High-Risk Fever (6 page)

“Yeah, I could see that.” His tone filled with sarcasm. How unusual for this man, who she had always thought to be the sweetest and gentlest of all. He had not once laid a hand on her.

He took a step closer and grabbed her chin between two hard fingers. With his dark pupils reflecting dim light from the floor, he stared into her eyes. Short pulses of coffee breath drifted to her nostrils. “Anne, why was the Italian wearing your bathrobe last night?”

Oh, holy fucking shit
.

Anne tried to still her heartbeat with a couple of slow, deep breaths and hoped he wouldn’t notice. Though they didn’t see much in the blackened cellar, she hoped the flashlight he pointed to the cement floor didn’t provide enough light for him to catch any twitch in her face. The uncontrollable nervous tics of a liar.

Careful, now. Be smart. Think fast
.

Her throat constricted, but she forced the words with a calm, steady voice. “He was really cold. He asked me to give it to him, so I did.”

“Hmm.” Brian removed his fingers from her chin and stood silent for a moment, observing her.

The waiting lasted so long, she thought he’d accepted her explanation. She almost sighed with relief.

Wrong. Hazel eyes gleaming, he tilted his head and lowered his voice. “But sweet Anne, how did you do that?”

Uh-oh
. She swallowed. “W-what do you mean?”

“I don’t see how that is so hard to understand.” His sarcasm provoked a rush of cold through her chest. “When you took it off and gave it to him, were you standing in front of him? I mean, you were naked underneath, weren’t you?”

“Uh—”

“I’m not done!” For a second, she didn’t recognize her husband. He had never spoken to her in such a harsh manner. “And
when
did it happen? Before or after the power went out?”

Oh, holy mother of Christ
.

The cellar shrank, and its walls pressed against her from all sides while she sorted out her thoughts. Images of the gorgeous Italian and his tempting erection flashed in her mind, threatening to make her blush. But like a light switch, she replaced the pictures with those of him giving his lover a blow job. Instant deceit filled her, and anger rushed to her head.

That’s good. Being angry will make it easier to lie
.

With unexpected control, she held Brian’s look. “I was already in bed. I’d put the robe on the chair. You know, the one by the closet. And he took it.”

Ah, such a simple excuse! She couldn’t believe her own cleverness. Pride almost radiated from her, and she worked to hold back a smile.

He raised his brows. “So he didn’t see you naked.” His words sounded more like a conclusion than a question.

She had already won the battle and visualized clapping her hands in self-applause. Much more at ease, she delivered the next line as if having rehearsed for a theatre play. “No. I was under the covers.”

She allowed herself the pleasure of conjuring up the intense lust building between her thighs when Micaela actually pinned her against the closet, and the gasp she had barely stifled.

Brian frowned. “But weren’t you supposed to give them clothes?”

Ah. Good point
.

She paused while inwardly following the trail of her lie. Like a professional cheater, she had a good reply. “Yes, I told him to get them in your closet. But while choosing them, he wanted to wear the robe to be warm. That’s when the lights went out.” Again, she applauded her ingenuity.

Of course, she hated lying to her husband; she loved him more than any person she’d met and would be utterly lost if he left her. She could only hope Micaela would never mention their little interlude. Knowing the man’s boldness, though, anything could happen.

Brian nodded, the movement making the light dance on the floor and the silhouettes of his chin and nose move on his face. “Well, that’s good. I wouldn’t want him to get any ideas.”

“Oh, he won’t, I can assure you.”

“Yeah, how is that?”

Merde
. A new rush went through her, this time of fear, and she cursed her big mouth. What reason to tell him? He had never shared her tolerance toward homosexuality and, like Todd, she suspected he would kick the two bicyclists out of the house as soon as he learned they were gay.

She filled her lungs with humid, fungus-scented air and exhaled, then shrugged and crossed her arms. “He’s just not looking at me, simple as that. He’s not interested. In fact, he’s being quite impolite.”

Oh, another lie. They seemed to exit her mouth with incredible ease today. She loathed these treacherous words, but excused them with the need to deter Brian’s suspicion at all cost, even if that meant soiling the young man’s reputation.

