Obsession (12 page)

“Your satisfaction is what is paramount to me,” he said simply.

“I know, but…”

“Don’t worry. We have all night.”

Peter eased his cock out of me and moved beside me. He covered one breast with his palm as he kissed me again.

I closed my eyes, unable to prevent my body’s surrender. And as Peter slipped his hand between my thighs, made me come again with only a few skilled strokes while he kissed me, I wondered if I would ever be able to get enough of him.

I stayed with Peter that night, woke up to find his arms wrapped around me as we lay spoon-style. My pussy was raw and slightly sore, and yet I knew that if Peter woke up and pulled me on top of him, I would be helpless to resist him.

He was as decadent as chocolate, and as tempting.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked, and I was surprised at the question. Surprised he was awake.

“You,” I answered honestly. His hand was resting on my stomach, and I placed my hand on top of his.

“I’m glad you stayed with me all night. I like waking up with you in my arms.”

Something tugged at my heart. Once again, I had the feeling that he was special. I wasn’t exactly sure what was happening between us, but I was happy to know that it wasn’t simply the wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am kind of fucking. I thought I was capable of that, thought I’d wanted that, but I now knew that if Peter hadn’t wanted to see me again after that first night, I would have felt used on some level—even though we’d been strangers.

It wasn’t that I wanted to walk off into the sunset with him, but I didn’t want our exquisite encounters to end just yet.

Not until I’d had my fill.

“Are you going to work today?” he asked.

“No.” I paused. “I’m a teacher, so I have the summer off.”

His hand tightened on my stomach, as though the news pleased him. As if he figured we could now spend the next six weeks in this bed.

That thought was extremely appealing….

“What about you?” I asked. “You said you were going to tell me about your job when I got here, but then we…we got distracted.”

He brushed my hair aside and planted a soft kiss on the back of my neck. My clit throbbed in response.

My God, you’d think I hadn’t spent the better part of the night having orgasm after orgasm. What was it about Peter that made his every touch on my skin so utterly delectable?

“Are you trying to distract me again?” I asked, my eyes fluttering shut. “Stalling for time so you don’t have to answer the question?”

“I make corporate videos, infomercials that air on late-night TV. Things like that.”

I turned in his arms to face him. “You make videos?”

“Well, I don’t really make them. But I shoot them. I’m a videographer.”

“Wow,” I said, unable to hide how impressed I was.

“It’s a job,” he said.

“It sounds fun.”

“Actually, it can be tedious. One day, maybe I’ll make some movies. Who knows?”

“What have you worked on?”

“Nothing you would know. Boring corporate videos for various companies. An infomercial for Ford—you might have seen that on late-night television. Testimonials about how wonderful the Ford Focus is, and how easy to get financing.”

I hadn’t seen that, but it didn’t matter. “I’m impressed.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“Because you think it’s a glamorous job?”

I shrugged. “Well, I guess you could say I have an appreciation for creative things. A long time ago, I even thought I might be an actress.”

“You can still be one. You’re beautiful.”

“No, not anymore.”

“Of course you are still beautiful.”

“That’s not what I mean. I’m saying I can’t be an actress anymore. My time for that has passed.”

“Why would you say that? If you have a dream, you should go after it.”

“I’m too old now,” I said.

“How old are you? Twenty-three?”

I laughed. “Yeah, right. I’m thirty.”

“Thirty!” Peter gave me a soft kiss on the lips. “You don’t look a day over twenty-three. The camera only cares how old you look, not your real age.”

“Maybe,” I said. “But my life has changed. That’s no longer my dream now.” I didn’t want to say that once I’d gotten married, I’d put my dreams on the back burner. “I’m happy teaching, so it’s not like I’m missing out on anything. And when I want to be creative, I paint.”

Now Peter was the one who looked impressed. “So you
are
an artist.”

“I wouldn’t go that far, but I like painting.”

“Have you had a showing?”

“A showing?” My eyes bulged in surprise. “Hardly. I’m not that good.”

“Will you let me see your work?”

“You’re not serious.”

“Of course I am.”

“Why?”

“Because I am.”

“It’s not like I’m any good or anything.”

A beat passed. Then Peter asked, “Your husband was not interested in your painting?”

“Oh, no,” I responded easily. “Not at all. Well, he didn’t hate me painting, but he saw it as a hobby. Nothing more.”

“And you see it as something more.” It was a statement, not a question.

I hadn’t thought about my dreams for such a long time, I’d put them behind me. But there was a time when I thought I’d pursue something creative, either painting or acting. Instead, I’d gone into teaching, a far more stable career.

“Like I said,” I went on. “I enjoy painting, but I’m no professional.”

We fell into silence, Peter seeming to realize I didn’t want him pushing the issue.

My eyes wandered past him to a five-by-seven photo on his night table in a silver frame. A pretty black woman and dark-haired white man were sitting side by side, their cheeks pressed together. Huge smiles were on both of their faces.

“Are those your parents?” I asked.

Peter turned his head, followed my line of sight. “Yes.”

“What a beautiful couple,” I said wistfully, thinking of my own parents. Had my parents ever looked that enamored with each other? “They look happy.”

“They were. They were very happy.”

“Were?” I asked.

Peter nodded. “Yes. They died.”

I gasped. “Oh, Peter. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” he said. “And I’m at peace about it. They died together, the way they would have wanted.”

I stroked Peter’s face. “It was tragic?”

“They died in a house fire. I believe my father tried to save my mother, and died for his efforts.”

I stroked Peter’s face again, conveying in my touch my concern for him. “I’m so sorry.”

“They were inseparable in life, and they’re together in death.”

