Unfaithful (57 page)

She'd never forget the heartbroken look on his face when she'd confessed. He'd turned deathly pale and stared at her in silence for the longest time. He hadn't ranted or raved, just remained perfectly still and quiet. The way he'd reacted it seemed as if he'd already known, but she knew that was impossible. Shona and Penelope had promised they wouldn't tell him. She'd have preferred if he'd gone ballistic and called her every dreadful name under the sun. God knows she deserved it. He'd never raised his voice at her in all the years they'd been together. He hated arguing and was always the first person to make the peace, even when she was the person in the wrong.

His reaction compounded her guilt. It would have been such a relief to have a screaming match; yelling accusations back and forth at each other, but that wasn't Colm's style. He was incredibly calm and controlled. He internalised his feelings, buried them deep, until he could be alone to digest his emotions. That's probably why he enjoyed running so much. Whenever he was stressed he went for a run. He didn't go out and get drunk or shout, just went for a run.

Sometimes, his self-control was unbearable. It was like living with a robot. They'd been together for so long that she could sense his feelings. She knew him almost as well as she knew herself. Early in their relationship she used to purposely try to wind him up to provoke a reaction, but he never gave in; always this unrelentingly cool, calm and collected exterior, but she knew everything was simmering and festering inside. He never allowed himself to lose the plot, not e
ven when she'd betrayed him.

He was heartbroken when she'd told him about the affair but he'd insisted they try to work out their problems for the sake of their children. His parents had divorced when he was six years old and he'd been completely devastated. He'd hated having to divide his time between his mother one weekend and his father the next. When he wasn't with one of them he'd missed the other very much and it had seemed as if they were constantly competing for his affections. He was determined that his children wouldn't have to experience it.

The only question he'd asked was “why?” It was horrible. There was no suitable answer, no explanation, and no excuse good enough to explain why she'd cheated on him, why she'd betrayed him in the worst possible way. Seeing the pain on his face and in his eyes broke her heart. She would have given anything in that moment to have taken back what she'd done, to wipe the hurt away, but she couldn't and she didn't know if he could ever forgive her. So she said nothing to his question, just sat in silence until he asked again, “why?” She racked her brain for some reason that was good enough to excuse what she'd done, but of course there was nothing she could say. “I don't know,” she'd eventually replied.

Part of her wanted to say that she was tired of living with a husband who was gone all t
he time, who was more devoted to his job than he was to her. She wanted to tell him that she was exhausted from raising two young children on her own, with very little support from him. She wanted to tell him she'd been overwhelmingly lonely and that she wanted to feel desirable. She’d needed some attention from someone and Mark had given that attention to her. He'd made her feel special, like she was the most beautiful woman in the world. She'd felt like an afterthought with her husband for quite a while and she was sick and tired of it. When he was home all he ever talked about was his job. She'd tried to talk to him about her need to get back into her writing but he'd never been interested. He seemed bored when she talked about herself and her plans and it was insulting the way his eyes glazed over when she spoke. Even when he was right beside her it often seemed as if he were a million miles away, lost in his own private, secret world.

She wondered if he had any secrets, if there was anything that he kept hidden from her. When she'd cheated on him she realised that he had ample opportunity to sleep with women without her ever finding out. He was in a different city every month. Maybe he picked women up at a bar and brought them back to his hotel room. Nobody would ever know. She doubted he would cheat on her, but she'd never know for sure. She'd wanted to ask him but wasn't brave enough. Sometimes she wanted to scream at him to talk to her, to let her into his life, but the cold shell which he hid behind wouldn't allow her.

She'd ruined everything with the affair. The secrets and lies she'd hidden from him had quietly infested their relationship where they had festered and twisted the trust and love that they'd once shared. She was afraid to tell him how she truly felt, afraid of his reaction. It was too late now. He didn't owe her anything, not after what she'd done. All she could hope for was that he wouldn't leave her. She still loved him and needed the security of their marriage. She hadn't been single since she was nineteen years old, when she and Colm had had some ridiculous argument. Their “separation” had only lasted a week. They'd been together her entire adult life and most of her teenage years and she had no idea how to be in the world without him. Even if he wasn't around very much, she knew he was out there somewhere, she wasn't completely alone.

