It sends electricity through my body, and this time, I can’t stifle my moan. “Fuck,” I gasp into the darkness, buckling under the feeling of his mouth against my breasts. His arm swoops around my hips to support me, and suddenly, my feet leave the ground and I’m sliding across a smooth, cold cabinet.
Even in the darkness I can see his silent silhouette, looming above me. Towering over my quivering, shivering body. “Violet…” he mutters, sounding like he’s a million miles away.
“Donnacha…”
“We shouldn’t.” With my eyes adjusting to the nothingness engulfing us, I can see his hand running through his hair, over his beard. “This is…”
But I’m past the point of caring. Lust has descended over my brain like a thick fog, and no sensible words from Donnacha will cut through it. I don’t care about the consequences. The confusion this will bring.
I need him. Now.
“Shut up,” I breathe, “shut up and just fuck me, goddammit.”
The growl from his direction is half man, half animal. And in the same animalistic manner, he curls his biceps around my thighs and drags me towards him in one swift motion. I don’t care about the friction burn running up my back. All I can focus on is the sound of his zip sliding down, the sound of his top button popping open.
And then his hands are on me, running up the side of my thighs, tugging at my panties with a new wave of desperation. I lift my ass to help him take them off, but he doesn’t have the patience: I hear the lace rip in two and the remaining fabric brush against the concrete floor.
“Oh god,” I gasp, wrapping my legs around his waist, pulling him closer, so close now that his bulging cock is pushing against my slick pussy.
I need to feel him. First with my hands — so I reach now and stroke the length of his dick, starting from the thick base and working my way up to the wet tip. He’s huge. And he’s as excited as I am. And then inside me — I curl my fingers around his girth and push his tip inside. Before I can slide myself onto him, his hand grabs both my wrists, pushing them backwards above my head.
“You want me to fuck you, huh?” he growls, his words vibrating against my throat.
“Uh-huh,” I manage.
“Say it.”
“Fuck me,” I moan into his hair as he pushes his bulge harder against my pussy lips. “Jesus Christ, just fuck me!”
I almost stop breathing when he slides himself into me, stretching my wet cunt over his girth. “Fuck, yes,” I groan, my enthusiasm echoing off of the curved ceilings.
He pumps inside of me with a hypnotic rhythm. Slow and steady at first, teasing me with his sensual strokes, before working faster and faster, building up the tension. When my pussy clenches around his cock and my nails dig into his back, he knows he has me on the edge. “Not yet, baby,” he whispers, returning back to his slow and steady pace.
By the third time he repeats this cycle I can’t take it anymore. I’m dizzy, dripping in both of our sweat, and gasping for air. “Please,” I beg, throwing my head back. “Please let me…”
“If you insist, baby,” he purrs, fucking me faster and faster again, building up the pressure in my pussy, until the tremor of ecstasy ripples across my body in an orgasmic, breath-stealing wave.
That orgasm was like the storm that cleared the air. We’re silent, him on top of me like a heavy comfort blanket, our chests rising and falling in sync.
His fingers reach up to stroke my hair, and as I wrap my hands around his broad shoulders, the sharp cut of my diamond ring glints in the darkness.
A reminder that I’m married to the man who just fucked me that good.
22
Violet
The soft morning rays warm my cheek, waking me like a gentle kiss from a loved one.
The memory of last night comes to me before consciousness does. A grin stretches across my face, and I burrow my head in the plush folds of the bedding to pour over every detail in my own safe space.
With one eye now open, I realize I’m in my own bed. After our… encounter in the cellar, we relocated to the living room, where we laid entwined on the sofa, exchanging sensual kisses and drinking different wines from his collection.
He must have carried me up to my bed after I fell asleep in his arms.
Even my pounding wine headache can’t dampen my mood. When I finally pull myself out of bed, and my toes sink into the plush white carpet, it feels like I’m walking on a cloud. Only now do I realize I’m wearing the sweater he had on last night. I sniff the neckline; it smells like his oaky aftershave and it makes me melt.
I think I’ll keep it on over breakfast.
I slip on my pajama shorts and thick gym socks and pad down the hallway. It’s the first time I’ve walked through this house without creeping around every corner, without peering down every set of stairs before walking down them. But on this rare Sunday I have off work, there’s no housekeepers, no daughter, and certainly no scary ex-wife screaming in my face.
I float through the living room and into the kitchen, fantasizing about the lazy Sunday we’re about to spend together. Pancakes, crappy movies, and cuddles seem about right.
“Hey,” I say to the towering figure sitting at the breakfast bar. I’m surprised to see he’s up, showered and sharply dressed. Three steps and I’m by his side, running my hands over his bulging biceps and across his hard chest.
But his greeting isn’t so warm. His body stiffens and he takes a sip of coffee. Not once does he meet my eye. “Hey,” he says flatly.
“Did you sleep well?” I ask, trying to keep my tone steady. There’s silence as I cross the kitchen and pour myself a coffee from the freshly brewed pot. “Well?” I ask, turning back round to him.
His face is solemn, stern. And suddenly, I’m staring back into the eyes of the man I first met. The man sitting across the desk from me in the warehouse, pushing a contract under my nose in haste.
“What’s wrong?” I ask sourly. But my heart already knows the answer, because it’s already sinking to my wine-filled stomach.
“Last night was a very stupid mistake,” he starts, his eyes not leaving the space above my head. “So firstly, I’d like to apologize for putting you in that position.”
“Donn—”
“Please,” he growls, sticking his hand out to silence me. “Let me finish.” My coffee cup burns against the palm of my hand; but gripping it so tightly is the only thing stopping me from shaking. “I don’t want to give you the wrong impression.”
His words stab me like a knife, and his detached expression only twists it in further. “So last night meant nothing to you, huh?” I ask bitterly.
I don’t want to know the answer, but he gives it to me anyway. “Violet,” he rises to his feet, his body looming over me like an ominous rain cloud. “We had fun. But let’s not complicate our agreement.” He turns away from me, picking something metal off of the breakfast bar and dangles it inches from my face.
“Keys?” I snap, my bottom lip beginning to tremble now.
“Yes. For your new apartment. Just like I promised.”
“B-but, I thought you needed me to stay here for the next three months—”