On Hart's Boardwalk (On Dublin Street 6.7)

He pounded us into the wall, thrusting into me hard, gliding in and out of me with increasing frenzy.

He lifted his head and our eyes met in the darkness. As he watched me, something changed in his expression, and somehow his thrusts grew even faster, deeper, and out of control.

I felt his thumb press down on my clit, and the combination of his cock inside of me and him rubbing my clit blew me apart. My release triggered his as my inner muscles rippled around his dick. His body locked against mine, his muscles strained, and he let out a deep grunt as his hips jerked against me in climax.

The world slowly came back to me as the euphoria of my orgasm faded. Suddenly I was painfully aware of the cold brick wall at my back, of Nate’s chest rising against mine as we struggled to get our breath back, of his heavy weight against me, of his lips touching my neck.

Fear slithered through me.

We hadn’t had sex like that, passion between us like that, in a long time.

And it hadn’t really been between us.

It had been between me and the stranger at the bar.

Did Nate and I have to pretend now to get each other off?

And what did that mean?

Was our emotional connection so screwed that we needed this?

Part of me knew I was being overly concerned. Nate and I had used fantasy in our sex life for a long time. Why was it bothering me so much now?

Because that was before he pulled away from me.

Did he now need the anonymity? Did he need to pretend I was someone else so he could fuck me wildly?

Nate must have sensed the change in my body because he lifted his head and whispered against my mouth, “Are you cold?”

I nodded, not wanting to speak the truth, and my husband gently slid out of me and lowered me to the ground. A minute ago I hadn’t been aware of the chill in the air in the alley at all, but now that Nate mentioned it, I shivered as I listened to him zip up his trousers.

“I lost my knickers,” I whispered, feeling stupidly vulnerable as I pushed my hem down and then pulled my bra and dress up.

“Do you want me—?”

“Forget them.” Who knew what was on the ground.

As reality came flooding back, I just wanted out of there.

Thankfully, Nate didn’t waste much time moving us along. He grabbed my hand and led me out until we were back on the quiet street, this time heading toward the boardwalk, toward the inn.

After a few moments of silence, my husband squeezed my hand. “You okay?

I gave him a bland smile, not missing the concern in his expression. “I’m good. You?”

His eyes narrowed. “Well, I was a few minutes ago, after having the best fucking orgasm I can remember having. But now . . . not so much. What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing,” I tried to assure him. “That was great.”

“We’ve been together for fourteen years, babe. I know when you’re lying.” He let go of my hand and came to a standstill in the middle of the tree-lined street. “What is going on?”

My stomach dropped at the thought of confronting him about the distance between us. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?” He suddenly got in my face. “Was it nothing when you told me that you thought your husband wouldn’t care if a stranger was fucking you? Because the answer there, Liv, was supposed to be, ‘Yeah, baby, it would drive him over the edge,’ and I was supposed to answer in kind by fucking you hard to illustrate the fact that the thought of any other man touching you would drive me over the fucking edge. Instead you said I wouldn’t care. What the fuck was that?”

He was saying fuck a lot, which meant he was really mad.

“I was just changing it up. It got the same result, didn’t it?” I gave him a cocky smile I didn’t feel. “You screwed my brains out, as promised.”

Nate’s gaze sharpened with concern as he reached out to cup my cheek in his hand. His thumb caressed my cheekbone as he stared deep into my eyes. “Then why do you look like you want to cry, babe?”

And just like that, my tears spilled over. I yanked my head away and made to move but he wouldn’t let me. “Olivia?” Nate pulled me back toward him. “Jesus, you’re scaring me.”

I tried to push out of his arms, but his hold around my waist was solid. My vision blurred as I attempted to blink away the tears and failed. “Let’s just go back to the inn.” My voice sounded shaky.

“Not until you tell me what’s going on.” He gave me a little jerk, forcing my gaze up to his.

“We shouldn’t have done that,” I blurted.

“Done what? Sex in an alley?”

I shook my head. “No. Pretend to be strangers.”

His features hardened. “Why not?”

I thought about lying again, about keeping this to myself and burying my head in the sand. But I realized that would make me like Nate, and if the two of us stopped communicating, it was surely the end of the road entirely. “Things aren’t right between us, and pretending to be other people in order to get turned on by each other was stupid and damaging.”

Abruptly he let me go and I tottered on my wedged heel. Anger darkened his gaze. “You needed to believe I was a stranger to get turned on?”

“No. You did.”

“Who fucking says so?” he yelled.

I glanced around, making sure we were alone, and then hissed, “Keep your voice down.”

It was the wrong thing to say.

Nate stormed away from me, heading toward the inn. For a moment I could only watch him, my heart pounding and hurting in equal measure. Finally, I got myself together and started to follow, wondering why I ever opened my mouth in the first place. I should have kept this shit locked up tight until we were home in Scotland so we could deal with it there.

I was so busy looking at my feet, buried in my pain, it

took me a minute to realize Nate was striding back toward me. I jerked to a halt as he came at me. Even if he hadn’t looked as furious as he did, I would have felt the lash of anger in his tone. “Explain yourself. Now.”

“Don’t talk to me like that.”

“Liv,” he warned.

I glared at him so he would know I was pissed too, but I gave him what he asked for. “You haven’t touched me like that in over a year. You haven’t wanted me so badly that you would lose control like that with me. And back there”—I gestured behind us—“didn’t feel like you were losing control with me. It felt like you were getting off on pretending you and I didn’t even exist and that I was just some random woman you got to fuck in the dark.”

He just stared at me.

So I said, “It used to feel like a game. A game we were both in on that excited and amused us. That didn’t feel like a game back there, Nate. It felt real.” My tears began to fall. “I felt like you were a stranger who looked at me the way my husband used to look at me. And all I kept thinking was, ‘Why doesn’t my husband look at me like that anymore?’ and ‘Why won’t he talk to me like he used to?’”

“Because I’m terrified,” he bit out immediately.

I grew still, wary, and unsure. “Terrified?”

“Peetie died so suddenly—“ His words were so coarse with pain, they hurt as they met my ears. “Just fucking died, Liv. One second here. The next gone. We’re not getting any younger. And everything he was . . . it just doesn’t exist anymore. I’ve tried so hard to get over my shit that started when Alana died, and I thought I had. Until Peetie. After he died . . . after he died, I couldn’t . . . I kept having these dreams that it was you in his place. You kept dying in my fucking nightmares and I couldn’t do anything to stop it. You were just gone . . . everything you were . . . gone. What if I lost you, Liv?” My husband’s lips trembled, his eyes wet, and he looked away, blinking fast, trying to mask his emotion that pierced my heart. “How do I go on? How would I know how to breathe in and breathe out in a world where you didn’t exist?”

My tears fell fast and free now, the pain in his words causing my throat to close. Somehow I voiced my reply. “So you thought putting distance between us would make it easier?”