by Mia Asher
I feel like I’m standing at a crossroads with one foot in the present and the other in the past. One road leads to William and the life we’ve built. The other leads to Sébastien and the unknown. I know which road I want to take, but I can’t fully turn my back on the other until that path has been closed.
“Then what do you call what’s been happening between us?”
“I don’t know … dreaming?”
“It hasn’t been a fucking dream to me, Valentina. Not to me,” he says, hurt in his eyes. “I’m falling for you for fuck’s sake.” He tries to take a step back. “I can’t do this now.”
“I’m so sorry.” I let go of his wrist and wrap my arms around him as though trying to absorb him into me, desperation driving my every move. “I’ll deal with this. I promise I’ll make it right.”
“I can’t. Let go, Valentina.” He shakes his head. His breathing spikes. “Because if I don’t leave now, I’m going to kiss you again and I don’t think I’ll be able to stop this time, not until you’re under me and my cock is buried deep inside you.”
Sébastien pushes me away from him, leaving the apartment. The door slams and I remain standing there for a moment as I try to calm down. Lowering my gaze, I notice the battered state of my clothes. Shaking uncontrollably, I wrap my arms around me as tears leak out of my eyes. I wish I knew why I’m crying, but it’s all a jumble in my head, in my heart. I cry because I am happy when I shouldn’t be. I cry because I’m in love with a man who isn’t my husband. And I cry because my husband doesn’t deserve this kind of betrayal.
THE DAY STARTS LIKE any other. Nothing different. Nothing out of the ordinary. Wake up at five a.m. Go for a run. Come back at six fifteen. Take a shower. Get dressed in a gray suit, a perfectly starched white shirt, and red striped tie. It’s all as it should be. Perfect. Precise. Monotonous. Calculated.
It’s all a damn lie.
Deep down there’s nothing but chaos because of my stupid, weak wife. She’s almost cost me everything. But I’ve got a plan. A plan which will have her running back to me in no time.
Valentina’s fatal flaw is that she cares too much, loves too much, and forgives too easily. She puts everyone before her and her own needs. If my coffee has grown cold, she prepares another pot so I can have fresh, hot coffee. If I’m having a shitty day, she’s the first one to ask if there’s anything she can do to make it better. I cheated on her and she stayed because she loved me too much. And if she’s made to believe that I’m nothing without her, that I need her in my life to survive, she will come back to me with her tail between her legs for having hurt me.
It’s that easy. That simple.
I skip the breakfast Evan, the chef, prepared for me and run out the door, getting in my car. On my way to Gwyneth’s, I give Meredith a call and order her to cancel all my meetings for the day.
I arrive at Gwyneth’s house, let myself in without ringing the doorbell, and go in search of my stepsister. She lives in one of those obnoxious mansions where flashy trumps elegance. She gets off on the knowledge that most people envy her beauty and wealth. The more people hate her, the happier she is. I’ve never understood it.
As I walk through a hall full of flashy paintings and statues, I run into one of the cleaning girls. Pretty, young thing. Upon seeing me, she blushes and drops the duster in her hand, stuttering an apology. I take in the rosy color of her cheeks, her dilated pupils, the catch in her breathing. She wants me, and if it weren’t for the imperative need to talk to my sister, I might have given her sweet body a try. Bet she could fuck me real good.
Smiling my most charming smile, I ask her about Gwyneth.
She seems disoriented at first, blinking repeatedly. She clears her throat, takes a deep breath, and then tells me the whereabouts of my stepsister. She’s still in her bedroom. Figures. Gwyneth subscribes to the belief that no one should be out of bed before eleven a.m.
“And her husband?” I ask, removing an imaginary piece of lint off my jacket.
“He just left, sir.”
I pat the girl’s cheek and tell her she’s a good girl before sending her away. I watch her tight ass enclosed in the blue uniform my sister makes the help wear as she scurries away from me. What a pity …
Without bothering to knock on her door first, I let myself in. Total darkness greets my eyes. A bored sigh escapes my lips as I cross the room, past the grand four-poster bed where Gwyneth is currently asleep, until I reach the windows. I pull back the blackout curtains letting the sun flood the four walls with its bright light. Satisfied, my gaze goes to Gwyneth, finding her lying on her stomach, the naked curves of her shoulder and back inviting.
