Been Loving You Too Long (DuChamps Dynasty)

by Donavan, Seraphina

  “Well, enjoy your scenery today. I have to run. I hate for Vincent to come home to an empty house,” Ophelia added with a faux smile of her own before walking away. She hated those kinds of games and bloodless confrontations.

  Getting into her car, she drove from the Quarter to the Garden District; she needed to stop at the pharmacy. Then, she needed to get home and do something to feel useful.

  ~~****~~

  Melina entered the salon, spying Brenna at the drying table. She offered her a cool smile, but didn’t bother to speak. To her mind, Brenna McGhee was hardly the type of person she wanted to associate with. Signing her name onto the book, she took a large bill from her wallet and passed it to the receptionist. “I need to have the same nail technician that those ladies had,” she said, subtly gesturing to where Brenna sat.

  The tech nodded and within minutes she was being ushered back to the pedicure chair. “You’ll get the tip of your life if you tell me everything you know about what those two women were talking about.”

  The tech looked up, seemed to consider it for a minute, then shrugged. “The one lady thinks she is having a baby.”

  “The slutty redhead?” Melina asked, thinking it was good gossip, but hardly worth what she was paying for it.

  “No, the other lady. The one just married. She doesn’t want to tell her husband.”

  Melina smiled. Now that was information worth paying for. “You just earned that tip.”

  The nail tech gave her a long considering look. “They say he’s good in bed too and hung.”

  Melina couldn’t have cared less. On a physical level, men held no attraction for her. But Vincent’s position as the head of DuChamps Hotels, that was better than sex any day. “Oh, who gives a damn about that?”

  The nail tech shook her head and began speaking to the other tech beside her in a language Melina didn’t understand. She didn’t really care. Let them talk. Their opinions were of little consequence to her.

  ~~****~~

  It was almost three when Ophelia entered the house, the bag from the drug store tucked discreetly into her purse. She would have time before Vincent came home to get some things accomplished and hopefully to work off the irritation that Melina Tate had caused.

  Heading upstairs, she deposited her things in the bedroom and then headed to Thomas’ room. Opening the closet doors, she began pulling out the many suits he’d had tailor made for him.

  There was a charity that he’d often donated clothing to that helped people who were unemployed by providing interview and work clothing. The suits would be a nice contribution for them. That they came in such a range of sizes was a testament to how much his illness had impacted his appearance.

  It wasn’t a difficult task, but her emotions felt raw. The run in with Melina hadn’t helped. A dozen times, her eyes teared up and she choked back sobs. She could smell his cologne in the closet, the scent clinging to his clothes. Missing him was always a part of her days, feeling the emptiness of the house around her when she was alone was also part of it.

  With everything else that had been going on, her grief had been put on hold, delayed. But as she began sorting through his belongings, it hit her with a force that left her shaken. Dropping to her knees, she held onto one of his white dress shirts and just sobbed.

  ~~****~~

  That was how Vincent found her—on the floor of Thomas’ closet, surrounded by clothes, sobbing like her heart was broken.

  Standing in the doorway, he watched her for a moment. He had a cowardly impulse to simply walk away. He hated tears, hated seeing women sob brokenly. Rationally, he knew that was because of his mother, because of the many times she’d sobbed like her heart was broken only to run into his father’s arms the minute he walked back into the house.

  He knew though that Ophelia’s tears weren’t destructive, they weren’t a manipulation. She cried because she missed Thomas, because he’d been a part of her life for so long, and had been taken from it far earlier than any of them could grasp.

  Perhaps that was why he was a coward, he thought, because she could cry for Thomas and he couldn’t. Moving deeper into the walk in closet, he settled himself on the floor beside her. “Closet envy?” he asked.

  She laughed, it was a watery sound, more of a sob than anything else, but it was a start. “Thomas and I had talked about this before he passed—what he wanted done with his things. He hated wastefulness.”

  Vincent knew that was true. “But this is too hard for you. Or maybe it’s just too soon.”

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “I need to do this. We’ve been so caught up in everything else, there just hasn’t been time to mourn him—I miss him so terribly. His temper, his sarcasm, the biting wit that no one was safe from...and his compassion. Thomas had a gift for that. It’s like he could always see straight through to the heart of things, even when no one else could.”

  Those words rang through him, reminding him of one of his last conversations with Thomas. Thomas had encouraged him to date, to find a woman he couldn’t take or leave. Ultimately, Thomas had done that for him, because he’d known all along where Vincent’s obsession lay. “I miss him, too,” he admitted. “The conversations about nothing. The negotiating over whether or not he should have his Bourbon and cigars...He gave up everything for us. He told me once that he’d been in love, but that it was before he we came along. I imagine having three children dropped into the middle of a love affair is a quick way to put a damper on things.”

  “That isn’t quite how it happened,” Ophelia informed him. Rising from the floor, she pulled a small wooden box down from the shelf and began rifling through it. Inside, were childish drawings, cards, small mementos gathered through a lifetime, but near the bottom was the letter. “Thomas asked me to read this to him.” It had been near the end and he’d been too weak to hold it himself.

