“You assume I would have been willing,” I gasp out, a smile across my face.
He tilts his head, possession in his eyes. “Do you think you could resist?” He positions himself back at my entrance, rubbing his head up and down my wet slit, easing in slightly, then pulling out, taking his stiff head to my swollen clit, brushing it gently.
“Of course,” I breathe.
“Bullshit. By the time I finished with you, you would have been begging for my cock.” His smug tone backs up his words, his c**k pulling away from me as he strokes it again.
“Is that so?” Everything in me is centered between my legs. I have forgotten how to breath, forgotten how to move, to think, to do anything but have this man f**k me back into reality.
“You tell me.” He releases his cock, grabbing my legs and lifting them so that they point to the sky, spread and open for him, his unrestrained c**k finding its way straight to the source of my need. “Do you need my cock?”
I stay silent, my stubbornness combining with the curiosity of wondering what he will do next.
He moves, the head of him entering me, then withdrawing, then entering, my want rising and falling and rising as he f**ks me with short, half-strokes, his mouth brushing against my calf, his tongue tickling out a pattern against my skin.
I groan, trying to slide closer, to get more of him inside me, the incredible pleasure just short of enough, my orgasm reaching, straining, but not making the connection.
“Do. You. Need. My. Cock?” He grunts out the words, every other dip of his c**k deep, then shallow, then deeper.
“Yes!” The word explodes from me, a plea for help in a deep hole of pleasure. I speak, the words quick and breathless. “I need you so badly. So f**king badly, Nathan. Please. Please give me what I need.”
He shakes his head, keeping his thrusts short, keeping me hovering on the brink of insanity. “Tell me that you are mine. To use as I wish.”
I whimper, an ache inside me that is almost painful in its intensity. “I am yours. You are my God.”
He moans at the words, dropping my legs and moving above me, his movements now unrestrained — full, deep thrusts arcing me higher, higher, higher. His face above me, features tight, breath ragged, fast f**ks putting his c**k exactly where, exactly when, and exactly how I need it.
Orgasm — a blinding, waving curve of pleasure, peaking and falling, peaking and falling, every thrust of his c**k bringing me a fresh burst of sensation, breathing life into it and keeping its momentum, the moment impossibly long, before it gradually ebbs, losing force until I am nothing but languid pleasure.
His f**ks bring me back to the present, my legs wrapping around and gripping the hard muscle of his ass, my hands clutch and nails dig into his back, our bodies meeting in perfect orchestration until his eyes clench. He grunts, giving me four deep, hard thrusts, the seed of his pleasure spilling inside of me, physical heat pooling as he shudders and then is still.
“Fuck …” he whispers, hovering above me, his eyes on mine, wonder in them. “You have no idea how incredible that was.” He rolls off me and onto his back, his c**k pulling out, my body yearning for it the moment it is gone. I roll over, curling up against his side, my hands unstoppable in their quest to touch, my fingers trailing up and over the lines of his abs, settling and stopping against his chest and resting there, his heart pounding beneath my palms.
“I didn’t do much,” I say, closing my eyes. “I just laid there.”
“You don’t have to do much,” he says groggily, his mouth pressing gently against my hair. “You do me in with just a smile.”
We are lying there, na**d and half asleep, when the door opens and the end of my world walks in.
CHAPTER 6
She is beautiful, but I already knew that. The day after Drew told me about Cecile, I went to the library and used one of their computers. My hands felt foreign on the keyboard, the mouse awkward in my hand. It had only been two months since I had my laptop, but so much had happened that it felt like years. I now understand why Nathan had wanted me to have limited access to the internet. Had I researched him, his history, his past, I might have figured it out. I certainly would have found out about Cecile. Photos of them together are everywhere — dominating old gossip articles, filling the images results with occasional pictures of Nathan and me dotted in. Our trip to Napa, the paparazzi shots of us at events — it is a drop in the bucket compared to their two years together. And, as gorgeous as she looked in those photos, it pales in comparison to the woman standing before me.
