Her soft words ripple over me like an absolution, cleansing and healing. I turn my head to kiss the center of her palm. “It’s like I’m walking a tightrope. You keep me off balance, but somehow never let me fall.”
“Just like you never let me fall.” She smiles. “You caught me first, remember?”
“I do.” I’ll never forget the moment when she jumped onto my hotel balcony.
“Maybe that’s when—”
“When what?”
She smiles again. “Nothing.”
I bite back my frustration. She was about to say something important. I can feel it in my gut.
Her lashes flutter as she lowers her eyes for a moment, then lifts them with a small, sexy smile. “I don’t think I told you, but I’m not wearing anything underneath. I had to take it off after dinner because it got so wet.”
If she means to distract me from wondering about what she didn’t say, she’s done a good job. A weirdly bitter arousal flows through me. She’s open to talking about her underwear, but not anything else that might bridge the gap between us, not to the point she’s willing to show me all of herself, without any barriers.
But I’m also a man starved for my wife. I drop my pants and boxers and drive into her hot pussy. She’s as wet as she claimed, and oh so tight. She gasps at the force of my thrusts. Her breasts bob. She moans when her nipples rub against my chest with each push and pull into her searing depths.
I fuck her with all the unspoken, dark desire in my heart, with a bittersweet need that makes it impossible for me to cling to any pride or dignity, desperate for any scrap of openness she’s willing to throw me.
And as she climaxes over and over again with my name on her beautiful lips, I grit my teeth with an uncontrollable possessiveness that turns my vision hazy.
“Ares, Ares…” she pants as she convulses around me. “I— You drive me insane. I can’t get enough.”
The breathlessly spoken confession pushes me over the edge, my control slipping from my shaky grasp. I manage to pull out at the last second and then spurt all over her belly. But even as I shake and fight to drag in air into my heaving lungs, there’s an emptiness that continues to gnaw at my heart.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Lareina
I put down my brush and stare at the canvas in front of me. It’s sizeable, suitable for a detailed piece.
The outline of a powerful man sprawled on a couch with a glass of whiskey at his fingertips takes the center. His dress shirt is unbuttoned, showing his powerful chest.
This is my first oil painting since I left Nesovia. I know Ares says he wants something small enough to carry around, but I can’t capture him in such a tiny medium.
Besides, I can’t give him a present that only took a couple of hours to complete. It wouldn’t show enough care and sincerity on my part. He’s done so much for me.
The canvas is manageable enough that I can finish it in the next four months. That way I won’t linger for too long after my financial emancipation and his promotion. Doris told me unwanted guests who linger are like flies. And although I’m no fan of hers, I suspect she’s right about that.
As for the biggest canvas, the one Ares was a bit embarrassed about… Well, I’m sure someone will make good use of it. Maybe his next wife.
Shoving aside the rather glum thought, I stand and take several steps back to gaze at the canvas again. Many “experts” have said my work was only mediocre at best, but Mom told me art isn’t just about technique. It has to have heart. “Computers have fantastic technique, but nobody buys those because theylack the human touch. Sometimes artists create something that looks like nothing but a huge paint splatter, but somehow the humanity shines through, and they’re prized.”
When I was little, I didn’t fully grasp her meaning. Now that I’m older, I’m beginning to understand what she meant—and appreciate how wise she was.
I roll my shoulders just as my belly growls. Time for a lunch break—an individually packed bagel and whipped cream cheese. Ares tasted the latter before leaving for work. I sit and chew, then thumb through my phone to look at any emails or messages. No social media, since I don’t trust Doris and her family to stay away. Zoe implied that she’s “keeping me safe” from them, but I’m not dumb enough to rely on a sneaky bitch like her. Kidnapping Ares and leaving him to suffer like that—she’s worse than I ever imagined possible.
My phone buzzes with a text.
–Unknown: We need to talk. Just because you’re in his house doesn’t mean it’s over! You aren’t even his real wife!
I purse my lips. Who is this? Some angry woman who got the wrong number? Should I tell her? Or is it best just to delete and block?
–Unknown: I’m right outside. We have to talk. Now!
–Unknown: Don’t ignore me or I’ll go to his office to talk about this.
