Rebound: Chapter 16

We arrange to meet in Greenwich Village. The village is perfectly pleasant, but not a place we usually socialize. That’s the whole point—if we were really having a top-secret affair, there’s no way we’d risk being seen together in our usual haunts. He messages me the address, and it all feels so exciting and mysterious.

Normally, if we were meeting up at night, he’d send Gretchen to collect me. He’s always been very protective like that, from the very first day we met. He walked me home after every date and made sure I was safe on campus. A complete gentleman in so many ways, just as his mama raised him. Even in more recent times, when we’ve been at our coldest toward each other, he maintained that level of concern for my physical safety. Tonight, he doesn’t send Gretchen, but when I leave the house and go to find a cab, I discover one already idling outside with its engine running. The driver’s window winds down, and a familiar face gazes up at me.

“Mrs. Smith? Hey, is that you, Amber? You’re Mrs. Smith?” he asks, grinning. It’s Sanjay, the chivalrous cabbie who so bravely defended me on the night of Elodie’s wedding. One of the few positive memories from that brutal evening. This is obviously Elijah’s work, and the Mrs. Smith thing is a nice touch. I suppose we are having an affair, after all.

“Sanjay!” I exclaim. “How lovely to see you. Is this a lucky coincidence?” I clamber inside the car, grateful to be out of the wind. My hair has already been whipped into a frenzy after thirty seconds outside. It’s usually styled and sprayed, but tonight it’s a whirling dervish. I’m wearing a pair of black skinny jeans paired with spike-heeled ankle boots and a plain black button-down shirt. I’ve added a long necklace with a silver fabric tassel on the end to glam it up a little. It’s a nice outfit, but it’s not by any means sophisticated.

“I don’t think so, Mrs. Smith. I was booked specifically for this address at this time. You are looking very lovely tonight, if you don’t mind me saying.”

“I don’t mind at all, Sanjay, thank you. How have things been with you?”

As he drives, he tells me about his daughter who recently gave birth to triplets. “Three babies,” he says, the glee obvious in his voice. “All healthy. Such a blessing.”

“And how is your daughter doing, coping with her blessings?”

“Oh, well, of course, she does not always see it as such a blessing. Her whole life is diapers. But we are helping, and she is very happy, really. Our son, also Sanjay, has three children too, but he did it the old-fashioned way, one at a time.”

He continues to talk, so proud and delighted with his family, and it warms my heart to hear his tales. I wonder how long it took Elijah to find him. Did he call every cab company in New York trying to find the right Sanjay? Or did he get one of his many minions to do that? Probably the latter, but knowing Elijah, he would have double-checked the information himself to make sure he had the right man. He has enough money to simply buy a new car and hire a new driver, but I can see that this would appeal to him more. Sanjay has already proven he can be trusted to look after me.

We make our way along the windswept city streets, surrounded by people battling with umbrellas and scurrying between cars and buildings, and into Greenwich. The place we pull up in front of is a pretty townhouse, glowing with light behind shuttered windows. I’m not quite sure what it is—bar, restaurant, hotel? It’s so discreet it doesn’t even have a sign, and so quaint it could simply be somebody’s home.

Sanjay turns around to face me and passes me a piece of folded up paper. “That’s my number, Mrs. Smith. You call me any time you need a ride. An account has been set up with the cab company, and I’m available to you twenty-four seven.”

“But what about the diapers?” I ask, widening my eyes in mock horror.

He winks. “Well, truthfully, it is nice to escape them sometimes. You call me, though, any time at all. I am at your service.”

I thank him and tuck the number away in my purse. Elijah probably paid for his exclusive services for the foreseeable future, and Sanjay must be wondering what the hell is going on but hasn’t embarrassed me by asking. I’m not sure I could quite explain it even if I tried. So, it’s like this—the man I was arguing with the night we met is my husband, and we’re getting a divorce. But we’re also having an affair, and my name isn’t Mrs. Smith. Confused? Me too.

Sanjay assures me he’ll have his phone with him all night if I need a ride home, and I climb out of the car. Immediately, a smartly dressed man appears from the townhouse and holds a huge golf umbrella over my head to protect me from the elements.