Blonde, with green eyes that match Drew’s, golden skin that highlights a thin frame, statuesque face, and soft lips. Lips that are parted, eyes that are wide, perfect br**sts that heave as she gasps, her eyes darting from Nathan to me. Nathan to me. Her eyes grow wet, the dewy effect only making her more f**king beautiful.
“I’m so … sorry,” she stammers. “I didn’t think … I should have knocked …” She lifts a shaky hand to her mouth, and turns, stepping toward the hall before looking back, anguish filling her face, and then she slumps. Eyes closing, knees collapsing, crumples to the floor, in the most graceful faint I have ever seen. Nathan jumps, finally in motion, rushing to her side, kneeling there at the same time that Drew appears in the doorway, his face tight.
“Did I hear …” His voice disappears when he takes in the situation, his eyes zeroing in on the limp blonde, sinking to his knees, his hand grabbing hers.
I leave the three of them in the large master, exiting through the glass slider onto the pool deck. Nathan, with his beautifully nude, hard body, bends over her and utters soft words of love. Drew, elevating her feet, runs to the kitchen for a glass of water. Cecile, in the middle of it all, her beautiful features slack, breathing soft, blonde hair tangled around Nathan’s fingers.
I enter the guesthouse, walk na**d to the bed and sink onto it. My world zeroes in on that image, the men in my life surrounded by her, her one easy reentry into a life that I just made my own.
I don’t think there are enough words to describe how much I hate that bitch.
It was cruel for my mind to ever convince my heart that I had a chance. Of course she came back. Who wouldn’t? But then again, who would ever leave Nathan to begin with? I tell myself that I didn’t have enough time — that if I had longer, a few years, I might have been able to wrangle his heart, erase her memory, make him my own.
But it hasn’t been long enough. And her here … I know what is coming. I know it despite the heated words I hear from my open glass door. I know without looking, without waiting, what Nathan will do. He loves her in a way that I can only dream for. Unconditionally, the hold she has on his heart tight and complete. He lives for her, works for her, breathes for her, loves for her. There is no one else in his world, no room for anyone else in his heart. I should have known, should have stopped my heart from skipping down fairytale lane, planting expectations, and hopes, and dreams that will never receive any nourishment.
I stand in the large walk-in, looking through the racks of clothes and wonder what to take — what I have right to. She won’t want my clothes, won’t wear the hand-me-downs. But she is a woman. We are possessive, territorial. I can’t see her sitting by and watching me cart a hundred grand worth of clothes out the front door.
I grab a small suitcase and ignore the designer threads, throwing a few pairs of jeans and five or six of my favorite tops inside, dressing in something similar, lacing up tennis shoes and pulling my hair into a ponytail. I am zipping up my makeup bag, examining a Tag Heuer watch that Nathan gave me, when darkness blankets the room, a large form blocking the sunlight.
“I like you better na**d.” There is a smile in his voice. A f**king smile. At a time when my heart is hanging by threads in my chest.
I force my own lips to curve, command my voice to be light. “Most men do.”
He steps inside, walking over to me. I want to tell him to stop, want to back away and turn my head, but I don’t. I stand there, spellbound, and wait for more heartbreak. Thank you sir. May I have more? He sighs, leaning forward and resting his forehead against mine, exhaling a slow, long breath of … what? I don’t know. Frustration? Anguish? A hopeful little voice in my head adds regret to the list of improbable translations.
He pulls back, lifting his head and planting a soft kiss on my forehead, holding the contact for a heartbeat longer than necessary, my heart rising and soaring on the pipe dream of what he might say.
“Thank you,” he says softly. “For everything. It worked. It worked, and I owe you my happiness.”
I owe you my happiness. I don’t think a more heartbreaking sentence has ever been said.
I don’t ask him why he is taking her back. I don’t ask him if he struggled with the decision, if I entered his head, if I was ever anything more than a pawn in the Get Cecile Back Game. I smile, I nod, and I pick up my bag and walk out of his life, the Tag Heuer sparkling brilliantly from my wrist.
