Been Loving You Too Long (DuChamps Dynasty)

by Donavan, Seraphina

  “Doing what?”

  He smiled. “How long has it been since you’ve gone skinny dipping?”

  “I’ve never gone skinny dipping,” she confessed.

  He was surprised. Yes, Ophelia had always been the best behaved person he knew, but it was Louisiana and in deference to the heat, almost everyone had gone skinny dipping at some point. “In that case, I think it’s about time.”

  Ophelia wrinkled her nose. “The idea of getting completely naked in bright, unforgiving sunlight is a little intimidating—besides, it’s too cold now!”

  “The pool at the house is heated,” he reminded her gently. “There’s also a hot tub.”

  “And neighbors,” she added.

  “The Wheatons are in Europe, and the house next door is empty. No one else could see anything. Take a chance. You might like it.”

  The waiter delivered their drinks and salad, prompting him to turn the conversation to a different topic, one that would allow Ophelia to stop blushing and would hopefully alleviate his burgeoning erection. “Kaitlyn is scheduled to meet with Stanley this afternoon. We’ll soon find out what conditions Thomas put in place for her. I have a feeling this will not to be to her liking.”

  “Is anything to Kaitlyn’s liking?”

  “No. Not really, but I hope whatever happens now won’t make her even more unhappy.”

  ~~****~~

  Ophelia leaned back in her chair and surveyed him critically. She knew that he hadn’t slept well the night before, that he’d had nightmares not just last night, but the night before. The need to ask what they were about was there, even though she knew he wouldn’t be pleased with her prying. But she’d heard him call for Kaitlyn in his dream, had heard the panic and fear in his voice. “What were you dreaming last night?”

  Vincent snapped his head up. “It was just a nightmare. I don’t really want to talk about it.”

  “You were calling out for Kaitlyn, as if you were afraid for her.”

  “It was about our parents—about the day they died. But I don’t want to talk about that...You know that when they died, Thomas was our only option. Well, there was Claude, but he wouldn’t have taken us in anyway.”

  Realizing that he wouldn’t budge on the topic, she allowed the change of subject. “What was it like when you first came to live with Thomas? My earliest memories are of all of you together. He seemed to be pretty at ease with things, but I can’t imagine it was that way in the beginning.”

  Vincent expression changed and he smiled at her. “No. It wasn’t. He was fine with me. He could even handle Kaitlyn for the most part, but Justin was still in diapers and Thomas was so far out of his element there that he didn’t have a clue what to do. I can remember him begging Ruby to just move in.”

  Hearing him reminisce about Thomas was bittersweet. The memories were lovely but the loss was so fresh. “It’s hard for me to imagine Thomas being frazzled by anything—I always thought he was the most capable, unflappable person I’ve ever known.”

  Vincent chuckled. “No one is unflappable when faced with a squirming eighteen month old, needing a diaper change.”

  “Have you ever thought of having children, Vincent?” She regretted the question as soon as it escaped her lips. That was a question that real couples discussed. They were in a temporary marriage and whether or not he ever wanted children was irrelevant, because he had no desire to have them with her, she reminded herself.

  His answering shrug indicated that he seemed to take the question as idle curiosity and not as a request from her, for which she was thankful.

  “I don’t really think I’m cut out for it honestly. I think I would make a fantastic uncle though. But you, I could see you as a mother. Patient, competent, always knowing what to do and what to say.”

  “I don’t know—what do I know about being a mother? I had Ruby, but she was always so indulgent with me.”

  “I think you turned out all right,” he protested. “Aside from a very few incidents, most of them involving me, you’re behavior has always been above reproach.”

  “That’s just it. I was always good, not because of any consequences from Ruby, but because of everything I did know about my mother. She’s a horrible woman, Vincent. Cold, cruel, no feeling for anyone but herself, and always searching for the next fix—I promised myself, even as a little girl, that I would never be like her.”

  Vincent looked as if he realized then just how kindred they were. “I understand that. I know what it’s like to want to distance yourself from that image of your parents. I’ve been hearing my whole life that I’m just like my father that I look like him, sound like him. He was the most selfish bastard that ever lived.”

  Ophelia glanced at him sharply. “Why do you say that?”

  “They fought all the time—constantly. Well, no. Sometimes, they were so madly in love with each other it’s like they forgot we even existed,” he paused as the waiter delivered the food.

  Ophelia knew that there was more to the story, but somehow she imagined that asking questions was a bad idea.

  After the server left, he continued, “The day they died, they were fighting over one of my mother’s imagined transgressions. He always thought she was cheating. Maybe she was. I don’t really know. When they drove off, we could still hear the shouting. We were standing in the driveway of our house, watching as the car sped down the street.”

  She’d never heard Vincent talk so freely about his parents. “I’m sorry that you all had to see that.”

  He shrugged. “What about you? I’ve never heard you talk about your parents. Not even once.”

  Sighing, Ophelia met his gaze. “It’s not a very interesting story. I have no idea who my father is. She probably doesn’t know either. It was the early eighties, there was no shortage of drugs available to pretty girls, and she had no aversion to doing every single one of them.”

  “But she left you with Ruby, at least.”