“Hmm.” Brian’s low voice carried a colder tone. “Does that also apply to the guy you chatted with a few minutes ago, the one who disappeared as soon as I caught you together?”

Damn, will you never relent?

Disheartened, she uncrossed her arms.

Before she could collect her thoughts and produce another half-coherent lie, he stepped toward her, bumping his large chest into hers, and pushed her back against the shelf. She winced as hard wood grazed her spine, pain spreading like tiny electric shocks.

Yet the contact brought forth the sex-infused memory of a very naked Micaela caging her in the same way last night and, for some strange reason, heat rushed to her lower stomach. Gasping, she put her hands behind her, clutching the rough wood of a shelf for balance.

Brian came closer, towering over her until every muscle on the front of his body pressed against hers, flattening her breasts. He stood so near, she could no longer discern his pupils. His chest heaved against hers.

A sudden click—a brutal, sickening sound in such a desolate place—and the light went out, plunging them in perfect blackness. He lifted his arm and reached behind her. A metallic clatter on wood told her he’d put the flashlight on the shelf.

She shuddered. For the first time in their two-year relationship, she considered her husband a possible threat and regretted being alone with him.

“You know….” His menacing voice filled the eerie silence. He moved his face to the side of her head and whispered into her ear. “I can’t help thinking your odd behavior in bed yesterday has something to do with this.”

Oh, fuck
. Everything was coming back at her. One by one, he pointed out irregularities and uncovered holes in her explanations. He must have given this some serious thought.

She swallowed, listened to her own breathing. Sweat slid along her flanks, cold as rain. The inability to see her husband caused the hair on her neck to stand, as if the spookiest ghost appeared before her.

Anne shook her head. “Brian, sweetheart, you wanna talk about last night? Honestly, I don’t know what came over me. I think I just wanted a little more—I don’t know—diversity?”

“Because what I do to you isn’t enough? Is that it?” He cupped her cheeks in his warm hands before moving to her ears and squeezing, pressing the back of her neck against another shelf. Her temples heated.

She didn’t know what to say, and feared where he was going. Being in a cold, humid, and darkened cellar didn’t seem a good moment to discuss the lack of variety in their sex life.

“Anne, I love you more than anything.” Pressing his hips against her, he rubbed his obvious arousal back and forth against her thighs.

Oh God
. The movement lit a fire in her belly. She couldn’t believe he was handling her in such a rough manner, but at the same time, it was quite exciting.

“I’d give my life for you.” With one hand entwined in her hair, he yanked her head until it rested atop the shelf, exposing her throat. While a thousand tiny needles in her scalp made her whine, his warm breath pulsed against her bare skin. “Don’t you know that?”

“I do.”

With the other hand, he unbuttoned her blouse between their chests, snuck warm fingers beneath, and found her breast inside the bra.

She gasped at the intrusion.

“How do you want me to prove that?” He pinched the sensitive nipple, and a sharp, electrical rush of pain spread through her breast. “Marrying you wasn’t enough?”

Wanting to tolerate the hurt, she clenched her teeth.

He obviously thought roughness would arouse her. Well, she was tired of his oh-so-careful, gentlemanly lovemaking and did indeed crave a little harder handling. It could be the moment she had waited for.

“No, you want excitement.”

Yes
.

His breathing picked up, as did the fondling of her breast and the moves of his erection between her thighs, only separated by their clothes. “Excitement.” His voice was loud in her ear. His moustache tickled the skin of her throat as he leaned forward, hot breaths leaving dampness before he placed his sharp teeth on the sensitive tissue and bit.

She yelped, jerked sideways, but his fingers entangled in her hair held her in place.

“Do you know what would happen to me if I lost you?” His voice cracked.

For a second, a cruel rush of sorrow filled her chest.

Yes, I know what that would feel like. I love you, too, Brian
.

He released her hair. His strong hands moved to her ass cheeks, cupped them, and with perfect ease, lifted her.

