Rose of Betrayal (34 page)

           
Strolling
to the doors leading onto the deck, she peered at the wispy clouds briefly
camouflaging the full, brilliant moon.
 
She watched the breeze comb the tops of the trees, its song beckoning
her to wander into its arms so its’ chill might smother the flames inside.
    

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The
five-mile walk from Keller's house would have been nothing had Brad worn
sneakers, and definitely more pleasurable if it was not the middle of the
night.
 
Though his feet were tired and
sore, the exercise did wonders to relieve the tension of the evening.
 
Coat draped over his shoulder, tie stuffed
into his pant pocket and shirtsleeves rolled up, thankfully he was almost
home.
   
He had made it to the back lawn
by the pond when an owl's hoot drew his attention skyward.
 
On the deck, silhouetted against a glowing
globe, Sam stood with her hands resting on the railing.
 
Captivated, he thought how much a part of
nature she appeared, the beauty who had hung the moon.
 

           
Nothing
more than a peeping tom, he stationed himself beneath the shadows of a tree to
watch as the breeze toy with her scanty robe, blowing it from slim shoulders
onto the deck then continued to sculpt a work of art with the thin negligee
remaining.
 
Masterfully the gusts
outlined rounded breasts, her rib cage, hips, and flat stomach.
 
His gaze locked on the indentation of her
navel, the darkened area between her thighs, where they stalled never making it
to thin shapely legs.
 
Flipping her head
back, stretching her hands upward she freed the ribbon, a string of silk taking
flight like a kite while gusts playfully whipped and tangled raven locks.
   

           
Before
shivering from the crisp, night air now a lump of heat surging with amazing
velocity leaped to attention a powerful primitive desire evident beneath the
cloth of his pants.
 
Knowing he should
look away, Brad could not the portion of him feeling he invaded her privacy was
minuscule compared to the portion wanting to bury itself within her.
 
  
The
confidential sensations romping internally screamed out of control.
 
Distance between them was the only weapon
preventing him from taking what he desperately craved.
 
Sam could have fought with everything she had
he would not have heard nor felt her struggle.
 

           
Horrifying
thoughts like a time capsule hurled Brad back in time.
 
A journey that hauled out and laundered
embedded stains bleaching them into a twinge of understanding.
 
Now he understood how Ted might have felt the
night he raped Candy.
 
Mortified he may possess
the same capability solidified him.
 

           
Long
after Sam disappeared into the house, long after the lights in her room went
out he sat on the bench by the pond hunched over by self-recrimination.
 
Never did he feel the urge to take pleasure
so recklessly.

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“Oh,
yes, please don't stop kissing me.
 
Touch
me,” Sam pleaded, her naked body writhing with torment.
 
The mass of male muscle hovering above
lowering his weight, continued to rape her mouth with his tongue.
 
“Yes, oh yes, don't stop,” she moaned as lips
nipping at her neck, and shoulder, lowered to the throbbing nipple pressing
against his chest. Willing, ready, wanting, Sam raised her hips to meet his
onslaught.
 
Though gazing at his face,
the lack of light kept it in the shadow as strong hands slipping beneath her
buttocks jerked her into position.
 
He
lowered his body.
 
“Now, now, take me
now, I can't bare it any longer,” she begged. Smoldering from the heat of need,
she pulled him closer until just as he was about to enter her, she cried, “No!
Stop! Don't!”

           
It
was only a bad dream, Brad assumed, until memories kneaded his mind and Candy's
face appeared.
  
Flinging himself off the
hammock, he vaulted into the house, slipping on a throw rug making him grasp
the stair railing for stability.
 
Desensitized by a woman's sobbing, his feet did not detect the treads of
the stairs sailing beneath him.
 
Swinging
the unlocked door open, he yelled, “Candy, are you alright?”
 
Not waiting for an answer, he invaded the
darkness.

           
A
woman's figure sat upright in the bed nude to her waist where the sheet
rested.
 
Perspiration coated her skin,
and dampened her hair, fragile hands masking features as she sobbed and
trembled.
 
Before Brad could reach her, Ted
shoved him aside and sailed past him.
 
Drawing Sam into his arm’s he began rocking her.
 
“It's O.K. baby, you were just dreaming.
 
I'm here now, hush, hush.”
 
Head on, dreams and reality collided
awakening Brad's consciousness.

           
All
he could do was watch Ted cradling Sam as if she were a baby, smoothing back
her tangled mass of hair, kissing her forehead.
 
He had never seen Ted so tender, so loving.
 
Instantly, he wondered what was wrong with
him for questioning their love for each other.
 
They were perfect together.
 
Sam
was what Ted always needed.
 
Why couldn't
he be happy for them?
  
He was about to
leave when Sam's eyes converged with his, her expression disquieting as though
a fawn having just lost its' mother.
 
Unable to meet her eyes for a second longer, turning, Brad descended the
stairs two at a time.
 
Storming into the kitchen,
he plucked a bottle of whiskey before retreating to his hammock thankful his
fears were only a nightmare.

           
While
gently returning Sam to a reclining position, Ted's hand barely grazing one of
her velvet, golden mounds aroused the nipple, a sight inducing a throbbing
desire he barely controlled.
 
