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With its open weave, the afghan wasn’t much protection from what felt like subarctic temperatures, but the room was slowly losing its chill, and Alec’s warm hands on Cleo’s neck and shoulders were starting to relax her. When his hands finally gave out, she settled in, leaning back into his chest.
“Better?” he asked.
“Mmhm.” She shifted to get closer to the heat he was putting off.
He grunted.
“I’m sorry. Am I mashing your delicates?”
“You’re fine.” But he said it through clenched teeth.
She shifted again, trying to ensure he had enough room.
The noise this time was faint, more suppressed moan than grunt. He grabbed her shoulders and pulled her back against him. “Be still. Watch the movie.”
She laid her head back on his shoulder and tried to focus.
He was right. The Haunting wasn’t a slasher movie. The beginning was actually a little slow and she almost dozed off, but then spooky things started happening to the characters staying in the creepy old mansion. Cleo shifted onto her side, so she could hide her face against Alec’s chest when it got too scary. He held her close when she did, making her feel warm and protected.
The third or fourth time she took a dive into his chest, his hands found their way under her T-shirt to stroke her skin. She liked the way his hands felt on her and kept her face buried longer than she needed to.
When the next scary scene came up, she decided she couldn’t take it any more. She only knew one reliable method to distract a man, so in spite of her earlier promises to herself, she fingered one of the buttons on his shirt.
Oops.
Three buttons in, he still hadn’t noticed, so she licked his chest. He jumped so violently she thought they’d levitated off the couch.
“¡Madre de Dios!”
She giggled, slid a hand behind his neck, and pulled his face down to hers.
“Mmm.” His hand slid around and found her breast. After a few moments of kneading—of an entirely different kind than he’d done on her shoulders—his hands slid to her stomach, and he broke the kiss. “That’s nice.”
“But I shouldn’t interrupt your movie,” Cleo said. She didn’t sound contrite even to herself.
“I’ve seen it before. I know how it ends.” He lowered his mouth to hers for a long, slow kiss.
She felt movement against her hip and knew she’d caught more than the attention of his lips.
His hand slid lower, under the waistband of the sweats. He played with the curls there then slid lower still and brushed against her sweet spot.
She moaned against his mouth.
“Just lay your head back and let me make you feel good.” He dragged a finger through the moisture between her legs.
His touch started soft, dancing close to the place she most wanted him with an occasional foray to flick her piercing. He was good at this, this build up of anticipation.
And then he spoke softly into her ear. She tensed, expecting the bubble to burst. She’d momentarily forgotten what a Chatty Cathy he could be, and it always pulled her out of the moment, but then she realized he’d spoken in Spanish.
The time she’d spent south of the border had made her fluent, but that portion of her brain seemed to be offline.
He spoke several more times as he continued to tease her, his finger circling her hot button. Without the ability to interpret and evaluate the need for a response, his voice, so deep and soft yet sexy and roughened with desire, heightened her awareness of him. She wasn’t having this experience alone. He was there with her. It was intimacy on a level she’d never had before.
The tip of his fingers found her pleasure center, and her focus contracted.
His hand stilled. She waited, anticipating his next move. It took forever in coming, and then . . . It was only a twitch, but in exactly the right place. She caught her breath and waited for it to come again. This time it was a steady pressure that lasted . . . not nearly long enough.
And that’s the way it continued. A moment of pressure followed by a gasp of air. A husky, encouraging voice speaking Spanish in her ear.
It took a break in the rhythm and Alec whispering, “Shh,” for her to realize she’d heard a sound that didn’t come from him or the TV. A sliver of light spilled from the bedroom door on the second floor above them.
Jada was already coming down the stairs. “Why is it so dark in here?”
The language center of Cleo’s brain was still offline, so she was grateful when Alec said, “It’s atmosphere for the scary movie we’re watching.”
“Oh, I can’t watch those,” Jada said. “They give me nightmares.”
“Do you need something?” he asked as Jada reached the bottom of the stairs.
Marveling at his ability to articulate complete sentences, Cleo struggled to get her brain functioning again.
“A glass of milk,” Jada said, but she stood and watched the screen.
Under the cover of the afghan, Alec flexed his finger. Cleo stopped breathing. He did it again, and unexpectedly, she was at the brink of an orgasm. It took every ounce of willpower she had to grasp his forearm, trying to signal he shouldn’t do that, but his arm wasn’t the problem. It was his finger, and she didn’t have control of that as he proved when he did it again.
She gasped as every muscle in her body tightened, reaching, straining for release.
Jada moved into the kitchen, and he did it again.
“Stop,” Cleo whispered, surprised she could form the word. Astonished she could form that word because the very last thing in the world she wanted was for him to stop.
“Why?” he asked low in her ear.
“B-because . . . Jada . . .”
“You’re afraid she’ll know what we’re doing?”
