Obsession (8 page)

The moment his lips met mine, it was as though I’d been touched by a live wire. A jolt of searing heat shot through me. My lips parted on a moan, and Peter gently captured the tip of my tongue with his teeth. He suckled my tongue, my bottom lip. My entire body was alive with an intense sexual desire I hadn’t felt in a very long time.

I slipped my fingers into his hair, took fistfuls of it and gently tugged. Peter broke the kiss and I moaned in disappointment, wondering if he’d mistakenly gotten the idea that I’d wanted him to stop.

He eased his face away from mine and stretched his arm out to put his beer bottle on the glass coffee table. Then he returned to me, using both hands to caress my jaw and neck. I could hear his ragged breathing as the tips of his fingers slowly trailed over my skin. He touched me reverently, as though I were a priceless piece of art.

I’d never felt more beautiful.

“How would you like me to please you?” Peter asked, his tone husky.

“You are pleasing me.”

Peter moved one hand down the length of my neck to the area between my breasts. I held my breath, wondering if he would pull my top down and expose me.

Wanting him to.

“What is it that you love the most?” he asked.

His hand moved lower, to my belly, where he pulled the hem of my blouse out of the way. The pale brown skin on his hand was a touch darker than the pale brown skin on my stomach. He skimmed my stomach with his fingers in a rhythmic motion. I sucked in a breath.

“I want to please you in every way imaginable.”

I’d been out of the dating game for a while, but I doubted that Peter was the typical guy who picked up a woman for sex. Guys tended to be out for number one, a woman’s pleasure secondary in their minds. And yet here was Peter, concerned with my pleasure first and foremost.

“What is it your husband didn’t do that you’d like me to try?”

My stomach twisted. “No, please. Don’t mention him. I don’t want to think about my ex.”

Peter didn’t say anything, just moved his hands lower, resting them on the outside of my skirt. “You’re nervous,” he said.

“Yes,” I agreed.

“You haven’t been with another man in a very long time.”

“I want to be with you.”

His hand moved over the top of my thighs. “I can tell by the way you’ve pressed your legs tightly together that you enjoy someone playing with your pussy. A lot.”

I couldn’t help it. I moaned.

“So I’m right.” Peter inched a hand under my skirt while using his upper body to ease me backward on the sofa. “But why do I think that your pussy is starved for affection?”

“What makes you say that?” I asked, wondering if this man could somehow read my mind.

“It’s the way you won’t spread your legs for me…and yet, I see the desire in your eyes.” He placed one hand on my belly. “I feel it in your breathing.”

I glanced at his hand on my red shirt, noticed how quickly it rose and fell. Peter was right.

And I was right about him. He was no ordinary man.

“Relax your legs,
bella.
”

I did, and he easily parted them. He moved a hand up my thigh, slowly, as though savoring every touch of my skin. When he reached my pussy, he moaned his pleasure, then stroked his thumb over my clitoris through my panties.

“Do you like that?” Peter asked.

I exhaled a shaky breath. “Yes…”

Back and forth he stroked me. Stroked me until I was panting. Then he moved my panties aside and touched me skin to skin.

My eyes fluttered shut as raw sexual desire shot through me.

“Yes,” Peter said. “That’s it.”

My moans grew louder, and my body began to tense. As though sensing I could come any moment, Peter stopped stroking me, but let his fingers rest on my pussy.

“Do you know what I love about a woman’s clit?” He stroked me again, and I shuddered. “I love how it gets erect, just like a penis. I love the way it trembles slightly when a woman is really aroused. Right now, your clit is hard and it’s trembling.” Peter pressed his nose to my neck and inhaled deeply. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

I took fistfuls of his shirt in my hands. “Fuck me.”

“I think you want something else.” He slipped one finger into my vagina, and I groaned wantonly. “My fingers?” he asked. “My tongue? Tell me.”

“Just fuck me. Please…”

“There’s no need to rush. We have all night.” His thumb and finger were working faster now, making me breathless.

“I need you to fuck me,” I begged. “I need it. Right now.”

“It—or me?”

My eyes met Peter’s. I didn’t understand the question. “You,” I told him, and gyrated my hips against his hand so there’d be no doubt. Slowly, he started playing with my pussy again. I closed my eyes. “Yes, yes. Yes, that’s it. Make me forget…”

Peter’s fingers stopped moving. “What did you say?”

My chest heaving, my eyes popped open. “Huh?”

“You said ‘Make me forget.’ Do you mean forget your husband?”

Had
I said that?

“I want you to want
me,
” Peter stressed.

“I do.” I raised my head and kissed his jaw. “Of course I do.”

Peter eased away from me, unconvinced. “I think what you want most is to forget about how your husband hurt you.”

