My One Week Husband Read online

  Lighting me up.

  I push farther, and she groans wickedly.

  That’s all I can take.

  I slide into her in one hard, deep move, filling her to the hilt.

  She groans like an animal, tossing her head back.

  I still myself for a few fevered seconds, savoring her hot grip, the way it sends shock waves of lust pounding through me. Inhaling sharply, I let breath flood my body as desire washes over me.

  I’m going to fuck her hard.

  This is what my woman has been missing, and I’m going to give it all to her.

  I take her words at face value, holding nothing back. I keep one hand on her shoulder blades, making sure she’s near the floor. As I drive into her, I draw out her moans and groans and wild sounds of ecstasy.

  But that’s not enough. She wants to be marked. She wants to feel this for days. I take my hand off her shoulder blades and grip her hips, digging my fingers in, leaving marks. “You want bruise marks?”

  “I do. I do,” she says, gasping and writhing as she thrusts her hips back onto my cock, fucking against me as I fuck into her. I reach around to her tits, grasping them, gripping them so damn hard in my hands.

  I swear I can feel her pussy grow wetter as I punish her tits, squeezing so hard they’ll be bruised tomorrow.

  I let go and return to abusing her ass, smacking her over and over again. Her sounds are the most erotic thing I’ve ever heard as she chases wild pleasure. As she seeks out the kind of bliss she’s evidently never had before. As she learns exactly what it’s like to be taken by a man who’s consumed by her.

  As her moans grow louder, the pleasure in me spirals higher, gathering in the base of my spine. When I can tell she’s near the edge, I band an arm tight around her waist, play with her clit, and coax an epic orgasm out of her.

  Her sounds are delirious notes of bliss.

  Seconds later, my own climax throttles me, blotting out anything, everything, as I come hard, so damn hard inside her.

  I want to collapse on her. Fall on top of her. But first, I pull out, remove the condom, and toss it into the bin. Gently, I take off her shoes then lift her up, carry her to the bathroom, and turn on the shower.

  “Let me clean you up. Let me look at all the places where you’re going to be marked tomorrow,” I say.

  She simply nods, looking drugged out, blissed out, as I wash her tenderly in the shower. She murmurs then smiles. “I’m so hungry.”

  I laugh. “Then I better feed my naughty wife dinner before I feed her my cock again.”

  “That sounds like a perfect evening.”

  The only thing that’s not so perfect is when she runs her finger across my hand, across my scar, and I can tell, I can absolutely tell, that soon she’s going to want to know all the things I don’t share.

  All the things I keep locked up.

  But maybe, for the first time, I want her to know.

  Some of them, at least.

  18

  Scarlett

  A message blinks at me in the morning.

  I picture it tapping its toe, checking its wristwatch, huffing and puffing, saying, “I’m waiting.”

  It can only be Nadia.

  With my body deliciously sore, I slide open the message.

  * * *

  Nadia: Where is my report? I WANT IT NOW!

  * * *

  I laugh quietly from under the covers, the handsome man I spent the night with sound asleep on his stomach.

  In our honeymoon suite.

  My life is indeed a theater. And I love playing this part.

  I read the next text.

  * * *

  Nadia: I can only conclude either you endured a horrible injury from the sapphire heels, which you damn well better be wearing, or you suffered a sex injury. Did you break your vagina? Is it in a cast? A sling? A splint? Sidenote: do they make vaginal splints?

  * * *

  A laugh bursts from me, but I quiet it quickly so I don’t wake my companion. I tap out a reply.

  * * *

  Scarlett: New market opportunity—vaginal splints for over-sexing. Fortunately, I’m simply in my bed as a result of a condition known as orgasm excessia.

  * * *

  Nadia: Too many orgasms. I’d like to catch that one. Give me the details now.

  * * *

  Scarlett: I hardly know where to begin except . . . you were right.

  * * *

  Nadia: Always a good start to any story. I take it you indulged in the wigs and a little role-play?

  * * *

  Scarlett: Yes! I had no idea that would unleash everything so quickly. But it did. I swear, as soon as I saw him at the train station, and I was dressed as a redhead in a sassy, bold dress, I felt liberated.

  * * *

  Nadia: Liberated from your past, you mean?

  * * *

  Scarlett: Exactly. I felt like a different woman. Like someone who could own all her fantasies. Someone who had a partner who wanted to know them, indulge them. It was never that way with Jonathan. He was never that excited. Anyway, let’s not talk about Jonathan.

  * * *

  Nadia: Words to live by. Tell me all about Mr. Orgasm Dispenser instead. Is that what you call Daniel now?

  * * *

  Scarlett: Oh, yes. Of course.

  * * *

  Nadia: Excellent. I probably won’t use it when I see him, but it’s useful to know his secret identity for party planning and whatnot. So, how does the whole fake name ruse work?