“Mrs. Smith, please follow me.” He gestures toward the steps into the building. “Mr. Smith is already here.”

Inside, I’m shown through to a small room furnished with tables and chairs. We pass a sleek mirrored bar, the shelves lined with expensive brands. It’s super stylish, small but perfectly decorated—and also completely empty. The place is probably usually bustling, but tonight there’s nobody but Elijah. He’s waiting for me at the back of the room, away from the door. Exactly where somebody having an affair would sit.

He stands, looking completely edible in jeans and a fitted short-sleeve white shirt that makes his muscles pop, and I try not to swoon. It’s a laid-back look for him—seems I’m not the only one recreating themselves. He’s also wearing a new cologne, something spicy and masculine as hell. It flies directly from my nostrils to my lady parts. They are subtle changes, but enough to keep up the illusion that this is a sexy stranger.

“Amber.” His gray eyes rake over my face and body. They linger on the foxy spike-heeled boots, just as I thought they might. “You look stunning.”

I find myself blushing at the compliment and smile as he holds a chair out for me. Two bottles of wine are on the candlelit table, one white and one red, along with his glass of Scotch. I’ve already eaten, which is lucky because there’s no sign of food. I had no clue what our “date” was going to look like—dinner, drinks, straight to fucking? Damn. I blush even harder, imagining the fucking.

“Thank you. Mr. and Mrs. Smith?” I say, arching an eyebrow. “Really?”

“I thought it was fitting, no? This is certainly the right kind of place for it.”

I look around, putting two and two together. No sign outside. Heavily shuttered windows. A secluded spot away from the busier thoroughfares.

“Mr. Smith, have you brought me to a high-class by-the-hour hotel?”

“I don’t think that would be on their marketing brochure, but yes, that’s exactly what it is. An exclusive venue designed specifically for couples who need their, uh, privacy.” As he speaks, he holds up the white wine. He’s obviously messing with me—he knows I prefer red. I point at the other bottle—my favorite pinot noir—and he grins as he pours.

“Well, we’ve definitely got our privacy tonight. Why is it so empty?”

“Because I booked the whole place out,” he answers, giving me the lopsided smile that always makes my heart leap.

I raise my glass in acknowledgment and offer a slight nod. “That’s quite ambitious, Mr. Smith.”

“What can I say? You bring out the best in me, Mrs. Smith.”

If only that were true, I think, sipping my wine. The same thought seems to cross his mind as well, because his eyes, stormy with emotion, meet mine over the flickering candlelight. I don’t look away, and we simply stare at each other for a few moments. I love this man. I really, truly love him. So why couldn’t I be happy with him?

“Why is it,” I ask, knowing that I risk breaking the spell, “that we had to pretend to be strangers to have the best sex of our lives?”

“I don’t know.” He picks up his Scotch and takes a small sip. “I’ve been asking myself the same thing. This may make me an asshole, but could we carry on pretending? Even if only for tonight? I hated today, Amber. And I know I’m going to hate tomorrow even more.”

The pain in his voice is real, and it does at least answer one of my earlier questions—yes, he’s also sad. Just like me.

But also like me, he’s not making a case for giving our marriage another shot. It seems we both know that ship has sailed, and right now, we’re clinging to the life raft of what’s left between us. He runs his hands through his hair, and his eyes look haunted.

I pick up the wine bottle and stand. “Yes, we can carry on pretending. Come on. Let’s go and see one of those rooms, Mr. Smith.” His smile transforms his face, and he takes my offered hand.

The guy from earlier—concierge, maître d’, pimp, whatever his job title is—sees us on the move and gestures us through a red velvet curtain into a hallway lined with wood paneling. He hands Elijah an old-fashioned metal key on an oval fob and nods politely before disappearing. We climb the stairs together, and Elijah lets us into a grand room that’s dominated by a spectacular four-poster bed. Everything is deep red and black, from the sheets to the canopy to the carpet, and the room is scented with something musky and spicy. I briefly wonder if there’s a specific aroma made for places like this—Classy Hot Sex No° 9 or something.

