Husband Heel (Husband Series Book 3) Read online

  He didn’t bat an eyelash at the rate, which surprised me greatly. And after watching me for a moment longer, he asked, “You don’t think I can afford that?”

  I didn’t know what to say. I knew what I’d paid his company for his services, but I wasn’t about to ask him what his salary was. That felt too personal, despite the fact that we’d just had sex.

  He sighed and crossed his arms. “You’re thinking about the future,” he said and nodded. “You’re thinking that you like to travel in luxury and I can’t afford that so…maybe we don’t belong together.”

  I opened my mouth to speak, but he cut over me, “You don’t mind slumming it with the redhead.” He waved a hand to encompass the room. “So I assumed you weren’t a snob. But…what? You are?”

  I pulled in a breath and said, “Is this your version of putty in my small and very capable hands?”

  “I’m not your ‘bit of rough’. I can—”

  “I want to stop talking about this.” I sat up in bed, pulling the sheet up over my breasts. “You’re making me feel bad about myself. That’s not what I want.”

  He sucked in a slow breath, and I could see him visibly pulling back from frustration.

  I straightened my spine. “I’ve had a lot of bad feelings in the previous month.”

  His expression softened. “And you were having fun with the redhead before I turned up.”

  “I don’t want you to go,” I said quickly, and reached out to stroke his thigh, feeling the muscles quiver beneath my gentle touch. “But I think we can do this without drama.” I forced myself to return his steady gaze, despite the fact that talking about being in a relationship with him—albeit only for a week—was uncomfortable.

  “Okay.” He nodded again. “I’m sorry to be prickly.”

  I kept stroking his thigh.

  “There’s a lot at stake here for me.”

  And me. I moved my stroking higher and watched as another slow breath shuddered through his chest, forcing myself to focus on what felt good, and not what felt bad.

  “I think,” I said, quietly “We should just take things as they come.”

  He closed his eyes on a sigh. “Was that innuendo? Because if you keep moving that hand up—”

  My fingers closed over his penis which was definitely paying attention and had roused from its slumberous state. Nicholas made a sound low in his throat as I stroked along the length of it, still slippery from our combined juices.

  His shoulders sagged and that magnificent chest started rising and falling.

  I dropped my sheet and moved closer to him so I could change the angle and rhythm of my stroking. Not that I was experienced. I’d never done this to Marcus. But during the period Nicholas and I had been separated, I’d done online research. I was confident of the theory, and now we’d see if my prac skills were adequate.

  “Sweet mother of God,” he whispered, his eyes still closed.

  “That’s more like what the nuns want to hear,” I replied and saw a brief smile before his lips parted. Then I pushed his chest lightly and said, “Lie down. I want to taste you.”

  His eyelids fluttered open. “Why?”

  “Because…I think it would excite me?”

  “Okay.” But instead of obeying, he pulled out of my hand and said, “I’m having a shower first.” Then he got out of the bed and walked into my bathroom.

  I sat on my haunches, realizing I didn’t feel awkward, and in fact, I felt so comfortable I followed him in and leant back on the tiles to watch as he cleansed himself in the functional white-tiled shower.

  I loved the way his large hands slid over his body, and the pull of muscles beneath his delicious golden skin. It was nearly dark outside and I could hear music from the trattoria a few doors down through the closed window.

  Nicholas turned and saw me, and whether it was the thought of what we were about to do, or the cleansing touch his erection had just experienced, it was seriously rampant, and I had a daunting second of wondering if it would fit in my mouth.

  “Stop frowning and get in here.” He opened the shower door and shielded me from the spray until I was inside. Then he picked up my lemon myrtle soap with its soft citrus perfume, and said, “Hold up your hair.”

  I grabbed it with both hands and held it high on my head, out of the spray, which left the rest of me available to his ministrations which were slow and agonizingly erotic. It was bad enough when he soaped my breasts and then massaged them, tweaking the nipples, but then he turned me and soaped my back, taking his time on my ass cheeks which he deliberately massaged, even stroking over my ‘backdoor’ as Jill called it, which made me gasp as tingling sensations raced up my spine, confusing me because this was Nicholas.

