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I don’t wait for her orgasm to pass. I just keep thrusting into her, again and again, until I can’t hold back anymore. With one last hard thrust and a sound that’s almost a growl, I finish deep inside her, my hands digging into her soft curves as I pin her against me, pleasure flooding my body, lighting every inch of me on fire.
But far from feeling satisfied, when we draw apart again, she only leaves me wanting more. I have a feeling that a woman like her always will.
I drive Mara back to her place, casting sideways glances at her the whole time. “You’re quiet,” I point out, when we’re near the address she gave me to plug into my navigation system.
“Just tired,” she says, avoiding my eyes. But I notice out of the corner of my eye the way she keeps stealing glances at me, probably when she thinks I’m too busy paying attention to the road to notice her.
She underestimates my ability to multitask. Or maybe she just underestimates how much I notice about her—how everything she does catches my eye, draws my attention. I couldn’t have chosen a better wife for myself if I’d been trying to do it on purpose.
That thought sets off a memory. An unpleasant clench in my stomach. But I push it aside, drive it from my head. There will be time to dwell on all of that when she’s not here. When I don’t have more important things—a more important person—to focus on instead.
I reach across the gear shift to rest my hand on her knee. She leans toward my touch, an unconscious reaction, before she seems to catch herself, and freezes in place. “Relax,” I tell her with a grin. “You can let yourself enjoy this, you know.”
She starts to laugh before she catches herself and clamps her lips together. She inhales, like she’s going to say something, but after a pause, she just shakes her head. “I had fun tonight,” she says. “A lot of fun.”
“I know.” My smile widens.
She rolls her eyes, but she smiles, too. “I just… I don’t know if I want this yet, John. I’m not sure it’s a good idea.”
“I am,” I tell her. “And I’m never wrong.”
She sighs, but she reaches down to twine her fingers through mine at the same time. “For some insane reason, I’m starting to hope you might be right,” she admits, her voice soft and low.
We pull up outside her house, and I lean over to cup her chin, tilting her face toward mine and pulling her into a long, slow, searing kiss. She melts against me, her eyes fluttering shut. But I don’t close mine. I keep them focused on her. On my goal.
I know what I want, after all. And I’m good at getting it.
We draw apart, just as my phone starts to buzz. She glances at it, but it’s facedown, so she can’t see whose name is on the screen. “Do you want to get that?” she asks.
I shake my head. “Later.” Then I draw her back to me, kiss her again, her lips parting beneath mine, melting. I lose track of time, of anything but the taste of her, the scent of her, the feel of her in my arms.
My hands slide down over her curves, toward her belly, past it. I pause at the hem of her jeans, and I feel her arch up against me, feel her starting to breathe harder in anticipation. But before things get too hot and heavy again, I draw back and flash her a sly grin.
“Think of me tonight when you’re touching yourself,” I tell her. “Tomorrow, I’ll want details.”
Her cheeks flush, but she doesn’t protest. Then I kiss her once more and hit the button to open her door. “Goodnight, John,” she says, her voice hitching on that last word.
“Sleep well, wife.” I have time to catch the tail end of her smile, before she turns toward her house. I watch to make sure she gets inside safely. Before she closes the door behind herself, I notice her check back over her shoulder, looking at me one last time.
That only makes my smile widen. I know she’s into this. She may not know it yet, but she wants this marriage every bit as much as I do.
If perhaps not for exactly the same reasons.
My phone starts to buzz again, and I frown, shutting my eyes and pinching the bridge of my nose for a moment. I ignore the call, letting it go to voicemail, preferring to text rather than talk. I did what you wanted. I’ll bring her to meet you next weekend.
The moment it finishes sending, I shut my phone off, unwilling to deal with the inevitable fallout that will no doubt cause. Then I heave another deep sigh as I pull away from the curb, Mara’s house vanishing in my rearview mirror, and wonder if I’m doing the right thing.
8
Mara
After a week of working together, I’m still not sure how I feel about… well, any of this. But I love my work, and I’ve been really enjoying getting my hands dirty in the shop every day. Not to mention, training Daniel has been fun—he’s a fast learner, and ever since his first mishap with the machinery, he’s been good about asking me for help when he tries out any of the machines for the first time.