Elijah takes the bottle of wine from me and sets it down on a mahogany end table. His eyes shine with dark delight, and he closes the distance between us in a split second. Delicious nerves dance along my spine as he slides his arms around my waist and tugs me toward him. A little gasp escapes my lips at the feel of him pressed against me. The firm length of his cock leaves me in no doubt that he’s ready for us to take this to the next level. His big hands run over my backside, squeezing possessively as he crushes me closer.

He buries his face in my hair, inhaling. “I want you so much,” he whispers, his breath warm on the skin of my neck. “I’ve been hard since the moment you walked in. I can’t wait to be inside you.” His words and his tone and his touch all combine to flood me with need.

“I can’t wait either,” I murmur, circling my hips against his. My clit is already throbbing from the contact.

I pull his shirt from his waistband and slide my hands up his back. God, I forgot how good he feels. His skin is soft over the steely strength of his body, like velvet over iron. Muscles ripple with every movement, and as ever, he makes me feel small and protected, but also vulnerable. Vulnerable in a way that has me achy and wet.

I draw back, unbutton his shirt, and pull it off. At the sight of his ripped torso, I sigh. Firm pecs, defined abs, bulging biceps, the delicious plume of dark hair that disappears into his pants … He’s a work of art, this man, and I could stare at him all day long.

He pulls me against him and seals his lips over mine. His tongue is in my mouth, and his fingers twine in my hair. We lose ourselves in the kiss, both of us alive with fire and passion. He tastes of fine Scotch and need, and he groans loudly when I finally come up for air. My eyes run over his bulky shoulders, his heaving chest, down to the bulge in his pants. I lick my lips in anticipation. “I want to taste you.” My voice is unrecognizable, low and husky. Alien. I don’t even recognize it myself.

His nostrils flare, and the bulge gets even bigger. He slowly unbuttons my shirt, gazing hungrily at my breasts. “You want me to fuck your mouth, Amber?”

He wouldn’t normally speak to me like that, but it’s so exciting when he does. And yes, I do want him to fuck my mouth. I haven’t tasted him in at least a year, and I yearn to have that salty tang on my tongue. To lick and suck and stroke in the way I know he likes. To feel the intoxicating power of making him come undone.

Elijah wasn’t the first man I had sex with, but he is the only man I’ve enjoyed it with. He made me feel like a virgin because it was all so new, so very different from what I experienced before. Those experiences were disastrous in various ways, ranging from disappointing to damaging, and it was only when I met Elijah that I realized what all the fuss was about.

It was Elijah who showed me how much pleasure the human form is capable of giving and receiving. He was the first man to make me come, the one who unlocked all my body’s secrets. He was also the one who taught me how to deep throat, and I loved it. I loved how powerful it made me feel, how much it affected him. I’ll never forget the first time I managed to take all of him, the way he looked down at me with a combination of pride and passion. I want that again right now.

“Yes, that’s what I want.”

He nods but still takes his time removing my shirt. “Then that’s what you’ll get. Eventually.”

He unhooks my bra and throws it to the side. His eyes eat me up, and his tongue flicks out across his lips as he gazes at my tits. I think they’re too small, but he’s always told me how perfect they are. When he says it again now, the way he looks at me—I can tell he means it.

He holds my breasts in his palms as he leans down and gently kisses each nipple, making me groan at the contact. His tongue skims them, and I’m desperate for more. This is too soft, too teasing. I want him to suck them, to squeeze them, to sink his teeth into them. He moves his mouth away but continues with his hands, gently massaging my sensitive breasts until I’m a quivering mess before him. My response elicits a smile from him. The man knows exactly what he’s doing to me.

I moan, arching toward him, and he picks up the silver necklace I’m wearing. The chain is long, hanging down between my breasts. He lifts the tasseled end of it and brushes the silky strands over my nipples, staring at them in fascination as they pucker even more. Quickly, his touch follows, and the sight of his big hands all over me is so hot I already feel well on my way to orgasm. He rolls my nipples between his thumbs and fingertips, and I squirm beneath his skilled hands, putting mine over his to encourage him.