  Vincent took the letter from her and scanned the contents. It seemed strange to read something so intimate, but it became abundantly clear what had happened. Thomas’ lover had been a married man unwilling to end his marriage for their affair, and unwilling to continue their affair when Thomas’ attention could not fully be his. He’d been a supremely selfish bastard. “Why would Thomas want you to read this to him? Who would want to revisit that?”

  Ophelia smiled. “He never replied to that letter until just before he died. He dictated to me what he wanted to say... I can’t recall it verbatim, but the gist was that he was dying surrounded by the family he’d raised, by the children he loved, and that there was nothing in his life he regretted, except for their affair. Thomas had called it a waste of his love, pouring his emotions into a person who was incapable of ever returning them. He was thankful that you all came to him when you did, because you saved him from that.”

  Vincent folded the letter and dropped it back into the box, idly poking through the other contents. Thomas was more sentimental than he’d ever realized. There were parts of what she’d told him that he just couldn’t process. It was too painful. So, he hung on to the one thought that allowed him to continue. “So, he waited until the last minute to be certain he’d have the last word.”

  “Yes. Which is typical of him,” she agreed.

  “I think we should get out of here for a while. If you feel that you’re up to it, by all means, his wishes should be carried out and by someone who understood him so very well. But if it becomes too much, don’t torture yourself with it.”

  “I won’t—I’ll work on it here and there. It was just overwhelming today, after everything else.”

  Vincent cocked an eyebrow at her. “What else happened today?”

  Ophelia could have kicked herself then. She hadn’t intended to mention anything about her run in with Melina Tate, but the cat was out of the bag. “I had lunch with Brenna today, and as I was leaving, Melina was coming into the restaurant. We exchanged very thinly veiled barbs.”

  “I’ve told you there’s nothing between us.”

  “And I b
elieve you, but she doesn’t. Or maybe she just doesn’t want to. Regardless, she hinted at the fact that she’s not given up on you yet and that it’s just a matter of time until you get bored with me and start looking for a change of scenery.”

  Taking her hand he led her from Thomas’ room and toward their own. “You do know that’s bullshit, right?”

  “Logically, yes. But when you’re being told those things by a woman who has never seen a double digit dress size in her life, it does sting just a little bit,” she admitted.

  Vincent stopped her there in the hallway and pressed her back against the wall. “If I had wanted Melina Tate, she made it glaringly apparent that I could have her. But I didn’t, because all I could think of was you. Because for the last few years you have been insidiously burrowing into my mind, until the only woman I could think of was you—I dreamed of you,” he said roughly. “I ached with the need for you. How I resisted you for as long as I did is a mystery to me.”

  “I didn’t know—if I’d known, had even the slightest inkling, I would probably have stripped naked and thrown myself at you,” she replied ruefully.

  “It’s never too late,” he prompted.

  Feeling emboldened, Ophelia reached for his tie, and clutching the silk, led him into the bedroom. “We’ll explore that later. But first, you have to tell me what happened at the office today.”

  Vincent told her about the accountant. He recounted the suspicions that had been raised, that Claude had been using phony vendor accounts to siphon money from the company for years. “I suspect that the real reason he wanted to broker a deal with DuChamps Hotels and Tate Textiles was to cut costs in that budget and repay some of the moneys taken from elsewhere. He’s just been playing a shell game all along.”

  “I realize that he’s your cousin.” Ophelia turned down the sheets, “But I just don’t see Claude being smart enough to pull this off.”

  “When it comes to numbers, I’d say yes, he is. He’s a math genius even if he is socially, well, limited. But the strategy of it leaves me puzzled. Claude just doesn’t work that way. There’s a lot of blustering and bullying, but this has just been too subtle for him to be the mastermind of it,” he agreed.

  “Do you think Marvin Tate is involved?”

  He’d considered it. He needed to find out more about the financial woes that had befallen Tate Textiles to be able to answer that. “How do you feel about going to a charity event?”

  “Not the Bachelor Auction,” she said, shaking her head. “The meat market? Really?”

  “On the upside, we’re recently married and no one will be upset if we aren’t involved in the bidding. I think this could be a good opportunity to corner Marvin and talk to him without Claude being present, or maybe an opportunity to confront them together. Whether he’s involved or not, he and Claude are thick as thieves, and he knows something.”

  Ophelia sighed and lay back on the bed. “Fine, but if you leave me alone with that woman, I may very well scratch her eyes out.”

  He laughed. “Now that’s a ticket I’d buy.”

  “Pig,” she sneered.

  “Man,” he corrected.

  “One and the same,” she fired back.

  Vincent moved so that he was above her, his weight braced on his forearms and his face only an inch from hers. “Is that attitude I’m getting from you?”

  Ophelia smiled, “That depends on whether or not I’m getting a spanking for it.”

  “I’ve created a monster,” he said, just as he nipped at her neck, his teeth scraping against her skin and eliciting a soft moan from her.

  “Yes, you have—and like all monsters, at some point, I’ll have to be restrained.”

  Vincent smiled and reached for his tie, loosening it and slipping it free from his collar. There were restraints in the closet, velcro straps that they would play with at some point, but he rather liked binding her with his ties. It was another way to show his possession of her. “I’m prepared to do whatever’s necessary.”