I stared at Peter, confused.

“I think that for you, any man will do,” he went on.

“What? No. No, that’s not true.” I snaked my arms around his neck. “The moment I saw you, I knew it had to be you. I’m here because I want you.”

Peter placed his hands on my arms, but not in a way that said he was going to succumb to my touch. “I like you, Sophie. And I don’t want you to think of me as a mistake tomorrow morning.”

I framed his face. “Why are you saying that?” I asked. “I won’t think that.”

Peter turned his lips into one of my palms and kissed it. “You know where I live.”

My heart rate accelerated. “Are you sending me away?”

“If you wake up in the morning and decide that you still want me, you can return.”

Disappointed, I groaned. Every part of my body was throbbing with carnal need. “Please don’t do this.”

Peter kissed my palm again, then the inside of my wrist. “You.” Another kiss. “Know.” Another kiss. “Where.” Another kiss. “I live.” Now Peter moved his lips from my wrist to my mouth and gave me a tender kiss. “If you want me.”

“Please…”

Peter silenced me with his lips. He gave me a deep, hungry kiss that said he didn’t want our night together to end. And yet, he broke the kiss, stood, and walked to the phone near the armchair.

“What are you doing?”

“Calling you a taxi. I’ll pay the fare, of course.”

“No, please don’t. You can give me a ride home if you want.”

“If I give you a ride, I’ll want to touch you. And I don’t want to touch you until you are ready.” He punched in some digits. “And this way, I won’t know where you live, so if you want to see me again, the decision is yours.”

Before I could respond, Peter began speaking into the phone. He requested a taxi at his address, then replaced the receiver.

He came back to the sofa and sat beside me. Taking my hands in his, he pressed his lips to my cheek. “Did your husband cheat on you?” he asked softly.

I nodded.

“He is a fool,” Peter said.

I said nothing but nodded again.

“May I use your bathroom?”

With a nod of his head, he indicated a door behind the sofa on the right. “It’s right there.”

I stood and made my way to the bathroom. One glance in the mirror had me frowning. My eyes were red and slightly dazed. I looked like a drunk.

No wonder Peter hadn’t wanted to fuck me. Whether because he thought I was hung up on my husband, or because he felt I wasn’t sober enough to do the act, he was a gentleman.

For which I could only give him credit.

When I exited the bathroom, I saw Peter standing at the door. The taxi driver was already here.

I wanted to tell him to send the driver away, reassure him that I wanted to be with him tonight, but I didn’t. If Peter didn’t want me to stay, I wouldn’t beg him.

“I’ve given the driver enough to cover the fare,” Peter said.

I realized he was making sure the driver wouldn’t try to charge me, as well. Nodding, I stepped outside. The driver continued on, but I hesitated at the door. “You’re a strange man,” I said to Peter. “You get me all hot and bothered—”

He kissed me again, and I whimpered when he pulled away. “You know where I live.”

With that, he stepped back into his apartment, blew me a kiss and closed the door.

“What do you mean
nothing happened?
” Marnie exclaimed through the phone line, so loudly I had to pull the receiver from my ear for a moment.

I brought the phone back to my ear. “Not exactly nothing,” I corrected. “We got to first base, but after that, I struck out.”

“I don’t get it.”

“Trust me, no one was more confused than I was,” I told her. Still in my pj’s, I was sitting cross-legged on my sofa, a cup of black coffee on the end table beside me. Peaches was lying on her bed near the patio doors, getting some mid-morning sun.

“How did the two of you go from being unable to keep your hands off each other on the dance floor to not fucking?”

I lifted my mug of coffee and sipped some before answering. This was my third cup, and still my head throbbed. I’d already taken two pain relievers, but the way I was feeling, I would need a couple more. I hadn’t had a hangover like this in a long time.

“I guess I said the wrong thing,” I admitted.

“What on earth did you say? Hell, what
could
you say that would turn a guy off?”

“I was drunk, and I apparently said something like ‘make me forget.’ Peter took that to mean I wasn’t really into
him
—only into using him to escape my problem.”

“What guy in his right mind turns down sex, no matter the motive?” Marnie sounded positively bewildered.

I shrugged. “That’s what I’ve been thinking about all night. He’s not like any guy I’ve ever met, that’s for sure.”

“Tell me about it.”

“On one hand, I can’t blame him. I was so drunk, I’m surprised he took me home in the first place. By the way, remind me to
never
drink that much again.” As if on cue, my head throbbed.

“Oh, well,” Marnie said. “There are other guys. You’ll find someone else.”

“No.” I waved off the suggestion, even though she couldn’t see my hand motion. “I’m putting my affair plans on hold.”

“Why?”