“Harder?”

I bite my lip and manage a desperate nod. Looking straight into my eyes, he does as I ask, increasing the pressure. Exquisite pain shoots straight from my nipples to my pussy, and I murmur his name, lightheaded from the divine shock of it all. After one last squeeze, he removes his hands from my skin, leaving me bereft and dizzy as I look up at him in confusion.

“I want you down on your knees now, Amber,” he commands. “But first, take off your jeans.”

I do as I’m told, kicking off my boots first and then sliding the denim down my ass and legs.

He spots the slinky black thong I’m wearing and his breath hitches. “Leave your panties on.”

I’m so turned on, so completely at his mercy, that he could tell me to eat the damn things and I would.

My knees sink into the plush carpet as I kneel before him. He circles around and crouches behind me. A shudder runs through me when he lifts my hair from my neck and brushes his lips across my shoulders. I lean into the touch of his lips as he whispers, “I love this necklace you’re wearing. I’m going to use it to tie your hands together. Okay?”

I suck in a surprised breath. We’ve played around like this before, but only a little, and it’s been well over a decade. I loved it then, and it seems I still love it now.

“Is that okay, Amber?” he repeats, his tone stern. “I need to hear you say it.”

I nod shakily. “Yes. That’s okay.”

Satisfied, he gently pulls my arms behind me so my wrists lie at the small of my back, then he uses the long silver chain to tie them together. It’s not too tight, and I could probably break free, but absolutely no part of me wants to. I remain on my knees, waiting and trembling, nipples erect. With my hands restrained behind me, my pussy pounds a needy rhythm that drums through my core.

He moves back in front of me. Turbulent gray eyes roam my body, and his devilish smile makes me shiver. “You are so damn perfect,” he says as he removes his boots. “Eres tan hermosa.”

I haven’t heard the Spanish words in so long, but I recognize them. You are so beautiful. He unbuckles his belt and slides his jeans off. The unbuckling makes my pussy quiver even more, because I know what’s coming next. I swallow audibly as he pulls out his cock, feeling a rush of nerves as he holds it in his hand. Long, thick, as hard as I’ve ever seen it. Can I still do this? I want to, I really do, but I’m uncertain.

Elijah strokes his impressive length, and a pearly drop of pre-cum glistens on its head. I lick my lips, practically tasting it. Yes, I can do this.

“You want this, Amber?” he growls. “Do you want my cock in your mouth? Will you suck me like a good girl?”

As he speaks his filthy words, he circles me, and I try to follow him with my gaze. “No,” he says firmly. “Eyes forward. I just want to admire this rear view for a while before I give you what you’ve asked for. Fuck, you look amazing … Your hands tied up like that? Sexier than any woman I have ever known, Mrs. Smith. And your ass is sensational in those panties.”

Kneeling behind me, he scoops my breasts up in his hands and caresses them. The way his hands and lips skim my flesh has me aching for more. For everything. His chest feels firm and warm, and my heart thrums as his hands float down my body. He slips his fingers inside the black silk of my thong and slides one along my seam. It’s electrifying. “Oh, Elijah …”

“Jesus fuck. You’re so damn wet, baby. I wanted to make you wait, but I don’t think I can resist you. You want to come?”

“Yes!”

“Yes, what?” He probes my opening.

“Yes, please. Please, Elijah.”

He wraps one arm around my torso, holding me close and steady while his fingers slowly demolish me. He’s always understood my body, always been able to play me like a maestro plays his chosen instrument, but this is incredible. My hands are trapped between us, his hard cock pressing into my back. My head back falls against his shoulder, my breath coming in desperate pants as he works his magic. “Look down. Watch what I’m doing to you. See how wet you are.”

I do as I’m told. My knees have spread without me noticing, and he has the thin fabric of my panties pushed to one side. Two thick fingers slide in and out of me. They’re covered in my creamy arousal, and the scent fills the room. He speeds up as I watch, his thumb rolling over my clit with every movement, making me shudder. “God, I love that smell … that sound … the sound of your needy little pussy sucking me in.”

