I take everything his body offers me, swallowing his life source. With one last thrust, his muscles lax, and he unknots his hand from my hair to brace it alongside his other on the window. His sated form hovers over me as I take my time and use my mouth to clean off the lingering traces of his orgasm from his body.
Dragging my lips away, he falls from my mouth. I look above me where his body slacks against the window. His chest heaves in splintering breaths as he comes down from his climax. I allow time to drift before I stand, and when I do, he pushes off the glass and pulls his pants up. Shoving his cock inside the fabric, he zips and buttons before taking my face in his hands and backing me up to the window. He stares at me, no words, only a ghost of a smile tilting his lips.
In this moment, words aren’t needed. His touch alone is enough to make me feel safe. He drops his lips to my forehead, and I cling my hands around his wrists as he holds me still.
“I love you, Alec.”
“Say it again.”
With his forehead resting upon mine, our noses touching, the air from our lungs blending, my heart betrays my husband’s words, “I love you . . . most and more.”
Thoughts of Landon invade as I twirl my fork in the bed of pasta Alec prepared. I feel like a criminal as we eat our dinner. This is no place for Landon to be, even if it is only in my head. I take another bite of the bland noodles and feel the tug of my gut as I wonder what delicious dish he prepared for the girls tonight.
I need to call them. Tell them I love them before they go to bed, but I know Landon will decline the call when he sees my number. He needs a little time before hearing my voice.
“What did you do while I was away?” I ask before taking another bite of pasta.
“Mostly worked, but I managed to spend some time with my oldest brother and his family.” He takes a swig of beer. “I got to watch my nephew play in his soccer game too.”
“Did they win?”
“No, but he did score a goal,” he says proudly and I smile at his love for the kids I know he wishes he had.
“And what about last night?”
“Last night?”
“I tried calling you,” I tell him, remembering the agonizing anxiety to hear his voice after two weeks of being apart.
Taking another pull from his bottle of beer, he swallows before casually saying, “I went to North Shore.”
North Shore.
My chest seizes in disbelief, sending a blistering chill through my veins. I do what I can not to show the hurt and jealousy that engulfs my lungs, drowning me in emotions that mark me as a hypocrite. That’s exactly what I would be if I accused him of anything, but the thoughts still afflict me, shooting off in rapid-fire.
“You okay?”
No!
I nod, scared my voice will crumble if I speak.
“You’re a shitty liar, Victoria.” He wipes his mouth with his napkin before saying, “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
“I have no right to say anything.”
He scowls. “Right or no right, I need to know what’s going on in that head of yours. I need to know what you’re feeling.”
How can I tell him that I’m hurt and feel betrayed when I’m the one guilty of betrayal? I have no right to feel this way, but I do.
“I don’t want to repeat myself,” he says in a mixture of irritation and concern.
“I just . . . I didn’t think you were still . . .” My words fall short when my ache bubbles to the surface.
He reaches out across the table and takes my hand in his. “I thought you understood that this is who I am.”
“I did—I just thought . . . with everything between us that . . .” I drop my head, suddenly doubting his feelings toward me.
“I need you to look at me because I need you to understand.” I lift my head to see the seriousness in his eyes. He softens his voice, telling me gently, as if I might break if not handled with care, “I am who I am, and I never wanted to mislead you into thinking that my lifestyle was something flippant—something I could turn off and on. That’s not how fetishes work, which is why I’ve always sought