  ~~****~~

  Ophelia shuddered and held her hands out eagerly. Had anyone told her that she would enjoy being bound and spanked she would have thought they were out of their minds. But it was Vincent, and everything he did to her was exciting.

  “We’re going to change it up just a little bit,” he said, and instead of simply securing her wrists to one another, he looped the tie through the headboard and then secured her hands individually.

  It was much more restrictive and it created the tiniest spark of panic inside her, but that was the point, she thought. It was about ceding control to him completely. Her whole life, she’d maintained control of herself, her actions. She’d never disobeyed, had never pushed the boundaries or broken the rules. Was it any wonder that it excited her so to have him take charge in the bedroom, to tell her what the rules were and what was expected of her?

  Watching him as he looked at her left her feeling hot and achy. With her clothes still on, she wondered how he planned to proceed. But even as the thought crossed her mind, he was shoving her skirt up, revealing her legs and the delicate lace of her panties.

  He didn’t remove any of her clothes, but settled himself between her parted thighs, his mouth hovering above her mound for just a moment, just long enough to make her squirm with anticipation. A restraining hand on her belly halted all movement, and she waited breathlessly.

  ~~****~~

  With his free hand, Vincent traced the lacy pattern of her panties, touching her everywhere but the shadowy cleft which he knew was already wet and eager for him. Inhaling, he drew in the spicy scent of her, savoring the knowledge that he could make her that eager without even touching her. Angling his head lower, he allowed his breath to fan over her, the lightest of caresses over sensitive skin.

  She shivered in response, her hips arching involuntarily, seeking a more satisfying connection.

  To him, it wasn’t about satisfaction. It was about delayed gratification. It was about making them both so blind with need that they couldn’t speak, couldn’t think of anything but their mutual pleasure. He wanted her pleading and incoherent, desperate for him.

  Pressing his face against her, he nuzzled her gently. Each touch, each caress was an exercise in patience and control. He wouldn’t hurry, and he would not allow her to rush him. Even as she strained against him, he continued that gentle assault. Rather than remove her panties, he touched her lightly through the lace, skimming his fingertips along her damp cleft while pressing tender open mouthed kisses along her inner thighs.

  “Vincent, please!”

  He smiled against her skin, but didn’t acknowledge the plea in any other way. With a feather light touch, he pressed a soft kiss against her slit. He kept her hovering on the edge with light teasing touches, until she was writhing under him. Rather than removing her panties, he tugged them up, until they slid between the damp folds of her sex, parting her, opening her to him.

  The slight abrasion of the lace against the sensitive bud of her clit had her gasping.

  Looking up, he saw that her eyes were tightly closed, her lips parted on a soft moan, and her hands twisting the silk of the tie in a fevered attempt to hold onto something, anything, as the pleasure built. “Tell me what you want, Ophelia.”

  “I can’t take this,” she cried. “It’s too much.”

  “Should I stop then?” he asked, knowing what her answer would be.

  “No! God—no! But please, just hurry? You’re killing me,” she added breathlessly.

  Sliding two fingers past the bunched lace of her panties, he penetrated her slowly, savoring the hot clutch of her flesh around him, knowing that soon he would feel that same exquisite pressure surrounding his cock. He loved that she thrust against his hand, that for a moment in time she became wild, wanton, with no thought of being well behaved or proper.

  Curling his fingers forward, he pressed against the spot that he knew drove her wild.

  Her body shuddered in response, tremors wracking her
from head to toe.

  Slowly, deliberately, he placed his mouth against her cleft, his tongue lashing at the hardened bud of her clit through the barrier of lace.

  She screamed his name, her body convulsing violently beneath him as she came.

  Vincent rose to his knees, lifting her hips until the lush curves of her ass rested against his thighs. Without any regard for them, he ripped the panties, rending them completely, and tossed them aside. Pressing the head of his cock against her entrance, he took just a moment to savor the damp heat, to enjoy the feeling of her slick flesh parting for him.

  He moved slowly, pressing into her inch by inch, savoring the heated clutch of her flesh as he sank into her. It was like that every time. Physically, nothing he’d ever felt compared to it. But it wasn’t just his body. It was so much more than that. Being with her, touching her, losing himself inside her made him feel whole in a way that nothing else ever had.

  Lifting her hips more firmly against him, he didn’t thrust into her, but rocked his hips slowly, creating a delicious friction between them. When she locked her legs around him, pulling him even closer, he had to fight the urge to just pound into her. As good as it would feel he wanted it to last. Keeping the thrusts shallow, and using his body to press against her clit, he kept her hovering on the brink of another orgasm.

  With her legs wrapped tightly around him, he moved his hands to her breasts, cupping them gently, toying with her hardened nipples through the fabric of her dress. Listening to her shattered breathing, the soft moans and cries of her pleasure, he committed each one to memory.

  Whatever happened between them, he would hold onto this moment, he thought, of seeing her undone before him. “Come for me, Ophelia—I need to feel you,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with exertion and emotion. Moving one hand from her breast, he pressed the pad of his thumb against her clit, circling gently as he pressed deeper inside her.