He’s right. I am needy. I’m so wet. So close. Every cell in my body is screaming, and I can barely breathe. The beat pulsating from my core spreads all through my body, darkening my vision and pounding in my ears like the sound of the ocean. He nips at my shoulder and focuses on my clit. Rubbing at that tiny bundle of flesh, murmuring my name over and over as he takes me higher and higher. He teases and plays, taking me to the edge and pulling me back again, so many times I’m sobbing with desperation.

“Please, Elijah … I need to …”

He growls and strokes my swollen bud, holding me tight against him as he brings me to the brink and finally lets me topple over. The world explodes in a flash of light and sound and sensation, bliss flowing over me in wave after wave of pure pleasure. “That’s it, baby, that’s it,” he murmurs, keeping his fingers deep inside me as I clench and contract around them.

I’m floating halfway between consciousness and blacked out, nothing existing in my universe apart from Elijah and the way he made me feel. Nobody has ever pulled an orgasm like that from my body. Not even him. He lets me settle, kissing me and whispering to me, his fingers circling inside my tight pussy, touching my still-quivering walls. When he finally pulls them out, his whole hand is covered in my cum, and my face blazes from embarrassment. He runs his fingers along my lips until I open them, then pushes them inside my mouth. “Lick me clean, Amber. Taste yourself. You really are a filthy little slut, aren’t you? Tied up and helpless, and you fucking loved it.”

I suck his fingers, and he gently twists my head around to the side with them and meets me there at that awkward angle and kisses me. He fingers and tongue fill my mouth, swirling and exploring and dominating. His other hand goes around my neck and up to my throat, holding me there while he explores me. I’m in pieces, but I still want more. I want his cock inside my mouth. I want it all.

“Fuck!” he says with force, pulling away from me. He climbs to his feet and moves to stand in front of me. “I almost came in my fucking boxers just from the taste of your cunt inside your mouth.”

I gaze up at him, his muscular legs planted wide before me, his big cock throbbing in his hand. “That would have been a waste,” I say, finally regaining the power of speech, “when you could come down my throat.”

I shuffle toward him, my movements hampered by the fact that my hands are still tied. He groans and grabs up a fistful of my hair, tugging my head backward. “You’ve got a dirty mouth on you, Mrs. Smith. And now I’m going to fill it.”

I manage to nod slightly, and despite my earlier nerves, I open my mouth to take him. He starts gently, letting me get used to his size. Flicking my tongue over his slit, I lick up the salty pre-cum and make him moan. When I suck him farther in, I wish my hands were free. I want to cup his balls, grab his ass, pull him deeper. I struggle slightly, hoping I can disentangle my wrists from the chain.

“No,” he says, burying both his hands in my hair now. “Leave them be. The sight of you bound is fucking sexy as hell.”

As he speaks, he forces himself deeper inside my mouth. Tears sting my eyes, and I breathe through my nose. I can do this. I just need to relax and let him fuck me. I want to do this. His pace builds, and I glance up to see him completely lost in the moment. His eyes are fixed on mine, his mouth open as he rams himself into me. His grip on my hair never lets up, and his hips slam backward and forward. Saliva runs from the corners of my mouth, and tears flow down my cheeks. “You’re so damn good at this, baby, such a good girl. Your mouth feels amazing. Oh, fuck!”

He slams into me deeper than ever and holds my head rigid as he cries out and shoots his creamy load inside me. His cum fills my throat, and I breathe through my nose as he shudders his way through his climax. When he’s finally done, he pulls out of me and leans down. He kisses my face clean of everything—my tears and spit, drops of his cum.

“That was fucking spectacular.” He staggers behind me and unloops the chain that binds my wrists, then helps me up to my feet. I fall against him, shaky after kneeling for so long. We’re both unsteady, and he laughs as we stumble toward the big four-poster bed. He falls back onto it, pulling me down on top of him.

I giggle as he grabs hold of my ass, our legs tangled and our breaths mingling as we roll around the bed together. When he pulls me into his arms, my head comes to rest against his chest. With gentle strokes, he untangles my hair, and my fingers curl around his waist. He snags one of the sheets and drapes it loosely over us.