“I guess that’s a nice way to look at it,” I said softly.

“What about your parents?”

The mention of my own parents stirred bitterness in my gut. “My father died. Car accident. But they were never as happy as your parents look in that photo.” I left out the fact that my mother had left my father for another man, and that he’d died brokenhearted. “My mother is remarried and lives in California.”

“Do you have brothers and sisters?”

“I have a brother. He’s older than I am. Eleven years ago, he was on vacation in England and met a woman. He moved there for her and they’ve been happily married ever since. You? Do you have brothers and sisters?”

“Three brothers, two sisters. All older.”

“Wow.”

“They live in Italy, near Rome. I lived there too, until eight years ago.”

“What brought you to America?”

“I met someone online, and went to visit her. I stayed two months. We broke up, but I fell in love with Orlando and wanted to stay.” Peter paused. “I also wanted a new start. It was the year after my parents died, and it was hard for me to stay in Italy after that.”

“Of course,” I said.

“Let’s talk about something else,” he suggested.

I nodded. I couldn’t blame him for not wanting to talk about family anymore, given that he’d lost both his parents so tragically.

“How many boyfriends did you have before you got married?” Peter asked me.

“That’s quite a change of subject.”

“You don’t want to tell me?”

“I have no problem telling you,” I said. “Only one. Well, two—but one of them I married.”

Peter’s eyebrows rose. “Have you only been intimate with two men?”

“These days, I suppose that’s hard to believe. But yes. Until you. You’re the third.”

Peter smiled, seeming to like my answer. “How do I compare?”

“Peter!”

“Seriously,
bella.
I want to know.”

“Well, the first one? There is no comparison. I shouldn’t even call that a sexual experience,” I said sourly. “That—” I didn’t finish my statement, instead exhaling sharply.

“What happened?” Peter asked.

I didn’t respond.

“Bella?”
The pitch of Peter’s voice rose with alarm.

I still said nothing, but my mind went back to that awful night.

“Look at me,
bella.
”

Only then did I realize that I’d closed my eyes. I opened them, and saw that Peter was looking at me with concern.

“What did he do to you?” he asked.

I sighed. Then I said, “He raped me.”

“What?” Fire flashed in Peter’s eyes, and he pulled me closer, his arm tightening around me protectively. “My God. When? Who was this man? Was he charged?”

“He was a boyfriend—sort of. And no, he wasn’t charged. It was a long time ago. Eleven years ago when I was in college.”

Peter was angry; I could tell by his heavy breathing. And despite the unpleasant memory of what Chad had done, it made me feel good to know that Peter cared.

“I was dating him at the time. He wanted to have sex, and I thought I did, too. Then I changed my mind and told him no, but he wouldn’t stop.” I recited the facts casually, without any emotion. I had to keep up a wall when I thought about that night with Chad. Otherwise, I might fall apart.

“
Bella,
I’m sorry you had to experience that.”

“I’m fine,” I said. “It could have been worse.”

But how much worse could it have been? I had lived with the memory for eleven years, sometimes having horrible nightmares. With Andrew, I’d been content with comfortable sex, never caring to explore anything too intense. Sometimes even when making love to Andrew, I’d think of Chad and have to stop. Andrew had always been thoughtful of my feelings, and he never pressured me at all.

But now that I’d gotten involved with Peter, I had learned something about myself. I understood now that I’d been holding back sexually with Andrew, perhaps not willing to completely trust a man because of what Chad had done. I had only felt safe with comfortable, tender sex, never exploring my wild side. Andrew’s affair had freed me in a sense, and now I was discovering the depths of my sexual satisfaction in a way I would never have considered in the past.

And I was no longer afraid to ask for what I wanted.

“Your ex-husband hurt you,” Peter said. “Your first boyfriend hurt you. But
bella,
I will never hurt you. I will love you the way you deserve to be loved.”

Peter’s words made me feel warm inside.

“I wish I could kill this man who raped you,” Peter said, then kissed my temple. “He had no right to hurt you the way he did.”

“He’ll go to hell,” I said, not wanting to think about Chad anymore. “I believe that.”

Peter gently kissed my forehead. “Now it will be harder for me to go on my trip and leave you here.”

I narrowed my eyes as I stared at him. “What? You’re leaving?”

“Yes. Will you miss me?”

“Where are you going?”

“I have to go to Key West for four days.”

“Key West…” My heart thundered. “What’s in Key West?”

“Work. I’m shooting a promotional video for the Sheraton Hotel.”

“Oh.” I frowned.

“Don’t be sad.” Peter slipped his thumb beneath my chin and lifted my face so I could meet his eyes. “I’ll be back in four days,
bella.
On Tuesday.”

“How am I supposed to survive without you for four days?” Tuesday seemed like a lifetime from now. I’d hoped to spend most of this weekend in Peter’s bed, but now that wouldn’t happen.

Peter laughed softly. “I don’t leave for the airport until this evening. You can spend most of the day with me if you like.”

I slipped one of my legs over his while placing a hand on his cock. “I can?”

“Of course. In fact…”

In an instant, Peter repositioned himself between my legs. He spread my thighs, exposing my pussy. Lust shot through me immediately. And when Peter kissed my nub, my vagina grew instantly wet.

He licked me, suckled me, dipped two fingers into my pussy. “I’m going to give you something to remember me by every day that I’m gone.”

“Peter,” I mewled. “Oh, baby.” My breathing picked up speed, and so did his tongue. “No one has ever made me feel as good as you do. No one…” My voice trailed off as delicious pressure built in my pussy. I closed my eyes and savored the sweet feel of Peter’s tongue.

Minutes later, I was screaming his name as I came.