“They can’t hear me, darling. Believe me, when it comes to the manner of my profane worship, I prefer everyone else remain agnostic.” He ran his fingers along her waist as he gently tugged her closer, fitting her against his length with a careful side step. “For the next few hours, I promise to play the perfect gentleman.” Leaning closer, from the hip this time, he whispered, “That should give you plenty of time to imagine what I plan to do to you when I get youalone.”
Her eyes leaped to his, wide and shocked. He loved that he could shock her so easily still; even when it faded to her more usual expression of resigned weariness, there was a heightenedalertness in her face and posture that made this office feel like a cage.
“Go mingle,” he said, setting her at a respectable distance and drawing from her reluctantly. “These will beyourcolleagues soon.”
Throwing him a look, she obeyed, making nice even though it taxed her dwindling social reserves. For his part, he kept his promise, behaving with a decorousness that had some of the men rolling their eyes, but his sparrow grew tenser and tenser, because she had felt how hard he was and knew.
It was the anticipation that he craved.
She was trembling when they collected their coats and he draped hers over her shoulders, his hands lingering as they made their goodbyes. On the drive home, she began breathing harshly. When he put his hand on her thigh, idly tracing the lace pattern on her stockings that looked so delicate that it might crumble beneath his heated fingers like ice, she made a noise.
Cal rallied his control, keeping his voice staid and even as they walked up to the front door. “I’ll take the sitter home. You can get ready for bed.”
Their sitter was a nineteen-year-old girl they had found through an ad. Her prices were reasonable, and she was saving up for a car to drive to and from her college classes. She never said much—not to him—but she watched them both, in a way he didn’t particularly care for.
It wasn’t disrespectful, exactly, but there was a curiosity buried there, like the seed to an invasive plant. If nourished, it would sprout and then the usual questions would arise.
“How was the party?” she asked, and he responded, “It was fine, thank you. Do you have all your things?”
If she spoke to him, he didn’t remember; as a rule, he discouraged personal questions. “Thank you, Mr. Cullraven,” she said, her voice low as she remained seated a beat too long when they pulled up to her parents’ house. He didn’t respond, waiting until she had made it to her door, looking back all the while, before spinning his car away from the pavement.
No matter what anyone else believed, there was no one more suited to him than his wife.
On the way to the bedroom, he stopped at his daughter’s room, looking down at her sweet, sleeping face. She had her mother’s pale eyes, though there was a darker cast to them that suggested they could one day turn green or blue. Though the Cullraven hazel had skipped over her, she had inherited his dark, wavy hair, and the dimple in his cheek.
Impulsively, he reached down, touching that impossibly tiny hand, and smiled when it wrapped around his finger and squeezed.
“Your mother wants to spare you the legacy we saved you from,” he murmured, watching the little Anne-Nicole sleep. “It is a twisted, terrible thing, and no child should be forced to bear it. But perhaps one day, when you’re older, she’ll let me tell you the story of how she saved me.”
He pulled away, carefully, letting her small hand drop back to the crib.
Nadine was still wearing her dress but she had taken off her makeup, her bare face wet and a little pink from being scrubbed. It got pinker when he grabbed her from behind and pressed his mouth to her throat, catching the chain of her necklace between his teeth. He tugged at it, gently.
“Run,” he purred.
Nadine froze, still holding her toothbrush. Gripping it like a sword now. “I’m still dressed for the party.”
“Yes, you are, my love—and, unfortunately, far too over dressed for our littlegame.” He tugged at the fabric, biting her shoulder beneath the bra strap as her neckline strained around her breasts. “You know the rules. I want to have to catch my breath before I fuck you.”
Nadine inhaled sharply. Then she turned and fled down the hall.
He gave her five seconds before chasing after her.
Cal had bought this house years ago; it had received many add-ons before the owner tired of his project and sold. The master bedroom was at the top of the house, with a hall that dead-ended into several bedrooms before branching off to the lower floors.
Nadine had been fucked in every room and stairwell of this house. He tried to be sporting about it, but she never really tried that hard to get away.
He caught her on the sun porch with a triumphant laugh, one arm firmly banded around her middle. She struggled viciously, throwing out an elbow. It stung but he managed to hook his leg between hers, knocking them both to the floor. With a growl, he hoisted himself on top of her, his knees stinging, chest bruised.
“You want me to have you outside?”
“No!” she protested, when he yanked at her bodice. A stitch popped so he yanked harder, until there was a second, louder rip and her swollen breasts spilled free.
“God,” he said reverently. “Fucking look at you.”
“Cal—” She could barely talk, she was so breathless and flushed. “Someone might see.”
He ignored that, releasing the front clasp of her bra. Her breasts had always been sensitive; nursing had made them more so, her puffy, swollen nipples already peaked in the delicate evening breeze.