“Y-y-yes.”
“And that would bother you?” He flicked her piercing.
She drew a ragged breath. “Yes.”
“Why?” He did it again.
Her body went taut and it took a moment for her to relax enough to say, “W-w-why?”
“Yeah. She already knows we share a bed. Do you think she believes we haven’t had sex?” He flexed his finger. “Do you think she doesn’t know”—his voice dropped even lower—“I’ve found ways to satisfy you?”
He nuzzled her ear through her hair and a pulse ran through her body. “Or maybe what bothers you is you kinda like that I’m turning you on with someone else in the room.”
Her breath suddenly went shallow. Something was building inside her. When it hit critical mass, she wouldn’t be able to contain it.
In the kitchen, the microwave dinged. Jada could come back through the living room any second.
“Is that it?” A gentle pressure on her clit. As if he couldn’t speak without doing something to drive her crazy. “You like it but you don’t want anyone to know.”
A sensation like a kaleidoscope of colors washed over her skin. “I-I-I don’t.”
“You don’t what? Like it? Or want anyone to know? Is it the risk that turns you on?” His finger brushed her clit. “Are you afraid someone will find out you actually like sex?”
She wanted to say more, but her brain was no longer sending clear messages to her tongue and it came out garbled.
His chest vibrated with silent laughter against her back.
“Cleo?” Jada stood near the doorway to the kitchen.
The rhythmic pressure Alec had been treating Cleo to never let up. She made a noise she hoped passed for acknowledgement.
Jada said something. The only words Cleo caught were “tomorrow” and “practice.”
Cleo tried to focus her eyes, but Jada seemed to be standing a long ways away. “’Kay,” she said, hoping that was an appropriate response.
“Okay,” Jada echoed with finality, as though they’d reached some agreement, and started up the stairs. “Goodnight.”
Cleo rolled her lips into her mouth. The internal pressure was close to redlining, and she feared she might scream. One hand still grasped Alec’s wrist. The other lay on his thigh. The fingers of both hands curled, the nails digging into his flesh.
He hissed in a breath near her ear.
When he licked the rim of her ear and murmured something in Spanish, she barely heard Jada’s door close.
A second later, she flew into a million pieces. The only piece that stayed earthbound was her mouth because Alec had clamped a hand over it when the scream started.
She came back from ecstasy slowly. Half a step behind came a hot rush of shame.
“What’s wrong?” Alec asked.
“Nothing. That was wonderful.”
“Then why does it suddenly feel like I’m holding a marble statue?”
Of course he felt it. How could he not with her all but lying full-length on top of him? She did her best to relax her muscles.
“I thought you had a good time just now,” he said.
She pushed herself up to sit between his legs, pulling her clothes straight as she did, and hid her face in her hands. “Oh hell.” If she hadn’t already been upset, having that come out sounding all sobby would have gotten her there.
He sat up behind her and folded his arms around her. “Cleo, what’s wrong?”
Why couldn’t he be like other men and just pat himself on the back for a job well done? Did he always have to talk about everything?
“Cleo, sweetheart, tell me what’s wrong.”
“Oh God, Alec. I am so screwed up.”
“Hey, turn around here so we can talk.”
She shook her head. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
But he reached around her and hooked a hand under her knees and turned her in spite of her protest. “Talk to me anyway.”
She leaned her head against his chest, so he couldn’t see her face. “Why can’t I be like other people?”
He smoothed her hair. “You don’t want to be like other people. They’re boring.”
She gave a watery laugh. Boring sounded wonderfully normal.
“C’mon. What’s got you so upset?”
Well, what the hell. If she really wanted to never have sex with him again the way she kept insisting to herself, telling him the truth would certainly accomplish that. She took a deep breath. “I’m terrible at sex.”
He made a noise in his throat that sounded suspiciously like suppressed laughter. “I hadn’t noticed that.”
“It’s true. I don’t . . . I don’t get turned on by normal stuff.”
“What are you talking about? Are you saying you faked it just now?” The laughter was gone from his voice, but he sounded more concerned than angry.
“No. That wasn’t fake. I . . . I just . . .”
“It’s okay. Take your time. We’ll get through this.”
The last thing she wanted was to spend all night discussing this. She didn’t want to talk about it at all, but if she had to, she’d rather get it over with. “I’m not saying what you did wasn’t working, but . . . when Jada walked in on us . . . it was, I don’t know. It supercharged it.”
He was silent for what seemed a very long time. Finally, he said, “So what you’re upset about is that you have a little kink going on?”
“Oh God.” There it was. The label that confirmed she was her mother’s daughter.
“That’s what’s got you so upset?”
“I’m such a hot mess that I’m”—she had to force the word out of her mouth—“kinky. Wouldn’t that upset most people?”
“Is that such a horrible thing to be?”