  “She didn’t really leave me with Ruby. There was no other option. She went to prison. Then, she got out and moved in with us for a while—it went okay for a few months, then she was back on the drugs and Ruby had to kick her out. Then it was rehab, then jail, and the cycle just kept going.” It wasn’t a cold explanation really, but it was very matter of fact. She’d accepted her mother’s failings long ago.

  “You have no desire to reach out to her? To help her?”

  Ophelia shook her head. “What help can I give her? If she knows we’re married, that I have access to money, she’d simply put it in her arm or up her nose.”

  “Sometimes, it takes more than one trip to rehab.”

  Ophelia shook her head sadly. “She isn’t like Justin—and yes, I know that when he went off to summer school he was really in rehab. I know all about it. Vanessa is different, Vincent. She’s cold through and through. Self serving and mean with it. Even Ruby has washed her hands of her.”

  She sat there for a moment, feeling the weight of his gaze on her, the long, considering look that she was so familiar with. “What?” she finally demanded, spearing one of the spicy shrimp on her plate.

  “You just seem to be so at peace with it, like you’ve accepted her for what she is. There’s no anger, no hatred.”

  “What good would it do?” she asked. “But I’m glad we talked about this. I’ve known you my whole life, but I think sometimes I don’t really know you at all.”

  “We all have secrets.”

  “We do, but I like feeling that I know one of yours.”

  He sighed, a weary sound. “I’m not the man you think I am, Ophelia.”

  “I don’t want to know a figment, Vincent—I want to know you. I saw a bit of him today. What would it hurt to share more?”

  “It could hurt—I could hurt you. There are parts of me that you wouldn’t like...the dark inner workings of a twisted mind.”

  “How do you know that? How do you know that I’m not just as secretly twisted as you?”

  He chuckled then. �
��Because no man is that lucky.”

  Meeting his gaze levelly, Ophelia leaned in closer. “Try me.”

  “You know, if we ask nicely, we could probably get the food to go.”

  Ophelia held a knowing expression as if she knew what he was suggesting. “In a rush now?”

  “I want you...Morning, noon, night. Every waking minute of the day,” he offered quietly, his voice pitched low and deep.

  “Patience is a virtue,” she fired back, taking another small, tidy bite of her lunch.

  “I have patience. If you like, I can demonstrate to you just how patient I can be.”

  His seductive deep voice rumbled through her and Ophelia suppressed a shudder. She’d already experienced that.

  The details of the previous night tumbled through her mind, when he’d undressed her inch by inch, his skilled lips and tongue exploring every inch of her body, had proven his ability to delay gratification for them both.

  She’d been a sobbing, trembling wreck, begging him to just take her long before he was even ready to be done. It had been intense, powerful, and so supremely satisfying, but she wondered what it would feel like to have more.

  He’d been gentle then. She doubted that same gentleness would be available now. The thought excited her. “I’m not really all that hungry,” she said, placing her fork on the plate.

  ~~****~~

  For a brief moment, Vincent almost convinced himself that she would be able to accept him, even the dark parts. There were aspects of himself, things he wanted from her that he would never share with her, yet that was precisely what she seemed to be asking for.

  He wanted desperately to believe it could happen…her acceptance of all of him. Then, he remembered what he felt earlier, when she spoke of having kids. Vincent acknowledged the burn it created inside him, the idea of Ophelia being with someone else, having another man’s child.

  Realistically, he knew that it wasn’t fair to expect her to not want those things, even if he didn’t feel he would ever be the man to give them to her.

  Vincent placed his card on the table and their waiter appeared immediately. Within minutes, he’d signed the check and was ushering Ophelia into a taxi. Seated as they were, their hands hidden from the driver’s view, he was surprised and painfully aroused to feel her hand sliding over his thigh, toward his hardening cock.

  Glancing at her profile, he noted that she sat facing forward, a serene expression on her face as she moved her hand over him with wicked precision. His jaw clenched so tightly he thought it would snap. Her fingers closed over him through the fabric of his pants, stroking him boldly.

  Through gritted teeth, he uttered, “That’s a bit unexpected.”

  She turned toward him and he took in her wide, innocent eyes and temptress mouth. “You’re not the only one who likes to change things up a bit.”

  Vincent grasped her wrist firmly, stilling her hand. More quietly he warned, “You’re playing with fire.” Rather than remove her hand, Vincent pressed it more firmly against him, controlling her movements, taking charge. He saw the heat flare in her eyes then—a challenge flaring in the depths.

  “I like the heat,” she replied softly.

  Leaning down slightly, he whispered against her ear, “I want you to do exactly as I say. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” she responded, slightly breathless.

  “While I am paying the driver, you are to walk into the house and the minute you are inside the door, you will strip and go directly to the bedroom,” he whispered the instructions.

  “You want me to just stand there naked?” she asked.

  “Yes...If you do as you’re asked, you’ll be rewarded,” he promised.

  “And if I don’t?” she questioned.

  Vincent allowed his teeth to graze sharply against the shell of her ear. “Then, we’ll discuss your punishment.”

