I Love My Secret (Nicole's Erotic Romance) (9 page)

“I asked, are your paintings on the right?” She
stands very still and both her hands are clasped together. Primly.

“Yes. Oh…” I stand up and lay the cigarette in the
ashtray. “I’m sorry. Did he tell you to come and see
my
work? I’m so sorry. Yes, mine are on the right… but I’m just
learning.”

Why do I always have to say that??!!
 
Probably, because I feel very insecure
around this woman. I can feel the hair going up on my body, and I am more
uncomfortable the closer I get to her, pointing to where my pieces are. I don’t
lay them out like I did with Danny, because, she isn’t moving. If it were
nighttime, I’d swear she were a vampire, the way she holds herself like a
statue; so tense. She’s freaky. And I don’t like her.

She looks at the paintings, but doesn’t walk to
them.

“Is he teaching you, then… my Michael?” she asks.

The words are a slap across my face.
My Michael
. I stare at her, both of us
silent as my mind rushes to figure out what is happening. Apparently I’m not
psychic at all, because I didn’t see this coming. So… this is his lover… his
girlfriend? Standing here in front of me is the reason he won’t make love to
me? I steady myself against the nausea and answer slowly. “He is. In a way. I’m
learning a lot from him.”

“I’m sure.” She looks like she’s about to get
sick, too.

“Are you okay?” My hand goes out to her,
instinctively, but she walks away from me.

“Don’t,” she moans.

She looks so fragile that I feel badly for her.
“I’m sorry. I was just trying to console you. Are you his girlfriend? Is that
what’s going on? Because, he and I haven’t done anything, if that’s what you’re
worried about.”

She turns quickly and looks very surprised. “You
haven’t?”

She’s so relieved that I decide to leave out the
kissing and sometimes fondling each other part. He hasn’t fucked me, the
bastard, and that’s all she needs to know. “No. I swear to God.”

Her hand goes to her throat and she nods, deep in
thought. She nods. Looks to me again.

“I swear. Clothes have never come off. I promise
you.”

Her relief is so great that I don’t know how to
behave. It’s the truth, what I said. It’s the truth, even though I hate her for
it. But it’s not her fault. It’s his.

She walks toward the stairs and her long eyelashes
flutter as she meets my eyes one last time. “Thank you. I’m not his girlfriend
though. I’m Laura Benitez, his wife.”

My heart jumps into my throat and I can’t breathe.
His wife? My face did not change as she said it -
wife.
It did not change as my heart exploded and broke into
bloodied pieces. And it did not change when she thanked me and walked down the
stairs, and out the door.

Days Later

I should probably eat something. I’m not hungry. I
really should get a cleaning lady to clean up those dust bunnies. Turning over
the pillow to find the cool side, I look away from my mess of an apartment. I
haven’t left, seen anyone, spoken to anyone… since I walked out of the studio;
my canvas unfinished, the cigarette still lit, the candles too… and my heart?
Undone.

This headache won’t go away and I think it’s from
– of all things – too much sleep. My body can’t get comfortable because
I’ve been lying down for so long. It wants to get up and move around, but… I
don’t. My phone has rung a few times, but no calls have come through that
needed to be answered. I’m tired. So tired.

As if on cue, a buzz from my nightstand tells me
my phone has vibrated. Just once. A text? An email?
Do I even care?
I turn my head and look at it, but it seems too far
away to reach. But when it vibrates again, something inside me moves and I lean
over and grab it.

Jason: What’re you up to?

This is our signal, has been since we first
started hooking up, the signal that says
I
want you. Can you come over – or I’ll go over there. Whatever. However.
Let’s find a way to fuck.
I close my eyes and rest on my back, the phone on
my chest. What time is it? Shit, what day is it? I look at the phone again and
see that it’s 10:00 p.m. and I don’t look to see what day, because I’m scared
to know how long I’ve been lying here. I stare at Jason’s text. Maybe he can
help me. I’d have to shower. Do my hair. I don’t have that kind of energy. As I
stare at it, another text comes through.

