Tryst

I gasp for air, the oxygen in the room suddenly becoming too thin, yet thick with lavender-tinged smoke. My chest heaves wildly and sweat rolls between my breasts, making my nipples harder than diamonds. They ache with the need to be touched and pinched. Bitten until the pink peaks become red and raw. I reach for Tucker, searching for him to anchor me, feeling so high that I may float away if he doesn’t hold on. He grabs on to my shoulder with one hand to level his strokes, and wraps the other around my throat.

It’s all I need—those nails biting into my skin, tightening, creating pressure to my carotid arteries so that my brain is denied of precious oxygen. Getting me drunk off carbon monoxide and the sheer eroticism of being fucked until I’m light-headed. His other hand abandons my shoulder and dips to my clit where he rubs the tiny bud that kisses his dick with every stroke. He’s growing for me, swelling, and I tighten around him in response, daring him to do the same. Challenging him to rip me apart and dirty me just a little bit more.

My frantic eyes wide with bliss and lack of air, I’m soundless as the first surge of orgasm overtakes me. I ride it out in rough waves, falling deeper and deeper into black water. I shake violently, unable to control the spasms that roll through my body like thunder. I can breathe now, Tucker’s grip completely loosened, yet climax still squeezes my lungs, wringing out every drop of arousal from my body like a wet cloth. I’ve never come like this before. Never experienced anything like this before. And I did it with the one person I thought would never bring me to this place—my husband.

He collapses on top of me and I wrap my arms around his sweat slickened back, the need to comfort and nurture him almost overwhelming. It’s as if he’s awakened this . . . vulnerability in me. Yet, it’s not borne of weakness. It’s freedom and strength. It’s the irrevocable feeling of unconditional love and acceptance.

Ragged with exhaustion and ecstasy, my head lolls to one side with no bones or joints to support it. I smile lazily, basking in the feeling of being completely blissed out, and allow my eyes to focus, realizing in the haze of afterglow that we’ve done it. We’ve done the unthinkable. And it was everything that I could have asked for and more.

That’s when the oily, black serpent sinks his fangs into my flushed skin, penetrating tendon and arteries. Infecting me with its ugly doubt and shame.

I only see him for a moment before he turns and stalks away. But that’s all I need; a glimpse of the dark pain that paints Ransom’s handsome face, leaving a smeared trail of dejection behind him.

Chapter Twenty-six

I wake up sated and splendidly sore when my cell rings early the next morning. It’s Tamara (who still can’t calculate the time difference) with my daily update, giving me the scoop on all my clients and events in the city. Being this far from home has been difficult, but not impossible. Thanks to the internet and a strong cell signal, I can do my job anywhere. And as long as my clients stay out of the proverbial kitchen, no one has to get burned. Also, my two most controversial, i.e. difficult, clients are merely yards away. Which has proven to be just as much of a curse as a gift.

I look at my sleeping husband, flat on his stomach, his teddy bear brown hair falling over his forehead. I smooth back the waves that tickle his brow and muster a smile. He was amazing last night. So amazing that we came back to our room and went at it again, licking and sucking each other to another earth shattering orgasm. Of course, I struggled to live in the moment and just focus on Tucker and what his tongue and fingers were doing to my body. I’d give myself over to pleasure, only to be jolted back to reality when the look on Ransom’s face would pop into my mind. I hurt him—I know I did. But I don’t see how there was any way to avoid it. Tucker is my husband . . . will always be my husband. And there’s no way Ransom can expect me not to make love to my husband.

I pull myself out of bed much sooner than I should and stretch my stiff, sore limbs before jumping in the shower. When I step out, it takes me a full five minutes to decide what I should put on. I look at my tiny, white bikini, still completely untouched with the tags still dangling from it. I’ve been here for a week and still haven’t gone for a swim in the beautiful infinity pool, or even taken a dip in the more private turquoise lagoon, partitioned by blue palo verde and palm trees. I rip off my towel and grab the bathing suit. It’s still early enough that it should be pretty empty, plus after last night most people are probably sleeping in or going for another round. But with the bright morning sun streaming through the curtains, and the smell of fresh, desert air, I can’t find a good reason to spend another second inside.

I lift my face to the heavens as I greet the cloudless blue sky and the warmest, most brilliant sunlight I’ve ever felt. The only signs of human life are Oasis staff, preparing the day for lots of sunbathing, noshing, and sipping. Ordinarily, I would roll my eyes at those couples lazing around the pool in their designer swimwear and shades, but for some reason, I want to join them. I want to stretch out in an oversize lounger made for two and eat fresh cut papaya and drink ridiculous libations from a hallowed out pineapple.

Overnight, I had become one of those people. The sexually liberated. And even though it was just a one-on-one experience for Tucker and me, which would probably be deemed tame compared to theirs, when we looked up from the fog of orgasm, we realized that we were being watched. Yet, there wasn’t an inkling of judgment or disdain etched in their faces. There was admiration, awe, and definitely arousal. At least that was the case for mostly everyone. For Ransom? Not so much.

I assumed he had stormed off to his room after watching Tucker and me, so overwhelmed with hurt and disgust. I couldn’t go after him—seriously, how ridiculous would it look if I ran after him ass naked?—and I couldn’t fully express my regret to Tucker. We had turned a page, the one that had been holding us back from completing our story. I needed to stay in this moment with him, no matter how badly I wanted to make things right with Ransom. This was our chance to make things better. I had to take it. Any good wife would agree.

So here I am, the morning after. I had not only survived Justice’s playground, I had thrived. And maybe this was exactly what I needed to solidify my love for Tucker. Maybe I was only weak for Ransom because my marriage was weak. And now that we had found the key to our bedroom ills, maybe we could cure everything else that was wrong with us. Whatever that is.

After sitting out for ten minutes, the Arizona summer sun, aka hell’s ta

I step through a barrier of trees and my eyes find incredible beauty in that small space. Shimmering teal waters, limestone boulders strategically placed to create a magnificent series of natural fountains, and a sculpted, sun-kissed back slick with water.

I suck in a surprised breath when I see him, drawing his attention, and Ransom turns around, revealing a bare, chiseled chest that I had seen just days ago. He looks at me with the same shock I stare at him with, yet his expression quickly morphs into contempt. He snorts and cuts his eyes at me, just before turning back around to rest his elbows on the edge of the pool. I stand there, shocked at his demeanor. Just days ago, he was begging me not to leave, not to turn my back on him completely and shut him out. Now it seems the tables have turned.