Not-So-Secret

Chapter fifty-nine

All the world was away, out there. The only thing that existed was her, was him, was them and the friction as she slowly rose and fell, impaling herself, rubbing her sweet spot just so. . .

His hands on her hips, his face gorgeous even when it was all contorted and controlled. She laughed, the only sound aside from snatched breath and stifled moans.

Another second. Another. The pace quickened, his hips thrust up while she pounded down. A rhythm so fine, so theirs, they didn't need gravity.

Once more and she cried out. Not loud, oh, no. A silent cry at the thundering climax that shook her body from head to toe, from fingers to eyelashes. She climbed, climbed and there was the peak, where there was no Jones, no Xanadu, no fear, no pain. Just James and unbearable pleasure.

When she finally breathed again, he still strained, pushing into her as if he could bury himself there forever, his face a mask that looked as fierce as the leopards on the tapestries that his the cameras in the living room.

She gasped for breath as he let the air out of his lungs in a great whoosh. Her body fell forward and he caught her, held her tight.

For the first time since that awful morning, she felt whole and safe. The truth was just out the door, but the door was still shut and she could hold on to her dream for another breath, another sigh.

Her gaze was caught by his shirt, by something odd. She wanted to close her eyes, to stay in that sweet never-never land, but she couldn't and she focused.

His shirt moved, vibrated, as if it wanted to come to life. With rubbery arms, she forced herself up to see the disappointment on James's face. "Look," she whispered.

He turned, awkwardly, with her still on him. He saw the shirt and a second later she felt his whole body stiffen as if he'd been shocked with a hundred volts.

Still gentle, but firm and serious, he lifted her up until she found her feet. "Someone's here."

All the joy left her body in a flash and she hunted for her shorts, crammed into them, while James dressed in seconds.

"What if it's Jones?"

"It'll be okay."

"It won't," she said. "He'll kill us."

"It's not Jones. It's probably a maid."

"She'll tell him. They all report to him."

"She won't know anything's wrong. I swear."

"What are you going to say?"

"I don't know yet."

"God, James. Please. Not like this."

He got her blouse from the floor, dressed her as if she were a child. Then he buttoned her up, which was good because her fingers shook so badly, she never could of done it herself.

"You stay here. I'll go out. See who it is." He kissed her, hard, on the lips. "Don't worry."

She nodded.

He ran a hand through his hair, straightened his shirt. Then went to the door.

"James."

He stopped, looked back at her.

"I love you."

He closed his eyes. But only for a moment. When he looked at her again, he was already outside. His body followed and she managed to get to the velvet chair before she collapsed.

It was too much. Too much of everything and she wanted off. She cradled her head in her hands and while she felt as though she could cry forever, no tears came.
Just sadness. More sadness than should have been in the whole wide world.