  ~~****~~

  Ophelia shivered as the taxi rolled to a stop in front of the house. When he released her hand, she immediately missed the heat of him, the thrill of touching him and feeling how his body responded to her. She quickly moved to do what he’d commanded her to do.

  There was something different in Vincent, something a little dangerous. He just shared so much with her and possibly this left him feeling vulnerable in a way.

  She understood on some level, that he was taking control of the situation again, in the only way he could. She didn’t mind it. Not in the least!

  Removing her dress, she draped it over the back of the chair. She then kicked off her shoes as she strode toward the stairs, climbing them swiftly. Unclasping her bra, she simply dropped it to the floor.

  When she reached the bed, she hooked her fingers beneath the elastic of her panties and slid them over her hips until they joined her bra. She didn’t climb into the bed, but stood there, naked and waiting for him, just as he’d demanded.

  It was only a moment before she heard the doors open again and she had no time to turn and face him. Anticipation burned inside her. She could feel his presence when he moved behind her.

  His large hands skimmed over her arms with the faintest touch. Then, his breath was fanning over her neck as he leaned down to whisper in her ear, “You like this, don’t you, Ophelia? You like having me tell you what to do.”

  “Maybe,” she replied. “Within reason.”

  He chuckled. “Within reason. That’s a very you sentiment. I enjoy having you submit to me, but only here—in this room, you’re mine completely.”

  She leaned against him, unable to help herself. The heat and strength of his body beckoned to her. “Only in this room?”

  He laughed softly, the sound sending shivers over her skin. “For now...Climb onto the bed, Ophelia.”

  Stepping forward, Ophelia knelt on the bed and crawled slowly, seductively, toward the pillows. She knew that he was watching her, but there was no self consciousness, no awkwardness.

  He’d shown her over and over again that he enjoyed her body. The rest of their relationship might be a house of cards, but in that one area, there was nothing to complain about.

  Moving back against the pillows, her hair fanned out around her, she waited for him to come down on top of her, but he didn’t. She was laid out before him, completely naked and he was still fully clothed, staring down at her. It was intensely erotic, feeling his heated gaze travel over her body, watching him drink in the sight.

  “Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?” he asked softly.

  “I know how beautiful I feel right now,” she answered. It was true. He did make her feel beautiful. Powerful, wealthy, more handsome than one man ought to be allowed to be, but she knew that he desired her.

  It wasn’t simple convenience. In truth, there was nothing convenient about it. But the heat which existed between them defied logic, defied sense and left them both reeling. “I need you to touch me,” she whispered, shocked at just how true the statement was. She craved his touch like a drug.

  “Show me,” he challenged.

  Ophelia met his gaze and she could see the dare in his eyes. He was thinking of the day before their wedding, she knew, when he’d caught her in the tub fantasizing about him. She hadn’t known he was there at the time and the mortification had been unbearable. She remembered the heat she’d seen in his eyes. He’d looked at her if he wanted to consume her and she’d wanted him to. Could she do that? Could she touch herself so intimately while he watched? Indecision and need warred within her.

  “Make up your mind, Ophelia. You said you wanted to know the real me. That you wanted to know what was going on inside my head.”

  “I do—I just don’t even know where to begin. I’ve never done this before. Not intentionally—at any rate,” she confessed haltingly.

  “If I have my way, you’ll be doing lots of things you’ve never done before. What were you thinking about that day?” he continued, his gaze traveling over her body again, as if memorizing every detail.

  “You—the way you touche
d me that first night, all the things you made me feel.” The confession made her feel more vulnerable than her nudity. She was laying bare to him far more than just her body.

  Apparently, it had been the right answer, because he shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it toward the chair. The absence of it made him less formidable, but no less appealing.

  Her breath caught as he moved closer. What was he planning, she wondered.

  “Show me, Ophelia,” he murmured, his voice deep and rich, “Where did you touch yourself first?”

  Moving her hand to her breast, Ophelia cupped it gently, as if offering it to him. He smiled, a small twist of his lips and she had the feeling that things were about to change dramatically.

  “I saw you that day,” he reminded her. “I saw how brazen you were when you thought you were alone...Show me again.”

  Bolder, with a firmer and more decisive touch, she moved her hand over her breast, until her fingers bracketed the taut peak. Strumming it with her finger tips she bit her lip as she felt the sensation arrow directly to her core. He hadn’t even touched her, but she was burning for him. Heat pooled in her belly and she could feel the moisture gathering between her thighs.

  Staring up at his face, at the rapt expression he wore as he watched her, Ophelia brought her other hand up, cupping the second breast. Teasing both nipples, she watched him—watching her.

  ~~****~~

  Vincent was surprised by her. He hadn’t thought Ophelia would accept his challenge. Of course, she was passionate. He’d encountered that first hand and was eternally grateful for it, but he hadn’t expected that she would be so open to exploring her darker desires or indulging his.

  His prideful and prim wife was a submissive, or at the very least, had submissive tendencies. To that point, the sex had been incendiary, but largely vanilla. How far would she go, he wondered.

  Watching her perfectly manicured nails, a deep crimson against the dusky pink of her nipples, he was torn between continuing to enjoy the sight and challenging her to go further.