I go to her, kneel at her bedside, and push aside the river of blond hair covering her face. Unable to have children, our parents adopted Gwyneth and I from different families when we were young. Raised in a foster care system that didn’t care about me, I didn’t know what love was until Marla adopted me. We grew up to love her as our own flesh and blood. When we were little, she used to call us her golden angels, saying that God had sent us to watch over her and to fill her life with beauty. Father used to beat us because he couldn’t stand looking at us.
“My sleeping beauty,” I whisper laughingly in her ear, stirring her awake. My voice sounds rough as sand paper. “Shall I kiss you to see if you can be awoken?”
Gwyneth blinks the sleep away, her eyes getting used to me. “William.”
My name coming from her sounds like a shared secret, an invitation. My mouth lands on her tender lips ever so gently, stealing the air she breathes. Sweetness and warmth, that’s what this kiss tastes like. It’s a friendly peck, but my body immediately reacts as a sense of coming home washes through me.
“Good morning,” I say when the kiss comes to an end.
“What are you doing here?” she asks breathlessly, pressing her fingers on her lips as though she was trying to hold onto the sensation of my mouth on hers a bit longer. “Come to join me for a morning cuddle?”
I let go of her, straightening, and move to sit on the brocade chair next to the bed. Focusing on the midnight blue silk under my hands, I say, “I need you to do something for me, sis.” I raise my eyes, scanning her face. “It has to do with Valentina.”
Lifting herself on her elbows, the sheet barely covers her tits. She’s aware that I can see she’s naked under that flimsy piece of material, but she doesn’t care. Like I said, my sister hasn’t one modest bone in her.
“What did that piece of trash do now?” Her green eyes spark with dislike.
“Gwyneth …” I warn her. “Remember you’re talking about my wife.”
She huffs. “Why do you care what I say about her? You don’t even love her.”
“You’re right, I don’t. But I find it distasteful when you speak about her in that manner. It bores me.”
“Fine,” she says, sounding like a petulant child who didn’t get her way. “But why would you need my help? I’m the last person who could help you with her. Valentina hates my guts.”
“It’s Loretta.” I cross my ankle over my knee and look out the window, finding her landscaping team already hard at work. I sigh, loathing being bothered this early in the morning. “She paid me a visit the other day. Somehow she found out that Valentina is in Paris, and that she won’t come back. She’s gotten it into her head that if Valentina divorces me, she’ll disinherit me,” I drawl.
“What? Valentina isn’t at your beck and call?” She chuckles, ignoring the part about our grandmother. “Well, that’s news. Could it be possible that my big brother is losing his touch with women?”
In one swift movement, I’m straddling her lap as I run my hands over her fleshy tits covered in the sheet, flicking, pinching her already hard nipples and punishing her with my touch as I tear moans out of her body. I dip my head close to her ear and mouth her neck, savoring the taste of her sweat. “I don’t even need to bury my fingers in your cunt right now to know you’re wet.” I bite her lip hard, making her c
ry out in pain. “I can smell it.”
“You bastard.” She grinds her pussy against my cock. She’s needy as fuck and at my mercy. Just how I like them. “What do you want me to do?” She swallows, breathing heavily.
“I want you to go to Paris and bring her back. Tell her that I’m falling apart without her. Make her believe it.”
“How am I supposed to do that?”
“Figure it out. I’m sure your pretty, little head can come up with something.”
“Why don’t you go?”
“Because she doesn’t want to see me. She’s also supposed to think I’m giving her the space she’s asked for.”
She chuckles. “You don’t know women at all, do you?”
“What do you mean?”
She sighs. “You have to go get her, silly man. Show that you care. You know she’s weak for you. You’re her kryptonite. Work your magic, make the pathetic grand gesture, and she’ll believe you.” Gwyneth smirks, her eyes taunting me. “Besides, if she hasn’t come back, maybe it’s because there’s someone else …”
“That’s impossible.” I get off of her and the bed, my hands already missing the warmth of her skin. “But I see your point,” I say as I walk to the door.