“Because. Maybe Peter was right. Maybe I really wasn’t ready. Maybe I shouldn’t be rushing into screwing some other guy just because Andrew cheated.”

“That’s exactly what you need,” Marnie countered, as if she were an authority on the matter.

“With all due respect, Marnie, this is my life. This isn’t about you and Keith.”

“Ouch.”

I regretted my words immediately, even if I believed that Marnie’s opinion on what I should do was influenced by her own past. She had stayed with a cheater, forgiven him time after time, only for him to ultimately leave her. She’d done everything possible to hang on to him and their relationship, but nothing had worked.

“I didn’t mean that,” I said, my tone softer. “Trust me, I know that you care. And maybe you’re one hundred percent right. It’s just…I need to figure out for myself what I’m going to do.”

And, quite frankly, I was still intrigued by Peter. I wasn’t nearly as frustrated as I’d let on with Marnie, because the truth was, I respected Peter for sending me home. Ninety-nine percent of other guys would have fucked me, no questions asked.

“I understand,” Marnie said. “You know I’m not telling you what to do.”

“I know that,” I told her, then drank more coffee. “And guess what?” I said after a moment. “I can’t find my bracelet. I remember having it on in Peter’s car, so it must have fallen off at his place while we were making out on his sofa. Think I ought to go back and get it?”

“The platinum and emerald bracelet Andrew got you for your first anniversary?”

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

“Girl, your marriage might be in trouble—”

“I know,” I said, frowning. “I have to go back for it. Even if it is from Andrew, I love that piece. Not to mention that it’s expensive.”

“Maybe there’s hope for you and Peter yet.” Marnie’s voice rose on a hopeful note. “In fact, maybe you left it there deliberately, even if you don’t realize it.”

I didn’t get a chance to respond, because my phone beeped, indicating there was a call on my other line. “Marnie, let me call you later. I’ve got another call coming in.”

“All right, Soph. Later.”

I pressed the flash button to click me over to the other line. “Hello?”

There was a pause, then, “Sophie.”

Pain shot through my stomach at the sound of Andrew’s voice. “Andrew.” I swallowed, wondering if it would always be like this from now on—pain instead of pleasure where my husband was concerned. “What do you want?”

“I miss you.”

My stomach clenched at the simple statement. “I…I can’t do this. It’s too hard—”

“I know you need more time,” Andrew hurriedly said. “I just wanted to hear your voice, Sophie.”

The sound of my name on his lips was bittersweet. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to be.

“I also wanted you to know that I’m trying to work things out for us. On my end.”

“What does that mean?” I asked, then wished I hadn’t. I didn’t want to be having this conversation right now.

“With—you know. I’ve got a couple options I’m considering to make the problem go away.”

My stomach lurched again. I felt sick. “I—I can’t hear this right now.”

“Okay—”

“No, it’s not okay, Andrew. You messed everything up.”

“I know that, and I’m—”

I hung up.

My hands were shaking as I reached for my mug of coffee and downed the lukewarm liquid. It curdled inside my stomach, and I thought I might retch.

“Damn you, Andrew,” I muttered.

As I sat on the sofa thinking about his words, anger quickly replaced my feeling of unease.
The problem,
Andrew had said.
You know,
he’d said. The thing was, I didn’t know. Other than telling me he’d had an affair, Andrew hadn’t even mentioned the other woman’s name.

He claimed he wanted our marriage, but in order for anything to work, he had to be completely honest with me.

I shot to my feet and went to the bathroom. I turned on the faucets in the shower, adjusted the temperature, then got out of my oversize T-shirt and thong. I stepped into the shower and let the warm water splash over my face. Keeping my head under the steady stream of water, I held my breath until my lungs started to burn before jerking my head backward and gulping in air.

Tears fell from my eyes, even though I didn’t want them to. Peter had been right about one thing. I
had
needed a distraction last night. I still did. Because every time I thought about Andrew, I didn’t know if I could go on.

Think about Peter…

I forced the image of Peter’s sexy smile into my brain. I thought about the way his dark eyes had fixated on me, letting me know in no uncertain terms that he wanted me.

I squirted some body wash into my hands, then smoothed my palms over my breasts. They were heavy and full, my nipples high. My breasts were beautiful. I knew that. I stroked my nipples, and they hardened. Then I ran my palms down my flat belly, let them rest there. A sorrowful moan caught in my throat as I thought of something. Andrew and I had been trying to get pregnant for a few months now.

And yet he’d screwed another woman.

Had he taken a shower with her, tweaked her nipples into hardened peaks? Had he slipped soapy hands between her folds and massaged her until she’d come?

