Fighting against her responses, she whimpered and moaned with each touch, each caress, hoping he wouldn’t notice how fake they sounded, or how cold she seemed. Or how badly her body shook with each breath as she clung to the control so rapidly escaping her. Her breath coming in a swift gasp, she clung to him. He shivered at the rip of foil, the faint smell of lubricant wafting up to her. Her nails bit into his shoulders when he sank into her body, the stretched, too tight sensation burrowing through her. She stared at the ceiling, counting the square tiles, her body undulating and moving with his. She bit hard on her lip when she felt the coil tighten. No! No, Gillian, don’t let go. Control. Control.
Each thrust against her sent tingles of passion through her clit. His rapid breathing, the bruising grip on her hips, told her how close he was. She increased her breathing, tilted her head back, and wiggled against him. Her nails scored his back, ankles crossed. She moaned softly and focused instead on the corner of the shower—even as she felt the tears scald the backs of her eyes. What is wrong with me that I can’t do this? Why do I do this to myself?
Pushing back the icy numbness that settled within her, she clung to him, and clung to the vague hope he would leave her to shower away the guilt and erase the faint need to feel clean again.
She pressed her face into his shoulder as his thrusts grew rougher. His low, almost tortured groan as he pulled her against him struck a chord within her. She shivered at the tremble racing over his body, the hot wash of his ejaculate jutting into the thin layer of protection between them.
A weak smile crossed her face when he shifted. His hands were gentle yet firm on her face. He kissed her softly. She pressed a quick kiss to his lips when he inhaled.
“Hey, you okay?” Her attempt to soothe with a grin didn’t seem to work. With a sigh, he squeezed her shoulder. “I’m going to make us some coffee, and then we can talk.”
Relief flooded her as the door knocker thumped from the other room. “I’ll be right back, Gilli.” He stepped back to fasten his pants as he hurried from the bathroom. She slid off the counter and shuffled to the shower, the dress falling around her ankles to be kicked aside as she fixed the settings and stepped into the stall.
Hands braced against the cold tile, she lowered her head and sobbed. Her body burned with a need so foreign to her it rocked the precious control she held. For the first time, she’d come so close and it terrified her. She wasn’t any different than any other woman, and yet letting go, taking more from the brief movements, left her wallowing in shame and guilt.
* * * *
Barbara narrowed her eyes slightly, a smile pasted on her face. Every ounce of attention was focused on Gillian as she stumbled from the table. The large, grotesque spot on her gown irritated her. Careful to avoid getting caught, she watched as Lenny’s friend chatted for a second with Gillian before wrapping an arm around her waist and turning her toward the massive doors. In the dim lights she couldn’t see exactly what was happening, but it didn’t stop the flare of rage. What on earth had she done?
Feeling her husband’s hand curl around her waist, she shot him a smile and gyrated against him. How like Gillian to ruin her reception. How she hated the little bitch. It was simply too bad the paramedics had been so prompt that night. Their tardiness would have saved everyone a lot of headache. Barbara leaned back and giggled when Lenny pressed a kiss to her neck, his hands encircling her waist. Soon, very soon, she’d have it all.
* * * *
Jack stretched out, his gaze on Gilli who slept soundly in his king bed. Her slim body wrapped around a pillow, her dark hair spread out over the pale sheets, her lips parted slightly. Delicate, pale, purple lace hugged her ass; a white muscle shirt clung to her breasts, the only clothing that was clean and dry.
He let the bottle of water swing between his fingers. He’d felt more than a little guilty when he’d gone to answer the door, his body still shaking with the force of his release. Hurrying back to the bathroom to ask if she’d like something to eat from the room service menu, he’d felt the barb of shame and something else, something a lot darker, slide like a dagger between his ribs at her muffled sobs in the shower.
His anger had faded at the lost, pained look in her eyes when she slipped from the bathroom to accept the steaming mug of coffee. Every attempt to get her to talk had been met with monosyllable words. After the third yawn he’d ushered her into bed. Now, two hours later, he watched her sleep. Her brows furrowed, her grip on the pillow tightened at times before she eased back into sleep.
Why hadn’t she come? The questions kept repeating over and over again, an endless, merciless drain on his sense of pride. Leaving a woman still burning hadn’t happened since he was sixteen, and he felt a knot of apprehension that he’d done
