They walked back to the guest house in silence. Maggie had a great deal she’d like to say, but Grey’s expression was brooding and forbidding so she kept her mouth firmly shut. It must have been a very difficult evening for him. And it was her fault he was in this mess.
No. It was his own damned fault he was in this mess. She found herself having to remind herself of that more and more. He was guilty too. She’d only done what she’d had to do.
They walked briskly in the biting cold and he stayed quite near to her, having muttered something about patches of black ice. Clutching the incredible photo album to her chest she snuggled into the luxurious coat his little sister had lent her for the walk home, grateful to all the Delaneys for their easy generosity, but missing his sport coat just a little.
They turned out of the gate and the cottage came into view, making Maggie’s breath catch a little in her throat. She wondered if she’d have that reaction everytime. Surely one gets used to it, right? It had been the same when her father had driven her up here that afternoon, explaining that all her belongings were now at the guest house, gently telling her she needed to live in her marital house now.
And she’d blushed at the sight of the cottage, feeling especially uncomfortable to be there with her father, as if he might somehow guess, as if he might read it in her guilty face.
This is where Grey’d taken her the night she’d lost her virginity. The night she’d given him her virginity, if she were to be perfectly honest with herself. As a gift. A birthday gift to him.
She’d been a little tipsy—they’d been out to celebrate his birthday and he’d ordered a very nice bottle of wine to her taste. He’d also picked up a nice bottle she’d had her eye on at the shop and they were to have a late-night desert style picnic in a little guest cottage on his parents’ estate. It was late—she’d told her father she’d be staying at a friend’s; she’d planned on spending the night with Grey. They’d been to dinner and a movie so it was very late when they’d slipped into the cottage. Too late to meet his folks, he’d said.
She’d been very concerned about appearances, but he’d promised her he’d sneak her out before the household woke if that’s what she’d prefer. She did. She hadn’t wanted his family to think her a whore.
He’d laughed lightly, kissed the tip of her nose, and leaned his forehead onto hers, gazing deep into her with those incredible pale green eyes. “No one will ever think that of you sweetheart.” He’d told her, and then kissed her, and then closed the cottage door behind them.
Now they arrived at the door and she gulped, trying to push the vivid memories of that beautiful night out of her mind. Because the man beside her wasn’t the same man she’d believed she was in love with, the man to whom she’d gifted herself. She didn’t even really know the man beside her, the man she’d married, the man whose child she was carrying, the man she now had to live with.
He pushed open the country yellow door and stood aside to allow her entry before joining her and locking it behind them. The shiver that stole over her had nothing at all to do with the cold. She wondered if he even remembered that night. She wondered if the night that had meant so much to her meant anything at all to him.
“Take your coat?”
She startled a bit at the sound of his voice. She nodded and unbuttoned Viola’s winter coat with one hand, using her other to clutch the photo album to her chest. He helped her slip it off one arm, then the other, and then carried it to a discreet coat closet not far from the front door.
She still had to explore this place better. When she’d arrived she’d felt like she was trespassing, despite her mother-in-law’s warm welcome and assurance that she and Grey could re-arrange and do whatever they’d like to the place. The tour of the cottage had been a bubbl-y, chatter-y whirl that had left Maggie feeling more dizzy than acclimated.
“Home sweet home.” Grey commented wryly, using one foot to slip off his other shoe and then repeating the process.
Maggie felt inexplicably nervous and uptight. And very much like she didn’t want to fight with him. Not tonight. Not just now. She knew there’d be plenty of arguments, plenty of bickering and fighting and sour words between them, but she just wanted tonight to end without any of that.
She was exhausted. Playing the part of loving wife seemed to have sapped her of what little strength she had. She hadn’t slept much the night before, and this trimester was also wearing her thin. She hoped the books were right about renewed energy in the next one.
“May I have a ride to campus in the morning?” She asked, moving into the living room area and carefully setting the album down on the coffee table. She wanted to look at it again, wanted to really take the time and look through it without everyone chattering at her and pointing out memories and regaling her with anecdotes. She wanted time alone to absorb it without interference, but tonight she was too tired to do the task justice.
“You didn’t bring your car?” He asked, slipping his socks off in the same way he’d done his shoes, and shrugging out of his sport coat. He rolled his head around on his neck heavily until he produced several soft pops. The last time he’d agreed to drive her somewhere it hadn’t happened. She’d never made it to church this morning. Their eyes locked for a moment and she thought he might be thinking about the same thing.
“I don’t have a car.” She said with a sigh, and sank into the couch.
He tossed his sportcoat over the back of an armchair and started unbuttoning his shirt cuffs. “You don’t—“
“I mean, my father has a car, our family owns a car, but I don’t have one of my own, no.” It was grating to have to constantly explain her comparative poverty to him. “I never needed one.” She continued in the face of his blank stare. “We live right next to the center, most everything is within walking distance and I’d borrow Papa’s car for anything else.”