I can’t deny that it’s been nice to get to know John better, too. Most nights of the week, I stay late, and he stays in his own office until the whole place clears out. Only when there’s nobody else in the building—per my request, since the last thing I want people thinking is that I’m just some bimbo who slept her way into a job—does he come and find me, usually working next to me at the bench until I’m satisfied my work is done for the evening.
Sometimes we do other things on the bench, after the work is finished. More reasons I don’t want any of our coworkers to know the exact nature of our relationship.
But I still haven’t taken the ring off. And neither has he, I’ve noticed.
It’s raised more than a few eyebrows around the office. But at least I haven’t seen any media leaks about it yet. We seem to have lucked out in terms of avoiding the paparazzi’s attention. Part of me knows it’s only a matter of time before someone sees us together or notices John’s ring finger and starts to ask questions.
But for the moment, I’m just trying to do what John suggested after that first night out together—our first date, kind of. You can let yourself enjoy this. And I’ve been trying to.
The sex, at least, has been off the fucking charts. He seems to know my body even better than I know it myself. He’s able to draw out my desire, taunt and tease me until I’m practically screaming to come, and when he finally gives me that release, it’s like nothing I’ve ever experienced before.
Last night, for example, bent over the workbench where I’m working dutifully now… The memories are hot enough to make my face flush.
“Is it too hot in here?” Daniel calls across the room, making me blush again for an entirely different reason. “I can turn the air up.”
“I’m fine, thanks,” I mumble, and turn back to my work, trying my best to stay focused on it, and not on memories of how good it felt when John knelt at the edge of the table and ran his tongue up my inner thighs, one after the next, teasing, tasting, until his tongue finally reached my pussy lips, parted and explored them slowly, until I was gasping so loudly I’m surprised the night security guard didn’t hear.
Clearly focusing is not working well today.
My phone buzzes, and I glance at it, then startle out of my seat. It’s an unknown number, but the area code is Las Vegas.
I’ve been calling and leaving voicemails at the Vegas town hall for days, after my online research into how to annul a marriage proved worthless. Everything I read told me I’d need to go back there in person, which is out of the question, at least for now. I’m too busy trying to get this big project for Pitfire out the door—it’s the first one they’ve entrusted to me. The last thing I want to do this early on is look like a flake or ask for time off—especially if I’d be taking that time off because I accidentally eloped with the CEO.
But maybe there’s a way to have this marriage annulled by mail. It won’t hurt to call them back.
I excuse myself and step out into the stairwell,
which I’ve already learned is soundproof through some seriously thorough research with John, late on Wednesday night, him pinning me against the wall. Once the door shuts after me, I dial back the number, holding my breath.
“Las Vegas town hall, Valerie speaking,” answers a prim voice on the other end, and my stomach plummets.
“Hi, this is Mrs. Walloway,” I say. “I left some voicemails—”
“About the annulment process, yes. It’s quite simple, ma’am, I understand not everyone can file in person. There’s a form on our website you can print out…”
I scramble in my pocket for a piece of scrap paper and a pen to jot down notes about what she’s saying. I write down the website address, the specific form, but then her voice makes me hesitate.
“You’ll just need to mail it in to us within the next two weeks, during the the grace period for a simplified annulment. After that, I’m afraid things will get a little bit more complicated.”
I bite the inside of my cheek. Two weeks. My stomach flips again, much less settled than it was earlier today. Before I knew there was a ticking clock over my head. A timeline to decide…
What? There’s no decision to be made here, not really. We made a mistake, and we need to fix it.
But part of me isn’t so sure anymore. Part of me can’t stop thinking about how good it feels when we’re together. When John has his hands all over me, his mouth on my body, his cock inside me. My cheeks flush with heat, as the lady on the other end of the phone continues to explain the process. I’m only half listening.
The rest of me is wondering if I’m starting to lose my mind, or if this really is starting to sound like a possibility.
By the time I hang up the phone, I have to lean against the wall and take some deep breaths before I can go back into the workshop and pretending everything is normal.
My phone buzzes again, startling me so badly I almost drop it. But when I check the screen, I see it’s just Lea. Lunch?