We both simply lie still for a few minutes, settling our breathing and letting our hearts steady. It’s intimate, tender, and I’m not sure how I feel about that. Elijah and I have spent so many years hurting each other—it still doesn’t feel safe to be so open to him. Is he feeling as exposed as I am?

“If we were really having an affair,” he says quietly, his fingers still in my hair, “do you think we’d be … what would you call this? Snuggling?”

I laugh lightly and feel him smile against my head. “Snuggling? Yes, I suppose that is a good word for it. As for whether people having an affair would snuggle, I can’t answer that. This is my very first. I’m actually doing a lot of things for the first time this year. I have a list.”

“Really?” he asks, repositioning us so he can see my face. “Tell me more.”

“Well, Granny Lucille gave me a notebook and told me to make a list of things I want to change and things I want to do. For starters, I’ve had it with my suit of armor.”

He doesn’t reply immediately, but then says, “You mean the way you look? I noticed the change in style. I really like it.”

“Thank you. I do too.”

“What else is on this list of yours?” He sounds genuinely interested.

“Um, well, some of it is a work in progress. But I’m going to take self-defense classes and learn to cook. I want to make new friends. I’ve also realized that I have a limited range of skills, so I’m planning to do some volunteer work, then get a job.”

He nods as I run through them—right until the last one.

“You know you don’t have to do that, don’t you?” He frowns, gazing directly into my eyes. “Get a job? Look, if you want to, go for it—I have faith in you. I’m sure you’d make a success of whatever you put your mind to. But financially, I’m … we … Fuck. I hate saying this. Saying it makes it real.”

I place my palm on his cheek, understanding exactly how he feels. “I know, Elijah. But it is real. No matter how much we pretend when it comes to Mr. and Mrs. Smith, it is real.”

He nods and kisses my palm. “You’re right. So, what I’m trying to say is that financially, you won’t ever need to work. I’ll always look after you.”

I don’t know whether that’s sweet and reassuring or patronizing and insulting. I suppose it depends on how I choose to interpret it. “Thank you. I do appreciate that. But there’s more to life than money. I need a purpose, to be more than your wife or a member of the James family. I need to find out who I am without you. I’m sorry if that hurts, and I hope you understand.”

“Not completely, but I want to,” he says, genuine honesty showing on his face. “Help me understand, baby.”

In recent years, I resented him calling me baby, but now … It feels so natural when we’re lying here like this. “Are you sure you mean that? Isn’t this supposed to be all about fun? Isn’t that the whole point of being Mr. and Mrs. Smith?”

“Yes, I mean it, Amber. And we both know who we truly are, no matter how much we enjoy pretending we’re not. Talk to me,” he says firmly. “I want to understand what’s going on with you.”

I hesitate for a moment. Can I trust him with this piece of me? I have no idea—it’s been so long since I let another human being really see me. But Elijah is one of the few to have had the privilege. Besides, I remind myself, I vowed to make my life more real. This is a good first step toward that goal.

“Okay, I’ll try,” I reply, my hand drifting to his shoulder. “But I’m not sure I totally have a grip on it myself yet. There are still things I’m piecing together, forcing myself to face up to for the first time. I suppose I’ve been trying to figure out where things went wrong, you know?”

“I know. I’ve been doing the same. Go on.” He nuzzles my hair and holds me closer.

“Okay. Well. It’s hard to describe, but I feel like … like I’ve been sleepwalking through life for years now. I stay busy, and I play to my strengths, but I’m faking it. Inside, I’ve been so hollow. When I found out I couldn’t have children, I think I lost my sense of purpose. I couldn’t see the point of me anymore. I was sad and angry and eventually bitter, and that’s not a good combination. It was a huge loss, and I never really grieved for it because of the timing.”

“My mom?” he asks, his voice catching.

