Masked Innocence
Page 30
His intense eyes, with darkness that I never could decipher, stared at me, and I saw truth in their depths. My eyes flickered from the heat of his stare, and I glanced down at the ring. I expected the ring to weaken my resolve, to be the final straw that broke the camel’s back. I expected that I would not be able to resist a diamond. It was a gorgeous setting, a perfect, breathtaking stone, but I wanted more. And looking back into his eyes, I found it.
I wanted him. Needed him. And in that desperation, I wanted to push him away, badly. Because in that vulnerability, there was certain heartbreak. But in the ring, in the engagement, there was safety. And I needed to be smart.
I exhaled slowly, decisively, and nodded. “Yes.” I held up my hand when he rose, his face lit with excitement. “Wait.” He stayed standing, but leaned forward, resting his hands on the table, waiting for me to finish.
“I’ll accept your proposal,” I said carefully. “But I’m not getting married. Not for at least a year, long enough for me to feel like you will be faithful to me. I’m not worried about us being happy, about us having enough love, about you being ‘the right one’ for me. I worry about you not being happy in a monogamous relationship, whether we are engaged in a swinger lifestyle or not. I just need time to make sure that you will be loyal, and will be happy being loyal.”
I paused, trying to keep a smile from my face. “But to appease your bloodthirsty family, and because I can’t imagine life without you, I will accept your proposal.”
I was in his arms before I could take a breath, his arms around my body, his mouth on mine. He lifted me, spinning me around, and I laughed when he finally let me come up for air.
“Thank you,” he said, his mouth at my ear, voice gruff. “You have made me so happy.” Then he bent me back into a Hollywood dip, and my eyes found his in the dim light. “I love you,” he whispered.
“I love you, too,” I said, smiling up at him.
“Will you wear the damn ring now?” he said, pulling me back to my feet, the rooftop spinning a little, city lights and night sky everywhere.
I smiled and rolled my eyes. “Well, if you insist.”
And then my unromantic future husband knelt again on the rough rooftop and, with the sounds of Sinatra floating through the night air, put the ring on my finger and made it official.
Epilogue
We rode back to Brad’s house, the new engagement ring sparkling on my hand. It shone at me in the dark car, claiming me as its own, and I slid it off, then back on, just to prove to myself that I could. He reached over and grabbed my hand, squeezing it reassuringly, and I looked over at him. His profile was strong, beautiful, mine. It felt odd, having security in our relationship. And at a point when I had just come to terms with the feelings I had for him.
“So. What’s next?” I spoke over the music, and he reached forward and turned it off.
“Tomorrow morning, I will speak to my father. If you feel comfortable enough, I’d like you to be there.”
“Me?” I blinked, considering the situation.
“Yes, you. He will love you, I promise.”
“Did he love your first wife?”
“Hillary?” He shifted in his seat. “Ummm...”
“Oh my God—he hated her.”
He grimaced, an overdramatic expression that turned into a smile as he started to laugh. “He, uh, wasn’t fond of Hillary. But you are different. He’ll like you.”
I crossed my arms, pulling my hand from his. “Really.”
He groaned, hanging his head a fraction too long, and I glanced worriedly back and forth between him and the road. “He is going to love you because I love you.”
“Ah, no. That didn’t work for Hillary.”
“You are different than Hillary. She was reserved, collected.”
I straightened in the leather seat. “I’m collected.”
He laughed, reaching for my hand again, and I moved it away. “No. You are lovable, funny, quirky and feisty, but you are not collected. You are classy. I’m not saying you aren’t a lady, but you have an air of energy and spunk that keeps you from being collected and reserved. It is why I fell for you, and why my father will, too. He didn’t like Hillary because he didn’t think she could make me happy. He was right, but I would never admit that to him or myself until it was too late.”
I blew out a puff of air and allowed his hand to find mine. “What if he shoots me?”
“My father will not shoot you.” My scrunched face must have showed my disbelief. “I promise! Now, come on, I want to take my fiancée to bed.” He put the car in park and leaned over, asking for a kiss. I grumbled slightly and met his lips, pressing mine chastely to his. He grabbed the back of my head and pulled me harder to him, taking my breath and my senses and communicating more sex, desire and need in one kiss than anyone I had ever met. I pushed him away, gasping for breath, laughing a little. “Fine. Take me to bed, if you must.”