Hadn’t he understood what she’d said? “But that . . . getting turned on because someone else was in the room . . .” She swallowed hard over what felt like a knot of embarrassment in her throat. “That’s not . . . normal.”
“That depends who you talk to.”
He was wrong. She didn’t know how to argue her case, but she knew he was wrong.
His chest inflated as though he was preparing to impart wisdom. “Do you know how most people define kinky?”
She shook her head.
“Most people define kinky as whatever they won’t do,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“They define ‘normal’ as whatever they do in their sex life. Whatever that is. It could involve hanging from the chandelier while getting a blowjob from a nine-foot-tall circus freak, but because they do it, it’s normal. On the other hand, anything they don’t do, that’s what’s kinky. For them. For some people, anything beyond the missionary position is kinky.”
She couldn’t help smiling at the image he’d painted, but she kept her head pressed to his chest. “I guess you’re not one of those people.”
He kissed her hair. “Neither are you, chica.”
She couldn’t help wishing, though, that what turned her on only involved two people. That wouldn’t be so bad. “But what other deviant things are going to turn me on? Where does it stop?”
He drew back, lifting her chin with his fingers, so she had to look at him. “It stops wherever you want it to. It’s not as if you have to run out and find an orgy to get turned on.”
“But I’m kinky.” She should have suspected it. Maybe she had. After all, she was Annaliese’s daughter.
“So? Most people are a little kinky even if they won’t admit it.”
“Sure they are,” she said sarcastically.
His mouth twisted as though he thought she was being difficult on purpose. His hand dropped from her face. “I didn’t tell you about my interview with Liz.”
That was it? He was ready to change the subject?
She should be glad to leave behind the topic of how screwed up she was—she hadn’t wanted to talk about it in the first place—but it sort of annoyed her he thought he could smooth everything over so easily and move on. Still, it was better than plumbing the depths of her fucked-up sexuality. She should take it for the gift it was.
“Did you know they had an open marriage?” he asked.
She pulled back, so she could look him in the eye. “Is that what she’s claiming?”
“You find that unbelievable?”
“Yes. Men like Sebastian . . . Men with power, they don’t like to share.”
“Hm.”
“You don’t believe her, do you?” she asked.
“I’m not sure. My gut’s with you about powerful men. They like owning things, but that’s a generalization. Another part of me says men like Sebastian don’t feel compelled to play by the same rules as everyone else. They get jaded. They have power and money; they start feeling like things come too easily, including their choice of women. The same-ol’-same-ol’ stops doing it for them.”
“Well, that part might be true. I’ll grant you Sebastian wasn’t faithful. That’s common knowledge, but turning a blind eye about his wife’s infidelities?” She shook her head. “That doesn’t fit.”
“It might be part of the kink. I knew a guy when I was interning in DC. He and his wife were in ‘the lifestyle.’”
“Eww.” The way he said it made it clear what he meant. And then she realized he hadn’t moved on to another topic at all. This was his way of backing into the subject.
He laughed. “Yeah. It never made sense to me either. I mean, I’m not a prude, but I couldn’t do it. Too territorial, I guess. I don’t think I’d ever find it a turn on to watch some other guy going at it with my wife.”
“Eww,” Cleo said again. She might be fucked up, but she didn’t think she was that fucked up “He watched?”
“Said it was the hottest thing he ever saw.”
“I’m not sure I want to meet your friends.”
“I said I knew him. I didn’t say we were friends.”
“Did he ever . . . invite you . . . ?
“To play with them? Yeah. I was almost tempted. His wife was hot.”
“You were only almost tempted?”
“Okay, yes. I was tempted. If it hadn’t involved him being in the room, I’d have thought about it for more than five seconds. My point is, it’s not as uncommon as you think. There are actually websites that cater to that kind of swinging. Websites with private chatrooms, so you can set up meetings and recruit new members for your ‘club.’”
“They have clubs?” Why was she shocked? She’d overheard some bizarre things growing up around showgirls, but even the most bizarre had mostly been single incidents. Nothing that prepared her for the idea that this sort of thing was as organized as a Rotary Club meeting. That was just gross. “Have you ever . . .?”
“No. I told you. I’m too territorial.”
“But Jada in the room . . . That’s not that much different.”
“It’s worlds different, chica.”
“Were you . . . turned on by it?”
“I was turned on because you were turned on. If you’ll recall, I encouraged you.”
He had. He’d egged her on, pushing her to a place where she couldn’t deny that having a sexy secret created a major buzz. “So it doesn’t bother you that I . . .?”
“Not even a little.”
She still wasn’t sure she was okay with being so turned on because Jada had been in the room, but Alec’s non-judgmental attitude made her think she might get there. As long as she didn’t develop any other weird fetishes.
“So besides having sex with a woman while her husband watches, what do you consider kinky?”
He grinned at her. “Whatever I won’t do.”