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Studying my reflection in the mirror, I tug each sleeve of my dress down over my wrists, making sure the scars beneath are hidden.
Kordin comes into the bathroom, eyes my dress, and shakes his head. It’s an off-the-shoulder long-sleeve minidress with ruching at the waist and hips. It’s also black.
“What about the Versace I just bought you? I spent thirty five hundred dollars on that dress.”
Slowly, I turn around, the ruched material brushing against the counter’s edge. “Precisely. It’s far too extravagant for such an intimate gathering. I thought understated would be best.”
“You can’t be understated in white?”
“With my pale complexion, no. White would wash me out.”
“The last time I saw you with a tan was in St. Maarten five years ago.”
“You and everyone else on that island.”
Kordin chuckles. “If I recall correctly, it was your idea to go to that nude beach.”
“I don’t remember hearing any complaints from you.”
It hasn’t all been bad with Kordin. It was just better when I could get drunk and he didn’t find me repulsive.
“My wife was the sexiest woman on the island. I didn’t mind showing you off.”
And yet now he can’t even stomach to look at me himself.
The nostalgia dies off as quickly as it formed.
But the subject change might be useful.
“We could use another vacation. In Jamaica maybe?” I twist my hands at my sides, fingers rubbing against each other painfully as I search his expression. “Or the Caymans.” The Cayman Islands are a well-known location for criminals to keep secretillegaloffshore accounts.
Kordin’s slow to respond, his face completely devoid of emotion, then he says, “We don’t need to go anywhere to reenact St. Maarten.” One-handed, he undoes his pants, freeing his semi-erect cock. “Do we, dear?”
Thankfully, sex hasn’t come up since Kordin’s been home. Love for my husband’s never been in the picture, but physical attraction has. At least until recently. Something about the last few weeks has changed my entire view of Kordin, and as I stand here, regarding his soon-to-be upright cock, it’s more apparent than ever. I feel nothing. Not even the slightest stirring of arousal. I half-wonder if I can even get wet with him at all anymore.
Keeping his gaze, I approach the wheelchair, and run my hand up his shoulder to his jaw. It’s not as sharp as Reece’s and his eyes aren’t as dark either. There’s nothing outwardly dangerous about Kordin. He keeps his menace tucked away.
Just like I do mine.
“Let’s get you over to the bed. I’ll ride you just like I did at the beach.”
Kordin visibly blanches, breaking the connection. “We’re not alone and our bedroom might as well have a window right into it.”
“We weren’t alone that day either.”
The rental cabanas on the beach had beds. It was broad daylight, there was a steady breeze coming off the water, and the walls were sheets. People saw. A lot of people saw. And heard. Discretion wasn’t on our drunken minds in the slightest. That was back when I still drank alcohol.
Not that I’m opposed to public displays now that I’m sober. I just haven’t been presented with many opportunities for it…until Reece came along.
“I’m not feeling quite as gratuitous.” He shakes his head. “Turn around.”
The ever-present scream inside me churns, swirling faster and faster like a tornado of silent protest, tearing at the walls of my throat.Why do I have to turn around?
What’s wrong with me?
Quicker than I thought possible, Kordin shoots out his good arm, and with a handful of my dress, yanks me down on his lap so my back’s against his front, his now solid erection trying to emerge between my clamped-together thighs.
“Ah, my love. We fit so well together. Lift up your dress for me.”