“You don't know why you betrayed me, us, our children. You don't know why you threw away our relationship, our trust, for sex with a stranger. You sit here and you tell me you slept with another man but you don't know why.” All this he delivered in a dead-pan voice.

“I don't know what to say,” she cried, tears rolling down her cheeks.

“Spare me your crocodile tears,” he said in disgust, standing up.

“Please don't go,” she'd begged him.

“I need to be on my own for a while. I need to get my head around this,” he'd said, walking away.

He'd become even more withdrawn, spending more time than ever away from home over the following months. She'd started to resign herself to the fact that he was going to divorce her. It was only a matter of time. They still slept in the same bed but he never touched her, never even kissed her goodnight. She'd tried to hug him or kiss him but he'd back away from her as if he'd been electrocuted, repulsed by her touch. He couldn't stand to be near her. It seemed that the very idea of her made his skin crawl. She really didn't know how much more she could take. How long would he continue to punish her? She wished he'd end it, divorce her, and let them both move on with their lives. What was he waiting for? Their relationship wasn't getting any better; instead it was getting dramatically worse. She told him over and over again that she loved him but he just looked sadly at her and didn't say anything.

The turning point in their relationship came unexpectedly one night. It was late, well after midnight, when she awoke suddenly. Automatically, she reached out for her husband but he wasn't there. She sat bolt upright in bed, her heart pounding in her chest and listened. Had there been a break-in? Had Colm gone to confront them? Was he okay? All sorts of terrible scenarios rushed through her mind, but there was silence, except for the rhythmic ticking of her bedside alarm clock and the rain pounding against the window. She wondered if there was a storm brewing. The wind had certainly picked up. Maybe that was what had woken her. She took a few deep breaths to try to calm her nerves and slipped out of bed, pulling her bathrobe over her silk negligee.

Slowly she opened her bedroom door and crept quietly across the landing, pausing for a brief moment to check on her son and daughter. Emmett and Charlotte were sound asleep in their beds, completely oblivious to the sounds of the night. Emmett was snoring softly, exactly like his father and she could just about see Charlotte's dark curls under her duvet. She smiled and crept to the top of the stairs. Then she heard him crying and muttering to himself in the kitchen. He was sobbing uncontrollably, but she couldn't make out what he was saying. How she longed to go to him, to comfort him, but she was afraid that she would only make him feel worse. He didn't want her. He couldn't stand the sight of her. He'd made that abundantly clear, so she stayed where she was and waited, for what she didn't know. Eventually, his sobbing subsided.

Slowly, she crept downstairs. Her bare feet on the cold tiles made her shiver. The kitchen was in darkness, except for the soft light of the full moon. She could barely make out his outline in the shadows. He was sitting, slumped at the kitchen table, his head in his arms and a half-empty bottle of vodka beside him. She assumed he was asleep, so she took off her bathrobe and draped it around his shoulders for warmth. She stood for a moment beside him, listening to his breathing, wondering if she dared wake him. Then she kissed the top of his head and turned to leave.

He reached out to her and grabbed her hand. “Don't go,” he pleaded. His voice was a whisper. She stood stock still, not quite knowing whether to come or go. It had been too long since he'd touched her. She didn't know what to do, or how to react. “Please don't go.” She turned to face him then and her voice caught in her throat when she saw the state of him. His eyes were red from crying. He looked utterly desolate. Her heart ached for him. “I'm sorry,” he said. “I'm so sorry. It's my fault.”

“Sssh,” she soothed him gently. “Sshh. None of this is your fault. I'm the one who should be sorry.”

She stood in front of him and he wrapped his arms around her waist, leaning his head against her breasts. They stayed there, locked in each other's embrace. Her heart was pounding. Was he finally going to forgive her? She closed her eyes and held him close, burying her face in his hair. She inhaled the musky scent of him which never failed to turn her on.