She squealed, helpless to the shelf scraping her spine. Unbalanced, blind, she flapped her arms in the dark before leaning forward and clutching Brian’s shoulders.

With a few adjustments, he positioned the hard bulge in his pants into the crevice of her inner thighs, pressing it against her panties. So ready.

Oh God
. The intimate touch made her inner muscles clench with lust.

Did he want to fuck her here? Standing?

“I’ll do anything to keep you.” He buried his face in her cleavage with a choked, guttural sound, his moustache prickling the skin between her breasts.

She didn’t know what to say, could only fight back the warm tears threatening to fill her eyes.

He moved his face in front of hers, quick breaths brushing her lips.

Thank God I can’t see your eyes and what they’re telling me
.

“You want to be fucked hard and fast, Anne,” he muttered through gritted teeth, “I’ll fuck you hard and fast.” With no further warning, he dropped her to the floor.

She welcomed the cement underneath her feet and let her hands slide down from his shoulders, grazing the metal buttons of his shirt pockets.

He grabbed her arms, spun her around, and pushed her against the wooden shelves. One met the front of her thighs, another dug into her lower ribs, and the third—on which sat the cartons she brought earlier—provided support for her head.

Tiny, sour-smelling dust particles snuck into her nostrils as she rested her chin atop the solid wood, and she barely held back a sneeze. Fumbling with her hands, she found two vertical pillars on both sides of the shelf and clutched them for balance.

Relentless, Brian brought his hands to her hips, stroking her feminine curves, then lifted her skirt to her waist. He pulled at the lace band of her panties until the fabric slid down her legs. He groaned as he moved a couple of cold, meaty fingers into her wetness and probed around, nails scratching her inner walls.

She gasped from the sudden violation, her cunt gripping his fingers as if welcoming his cock.

“This is what you want, isn’t it?” His face pressed into her back. “You slut.”

Oh, it was the first time he’d said that word.

He removed the fingers, stepped back a little, and the
zzzzip
of his pants sounded behind her. “My own slut.”

Raw excitement caused her to leak desire for him.

Strong hands grabbed her hips, forcing her back to arch and her ass to point backward. “My own beautiful sweetie.”

Yes
.

He grunted and held her in position while poking his hard cock against her entrance. The tip felt wet, his seminal fluid mixing with her juices. He moved a hand to her abdomen and pulled her closer with quick thrusts of his hips until the large erection, little by little, inched inside her.

She closed her eyes in surrender and rested on the shelf. The rough wood was the only secure, stable thing in her life at this moment, the only thing she could trust would stay.

With small grunts, he pulled out, and in again, each time slamming her ribs against the second shelf. She wanted to build her release together with him, but her arousal contrasted with growing sadness. “I love you, Anne.” His fast, gliding movements made her tunnel walls heat. Ragged breaths and wet, sucking sounds filled the small cellar. “Don’t you see? Don’t you know?”

Yes, I do
. She wanted to cry, wanted to apologize, but found no words. Instead, she clutched the wood pillars so tightly, she imagined her knuckles turning white and ground her teeth. Tears snuck out between her closed lids.

Brian’s groans increased with the speed of his thrusts then he seized up behind her with a cry. Hips jerking, he emptied his seed and dug his fingers into her stomach.

“My beautiful!” He buried his face into her back again and sobbed. “My own beautiful baby!”

Silence. Except for Anne’s faint breaths, each drawing fine dust particles into her lungs. Her pulse pounded in her throat, and her head spun. Brian had walked out a moment ago, slamming the door behind him. But in the total cellar blackness, minutes seemed like hours.

Reeling from the shock of the emotionally wrought fuck, she waited another beat in the dark, trembling, before releasing her hold on the pillars.

The water heater clicked in a corner, and upstairs, shoes clonked on the living room floor.

She lifted her chin from the rough wood and turned, leaning back against the hard shelves, and gritted her teeth until her jaw ached. The surreal situation with the power cut and the horny bicyclists weighed on her more than was healthy, too. She didn’t know what to make of anything. In less than twenty-four hours, her safe little world had turned upside down.