The Affair: Week 2 - Soon

“Come. I’ve got you,” he rasped next to her damp breast. Then he took her nipple into his wet, warm mouth again, sucking harder this time. She cried out sharply as heaven fell. Shudder after shudder wracked her. One of his hands found its way to her back. He lifted her slightly from the seat, her back arching against his hot, demanding mouth. Then he was pressing her against him tightly, his lips now on her neck and near her ear, his finger playing her clit relentlessly.

“That’s right,” he whispered roughly next to her ear as she shuddered yet again. “That’s what I wanted to feel. I can’t wait to be high and hard inside you and feel that squeezing my cock.” Another harsh shudder went through her at his erotic description. “Emma,” he groaned, absorbing her shocks of pleasure as she quaked against him, helpless in the clutches of bliss.

* * *

She sagged into the seat a moment later. He firmed his hold on her wrists and again pinned them above her head. A thrill penetrated her satiation when she saw his focused, feral stare. He captured her shaky moan with his mouth. It was a little difficult for her to return his forceful kiss at first as her lungs silently screamed for air. His rabid hunger awakened her own, however, their lips shaping, bodies straining, tongues delving, heads twisting, breaths mingling. The heat between them blasted her. Delicious.

Dangerous.

She pulled on her restrained wrists. She wanted so much to touch his face and hair, feel the hard strength of muscle. Instead of just releasing her, however, he heaved himself off her abruptly. The absence of his weight and heat left her feeling disoriented. Bereft. God, he’d been so hot on top of her. So hard.

He went to a seated position and lowered his head to his hand, his elbow on his knee. H

e sat there while his heavy breathing slowed, clearly trying to master himself.

“I just wanted to touch you,” she whispered, thinking maybe he’d thought she was trying to escape him when she’d struggled in his hold just now.

He turned his head, peering at her in the dim light with his hand still pressed to his temple. His gaze lowered and his expression stiffened. Emma realized her breasts were still exposed, sticking out lewdly over the bunched up cups of her bra.

“I’m not suggesting it this time,” he said thickly. “I’m telling you, Emma. Go.”

She inhaled sharply at the steeliness of his tone. Feeling vulnerable, she hastily replaced the cups before shoving down her T-shirt. She sat up, swinging her legs out from behind him. It suddenly felt like there wasn’t enough oxygen in the enclosed space of the luxury car. Maybe he thought so, too, because he abruptly flung open the door and got out, leaving the door open.

God. Had she really just been making out with Michael Montand in the back of a car, climaxing against him furiously? Her life was certainly throwing her some wild pitches lately.

She hurriedly fastened her jeans, feeling dazed, and followed him out of the car. She was a little surprised her legs still held her weight when she stood, that was how undone she felt from thunderous climax and renewed arousal.

He met her stare across the space of the few feet that now separated them. The air seemed to crackle between them. She’d never experienced chemistry like this. She hadn’t known it existed to this degree. Her clit twanged between her thighs. Without ever intending to, her gaze lowered over his body hungrily. The coveralls he wore were loose, but she could easily see the outline of his still-erect cock where it arrowed upward along his pelvis and hip at a diagonal angle, tenting the material next to it as the weight pulled the fabric down. She could tell he was beautiful there, just like he was everywhere else.

“Don’t,” he bit out, giving her burning glance of warning that froze the air in her lungs. He started to walk away.

“Wait. What are you doing? Where are you going?” she sputtered, her disorientation rising.

He turned around and glanced down at the significant bulge in the front of the coveralls. “What do you think I’m going to do?” he asked with blistering sarcasm.

His voice seemed to echo all around the garage and in her head in the silence that followed, harsh as a whip.

“Fuck you,” she replied succinctly when the pain of that lash finally penetrated her confusion.

His lip curled and his eyes closed briefly. He cursed under his breath just as heatedly as she had, white teeth flashing in a snarl.

“I told you you’d end up regretting it. I told you I was selfish,” he hissed in what appeared to be pure, distilled frustration. He raked his fingers through his hair anxiously, avoiding her stare.

“Your keys are in the ignition of your car. I’ll open the garage doors for you,” he said before he turned his back to her and walked away.

* * *

Emma had never looked forward to a weekend less.

When she returned home on Friday night following that earth-shaking experience in Montand’s garage—she felt hollow and dazed, yet strangely alert, too. Raw.

Were anger, confusion, and unprecedented lust going to become her permanent emotional state? It felt as if that’s all she’d experienced since climbing into that armoire last Tuesday. That damn armoire.

Her Pandora’s Box.

It certainly didn’t help things that Amanda was sitting at the kitchen when Emma arrived home, her cheeks damp with tears. A cup of tea sat in front of her on the oak table. She’d clearly been waiting anxiously for Emma’s arrival. God, this was the last thing she needed at this moment.

“Not tonight, Amanda,” she bit out.