully. “It’ll seem strange that I didn’t leave him right away, won’t it?”
“No,” he insisted. “The prenup put you in an impossible position.”
I nodded and listened to him plan the case he would put forward. He had obviously been thinking about it and I wondered if he’d lain awake the night before formulating his plan of attack. He was prepared for things to get messy; prepared for his relationship with me to be called into question, but he didn’t seem fazed by any of it. In fact, he seemed to be excited by it. I would later find out that his enthusiasm was a desire to teach my husband a lesson. I’m sure Preston doesn’t have a violent bone in his body, but he wanted to punish Paul and intended to hit him where it hurt the most.
The more he talked about the possible fallout, the angle Paul’s lawyers would take, and how they’d try to discredit me, the more alarmed I became. This was all incredibly frightening to me and I asked him on more than one occasion whether it was really something he wanted to insert himself in the
middle of. But he brushed my concern aside with a smile and an assurance that we were in it together, no matter what.
As it turned out, Paul had been in the midst of filing for divorce too, and despite my belief that he wouldn’t find me at Preston’s house, later that evening, a messenger arrived and served me with papers.
The case dragged on for weeks, and then months. During that time, I only saw my children on brief visits, which were all conducted at the home of Paul’s parents. Both of them had heard Paul’s side of the story and only just managed to be civil to me in front of the kids. Out of earshot, they didn’t hold back.
Over the course of the legal battle, I wasn’t eating or sleeping properly; I lost weight and spent much of the time in a depressive funk. Preston was there through it all, handling my moods, constantly reassuring me and never giving up. However, he never really told me what he’d been hanging our case on.
And then one day, around mid March, he pulled an ace out of his sleeve: Lyra.
The girl was only nineteen, had beautiful long blonde hair, a perfect round face, slender figure and ample curves. She was an attractive girl, of that there was no doubt. When she turned up at the family court, she was wearing a charcoal skirt suit with a pink blouse. Despite all her beauty and obvious attributes, Lyra looked haunted, almost as depressed as I was at that time. In the silence of the court, I peered questioningly at Preston before noticing the murmurs of concern from Paul’s table of lawyers.
“Thanks for coming, Ms. Raines,” Preston said, lifting himself from his seat. “I’d just like to ask you a few questions, if I may?”
She nodded, her eyes drawn to Paul.
“I know this isn’t easy for you,” Preston added. “But, what is or was the nature of your relationship with Mr. Hayes?”
“I...” she began shakily before clearing her throat. “I’m his personal assistant,” she sighed. “And...umm...we were having an affair.”
