The Magnate's Tempestuous Marriage

‘You hurt me last Friday night,’ she threw at him.

‘Now you know that’s not true,’ he ground out, standing up and towering over her. ‘You enjoyed every moment of what we did last Friday night. Please don’t add hypocrisy to your adultery.’

Her hand whipped up to slap him but he grabbed it before she could make contact with his face.

‘Come now, Sarah,’ he said. ‘Let’s try to act like adults here, shall we?’

For a long moment she thought he was going to pull her against him. The intent was in his glittering grey eyes. Her already racing heartbeat accelerated further. When he released her, she could not decide if she was relieved or disappointed.

A rueful smile twisted his mouth.

‘I suggest you go put some more clothes on and we adjourn to somewhere less...dangerous. I find myself unable to focus with you nearly naked like that. All I can think of at this moment is how much I still want you, despite everything.’

Sarah’s mouth dropped open at his startling admission. Even more startling was the fact that she wanted him just as much. How perverse was that?

It rattled her, this irrational but powerful urge she had to close the space between them, to reach up and kiss that hard, angry mouth of his.

His eyes narrowed on hers, perhaps glimpsing the crazy jolt of desire in their depths. For suddenly, his hands reached out to grab her shoulders, dragging her against him as his head swooped.

She could have fought him; could have been the ultimate hypocrite. But she didn’t, moaning under his quite brutal kiss, melting against his big strong body, her lips and her hips betraying her own frantic desire.

Insane. All of it. Sarah knew he still thought she’d been unfaithful to him. But right at this moment she didn’t care what he thought. All she cared about was the here and now. And the here and now was turning her on to a degree that surpassed even last Friday night. She kissed him back with a quite savage need, telling him without words that she was still his, no matter what he believed.

When he wrenched his mouth away, she groaned in protest, staring up at him with wide glazed eyes.

‘God, Sarah,’ he ground out, then kissed her again, obliterating every sensible thought with the wildness of his passion. His mouth stayed glued to hers whilst he stripped off her robe, tossing it aside with careless abandon. By then she was trembling violently, but not from cold. A large lock of hair had fallen across her face, and eyes. She stared through the strands up into his lust-filled face. It thrilled her, this knowledge. She was already lost to the mindless world he’d created last Friday night; a world of excitingly erotic pleasure, which didn’t seem to possess a conscience, only a craving for constant satisfaction.

His hands slowly scooped her hair back from her face, bundling it into a tight bunch at the nape of her neck as he pulled her head back, his captive hold doing wicked things to her traitorous body. He glared down at her, his face flushed, his breathing ragged.

‘Don’t go thinking this means I forgive you,’ he threw at her.

‘I’ve done nothing for you to forgive,’ she managed to say. But he only laughed, then kissed her again, kissed her and touched her till she was beyond protest, let alone wordy explanations. When he scooped her up and dumped her sideways across the silvery-grey quilt, she just lay there, quivering with need whilst he hurriedly undressed. And then he was on top of her, and inside her, and she was making those animal noises again, holding him tight as she opened her legs wide and wrapped them high around his back. She moved with him, moaning his name and reaching for that moment when her flesh would shatter around his. Her climax came with a rush, making her cry out, wracking her body with wave after wave of pleasure. It was brilliant. Glorious. She gasped with the electric pleasure of it all.

But the moment the tsunami of ecstasy began to wane, common sense blasted back into her brain, bringing with it the crushing reality of what she had just done.

‘Oh, God,’ she groaned, her tongue giving voice to her acute dismay. How could she have let him do that, believing what he still believed? How could she have enjoyed it, knowing this? At least last Friday night, she hadn’t known about those photos, or what Scott had been thinking.