“How kind of you.” He eyes held a glint of the devil I knew lay inside him. Then he blinked, and there was nothing but arousal and desire.
We started on the stairs, not the interior ones, but the wide, stone steps of the back porch, a passionate kiss against the column that led down to the ground, small groans emerging as he stripped off my dress and examined me closely, my back arched against hard stone, his hands traveling down between my breasts, worshiping them each in turn, his mouth quickly following the path of his hands.
I begged for him on those steps, soft pleas that went unfulfilled, his focus on me, his hands and mouth, that soft mouth that held such a wealth of carnal knowledge, taking me to that sweet, perfect arc. I came, my legs trembling around his head, my hands gripping rough stone, my new stilettos digging into the strength of his back.
Then we moved, him carrying me through the house, my bare br**sts resting against his suit, his eyes on mine, a small smile tugging on those lips.
The bed was our next stop, soft down pillows where stone had just been, that magnificent c**k finally let loose on my eager body. I rolled, I bent, I rode and I was conquered, six times in all! It was a long and lengthy session of firm hands, soft kisses and positions I had never even dreamed off. And in the end, I wanted to watch, and with his eyes on mine, furious, dark depths that reached in and grabbed my heart, throwing out all reason and restraint on their treacherous path, he finished, my hand taking the final steps to bring his body to the point that I had already traveled so many times that night. And as I watched him, as he marked my body with his ownership, I focused on those depths, those intense, dark eyes that led right to his soul, and the realization of the night’s events hit me hard. This man, this beautiful, incredible, strong man, was close to being mine. Completely and forever mine.
That night, after a long, hot shower, I lay in bed and stared up at the ceiling. Tomorrow held so much. My return to the office, his father’s decision, the beginning of my second life as a fiancée. Hopefully, this engagement would stick. The diamond glittered at me in the dim room. It would have to stick. My heart couldn’t survive a fall, not from the height that my feelings had climbed.
I closed my eyes, focusing on the sound of Brad’s breathing, a strong, steady cadence that spoke of confidence and assurance. I borrowed some of his confidence, dreaming of tomorrow and of the security his father’s blessing would bring. Of the changes that being Brad’s fiancée, his wife, would bring to my life. Me, a wife. And I knew, as I finally fell asleep, that my life was never going to be the same again.
I wanted him. Needed him. And in that desperation, I wanted to push him away, badly. Because in that vulnerability, there was certain heartbreak. But in the ring, in the engagement, there was safety. And I needed to be smart.
I exhaled slowly, decisively, and nodded. “Yes.” I held up my hand when he rose, his face lit with excitement. “Wait.” He stayed standing, but leaned forward, resting his hands on the table, waiting for me to finish.
“I’ll accept your proposal,” I said carefully. “But I’m not getting married. Not for at least a year, long enough for me to feel like you will be faithful to me. I’m not worried about us being happy, about us having enough love, about you being ‘the right one’ for me. I worry about you not being happy in a monogamous relationship, whether we are engaged in a swinger lifestyle or not. I just need time to make sure that you will be loyal, and will be happy being loyal.”
I paused, trying to keep a smile from my face. “But to appease your bloodthirsty family, and because I can’t imagine life without you, I will accept your proposal.”
I was in his arms before I could take a breath, his arms around my body, his mouth on mine. He lifted me, spinning me around, and I laughed when he finally let me come up for air.
“Thank you,” he said, his mouth at my ear, voice gruff. “You have made me so happy.” Then he bent me back into a Hollywood dip, and my eyes found his in the dim light. “I love you,” he whispered.
“I love you, too,” I said, smiling up at him.
“Will you wear the damn ring now?” he said, pulling me back to my feet, the rooftop spinning a little, city lights and night sky everywhere.
I smiled and rolled my eyes. “Well, if you insist.”
And then my unromantic future husband knelt again on the rough rooftop and, with the sounds of Sinatra floating through the night air, put the ring on my finger and made it official.
Epilogue
We rode back to Brad’s house, the new engagement ring sparkling on my hand. It shone at me in the dark car, claiming me as its own, and I slid it off, then back on, just to prove to myself that I could. He reached over and grabbed my hand, squeezing it reassuringly, and I looked over at him. His profile was strong, beautiful, mine. It felt odd, having security in our relationship. And at a point when I had just come to terms with the feelings I had for him.
