Black Swan Affair (8 page)

How did I never notice how tingly that makes me?

When our eyes finally reconnect, something different—
new
—sparks between us. And if I didn’t feel the heat of his want from the ten feet that separate us, I’d certainly see it from the six-person tent now pitched in his shorts.

“What way am I looking at you?” I prompt again, letting my eyes fall purposefully to the hardness which now seems to strain for me.

The sound of the metal can meeting the wood beneath his feet doesn’t even faze me. He strides—no,
ambles
—with the grace of a jaguar to where I’m waiting for his answer. Desperately wanting it. Spreading his legs wide, he bends, props his knees against my chair. Then his palms meet the armrests and he leans down until his nose is a whisper away from mine. My eyes have to strain to keep him in focus, that’s how close he is.

“It’s the way I’ve imagined you looking at me my entire life, Maverick.”

God in heaven. Chills just spread over the entire length of me.

“How…how is that?” I rasp, squirming wildly underneath the pin of his stare. I’m so unbelievably turned on right now.

The mint of his breath washes me in desire before his croaked words sink in. “With hungry eyes.”

Holy merciful Mary.

I am nowhere near hungry. I’m famished. Ravenous. I could eat a horse, I’m so starved for him right now. It’s an unfamiliar, yet heady feeling.

I don’t want to let it end.

Reaching out, I let my nail scrape over his stiffness. Just once. Slow. Root to tip. The sharp breath he sucks in makes me shudder, scalp to pinky toe. His half-lidded gaze burns me with equal parts love and lust. I haven’t done this for him yet. He’s too much of a gentleman to ask and I’ve still had my head buried firmly in the murky sea of denial that we would, in fact, end up here.

Silently, he encourages me, but also gives me an out if that’s what I want. As always, he’s leaving the decision about how far we go squarely in my hands.

And tonight, I want to give him what he’s always given freely of.

Myself.

Eyes screwed firmly to his, I grip his upper thigh, my thumb right on the inside of his groin. When I move it a half inch, teasing his arousal, his lips part and my name falls out on a hoarse whisper. Feeling 100 percent in control, I drag the meat of his leg through my hand as I make my way down until I feel the stickiness of his flesh. He’s sweating. So am I. I don’t even notice the bugs feasting on me anymore. I have my own meal I’m after.

I work my way back up, now under his shorts, until the prize I’m chasing comes just into reach. Then I falter.

Sweet Lord of Lords.

Commando
.

Kael’s mouth parts and the gravel in his voice stirs when he says, “Don’t stop now.” It sounds like a command, but it’s not. He’s begging. He never begs. I love it.

“What about the neighbors?” I tease. Our house is in the city limits. The lot is bigger than most and the old maple and ash trees that line either side give us immense privacy. But if Helena Winters, the eighty-one-year-old widow to our right, decides she needs to prune the flower bed butting up against our adjoining fence, there’s a broken board where she could possibly get an eyeful. It wouldn’t be the first time she’s tried to spy.

A devious expression now plays on my husband’s lips. “I think Helena could use a lesson or two in snooping around, don’t you?”

I laugh at the same time he gasps when I close my fist around his massive erection and squeeze. “I couldn’t agree more.”

He’s now standing tall. My face is nearly level with his groin. Instead of pulling his shorts down, I move the black fabric of one leg up toward his waist. His cock springs free. His thick fingers wrap around the loose material, keeping it from interfering with us. I slide my hand down the steel rod encased in velvet and squeeze the base.

Time decelerates. Just a bit.

I draw in a short breath. For some reason I’m nervous.

The look in his eyes says it all.
Fucking do it. Please.

It’s all I need.

I let my attention drop and whimper a little when I take him in. He’s like crack for the visual senses. Intoxicating. Heavy. Weeping. Pulsing madly in my hand already. When I swipe a thumb over the creamy drops already collecting on the tip and massage it around, his head falls back on a loud, long, pleading groan.

Then my head dips forward. Earthy man and chemicals assault my nose. My mouth opens then closes around him. His eyes roll. My tongue swirls. A hand finds my hair and weaves inside my haphazard bun. I suck and pull him to the back of my throat. He curses over and over.