  Then he leant in close and said, “Don’t worry. I’m never going to want that. I know you don’t…” He trailed off, clearly not wanting to awaken upsetting memories for me. “But everything else is mine.”

  A surge of emotion welled up inside me then, tightening my throat. He was so considerate, and yet so possessive—the combination was untangling my heart and that hurt at the same time as it healed. But I let it, and clung to the elation of knowing there was nothing lacking in me. Everything I was, he wanted.

  “Yes,” I said simply. “I’m yours.”

  He wound his arms around me then and held me, breathing against the back of my neck. “I want to believe that,” he breathed. “But…” He kissed the sensitive skin at my nape, his lips warm and wet, and I shivered in his arms, stunned that it was such an erogenous area. “…you’re a slippery customer.” He ran the soap down my belly and into my pubic hair, and then at the same time as he was caressing my buttocks at the back, he started massaging my genitals, and the dual sensations were so overwhelming, my forehead fell forward onto the tiles as my body woke up all over again.

  “You,” he went on, “…might have just lured me into your shower so you can get into my pants.”

  I hiccupped a laugh, but I was too breathless to reply, until I realized what he was doing, and I abruptly dropped my hair and turned in his arms. “Are you trying to make me climax again?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “And that would be a bad thing because…?”

  “Pacing,” I replied, grabbing the hand shower off its hook and used it to rinse us both down, jerking involuntarily when the spray hit my genitals because they were so sensitive, so ready to explode again.

  Then I snapped the water off and opened the screen. “You, out,” I commanded, because there was barely room to move in the cubicle with him in there. Then I stepped out after him and snatched up the thin towel before he could and said, “I’m doing the drying.”

  He grinned and said, “Oh I see. We’re not technically in the bedroom, so you’re exerting your authority while you can.”

  I ignored him to stretch up and rub the towel over his wet hair, then slide it down over his broad shoulders, moving around to rub down his back in long, slow strokes. I took my time drying those amazing buttocks that were every bit as hard-muscled as I’d imagined, then I crouched to dry his thighs and lower legs.

  But while my face was close to his butt, some imp of mischief prompted me to gently bite one cheek, which I quickly covered with a long, slow lick, and then several gentle kisses as I continued to dry his legs. Nicholas made no sound other than a soft gasp at the bite, but he’d stiffened all over and when I stepped back around in front of him to start drying his chest, he grasped my shoulders and pinned me against the wall with a kiss that showed me just how far I’d pushed him, and how determined he was to keep control—no matter how ragged it was—both inside or outside the bedroom.

  By the end of it, I felt shaky, but he let me keep drying him, despite the fact that it was clear from the sounds he was making that my gentle ministrations around his very hard erection were testing his patience.

  At last I finished and said, “Bed. I want you on your back.”

  His gaze challenged me, but he obeyed, and after quickly toweling m
yself dry, I went back into our room—our room now, not mine—and climbed unselfconsciously onto the bed where he was sprawled out with his arms behind his head, almost as if he was saying Do whatever you want.

  He was gorgeous, and I was so excited by the idea of having free rein to explore, that I wasn’t quite sure where to start, but I decided to crawl over and start where I planned to finish, taking the head of his penis straight into my mouth, so I could taste it, because I’d been wanting that for so long.

  And although his whole body seemed to clench and I heard him sucking in a breath between his teeth, I was too intent on what I was doing to focus on his reactions. The musky scent of him—even freshly washed—and the sensation of that hard flesh inside my lips, was so thrilling, I forgot momentarily what the articles had said I should do.

  I was simply excited to lick and suckle the tip, rolling it in my mouth, and just enjoying the sensation of sliding it wetly over my lips, popping it into my mouth to suckle on it and then finally letting it glide over my lips so I could experience the shaft sliding into my mouth.