“Leaving already?” I hear her ask, her voice tinged with disappointment coming from behind.
I lock the door, making sure that no one will bother us. Then I turn around to look at her as a smile crosses my lips. A silent understanding passes between us, one that speaks of a bond that can’t be explained or reasoned.
“What are you doing?” Gwyneth asks as she sits up, reclining her back against the bedframe. The silk sheet slips down her body like a waterfall. My cock stirs at the sight of her perfect tits, full and heavy, and so unlike my flat-chested wife.
“Think I’ll keep you company for a while.” I begin to tug at my tie, loosen it, as my feet move, closing the space between us. Lust makes my blood pump hard and fast.
“Oh yes?” She smiles hungrily like a cat about to feast on the poor unsuspecting canary. Pushing the sheet to the side, Gwyneth spreads her legs open for me without shame. “Want to join me after all?”
When I’m standing next to her, I lean down, reach out and twist her hair in my hand, tug her head back, and make her look at me. I absorb the fear, need, and want in her eyes, the sick bastard inside me feeding off of it, before I kiss my stepsister hard on the lips. It’s a bruising, punishing, filthy kiss. Just how we like it.
As the kiss comes to an end, Gwyneth whispers against my lips, “No one kisses me like you do.”
“Correction.” I slowly unbuckle my belt, taking in the rosy color of her cheeks and her swollen lips. “No one fucks you like I do, little sister.”
IT’S BEEN TWO DAYS since I last saw Sébastien, and not a minute has gone by when he doesn’t intrude my thoughts. When I don’t yearn for him. Every atom of my body begs me to go to him, but I’m giving him the space he needs while I figure out what my next step is.
After he left me that night, alone in bed, I realized the idyll was over. And as much as it tore me apart, I knew it was time to wake up and fix my mess. I wasn’t being fair to Sébastien and William. They both deserved better from me. But doubt was always one step behind me. Lurking. Whispering seductively in my ear. It made me question every choice and decision that had brought me to this point, coloring my future with uncertainty and fear. I hated it. I wanted to cover my ears while drowning out all the noise. But it wasn’t working. I could hear everything. Loud and clear.
Could I throw it all away for a few wonderful months with Sébastien? What-ifs turned into more what-ifs, driving me mad.
There’s a knock at the door, and I open it to find Sébastien standing in front of me. It takes all of my power to remain in place and not go to him. Throw myself at his feet. Beg him to take me. Before Sébastien came into my world, I thought life was as good as it was going to get. But then I was gifted a brief glimpse into a life where happiness wasn’t something I had once known and forgotten all about. It became real. Tangible. It had the texture of a man. The intoxicating smell of his cologne. It sounded like his laughter. Felt like his arms around me. He showed me what it was to be happy, so ridiculously happy. However, as I stare at his achingly beautiful features, fear that this might be all gone corrodes me from the inside out.
And that’s when I know the answer to all of my questions.
He walks in without saying a word. I can feel my pulse, hear it beating out of my chest as I shut the door behind me and turn to look at him, hoping to find the same answer in his eyes.
“Hi.”
He comes to me until our bodies collide. Crash. The outline of his hard body molds against every soft curve of mine. The tips of my nipples tingle with desire. My core throbs for him. He wraps an arm around my waist as he splays the fingers of his other hand behind my head, pulling me closer to him.
“I want you to need me like I need you. Violate you like you violate my thoughts. Fill you without shame and mercy. Lose myself in your body and never come back,” he hisses before crushing me in an embrace so hard, I feel the air escape my lungs. He quiets all the voices with this kiss. It’s desperate. Needy. And then because we have nothing else left to lose, we jump over the abyss and fall.
What a beautiful death it is.
Sébastien ends the kiss first. “I’m sorry about the other night.” He leans forward with his forehead pressed against mine as his hands go to the back of my neck, holding me captive with his blue gaze. “I lost my head. I thought that—have I lost you?”