  * * *

  Scarlett: We pick different names each day. It’s crazy and wonderful. We pretend we’re newlyweds, and it’s like a whole new world.

  * * *

  Nadia: And that gives you the freedom to explore what you want and what you’ve craved. Right?

  * * *

  Scarlett: Yes. I’m finally having the sex I want. It’s wild and carnal and frequent. Last night, we fucked twice before bed. I’m in dirty heaven.

  * * *

  Nadia: So it’s a sex cornucopia? I want to be incredibly jealous, but if anybody deserves that, it’s you.

  * * *

  Scarlett: I’m devouring all the goodies in the cornucopia, thank you very much. I’m feasting like a glutton. But the thing is, I also feel like when we pretend, I can open up to Daniel in other ways. I actually told him—gasp!—about Jonathan.

  * * *

  Nadia: Whoa. That’s a huge step. You don’t usually share that with anyone.

  * * *

  Scarlett: I don’t. But it was easy to tell him—more so than I expected. Maybe because it’s all occurring in this container of make-believe. But it felt so freeing. Like I’d been carrying around this terrible and embarrassing secret and could finally let go of it.

  * * *

  Nadia: How did he take it? What did he say? I know that’s been a worry of yours—how it would reflect on you.

  * * *

  Scarlett: Yes, like something was wrong with me, but I’m saying goodbye to those thoughts. And he handled it, I suppose, exactly like I’d hoped he would. Once he knew, he didn’t look at me the way Jonathan would have. He didn’t look at me like a man who wasn’t interested in his wife. He was enraged on my behalf, Nadia. It was sort of arousing and comforting at the same time.

  * * *

  Three wiggling dots dance on my screen for a while. Her response is short, though, and to the point.

  * * *

  Nadia: You have feelings for him.

  * * *

  I close my eyes, wishing she weren’t right.

  But when I open my eyes and turn my gaze to the man sharing my bed, his strong shoulders, his sculpted back, his sex-tousled hair, I can’t wish these emotions away.

  Especially when I catch a glimpse of his profile, with his carved cheekbones and soft lips, and I think of everything those lips have said to me—his kind words, his protective words.

  She’s dead right. Emotions rise up in me, strong, powerful ones. Ones that
threaten to break my heart all the way open. I don’t know where these emotions fit into my life. The trouble is—I don’t think they can.

  I need to get them out of my head though.

  * * *

  Scarlett: I do have feelings for him. But the trouble is, there’s nothing on my to-do list telling me how to handle these sorts of feelings. I don’t know where to go from here.

  * * *

  Nadia: Does he have feelings for you?

  * * *

  Another glance at the man, and the memory of the last two days rushes in, bright and clear. The passion in his voice. The intensity in his eyes. Of course he has feelings for me, but I don’t think he’ll allow them to dance past a certain point. And I don’t know if they’re the same as mine.

  * * *

  Scarlett: He might, but he also made it clear that this thing with us exists in its own time and space, and that we’ll go back to the way we were. He was up-front about that from the start.

  * * *

  Nadia: Then you enjoy it for what it is, for that moment in time. Some relationships are meant to last for a long while. Others burn bright and hot for a few days, maybe a week. It doesn’t make them less valuable. They all help us learn something. Maybe this is exactly what you need to finally put all the pain of the past behind you. To understand and to see on a true, visceral, physical level that you can be worshipped, cherished, and adored in the bedroom.

  * * *

  I swallow past a tight lump in my throat. I’m certain she’s giving me exactly the advice I need to hear. I know, too, that I ought to absorb it into my bones, into my blood, and to act accordingly.

  To be smart. To protect my heart.

  * * *

  Scarlett: I suspect you’re right. Also, how the hell do you know so much about relationships?

  * * *

  Nadia: I’m not sure I know that much. But I try to listen to all the things people around me have said in various situations. When my brother was going through heartache a few years back before he met his eventual fiancée, my mother said something similar to him. It helped him move on. So I’ve shared it with you in case you need it at some point to move on. If Daniel’s made it clear that there’s no future beyond this tryst, just remember you’ll be fine, and you’ll come out on the other side. And I’ll be here for you.

  * * *

  I draw a deep breath, processing her wisdom. Grateful for it, and her support.

  I know how to protect my heart. I’ve done it for years. If I have to do it with Daniel, I’ll do it with Daniel.

  I send one last note to my friend.

  * * *

  Scarlett: I’ll be fine. I’ll be perfectly fine.

  * * *

  Soon, I get dressed and ready, then when he’s up and freshened up too, we gather our bags and head to the lobby, running into Hazel and Elodie.

  They’re lounging on the leather sofa, drinking coffee.

  “Good morning, Violet,” Elodie calls out, her voice a little hoarse.