“Yes. She found out she was sick, and that took priority, as it had to—and believe me, I don’t hold that against you. But I didn’t have the chance to grieve the fact that I couldn’t be a mother myself—that we lost the life we always imagined. I bottled it all up, and you probably did too, and we ended up lashing out at each other. Now we’re finally escaping that cycle, and you still have everything else that makes you you—your family, your work, your friends and colleagues, Jamestech. You’re passionate about those things. I don’t have any of that, and I have no clue what I’m passionate about. And I’m not saying this to make you feel sorry for me. I’m saying it to explain—I need to find my own way. I need a world outside yours. Does that make any sense?”

He throws his leg over me, and I run my fingers along his thick thigh. “It does make sense. And you’re right—I don’t think either of us really processed that loss.” He gently kisses my bare shoulder. “I was overwhelmed, and you were too. We should have … Well, I don’t suppose that matters now. As for you finding your own world outside mine, if that’s what you want, I’m here for you. On the sidelines, cheerleading.” His voice is heavy with emotion, and I know he’ll take what I told him to heart. He will think it over and look at it from every angle. That’s the kind of man he is.

“I really can’t see you in the uniform,” I say, trying to lighten the mood. This, I suppose, is the trouble with snuggling—it opens up too many doors.

“You’d be surprised. Maybe that could be one of my firsts.”

He’s trying to lighten the mood too, and I gratefully grab hold of it. “I’m not sure I’d be into that—you and pom-poms. If we’re going to be dressing up, I’m sure we can find something better for you. Sexy doctor. Gladiator. Pirate. Fireman. Magic Mike stripper …”

“Whoa, easy tiger. You’ve been thinking about this way too much.”

“What?” I protest, faking outrage. “And you haven’t? What kind of an affair is this?”

He laughs and then gazes up at the ceiling, nodding slowly. “I could go for any of those, to be honest. Sexy doctor is a good one. I like the idea of your gorgeous legs in stirrups while I give you a thorough examination.”

We’re only joking, but the image is vivid … and I like it. A lot.

“We already seem to be trying a few firsts in the bedroom, don’t we?” he says. “I’m not sure Granny Lucille would approve.”

“Ha! Granny Lucille is a lot more open-minded than you might suspect, sir. But yes, we do. You seem to have developed a very dirty mouth for one.”

“And you fucking love it.”

I do indeed fucking love it. Along with the role-playing, the hand tying, and what the hell is going on with my nipples? It’s like they’re, I don’t know, supercharged.

“What on earth are we doing here?” I look up at him, genuinely puzzled, and he laughs.

“Baby, I have no idea. But whatever it is, it’s working for both of us. This is the best sex we’ve ever had.”

“It is, isn’t it? Probably not a good idea to analyze it too closely.”

“No. Let’s not do that. Let’s treat it like Tinkerbell and just keep believing.”

I lightly smack him on the chest. “Don’t compare our perverted sex life to a Disney character. Disney should never be sexy.”

“What? That’s blatant bullshit—have you seen Maleficent? Anyway, that’s a role-play for a different day. Tell me more about your list. Where will you be volunteering?”

“I’m not sure yet. Possibly at a community center in Queens.”

I feel him stiffen, and not in a good way. He falls silent, and I can practically feel the cogs turning. Just like that, the lighthearted mood from moments ago has shriveled away. I should have guessed that he’d react like this. He probably expected me to stay in my safe little Manhattan-society bubble, and now I’ve knocked him off-balance.

“Queens?” he repeats.

“Yes, Elijah. It’s a borough of New York, situated on Long Island.”

“I know where it fucking is. But it’s also … Are you sure it’s safe? What about security? It’s one thing to ignore it when you’re hosting charity dinners on the Upper East Side, but Queens?”

I take a deep breath and try to stay calm. I don’t want to fight, but I can’t let myself be controlled. Elijah is saying this because he’s still protective of me. Because he still sees that as his responsibility. But we both have to accept that we’re getting divorced, and keeping me safe is not his job anymore. It’s mine.

“It’s not set in stone yet, Elijah. I might not even get the role, so don’t freak out. But yes, I’m sure it’s safe. Millions of people do live there, you know.”

“Yes, but they’re not … you.”

“You mean they’re not connected to the James family? They’re not kidnapping risks? Targets because of their billionaire ex-husbands?”

“All of that is true, but it’s not what I meant.”