Jason: I can make whatever ails you... disappear.

I smile. He knows my moods. Or maybe he’s just
being funny. I get thoughtful for a second and think, maybe this is my guardian
angel trying to help. “You trying to help?” I ask aloud. Silence. “Could you
just talk to me once – just once?”

Another text from Jason: Baby, I’m sorry I got mad
at you. If you’re not busy, I wanna come by. I’m around the corner. Could be
there in ten.

To my angel, I say, “You’re good. Oh, you’re very,
very good.”

To Jason I text: “Give me twenty.”

He replies within one second with a happy face.

Swinging my long sore legs off the bed, drugged
from depression, I stand up and wobble to the kitchen where I suck down a boatload
of orange juice and throw some gluten-free bread into the toaster. I’ll get it
when I get out of the shower. Making my way to the bathroom, I see myself in a
mirror and almost scare myself to death. I look like a demon possessed me and
then took off for greener pastures.

I shower fast, wash my hair and leave the long
curls hanging wet past my shoulders. A robe is pulled on, with nothing
underneath it. After a gallon of moisturizer gets rubbed all over, some
makeup’s applied to cover the demon’s ravaging, and I’m done swishing around
about ten gallons of Listerine, I’m good as I’m ever gonna be. I walk fast to
the kitchen, the clock ticking, and slap some peanut butter on my toast,
shoving it in my mouth and following it with about eighty-nine gallons of
water. My mouth is so dry, I have no choice. Popping some grapes in my mouth,
and a few slices of green apple (good for breath), and I’m feeling pretty good.
But just in case, I put a little lube down below. Jason isn’t small, after all,
and I’ve been dehydrated for days.

The knock at the door tells me it’s show time.
Let’s see if he can tell if anything’s been wrong…

“Hi,” Jason says, looking super sexy in
hip-hugging gray jeans, a white shirt, a darker gray leather jacket and a sexy
hat.

“Hey,” I say, my voice low and sultry. I didn’t
know until I saw him how much I needed him to come over.

“You just shower?” he asks, walking up to me and
picking up some of my hair. “Your hair is wet.”

“It’s not the only thing on me that’s wet.”

“Is that right?” he says, his eyelids half-fallen
as he closes in to kiss me. I smile, sliding my arms around his neck. This man
won’t turn me down. And he sure as shit isn’t married. That knowledge is
delicious.

 
“Mmhmm. Apparently I’m happy to see you,”
I whisper.

“I’m happy to see you, too. And someone else is,
too.” He pushes his hips against mine, the soft silk of my robe slides against
my freshly cleaned skin and the wisp of fabric does nothing to hide the hot
growing bulge that’s trying to open his zipper on its own.

“He is happy, isn’t he?” I purr.

He says in a low throaty growl, “Getting happier
by the second.”

“Mmmmm.” I open my mouth and wait for his kiss. He
attacks me with the heat of a wild man, sliding his hands all over and kissing
me like he’s making up for lost time. I’m lifted up, robe falling off one
shoulder, and as he carries me to the kitchen, he gnaws on it like it’s dinner.

“Bedroom is boring,” he mumbles into my neck,
setting my ass on the edge of the counter just in front of the sink and
grabbing the outside of my smooth thighs and wrapping them around his hips.
“You taste so good, woman. You’re better than oxygen.” You can’t taste oxygen,
but I get his meaning.

I grab onto his back, pull his shirt off over his
head, look into his eyes and say simply, “Jason.”

He gets it – my apology for calling him
another man’s name – and he hears me, really hears me. He’s on me heavier
and harder than he ever has been, taking off my robe so fast he rips it. He
yanks down his zipper and unleashes his steel-hard cock. I moan and claw down
his back as he slides it into me, my pussy so eager for him that he has little
problem coaxing me to accept all of him with a few shorts nudges. He’s slightly
curved upward, like some lucky cocks are, and he hits my elusive g-spot until I
feel like I might pee all over him, the sensation is so strong. I know from
experience this is just the way it feels – so it doesn’t freak me out,
like the first time I felt it. He grabs me by my hair and pulls on it,
thrusting into me with a smooth hard burst of strength from his chiseled hips.
He leans down and presses his teeth against my neck, massaging it with his
mouth, his lips, his teeth. The slippery hammering his cock is giving me,
combined with my ass rubbing along the counter feels so good.