I pounded a fist on the shower wall. The images of what Andrew might have done with this woman were going to drive me crazy. I’d dreamed about him and this faceless woman, and the way he’d possibly touched her. Now I was thinking about it in the shower.

I would never get past this, not until I had answers.

I’d gone to see Andrew at work yesterday, and he hadn’t been there. When he’d come to talk to me at home, the news about the possible lawsuit had made me forget about why I’d gone to see him originally.

To ask him exactly what he’d done with the woman he’d been screwing. How he’d touched her, how she’d touched him. If he’d fucked her in our bed.

And the bigger issue—just how emotionally involved the two of them had gotten.

Though I didn’t want to go back to Andrew’s workplace, I would. Because I needed answers. The kind that had to come face-to-face. Looking into Andrew’s eyes, I could tell if he was lying.

I certainly didn’t want him coming back here to have this chat. Being in our home would be far too distressing for me.

I needed some emotional distance.

At least, I hoped distance would help me deal with the truth I needed to hear.

When Andrew saw me in the hotel lobby, his face lit up as it had on so many occasions in the past. It broke my heart, seeing his smile. Because something was instantly clear. The future would never be the way the past had been. Even if we got to the point where we were a happy couple again, our future would always be marred by the memory of what he’d done.

Would I ever be able to forgive him? I wasn’t sure I could. But the way Andrew’s smile tugged on my heartstrings also made it clear that it wouldn’t be easy to cut the ties if the time came to live without him.

Andrew rounded the front desk and started toward me. The joy in his eyes said he thought I was here for a happier reason. And I don’t know why, but it pissed me off.

Yes, I did know why. It pissed me off that he could screw another woman, and that only a few days after that revelation, he thought I was here to tell him I forgave him. What else could account for that look on his face?

As he reached me, Andrew put a hand on my arm. “Hello, Sophie.”

My emotions were all over the place. From sad to angry, love to hate. “Tell me what you did with her,” I demanded.

“What?”

“You talk about ‘the problem,’ as though it’s some random thing that came into our lives. But it wasn’t. You had an affair!”

Andrew’s eyes volleyed around the lobby. He was clearly worried that people might be hearing me.

I didn’t care.

“Tell me what you did.” I squeezed my eyes shut as my head throbbed, but after a moment I continued. “Tell me what you did with that woman.”

Andrew gently guided me toward the far corner of the lobby, away from the front desk.

“It matters,” I said. “I didn’t think I’d want to hear the details, but now…I need to know. You need to tell me.”

“What happened with her was just sex,” Andrew whispered, then glanced around again.

“What kind of sex?”

“I don’t see how this will help.”

“Did she suck your cock? Did you eat her pussy? Did you fuck her in a bed, on the grass, in the backseat of a car?” I couldn’t keep the anger from my voice, and I knew that anyone within earshot would have definitely heard me.

Andrew grabbed me by the arm and whisked me through the lobby. He didn’t stop walking until he reached the first door we came upon, the handicapped restroom. He ushered me inside.

“What are you doing?” Andrew demanded the moment he shut the door.

“You say you still want me? Then you damn well better answer my questions!”

Andrew dragged a hand over his head in frustration. “You can’t come into my place of work and cause a scene like this.”

I gave Andrew a hard shove, and he staggered backward, landing against a tiled wall. His eyes widened. I don’t know if he was afraid, or surprised.

“Fuck you,” I snapped. “I hate you, you hear me? I hate you.”

I started for the door, wrapped my fingers around the brass knob.

“Sophie, please. Don’t leave.”

There was a desperate note to Andrew’s voice and, despite myself, I didn’t yank the door open and run away. Instead I sighed, my eyelids fluttering shut. My heart was heavy as I contemplated what to do.

“Fine,” Andrew said. “You want to know, I’ll tell you. But I don’t see how this will help anything.”

I turned. “Maybe it won’t help. Maybe it will make me crazier. But if I’m ever going to move forward, I need to know exactly what happened between you two.”

I waited for Andrew to say something, but he didn’t. His chest rose with each heavy breath. He looked pained, like this was difficult for him. But it was far more difficult for me.

“Ask me what you want to know.”

“All right. What’s her name?”

A beat. Then, “Isabel.”

Isabel. My stomach twisted. “I’ll bet she’s beautiful.”

Andrew said nothing.

“Is she beautiful?” I asked.

“Yes, she’s beautiful. But that doesn’t mean anything.”

“Who came on to whom?” Andrew had already told me she had come on to him, but I wanted to see if he said the same thing again, or changed his story.

“She hit on me.”

“And you were so flattered, you couldn’t help dropping your pants.” I snorted.

“It wasn’t like that.”

“What—she put a gun to your head and forced you to fuck her?”

Andrew said nothing.