“So. What’s next?” I spoke over the music, and he reached forward and turned it off.
“Tomorrow morning, I will speak to my father. If you feel comfortable enough, I’d like you to be there.”
“Me?” I blinked, considering the situation.
“Yes, you. He will love you, I promise.”
“Did he love your first wife?”
“Hillary?” He shifted in his seat. “Ummm...”
“Oh my God—he hated her.”
He grimaced, an overdramatic expression that turned into a smile as he started to laugh. “He, uh, wasn’t fond of Hillary. But you are different. He’ll like you.”
I crossed my arms, pulling my hand from his. “Really.”
He groaned, hanging his head a fraction too long, and I glanced worriedly back and forth between him and the road. “He is going to love you because I love you.”
“Ah, no. That didn’t work for Hillary.”
“You are different than Hillary. She was reserved, collected.”
I straightened in the leather seat. “I’m collected.”
He laughed, reaching for my hand again, and I moved it away. “No. You are lovable, funny, quirky and feisty, but you are not collected. You are classy. I’m not saying you aren’t a lady, but you have an air of energy and spunk that keeps you from being collected and reserved. It is why I fell for you, and why my father will, too. He didn’t like Hillary because he didn’t think she could make me happy. He was right, but I would never admit that to him or myself until it was too late.”
I blew out a puff of air and allowed his hand to find mine. “What if he shoots me?”
“My father will not shoot you.” My scrunched face must have showed my disbelief. “I promise! Now, come on, I want to take my fiancée to bed.” He put the car in park and leaned over, asking for a kiss. I grumbled slightly and met his lips, pressing mine chastely to his. He grabbed the back of my head and pulled me harder to him, taking my breath and my senses and communicating more sex, desire and need in one kiss than anyone I had ever met. I pushed him away, gasping for breath, laughing a little. “Fine. Take me to bed, if you must.”
“How kind of you.” He eyes held a glint of the devil I knew lay inside him. Then he blinked, and there was nothing but arousal and desire.
We started on the stairs, not the interior ones, but the wide, stone steps of the back porch, a passionate kiss against the column that led down to the ground, small groans emerging as he stripped off my dress and examined me closely, my back arched against hard stone, his hands traveling down between my breasts, worshiping them each in turn, his mouth quickly following the path of his hands.
I begged for him on those steps, soft pleas that went unfulfilled, his focus on me, his hands and mouth, that soft mouth that held such a wealth of carnal knowledge, taking me to that sweet, perfect arc. I came, my legs trembling around his head, my hands gripping rough stone, my new stilettos digging into the strength of his back.
Then we moved, him carrying me through the house, my bare br**sts resting against his suit, his eyes on mine, a small smile tugging on those lips.
The bed was our next stop, soft down pillows where stone had just been, that magnificent c**k finally let loose on my eager body. I rolled, I bent, I rode and I was conquered, six times in all! It was a long and lengthy session of firm hands, soft kisses and positions I had never even dreamed off. And in the end, I wanted to watch, and with his eyes on mine, furious, dark depths that reached in and grabbed my heart, throwing out all reason and restraint on their treacherous path, he finished, my hand taking the final steps to bring his body to the point that I had already traveled so many times that night. And as I watched him, as he marked my body with his ownership, I focused on those depths, those intense, dark eyes that led right to his soul, and the realization of the night’s events hit me hard. This man, this beautiful, incredible, strong man, was close to being mine. Completely and forever mine.
That night, after a long, hot shower, I lay in bed and stared up at the ceiling. Tomorrow held so much. My return to the office, his father’s decision, the beginning of my second life as a fiancée. Hopefully, this engagement would stick. The diamond glittered at me in the dim room. It would have to stick. My heart couldn’t survive a fall, not from the height that my feelings had climbed.
I closed my eyes, focusing on the sound of Brad’s breathing, a strong, steady cadence that spoke of confidence and assurance. I borrowed some of his confidence, dreaming of tomorrow and of the security his father’s blessing would bring. Of the changes that being Brad’s fiancée, his wife, would bring to my life. Me, a wife. And I knew, as I finally fell asleep, that my life was never going to be the same again.