I do it all again, this time cupping his balls ever so slightly. I roll them gently between my fingers…then make sure my lips securely cover my teeth as I drag them back up his long length.

I run the tip of my tongue through his slit, moaning when more salty flavor gushes onto it. I feel the vibration of it all the way to the hand gripping the base of his shaft. I twist that hand. Then the one in my scalp does the same. It stings but feels unbelievable.

I’m so wet right now, I’ll leave a stain on the chair. My jaw is sore already from his thick breadth. And the throbbing between my own legs feels like a drum beating in time with my own heartbeat.

He slips a finger under my chin and gently tugs up so my eyes lift. They lock tight to his. He wants this connection. Needs it, maybe.

Okay. Fine by me.

I watch him watch me.

I like it more than I remember ever liking it before.

Go on
, he silently urges.

Nothing will stop me
, I quietly convey.

“You look so fucking incredible with my cock sunk in your mouth, Swan. So good. I feel like I’m dreaming.” The last part is so wistful, I want to cry. More than ever I want him to feel good. Feel loved.

My head bobs faster. I suck until my cheeks hollow. Until I feel him swell. Until I know he’s close. He takes over, then. Picks up the pace and I let him. He fucks my mouth as if he owns me. In that moment, he does. I’m all his.

“Oh, fuck, yes. Like that.”

He’s there, pulsating inside my mouth. He tries to pull away. I won’t let him. I run my free hand up his backside, grip, and hold him to me. He reads my intentions, telling him it’s okay to let go.

With one more uncontrolled thrust in so far I nearly gag, he does.

On a low rumble, he comes. Empties himself on my tongue, down my throat. I swallow. And swallow again. Until every drop of him has been consumed and his soft chanting stops.

After his last shudder, I release him from my mouth with a soft pop, wishing it wasn’t over already. His shorts fall all the way back down, but still tent because he’s not all the way soft yet.

I work my jaw back and forth a bit to ease the slight ache. Wanting to reach down and relieve the one lurking in my very center, too, but I don’t. This was all about Kael, who is currently hunched over me. Panting, leaning his forehead against his forearm, which is propped against the brand new siding we had installed two weeks before the wedding. I lay my head all the way back and gaze up at him, a small smile on my face. One that he immediately mirrors.

He reaches down to stroke my cheek. It’s tender. Pure idolization. The fact his hand trembles slightly makes my grin all that much bigger. My heart feels soft and squishy.

“I think I heard rustling in the bushes over there,” I tell him. I’m not sure if I did or not, but I feel positively giddy right now. I feel like twirling outside with my arms out and my head flung back during a thunderstorm. I just worshiped my husband with everything in me, but more than that…I didn’t think about Killian one time. For the first time in the last six months that I’ve been intimate with Kael, not one thought strayed to him. It feels good to see a pinprick of light through the shroud of darkness I’ve been sunk in. To finally take a real breath that doesn’t feel completely tainted by him.

“You did, huh?” His chuckle is still breathy. It makes my blood hum. I feel powerful.

“I think we gave her a show.”

His eyes flutter over to the fence then back to me. That smirk kills me. “I think it’s a show I’d like to experience again.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he tells me softly, sobering a little.

“Then we will,” I promise, my mood matching his.

Taking a step back, he holds out a hand, palm up. “Come.”

“Where?” I ask, setting mine in it.

He easily hauls me up into his arms. “Shower. Then a healthy dose of calamine lotion for those welts you have all over you.”

“Oh.” Why does that make me feel slightly disappointed?

“And then,” he whispers against my stretched, swollen lips, “I’m going to spend the entire evening making love to my incredibly sexy wife.”

My smile returns. “Aren’t you hungry?” Kael still works for my father. A couple years ago he was promoted to cocounsel. He puts in long, grueling hours sometimes. It’s now almost eight thirty and he’s only been home about half an hour. I doubt he’s eaten.

“Absolutely starved, Swan.” He wags his eyebrows up and down, making me giggle. He scoops me up in his arms and I squeal all the way inside knowing this is a new beginning for us.

“
H
ere
.” I ignore the cup of coffee being extended to me. “Maverick, you need something in your stomach,” Arnie Shepard pleads. He’s as out of sorts as the rest of us, but I wonder if he has a right to be. I don’t think so.