CHAPTER 7
Mark pulls up the Maybach, idling it next to a bright white Maserati that must be hers. I am indescribably grateful that it is not Drew driving me home. I can’t take, after the roller coaster that was today, being in a car with him — his intensity, his questions. But that is being vain. Right now, Drew isn’t thinking about me, or our failed opportunity. He is focused on his sister, giving her four years worth of fawning. He and Nathan — tripping over each other to spend time in her presence.
“Where should I take you?”
I blink at Mark’s words. Where indeed? I got in the car intending to go home, but where is home? I haven’t missed a single part of the life I deserted. Mark hands me a large bag, my purse and old cell phone inside. It is charged, a new charger included in the bag, a bit of thoughtfulness from Drew or Mark. I turn on the phone, scrolling through numbers, each one a reminder of how sad and empty my old life was. I don’t want to reconnect with any of them, and I’m pretty sure the emotion goes both ways. I turn it off, setting it aside.
“I’d like to go to my dad,” I announce. “Can you find out about a flight?”
Thirty minutes later, I am stepping aboard Nathan’s plane, the engines roaring and my hair twisting in the wind as I climb inside. Nathan has granted me one final flight, and I settled in for my last hour in the life of Nathan’s wife.
As the plane soars, snow white clouds moving lazily past, I open my purse. Pulling out the objects inside, I examine foreign objects from a life I barely recognize. A sequined thong, the color garish, material rough, its cheap fabric causing me to wince in recollection of how far I had fallen in life. A tube of blood red Maybelline lipstick. Mascara. Tic Tacs. The keys to my house, my car. I wonder what became of my car, became of the contents of my room in Dib’s house. Was my green Honda Accord still sitting in the Crystal Palace parking lot? My clothes and shoes still crammed in every nook and corner of that small room?
There is an envelope in the purse, the handwriting on the front hurried and unfamiliar. Not Nathan’s. I open it, sliding out a plain white card and a thick wad of bills.
Candace,
The items from your house are in a storage unit in Plant City, the rent is paid through the end of the year. Doris is the manager; she can provide you with a key. Your car was sold, the cash from the sale added to your departure funds, which are enclosed. You will need to arrange payment for your cell phone; we have covered that bill during your time with Nathan. Mark or I will call you once the paperwork is in place for the divorce. Please do not change your phone number; we will need to stay in contact with you until this process is complete. After that, there will be no need for future contact.
Drew
I read the note twice, surprised at how comprehensive it is. It covers all of my questions and more, while completely ignoring the events that occurred between us. I had been prepared to sort through my feelings for Drew, to figure out if there was something there worth pursuing, but this card shuts that door. I had been there, available, and he had f**ked me. I think of the cold look in his eyes when Nathan told him that I was staying, moving in, remaining his wife. Maybe it was that moment that shut Drew off. Or maybe Drew never saw me as anything more than a piece of ass.
Honestly, I don’t even care at this point. It is easier on me that he is letting go. It wouldn’t have been fair for me to be with him. Not when Nathan has my heart. I won’t do to him what Nathan did to me — keep him in the wings while I yearn for someone else.
I flip through the cash, counting it — fourteen thousand, five hundred dollars. Generous considering my Accord couldn’t have fetched more than a thousand dollars.
There is a skip and a rattle, and then we are on ground, the plane coasting, losing speed, wind buffering around the carbon fiber body as we come to a stop.
I have always used the FBO’s courtesy car on my visits, taking it to the private hospital and on my errands. But seeing as this is a permanent move, I walk to the rental counter instead, counting out funds and walking out the door with keys to a Ford Taurus.
A surprise waits for me at Crestridge. Pam, her face tight, arms wringing, meets me at the front door.
“What’s wrong?” I demand. “What happened?”
I can’t take this. I can’t take anything happening to him now, not when everything else just crashed to the ground. I am moving here, will be able to spend every day with him, hold his hands, and do crossword puzzles ‘til we are at an expert level. For his health to take a turn now … or even worse …
“It’s not your father,” Pam says quickly. “Please come inside. Mr. Hinton needs to speak to you.”
Mr. Hinton. I try to place the name, one I vaguely remember Nathan mentioning.