Betrayal

Prologue

I watch him.

He's lying on his back, his face turned away from me, and the covers pooled at his waist. He isn't wearing any clothes and I stare at his chest, the dark hair that covers both it and his stomach. One of his hands rests against his chest and I focus on the silver wedding band. It gleams in the evening sun that's coming in through the drawn curtains. I'm almost certain he's asleep and I think: how can he sleep soundly like this after what we've just done?

I bite my thumbnail. There's a pit formed deep in my stomach. It's guilt, eating away at me, rooted firmly inside of me. I couldn't sleep now if I tried. But he can and here he is, fast asleep, breathing slowly... and looking ridiculously attractive.

His hair is a mess. The sides are very gray, along with a smattering of gray mixed in with the dark, copper color on top. I've always loved his hair and the way it curls and sticks up like he doesn't so much as run a brush through it. Now I know that it's soft to the touch because I just had those thick strands grasped tightly between my fingers. And his rough stubble that wasn't rough this morning, the way it rubbed against my face and neck and my lips as he moved against me.

I touch my cheek and sigh softly. Every cell in my body feels alive, alight, wired. More alive than I've ever felt, despite all of this guilt.

The suit he had on is strewn along the floor from the door to the bed. My shorts and crop top are laying at the foot of the bed where he threw it aside. We helped each other undress, as if to say this was a mutual decision, that we both knew exactly what we were doing. We did. Both of us.

Flashes of it come to mind and make me lose my breath.

His tongue deep in my mouth. Expert kissing. The tips of his fingers caressing my hips, my thighs, my stomach. Filling me, stroking me, pounding me. Gasping, grunting, groaning. Holding me to his body. His sweaty skin sticking to me. The words he whispered to me, raspy and low in my ear.

He stirs, sighs softly, and turns his head in my direction. As his eyes open I hold my breath. They focus themselves and stop on me. They're so dark and deep and powerful. Any time he looks at me I feel as if I'm the only person in the world and it's been that way for as long as I can remember, since I was a young teenager. I've known him that long, haven't I? Since I was fourteen? Yes, because that's when his daughter and I became friends. But he's intense, well spoken, careful, intimidating. And now I know he's a gifted lover. Something I shouldn't know about this man.

But he's the best I've ever had, not that I've had much. Only one other person has been inside of me.

I close my eyes tightly at the thought of him. He's waiting back at their summer home for me, unaware that I've just been fucked by his father in a hotel room an hour away. And his wife is there, too, probably going for a swim or a run or playing tennis or wondering where her husband is. She has no idea that he's just fucked their sons' girlfriend.

When I open my eyes he's intently focused on me. One of the things I find most attractive about him, his smile, starts on his lips. It grows and spreads and I think that his teeth are such a nice shade of white. He takes good care of himself from his teeth down to his body.

"Hi."

His voice is low and deep, with a small rasp to it from him having just been to sleep. I smile despite how I feel. He makes me smile easily, something that's never come natural to me. Happiness has been elusive to me for most of my life, but he can always make me smile. I don't understand it.

"Hi."

He turns on to his side and pats the empty space on the bed next to him. I stare at his wedding band again as he tells me to come to where he is.

What did I just do? What did we just fucking do?

"Hey, Alison, I said come here."

I look back to him quickly. He usually calls me Ali. I clear my throat and take three small steps to the bed. As I begin to climb on top of it he's grabbing me around the waist, kissing my bare stomach, and then pulling me down to him. We kiss, slowly, deeply, and it's enough to make me moan and to make my stomach drop into itself. It feels so good that it almost hurts.

When we stop he rests his forehead to mine while we try to catch our breath, then I lean back. I examine his face. This is the closest I've ever been to him in the time that we've known each other. I've always commented on how much Dominic looks like his father. I study his features now, scrutinizing them. They have the same strong jaw, nose, eyebrows, and all around look pretty similar. It's his eyes that are different. Dominic's are blue, like his mother. Warrens are so dark, on the complete opposite end of the color spectrum, almost black, but still the darkest shade of brown I think they could be.

"Deep in thought, hm?"

"Yes. I guess so."

"You guess so?"

I nod and he touches my face, caressing it slowly with his thumb.

"What are you thinking of?"

I give him a look, just a look, and that's enough for him to know that I'm thinking about Dominic. How much it would hurt him if he knew what's just happened. How disastrous it would be. I can't even begin to imagine the fallout. It would obliterate his family and that's just for starters.

"Yeah, me too. But not as much as I'm thinking of this."

He kisses me again, just as slowly as before, and makes a fist in my hair at the nape of my neck. I'm weak again, just as weak as before, as he explores my mouth with his tongue.

He can do this while he's thinking of his wife? And his son?

But aren't I doing it while I'm thinking of my boyfriend? I'm not saying no and I definitely don't want him to stop. I'm moaning softly with him, feeling him grow hard against my stomach, and feeling even weaker as his hand gropes my ass.

"Oh, god," he murmurs and looks my body over between kisses. "You're so beautiful. Fuck."

I slide my fingers back into his hair and pull it as I kiss him back. I'm vaguely aware that a phone has begun to ring nearby, not knowing if it's his or mine, and not caring either way in this moment.

...