  I was slow and careful, letting the head poke into my cheek so I didn’t gag, and when I heard a ragged breath and looked up to find him watching me, I suddenly felt my own sexuality, so strongly, I wanted to orgasm again, just to celebrate it!

  I was a sexual woman. Making love with Nicholas turned me inside out in ways I’d never imagined. His cock in my mouth. I’d never imagined such a thing would be anything but slutty. But quite the contrary. I could taste him and feel him and hear him and see him and smell that delicious masculine arousal, and it felt so clean and so normal and so hot.

  I knew this was something I could quickly grow addicted to, but I didn’t want to rush him to orgasm, so after a bit more slippery attention, I moved on to lick and suck and nibble my way up his belly, across his chest, paying particular attention to his nipples which were hard little pebbles, rubbing myself over him along the way.

  And when he couldn’t stand it any longer his arms came down to pull me up into a kiss and run his hands over my body, making me want to mount him and drive myself to orgasm again, but I wouldn’t let him roll me. I pushed back at him and he flopped back onto his back, his arms falling out to his sides in surrender.

  “This is my hour,” I said shakily, then I went back to kissing and licking and nibbling, exploring his neck and his shoulders and the deliciously sexy musk of his freshly washed armpits.

  When I licked him there he groaned in earnest, but I ignored that to push his limbs around to suit myself, working my way back down his body and giving his erection enough attention on the way to have him tensing and moaning again, then I moved on, sampling his thighs and what lay between, reveling in the brazen exploration of textures and tastes as I fondled and kissed and licked him into absolute submission.

  When I surfaced again and started kissing his belly he groaned, whether in frustration or encouragement, I wasn’t sure. But then he said, “My heart is clearly far stronger than I imagined it to be, but I can’t take any more of this. So one of two things is going to happen—”

  I didn’t let him finish. I lifted my head and took his wavering erection into my mouth and followed the instructions I’d read about sucking and pumping with my hand, and far more quickly than I’d imagined, he groaned, “Baby, if you…Oh,” and then I felt his penis harden and the salty fluid pulsed into my mouth as his body shuddered beneath me.

  Just as the articles had said it would.

  And the biggest surprise was that I loved it!

  I wanted to laugh in delight, because the flavor was like oysters—which I adored—and I was unexpectedly grinning as I licked my lips and looked up at him. He was staring at me with an expression on his face that I simply couldn’t read, so I said, “I really liked that.”

  He shook his head. “You’re officially blowing my mind here.” He pulled me up into his arms and kissed my forehead, then settled his breathing for almost a minute before he added. “I really want to say, I thought you were perfect before you did that, and now I want to handcuff you to my arm so you never get away. But I don’t want you to think this is all about sex for me.”

  I was snuggled against his chest, listening to his heart thudding beneath a wall of muscle, and I had no answer to that. We seemed perfect together, but that was just about sex. The other issues he’d raised…he was right. We were different.

  But I didn’t want to think about that, so I said, “Despite the entrée, I’m hungry.”

  He laughed, and I felt the rumble as his chest moved under my ear. “I’m still derailed, but give me five minutes and I’ll be hungry.”

  I raised my head to smile at him lazily. “There’s a backstreet trattoria around the corner that’s fast and easy. Fritha flirted shamelessly with one of the waiters, and I’m not a hundred percent sure she didn’t end up sneaking him in past the nuns. But the food is great and it’s…low key.”

  I’d been about to say anonymous, but I didn’t want to raise the whole Midas argument again.

  “Sure,” he said easily, but I knew him well enough now to see something shifting behind his eyes.

  “What’s wrong?”

  He said nothing at first, not quite managing his usual steady gaze, and fighting the frown that wanted to form on his forehead. Finally, he said, “If I had seven days left on the planet, I’d want to spend them in bed, with you.”

  I nodded. He couldn’t have been plainer about how much sex with me meant to him.

  “But now, belatedly, I’m worried that it’s not a good way to start a relationship. It’s…unbalanced.”

  “We’re not supposed to be thinking about the future.”