Slowly he began to caress her. He ran his fingers lightly up and down her spine, making her instantly tingle all over. He knew every part of her body so well. Gently, he pulled her nightdress over her head so she stood there completely naked and vulnerable in front of him. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to him, holding her tight, as if he'd never let her go. Then he kissed her face, her cheeks, her eyes, grazing his mouth tantalisingly over hers. She moaned and leaned into him. She'd made love with her husband hundreds of times yet he'd never had this effect on her before. Her body ached for him and her skin was on fire from his lingering caresses. She was overwhelmed with desire, something she hadn't felt for her husband in a very long time. It was like the first time,
only much better. “Not yet,” he whispered. His voice was croaky with pent-up desire. “Stay here.” He poured himself another glass of vodka and sat down. “I want to look at you for a while.”

So she stood there, naked, in front of him, while he watched her, taking in every part of body with hungry eyes. She'd never felt more aroused in her life.

“Touch yourself,” he ordered.

She did as he asked, caressing her small, firm breasts, teasing her nipples until they were pink and hard. She licked her finger, in and out of her hot, wet mouth and traced the outline of her nipples until they glistened moist in the half-light of the room. He couldn't take his eyes off her. He was utterly captivated. The air between them was charged with exhilarating electricity. They'd never taken their time like this before, never teased each other so mercilessly. She loved
every minute of it and relished his wanton lust for her. She ran her hands down her flat, tight stomach and began to touch herself. Already, she was wet for him. She moaned as her waves of arousal washed over her. “Not yet,” he said, his eyes blazing passionate desire. “Don't cum yet. That's for me.”

He got up and walked to her. “Turn around.” He cupped her breasts in his big hands and pinched her nipples until she cried out. He kissed her neck and traced feather-light kisses up and down her spine. She arched her body into his, longing to have him inside her. “Please,” she begged.

“Soon, baby, soon.” He continued teasing her. He ran his hands lightly over her naked skin, hardly touching her, up and down her inner legs and thighs. She shivered with anticipation, almost melting with desire. She pushed herself against him and could feel how hard he was for her. He moaned uncontrollably and smiling, she turned around and undid his belt. She dropped to her knees and took him full in her mouth. He cried out in sheer ecstasy and she smiled to herself at the power she knew she still had over him. Now it was her turn to be in control.

She ran her tongue up and down his hard shaft, savouring the hardness of him in her mouth. He tasted slightly salty.

Colm moaned and pushed his hips towards her. She twirled her tongue around the head and up and down, in and out. “You're killing me,” his breath came in ragged gasps. She pushed him deeper into her mouth until she could feel him hit the back of her throat. She sucked harder, swirling her tongue around and around in rhythmic circles. She loved how much she was turning him on.

“I want you,” he whispered, pulling her to the floor. She gasped when the sharpness of the cold tiles touched her bare skin. Urgently, he kissed her mouth and pinned her to the floor with his weight. His lips were hot and hard on hers. She gasped with the violence of his kisses. Something awoke within her and she met the ferocity of his kisses with her own. Their tongues stroked and played in a feverish, wanton dance. His erection pressed hard against her. He wanted her and she wanted him just as badly.

“Mrs. Fitzpatrick, what am I going to do with you?” he murmured.

“Anything you want, Mr. Fitzpatrick.”

“I've missed you so much.” His voice broke with emotion and desire.

He traced his kisses down over her stomach, moving in tantalising circles over her thighs. It was all she could do not to orgasm there and then. Her skin was burning and she bit her lip to control herself. Slowly he lowered himself inside her, making her cry out with the fullness of him. It had been too long. He closed his eyes and groaned, moving exquisitely inside her, slowly at first and then mercilessly, relentlessly. She arched herself towards him, meeting his every thrust with her own. Their lovemaking was passionate and violent at the same time. He'd never made love to her like that before. All the pent-up anger, frustration and hurt exploded around them, dissolving, evaporating...