Hands
shaking, he covered her, kissed her lightly, and bolted for the door.
 
          
Struggling
to convince himself he had made the right decision, he braced himself against
the wall to regain composure.
 
Deep down
he knew Sam would have hated him forever if he had taken advantage of her
vulnerability.
 
The incident convinced
him to leave early in the morning knowing Stacy would gladly tend to his
overflowing need.

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Torn
from the mattress sheets were, pillows mashed into unrecognizable lumps.
 
Each time falling victim to sleep, Sam’s
dreams returned of the devil forcing her upon a bed of hot coals, hovering
above her ready to plunder her loins.
 
Imploring herself not to give into
 
lusty thoughts, she awoke quaking, tears slipping from the corners of
her eyes, puzzled by her disappointment that Ted reached her first.
 
           
She
was the only one who knew when the shadows moved away, the face of the devil
endeavoring to claim her virtue was Brads.
 

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The
room was so substantial the massive four-poster bed, antique armoire, bedside
tables, floor-length mirror, and over- sized stuffed chair looked lost in its
expanse.
 
A room capable of swallowing
her entire apartment, she imagined.
 
 

           
Bernie's
bare feet did not sense the chill of the barren floor as she slipped out of her
formal attire into the sheer white, lace negligee awaiting her on the bed
cover.
 
So confident was Peter his
abundant charms would convince someone to share his bed, in advance he ordered
a house cleaner to prepare the seduction scene, or possibly, was it one of her
regular nightly duties?
 
Rose petals
covered the comforter, a bottle of wine and two glasses on a nightstand, and
numerous candles flickered in all the right places.
 
As her fingers traced the sheer intricate
threads of the negligee, she wondered how many others had glided beneath its
elegance, beneath Peter.
 
Surely, they
did anything he wanted, just as she planned tonight.

           
Not
permitting the reflection to dampen her spirits, embracing herself, she waltzed
around the room stopping at the bay of windows.
 
Moonlight filtering through opaque curtains spattered her face as she
stared at the dew-dampened lawn appearing as smooth and immaculate as a newly
laid carpet. The extensive sculptured bushes presenting a mystical beauty under
the illumination of brass post lamps. The remaining limo's parked in the
cobblestone, circular driveway.
 
Several
guests were spending the night in one of the many suites, Peter said.
 
From an adjacent room she heard sounds that
moved her to closer to the wall.
 
She
smiled. There was no mistaking the events taking place.
 

           
How
easily she could become accustomed to such luxury, a woman would have to be
crazy to turn down a liaison with a millionaire, particularly someone as
handsome as Peter, besides, didn't everyone reach for the brass ring whenever
they could?
 

           
Experienced
with men, Bernie knew exactly what Peter wanted for a mid-night meal, from the
appetizer to the main course, to the desert.
 
Considering they had just met, it seemed peculiar she actually looked
forward to servicing him.
 
What harm was
there?
 
He was handsome, rich, debonair,
rich, and if only for one night, he desired her feminine gifts.
 
Yes tonight she would experience the powerful
thrusts of a rich man.
 
Wanting to be
Cinderella just once, the night of magic could not end too quickly.
  
Still, Bernie was no fool she didn’t stand a
chance of dwelling within such a magnificent edifice or of being intimate with
Peter for more than one night.

Music and chatter
drifting up from the level below became louder as the door of the adjoining
bedroom creaked open just enough for a hand to switch off the lights.
 
For a brief second Bernie wondered if the
guests would miss their host.
 
Her nipples
hardened, her loins throbbed in anticipation.
 
In the window, the moon's soft spotlight reflected a magnificent figure
whose hands reached out and encircled her waist.
 
When he gently drew her against him, it was
then she knew he was naked and rock hard.
 
Grinding his throbbing shaft against her buttocks made it apparent he
had plenty to offer.
 

Swiftly his hands
gathering the negligee pulled it over her head while his eyes tattooed her skin
through the reflection of the window.
 
Talented, firm hands claimed her breasts, kneading, massaging, fingers
toying with the knobs.
 
She wanted his
mouth on them, wanted him to suck them.
 
Instead, breath hot against her neck, his lips found other places of
interest.
 
She knew this time she had
gone too far. There was no escape, no refusing this man.
 
He took what he wanted, when he wanted, how
he wanted.
 
His hands were now on her
hips, pressing, guiding, lifting, and lowering, her buttocks brushing against
his abundant shaft making him harder still.
 
When his breath became erratic and his whole body pressed her against
the window, she knew he was not going to wait any longer, and she wondered if
he would be a gentle lover, or demanding.
 
Now, God help her, she hoped the later.
  
She inhaled a quick breath, waiting, wanting, wondering what his next
move would be.
 
Not caring who saw them,
exposed to the world outside, his feet spread her legs, and with one steady
forward push, he took her from behind, her breasts and hips pressing against
the cool glass, their breaths steaming the window.
 
Like a stallion, he rode her determined to
fulfill selfish needs.
 
Minutes, seconds
later, she could not remember, when she believed she could take no more, he
drove deeper into her faster, harder until she couldn‘t breathe, couldn‘t think
as he filled her with his hot essence.