“I can’t handle anything in my stomach right now.”

“He’s going to be all right.”

His confident tone irritates me. Infuriates me. I’m tired of hearing the same fucking thing. It sounds trite and banal. The truth is…we don’t know what’s going on behind those secured doors that separate us from him. We don’t know the skill of the doctors working to save his life. We don’t know shit. And the longer we wait, the more bad stuff we get to make up in our heads.

Mine can’t possibly get worse.

“So everyone says.” I keep my stare firmly on the matted carpet beneath me. I wonder how many oceans the tears stuck in it would fill if we could separate them from the fibers of pain they’re now wound around.

A lot, I bet.

The entire world would probably be flooded.

My gaze drifts past Arnie to the mocking face of the clock on the wall.

7:03.

I watch the seconds tick off, leaving crushed hope in their wake and uncertainty in their future.

Eight hours.

It’s been eight long, torturous hours.

Four hundred eighty unbearable minutes.

We’ve had one update. An hour ago.

He’s still in surgery. As soon as we know anything else, I’ll let you know.
The heavyset nurse gave us news that was no news at all in a tone that attempted at sympathetic but bordered on preparedness. She looked as if she’d seen her fair share of grieving families and was numb to the pain.

I asked her if surgery would normally take this long.
I’m sorry. I don’t know anything else.

Lying bitch.

She knows something. She just won’t say. Delaying pain doesn’t make it better. It just keeps you balanced on a knife’s edge, the razor sharp tip digging in farther with each new breath you breathe. Either way, the end result is the same. You’re sliced in two. One is just a slower process than the other.

“You have to keep the faith, dear,” Arnie preaches in a resigned voice. I’m unsure if he’s trying to convince himself or me. I hear him sigh above me. See his body slide out of my line of sight, leaving me alone once again.

Good.

It’s what I want.

I don’t want comfort.

I don’t deserve it any more than anyone else here does. We all have our crosses to bear, our share in the events that unfolded. Every one of us played a part, some bigger than others.

Why I ever considered giving up on us is a guilt so suffocating I can’t bear the massive weight of it. It’s absolutely crushing. I stare down the hallway where the nurse disappeared and wonder: is he alive? Is he fighting? Maybe he’s already dead and they’re leaving us on that fucking edge a little bit longer as they try to figure out the string of words they think will comfort but won’t. Can’t. Never will. Why even try?

I stand and look at no one as I walk out of the place that feels like a coffin whose lid is slowly closing. I leave everyone behind, ignoring my name being called over and over. I need air. I need something. Anything but desperate despair.

I stop at the coffee machine. Look over at my choices. Stand there so long someone taps on my shoulder.

“Excuse me, miss. Can I get you something?” a kind female voice asks.

A miracle?
“I don’t know,” I reply blandly without looking at her.

“Here,” she says, plunking a few coins into the slot. She pushes some buttons and opens the dispenser a few seconds later. Hands me a paper cup. It’s hot. I look down. The liquid is tan and smells sugary. It reminds me of him. I lumber away, not even sure I said thanks. I hope I did. I take one sip. It’s bitter and feels like ash on my tongue. It congeals in my stomach. It ends up in the next garbage can I pass.

I aimlessly walk the sterile halls. For how long, I’m not sure. But the farther I burrow into the belly of the hospital, the more unwanted hang-ons I collect. Antiseptic sticks to the hairs inside my nose. Moans of agony wallow in my ears. Finality squishes underneath my feet. It soaks into my shoes, staining my socks black. The energy in this entire place is sad and deathly still, even though there’s frenetic activity everywhere.

Somehow, I end up in the chapel. I’m not even sure where it is. What floor it’s on. How I got here. Oddly, it’s empty. I’m glad. I slump into a hard pew in the dimly lit room where countless others before me have prayed, begged, tried trading their lives for someone else’s.

I don’t do any of those things. I’ve already prayed my mind empty. I’ve begged until my soul is bled dry. And God already knows I’d trade anything for his life, including mine.

So instead, I watch the candles flicker and reminisce.

In my mind, I wind back time and remember when I was once happy. It all started with him. And it will end with him if he goes. I smile as I let tears flow once again when I picture his loving brown eyes.