I grip his tee with shaky hands, suddenly feeling like crying from joy. I can’t continue to lie to myself. I’m aware it might be too soon but love knows no time. No rules. No boundaries. No logic. Love sees and recognizes its missing piece. And I’m staring at mine. “Late at night when I’m all alone, I replay you, Sébastien. I replay the beginning. The middle. The moment I knew. You don’t have to make me choose because I choose you.” I stand on my tiptoes to cover his face with frantic kisses as a tremor runs through him. Or maybe it’s me. “I choose you.”
“You asked me the other day if I felt this.” I take his hand and place it over my heart. “Feel mine as it beats for you. Over and over. Again and again. Now. Tomorrow. Forever.”
“Jesus Christ, Valentina. Come here,” he adds before kissing me breathlessly, irrationally, and recklessly.
When we come up for air, I wrap my arms around his torso and tilt my head back to watch him as he towers over me. I smile.
A soft smile crosses his lips. “What?”
“I really, really like kissing you.”
“Good.” He grins. “Because I plan to kiss you for a very fucking long time.”
Sobering up, I lean my cheek on him, the cotton of his shirt soft under my skin. “I’ll call William tonight after I come back from Mr. Lemaire’s.”
“This is what you want?” Sébastien asks, placing a kiss on top of my head.
“It’s just …” I bite my lip as I weigh my words carefully, but choose to be honest with Sébastien. I’m done with lies and hiding things. I want everything to be out in the open. For a moment, I wait for the guilt and the disgust I should be feeling to come, but they never do. “It’s just it would be better to end things with William face to face. I should go and see him, but this will have to do for now. I don’t want more lies.”
“Want me to take you to the States?”
I shake my head, smiling softly. “Thank you, but I need to do this on my own.”
“Fair enough.” He runs his hands along my back, his warmth giving me strength. “It will all work out. You’ll see.”
“Promise?”
“Of course, ma petite chouette.”
THAT NIGHT AFTER WORK, I wait for the elevator to get to my floor, thoughts of seeing Sébastien already filling my head. My hands automatically go to my lips still full of him and smile. The warmth of his touch, of his embrace, of his kisses, still saturates my senses,
enslaving me to their memory.
Still smiling, I get out of the elevator and freeze when my eyes land on the man sitting on the floor outside my apartment. His shoulders hunched remind me of a defeated man. His usually perfect blond hair is a mess. I feel like a bucket of cold water has been poured down on me.
He looks up, his gaze flooded with pain. “Hello Valentina,” my husband says sadly, standing up. “Can we talk?”
I NOD, OPENING THE door to my apartment. For a moment, I think my eyes are betraying me as I watch William walk in. Because even though I know the man standing in front of me is my husband, he doesn’t look like him. This man seems hollow. Empty. His usual radiance is gone and has been replaced by sorrow.
“What are you doing here?” I close my eyes, the floor beneath my feet suddenly shaky. “I mean, what are you doing in Paris?”
“I wanted to see you. I miss you.” He buries his hands in his jeans, staring at the floor. “How are you?”
“Good … you?” I ask tentatively.
“I don’t know …” He tears his gaze away from the floor and looks me in the eye. “Nothing’s the same since you left.”
I suck in my breath, his words like bullets. “I don’t know what you want me to say, William.” Suddenly the room spins around me. I grip the table in the foyer for support. “Truth be told, I don’t even know what to think about you being here after all this time without a phone call or a text message.”
“I’m not the only guilty one here, Valentina. You stopped calling, too.”
His simple accusation slaps me across the face. It stings and hurts. The truth behind it leaves a mark in the red-hot color spreading on my cheeks.
“I’m sorry, darling. There was no need for that.”
“No, I deserved that,” I say, crossing my arms to stop them from shaking. My gaze lands briefly on my wedding ring, and I remember the vows I made to William. Vows I’ve broken since the moment I arrived here. William’s presence is like a hammer, beating me down over and over again. I hang my head in shame and study the carpeted floor.