“Jason. Pull my hair harder.” He weaves his
fingers into the moisture of my curls and gets a better grip; giving it a sweet
little tug at the same time he presses his cock in. It’s not pain. More like
ownership, like in the cave man days. I’m all about it and I shiver as he fills
me again and again, each time giving a little tug. All the while biting my neck
in the slowest most sensual way.

“Baby, Nicole… you’re so tight. So wet. I could
just fuck you all night long,” he groans against my skin.

“Then why don’t you,” I moan.

He pushes in deeply, and I reach back and turn on
the water, cupping some in my hand and smearing it on his chest like its paint.
He flinches at the cold and his eyes get hot and smoldering. I do it again,
more water this time. He reaches back to the running faucet and takes some of
his own, wipes it down the length of my back, grasping me and sliding around as
his tongue touches mine and his cock presses in and out of me. I kiss him from
a place I’ve never come from before, in a way that makes him growl hard into my
mouth. His cock slams fuller. He grabs onto my ass, then my thighs, licking my
tongue as he rams me faster, smooth and skilled… pulling almost all the way out
every time, before he slides back in me. I sigh and moan against his mouth.

Feeling needed like this, the way he looks at me,
pulls and tugs at me – it makes me not want him to pull out. I don’t want
to separate or be left. “I want to feel you come, Jason. I want to feel
you…don’t pull out, okay?” I whisper against his lips, my eyes looking into his
as he fucks me.

 
“But
baby… I’m not wearing a condom…”

I smile against his lips. “I know. I want to feel
you splashing inside of me. Won’t that feel good?”

He blinks some more and slows down the motions a
bit… pulling his head back so he can see me better. “Are you on the pill?”

I nod. Isn’t everyone? But he isn’t convinced. He
slows to a stop and says, “Nicole… I’m sorry. I can’t. I just… I can’t do
that.”

“Why?” I ask, getting pissed.

“Because what if …”

“What if I’m lying? You don’t trust me?” I’m
wondering if I should push him out of me or not.

“I trust you… it’s just that…” he flounders for a
better answer.

“Jason! How long have you known me? Do you really
think I’d try and make you be a father by design? You know me better than that.
Get off of me.”

He pulls out and looks sheepish. “I’m sorry. It’s
just, you women go crazy sometimes and want kids and…” His dick is deflating.
As it should.

“I’m not having kids without a father at least
wanting to be around!” I pull my busted robe over my body and shake my head and
finger at him as I walk to the living room. “You’re crazy. I just wasn’t
feeling the pulling out thing and since we have a no-condom agreement…”

“…Well, yeah. We only use condoms with other
people. We’ve been hooking up for a long time,” he says, following me, pulling
up his pants and leaving them half-zipped.

“Yeah! Which means you should know that I’m not
lying about being on the pill! People who think you’re lying are usually liars,
themselves. So… are you lying about using condoms with other women?” I demand.
Then I see his half-open fly. “And zip that fly up. You think we’re going to be
using it again? You must be out of your mind.”

He zips it as he argues, “Yes. I use a condom with
other women. I’m not stupid.”

I search his eyes. He lets me, so he appears to be
being honest with me. My gut tells me he’s not lying, and my gut is usually
right. “Okay. I’ll believe you. But you know the deal – if you don’t use
a condom with someone else, you have to tell me. So I can use one the next time
we fuck. You promise?”

He steps up and stares at me, so I know he isn’t
blinking or looking away… in other words, lying. “Promise. You wanna go again?”

“No! Get out of here. The mood is gone. Now don’t
look at me like a boy who got his cookie taken away. You did this to yourself.
I’ll see you again, don’t worry.”