We’re both getting annoyed now, and I can hear the effort he’s making to stay calm, just like I am. This affair can’t work if Mr. and Mrs. James are constantly lurking beneath the surface, waiting for the opportunity to get embroiled in our old ways.

“What did you mean, then?” I ask, telling myself to listen. To not snap and not judge—to not smother him with snark like I usually do.

“I meant that none of those millions of people are you, so I don’t give a shit about them. You’re the only person I care about, Amber, and signing some papers won’t change that. Nothing will ever change that. You can leave me, divorce me, never speak to me again, but I will always look out for you, whether you want me to or not. It’s the way I’m made. I protect the people I love.”

I bury my face in his chest again because I cannot bear to look at him. I cannot bear to see his expression or for him to see the sheen of fresh tears in my eyes. This is all so intense, and my feelings are so conflicted that I’m worried I can’t contain them all. Worried I will explode like a grenade filled with emotions instead of shards and splinters. He squeezes me tight, completely wrapping me up in his body. He knows exactly what I’m doing—that I’m hiding.

His breath dusts over my hair. “I’m sorry, baby. We’re a fucking mess, aren’t we?”

“We really are, and I’m not sure all this honesty is helping. Maybe this isn’t such a good idea. Maybe we should stay away from each other.”

“You’re probably right,” he says, his hand running over my hip and coming to rest on my waist. “Except … Well, I don’t fucking want to.”

His tone is petulant, and despite my tears, I have to laugh. “You know you sound like a kid about to have a tantrum, don’t you?”

“So what? Maybe that’s how I feel. Look, I know this is screwed up. I know we’re going ahead with the divorce. But I have felt more alive in the last hour than I have since the night in my hotel suite. I don’t know if that’s because of the affair, the pretending, or the mind-blowing sex we seem to keep accidentally having. But I don’t want it to stop. What about you?”

My fingers trace the silky hair on his chest. This is a crazy rollercoaster ride, and even in the past few minutes, we’ve been up and down, veering between mischievous and way too serious. But I can’t deny that I also feel alive. “No. If I’m being truthful, I don’t want it to stop either. But as of tomorrow, we’re officially separated in the eyes of the world, and we genuinely will need to keep this a secret. We’d have to keep sneaking around, find other places like this.”

He shrugs. “I’m fine with that. And anyway, I like this place. I might buy it. Or book it out for a year.”

He’s perfectly serious—I can tell from his expression. I grew up without money worries, but Elijah’s level of wealth is next level and still manages to surprise me at times. “Really? You’d buy this place just so you could have sex with your ex-wife here?”

“Yeah, why not? I like this bed. I’d like to tie you up to those posts and play with you. I’d like to spank you ’til your ass shines. To screw you in the shower and take you in the tub.”

I grin at his words, and the playfulness helps ease the tension that was building between us. “That’s very eloquent, Elijah.”

“What can I say?” he shrugs. “I have the heart of a poet.”

And the body of a Greek god, the mouth of a sailor, the hands of a magician … It’s a pretty tempting mix. “I mean it, Amber. I’d like to explore some of those firsts with you. I’d like to do all kinds of things with you. This place is safe and private, and it would make the perfect playroom.”

I won’t pretend I’m not intrigued. My pussy is already throbbing a little, and the jut of his cock tells me the images are working for him too. We might have been together for more than two decades, but this feels brand new and thrilling. It’s the best of both worlds—we know each other’s bodies inside out, but we’re also taking steps into the unknown. “That’s very … Christian Grey of you.”

“Yeah, it is, isn’t it? And you fucking loved those books.”

I actually blush. I wasn’t aware he knew about that. Those books were fun and escapist and hot. But when I made myself come after an especially erotic scene, it wasn’t Christian Grey I pictured in my fantasies—it was the drop-dead gorgeous billionaire lying next to me. The one now sliding his big hand between my thighs.

He props himself up on one muscular arm and smiles as he slips a finger inside me, making me moan.

“Mrs. Smith,” he says, his voice husky. “I think we’ve done enough talking. I do believe you’re ready to be fucked.”

Hell yes I’m ready, Mr. Smith.