  His face grew suddenly serious and he sat up in bed, pulling me to sit beside him. “When you walked away from me the day Marcus died…” he paused a moment and glanced away. “I thought that was it. I thought I’d never see you, never touch you again. That was brutal.” He nodded to himself several times, then glanced back at me. “To find you in the first place after years of thinking I’d just be a loner. Then to realize that you liked sex with me, and then find out you were married, and then get you back…”

  He shook his head. “When Marcus died, I felt like throwing a party. And I know that was wrong,” he admitted. “I was so fucking relieved, for you, and especially for me. It felt like the only barrier between us falling away. I wanted to celebrate that—which was totally wrong and totally inappropriate—but I also, desperately, wanted to claim you as my own, to show you why we were perfect together. So I tricked you.”

  It made sense, and because so much time had passed, there was no outrage left in me. I simply assimilated this information and filed it away under Explanations for Odd Actions. Marcus was the past. Nicholas was right about that, and the fact that he had acted on the promptings of his heart before society would approve—maybe that was okay.

  So I said, “I wouldn’t have weathered the emotional storm of that week before his death without you. Your steady presence in my life, and the attraction between us…it anchored me. I relied on it, and I demanded it. I pushed you too far, and I’m sorry about that. If I’d been more honest about my feelings, you might not have reacted the way you did.”

  He frowned and took my hands in his. “What are your feelings? About me? Now.”

  I gave myself time to really look at him, from the top of his damp, tousled hair, over shoulders I could cry on—had cried on—to a chest I would happily spend a lifetime licking, biceps I adored, and then lower over that honed stomach, the peaceful penis resting within thighs that even now I wanted to run my hands over.

  He was so beautiful it made my throat tight, and to hear about the angst he’d suffered because of me. It just didn’t seem fair.

  So I squeezed his hands and said, “I love you,” looking deeply into his eyes, willing him to believe me because I believed it was true.

  He did absolutely nothing for so long, I wondered if I’d said it too softly, but at last h
e said, “How do you know?” As if he doubted me. As if he thought I was just saying that.

  “Because…I feel it,” I said, and pulled a hand out of his to lay it across my breasts. “Under here. I feel an ache when I look at you. When I think of you.” I nodded to myself, acknowledging now what I’d been trying to suppress since that day in the panic room. “When you smile at me…” My own smile trembled as tenderness swelled up in me. “…I feel like the clouds have opened and the sun is shining on me. And when you hold me so gently, I’m home.”

  His lips pressed together and he pulled me into his arms, resting his cheek on my head. His heart was pounding, and that made me cry softly against his warm chest. Something had been pent up inside me and my declaration had unlocked it.

  He stroked my back and said, “It’s okay, I’m here,” again and again, his voice rough with emotion. Then he pulled me down onto the bed so we were snuggled together and when my tears had faded, I was so relaxed that I slept.

  Sometime later I woke to the smell of food, and by the light of the adjoining bathroom I could see him standing at my desk. I sat up and said, “Dinner.”

  “Yep.” He stepped over and turned on the overhead light. “And I grabbed my things while I was out.” He pointed at an overnight bag near my wardrobe. “Is that okay?”

  He seemed suddenly unsure of me, which was odd considering what I’d told him before I fell to sleep, but I simply said, “Of course. We’re spending seven days together. I’d assumed it would be in the same room.” And I wanted it to be my room because that was the largest suite in the convent.

  I got off the bed to go to the bathroom and he said, “It’s a bed picnic, so don’t get dressed. I’m just sorting it onto plates.”

  I’d never had a bed picnic before, but seeing him in jeans and a blue Tee-shirt that matched his eyes woke my libido. I had to walk near him on the way to the bathroom and he stopped what he was doing to pull me into his arms for a kiss.

  This…intimacy, was all so new for me—walking around naked in front of a man—I wasn’t sure what to think about it, but when his hand ran down my back to stroke my ass and cup a cheek, the kiss turned passionate. That was more familiar, and as I melted against him, loving the rough feel of the fabric against my naked skin—particularly the denim—I realized that all this physical touch was filling some emptiness inside me.