  It takes me a moment to remember I’m Violet. Blinking, I fasten on a smile. “Hi Elodie. Hello Hazel. Did you have a good night?”

  The blonde threads her free hand through her wife’s. “The best. Thank you.”

  Hazel laughs softly, resting her head on Elodie’s shoulder. “We’re all such honeymooners, aren’t we?”

  I chuckle, but it feels forced. “We are indeed.”

  “Love you madly, babe,” Hazel says to her wife, then plants a soft kiss on her cheek.

  “You too, sweetie.”

  Hazel squeezes Elodie’s hand and my heart clutches. They’re so…real.

  I want that. I want that kind of true romance.

  But it’s not in the cards.

  “Have a wonderful honeymoon,” I call out and we head to the airport, Nadia’s words ringing in my head like a trumpet.

  You’ll come out on the other side.

  I will. I have to believe it.

  19

  Scarlett

  The Mediterranean sparkles like a cache of jewels.

  The sea shows off its opulent brightness, the water shimmering like a sapphire one sun-soaked minute, then a turquoise stone the next.

  With the backseat window open and the breeze blowing in, I inhale the salty sea air. “Yes, this hotel chain is looking like a gem indeed,” I declare as a driver whisks us along the coast of Nice, heading to our next destination, after our morning flight to the South of France.

  “It’s hard to resist so far,” Daniel agrees.

  It’s our third day of diligently assessing this chain’s potential for acquisition.

  I have to see the timing that way rather than as our third day of make-believe.

  I will focus on the work purpose of this trip. I won’t lose sight of what’s been my salvation since my marriage ended.

  Business. Deals. Strategy.

  I’ll have to remember that this game of make-believe has a purpose. It’s giving us the cover we need to determine whether we want to spend millions of dollars to make a can’t-resist offer to the owners.

  That’s all.

  If pleasure serves business, so be it. This thing with Daniel is a moment in time that won’t last.

  But what will last is the deal.

  We have four more days to make our decision.

  Four days is plenty of time, too, to savor this tryst for all that it is—a delicious slice of seduction—and all that it’s not—a future.

  Daniel stares out the open window of the town car. “Lots more to check out, but I like the way everything is shaping up so far.”

  “Same here.”

  “My only hope is that it’s not simply the endorphins talking,” he says with a grin, reaching for my hand as the driver maneuvers the car onto a side street, winding toward the inn that’s next on our list.

  Le Pavillon de Nice.

  I roll my eyes. “My, my, you think highly of yourself.”

  He deals me a you’ve got it all wrong look. “Love, I was speaking specifically of the endorphin rush I have being this near to you.”

  And my traitorous heart goes full fangirl in my chest, screaming and shrieking for him, wanting to throw its arms around this man.

  I press the brakes a little, try to locate a modicum of restraint. Perhaps I’ll find it by focusing only on the sex. I squeeze his hand harder. “I’ve never had sex like that,” I whisper, though I already told him that last night when we fell into bed, exhausted. I told him that in the shower, and on the flight too, but I suppose it bears repeating.

  “You might’ve mentioned that. And I like hearing it.”

  “Good. It’s all true.”

  “And I like giving it to you. Do you know why?”

  “Why?”

  He leans in close to me, brushes the strands of my jet-black wig from my shoulder, and whispers in my ear, “Because I’ve wanted you since the day I met you.”

  I straighten, licking my lips as I process this new information. “For three years?”

  “The day I met you for lunch, I was wildly aroused by you. I’ve dealt with it. I’ve existed with it. But I’ve felt this attraction pulsing through my veins for three long years. It’s only grown more intense as I’ve gotten to know you,” he says, low and smoky, another seduction.

  There goes the organ in my chest again, working itself into a frenzy. I try to keep my cool, tossing out a husky, “Is that so?” when I truly want to say, This tryst feels like more than a week. It feels like it could turn into weeks, months, more.

  “And do you know what it’s like to finally have you?” he asks.

  A shudder runs through my body. The intensity of his words is almost too much for me to bear. “What’s it like?”

  Leaning closer, he pulls my earlobe between his teeth, nips it, then jerks back, setting a hand on my cheek. His eyes laser in on mine. Those blue irises are so intense I can’t look away from him, nor do I want to.

  “It’s like I’m finally having everythin
g I want. And it feels like a frenzied, fevered dream. All this desire inside me is rising up, spilling over, and I just want to have you again and again.”

  He’s talking about sex, he’s talking about sex, he’s talking about sex.

  I have to remember that.

  But then he presses his forehead to mine, tender and gentle. “I don’t know what you’re doing to me, Scarlett. But you make me want to . . . tell you things.”

  Those last three words.

  He says them slowly and carefully, like they taste new on his tongue, like they’re hard for him to say but necessary to voice.

  They echo in the car, reverberate in the space between us.

  Telling me things feels like a line he didn’t want to cross.