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Wary of another coughing fit that might rouse his wife, he only nursed the drink, sipping the dark amber liquid while staring over the rim of the glass at the dark outside the window.
What have I done?
Hardly a frequent or heavy drinker, the Bushmills made his eyes heavy and his head feel light as the alcohol took effect. The question haunted him, ringing through his ears while flashbacks of the last hour played out before his eyes.
His cock stiffened at the memory of Rebecca standing in the doorway in nothing but that robe. The way her slender curves rigged in his lap. The taste of her on his lips. Her breathy pleading as he tongued her clit. The feeling of her tight little cunt exploding around him...
He hated himself for what he’d done. He’d cheated on Alice, broken his vows to her and risked their marriage. He’d used Rebecca, fucked her like a bitch in heat. Then, worse still, discarded her so callously even though he knew, well suspected, she had feelings for him.
God in fucking hell, he was a beast.
A part of him still couldn’t believe it. Here in the safety of his home, on his sofa with a glass of whiskey, the night felt like a bad dream. A God damn fucking nightmare. Only he’d woken to it. The night was like a dream he could only half remember, slipping out of his grasp like pale wisps of morning mist curling around his fingers whenever he tried to focus on one moment. All except for those moments. They were sharp and clear and played before his eyes whenever he’d closed them.
What the fuck was wrong with him? He and Alice were finally getting their lives back to a sense of normality… How was he going to look her in the eye again, knowing that he’d… Christ, what would she say? What would she do? He’d ruined everything. And just when it had all seemed to be going so well. In layman’s terms-
“I’m fucked.” He toasted the declaration by downing the rest of his Bushmills. “Oh God. Al, I’m sor-”
The timer on the lamp’s plug clicked over, cutting the power.
Darkness consumed him
There was comfort in sleep. The fool and coward's comfort. The comfort of hiding in the dark and fooling himself it had all been a dream.
Caught between sleeping and waking, Richard stared up at the ceiling. Autumn morning half-light crept through the curtains over the bed, turning their bedroom dark and grey. He didn’t hear the cars speeding down Stroud Road, trying to beat the early morning rush hour, or the occasional gurgles coming through the baby monitor. Nor see the furniture taking shape in the gloom. He didn’t want to wake up.
He wanted to sleep and dream and pretend. Better that than face reality and the consequences of what he’d done. Having to see his wife every day, holding her in his arms, making love to her, looking into her eyes, seeing the love there, and knowing, just knowing, he’d betrayed her.
Yes, he didn’t want to wake, but the warm body wriggling beside him made it inevitable…
He blinked when a hand brushed up his side. Long, delicate fingers, feeling up his ribs and across his stomach. Then there was only softness and warmth. And a faint hint of cinnamon.
A sideways glance showed Alice sleeping next to him on a bed of her mahogany tresses. She must have rolled onto his side sometime in the night and, half covered by the quilt, was curling into him, head resting on his shoulder. She looked so peaceful. Content. Utterly oblivious to everything that had taken place through the night.
Her peace tore at him. Yet he was captivated and watched her sleep regardless, her delicate beauty enrapturing him the way the radiance of the moon enslaves a wolf.
He had to tell her, but how? A part of him wanted to confess now and have done with it. To wait would only make things harder, more complicated.
Excuses flitted through his mind. He was drunk. He’d been desperate. It hadn’t meant anything. It was the usual line-up of dirt-bag husband excuses. Though he made sure to steer WELL clear of anything even hinting Alice bore some responsibility. That would not go down well.
Once, he even contemplated suggesting Rebecca had instigated it all. That got chucked out as quickly as it came. No matter what, he needed to keep the girl out of this.
As fond as she was of their babysitter, Richard knew his wife well enough to know she did not share her toys. And if that confrontation with Scarlet last night had just been Alice marking her territory...
Then, he had a pretty good idea of what she would do to him.
That thought made the idea of letting her sleep in a little longer, all the more tempting.
“Alice...” he mumbled. She’d think it odd if he didn’t wake her. It would make her suspicious…
Alice mumbled something unintelligible in answer. Still more or less asleep, she shifted closer to nuzzle the hollow of his neck.
Richard stiffened at the contact, a shiver of pleasure rippling up his spine.
Her very closeness was an aphrodisiac. The feeling of her pressed against him, long willowy legs brushing over his calf, full breasts crushed against his side through her cropped sleeping sweater. And her mouth. God, that wicked mouth, brushing so softly over his skin, a mere tease of contact, igniting and sending tingling sensations surging through his skin down to the base of his spine.
Suddenly awake, alert, and very aware of that tale-tell stirring between his legs, Richard blinked, then glanced down to see blue-green eyes looking up at him.
For the longest moment, Alice only watched him, lips pursed and eyes bright with a look that had his cock suddenly harder than steel. Then, slowly, she pivoted, propping her head up enough to rest her chin on his ribs. “When did you get in?”