“How’d you get to campus everyday?”
“The Bus goes to campus.”
His eyebrows rose. “I see.” He said, heading into the kitchen. She heard the sound of the automatic ice dispenser and the clinking of cubes in a glass. “I’m afraid the bus route doesn’t come up to Cedar Crest.” He commented dryly.
She didn’t turn to look at him. She didn’t want to fight, and she had the feeling that if she saw his smug expression she might fly into a temper. “I realize that.” She said civilly. “Will you drive me, or should I call a friend to pick me up?”
“Do you want something while I’m up?” He asked, and she blinked.
“Water, thank you.” She said. The doctor had instructed her to drink as much water as she could before bed. Though Maggie understood the wisdom of it as far as the morning sickness went, it seemed a particular inconvenience for the increased number of trips to the bathroom it inevitably produced.
She heard the ice dispenser again and then the soft whirr of the filtered water filling the glass.
“What time?”
“I have an eight a.m.” She answered.
“Fuck my asshole.” He responded.
Maggie bit her lower lip. “Sorry.”
“Fucking freshman schedules suck balls.”
Maggie agreed, though she wouldn’t have phrased it quite like that. She wondered if they’d have to have a discussion about language when the baby was born.
A glass of ice-water appeared before her face and she reached for it with a meek “Thanks”.
He moved around to the front of the couch and sank into the opposite end of it. “Ohhh. That was a mistake.” He moaned.
“What?”
“Now I’m not gunna want to get back up.” He said, closing his eyes and leaning his head back.
She studied his profile and his recumbent form while she could do so without his scrutiny. He was so perfectly gorgeous. Long and lean, a delicious amount of stubble, his hair slightly mussed, his collared shirt open to the chest, the arms now rolled up to the elbows, his long legs relaxed and draped in those divinely tailored pants… She clenched her jaw and shook her head. What good would it do to let herself things like that?
“Yeah.” He said after a moment had passed. “We should leave by seven thirty-ish.” A sour expression crossed his face.
“Thank you.” She said.
“And we’re getting you a fucking car.”
Her eyes widened. “I don’t have money for a car—“
“Fuck that.” Grey said. “Mrs. Delaney, you have more money than you could spend.” He opened one eye and peered at her.
“No.” She said.
“Yup.” He closed his eye again and nodded. “Because I’m not getting up at seven every morning just because you’re too proud to use the money that’s there for you.”
“It’s not every morning.” She grumbled, her face flushed.
“Yeah, but living way the fuck up here is going to be a real pain in the ass for you without your own transportation.” He said irritably. “Unless, of course, you want me to put you up in a little apartment downtown—“
She stood quickly, her chest heaving. “I am not your whore.” She spat venomously.
His eyes had snapped open at her abrupt rise. “Then live here and let me get you a car.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him.
He rolled his eyes and sat up with effort. “It isn’t a fucking luxury, Maggie, it’s a necessity.” He reasoned. “Class, work, church, shopping, doctor’s appointments—“ He glanced at her stomach and then quickly looked away. “And then you’re going to need one in a few months anyway, unless you’d planned on bundling the thing up in a sling and hitchhiking everywhere like a fucking migrant worker.”
Her lips parted. What an ass he was. But she couldn’t argue with the logic.
“Fine.” She managed begrudgingly.
“Fine.” He responded hotly.
“Thank you.” She forced.
“Stop fucking thanking me all the time.” He muttered, and with a groan pulled himself to standing. He took his water glass and started down the hall, then he froze, and slowly, very slowly, turned to her.
“Your mother put all our things in the master, but I’m planning on sleeping in the one closest to the bathroom.” She said quietly.
He nodded. “See you bright and early.” He said, in a peculiar tone of voice, and turned back down the hall. Maggie watched him disappear into the master bedroom, saw a light flick on and heard bureau drawers sliding open and shut. After about a minute and a half he re-emerged, carrying some clothes along with his water glass. He stared at her as he flicked the light off and kept his eyes locked on hers while he walked past the bedroom she’d chosen and arrived at the final choice. “Buenas Noches.” He said with exaggerated politeness, and then, with a stiff nod, he waltzed into the last room and closed the door behind him.
Only when the door handle clicked shut did Maggie feel able to breathe. She let her arms fall to her sides and she looked around. Remembering. It was all so surreal.
He’d spread the adorable picnic set out on the living room floor, moved the coffee table out of the way and even lit a fire, though it wasn’t all that chilly out so early in October. It had been a romantic thing to do. It had made her feel sexy and a little wild.
And there’d been berries and chocolate and wine and they’d kissed until she was lightheaded and trembling in his arms.
“I want to see you.” He’d said then, when she was clinging to his shirt, trying to catch her breath and regulate her racing pulse. She hadn’t understood. She’d looked at him, searched for the meaning in that cryptic sentence. “All of you.” He’d answered her unasked question.
At that point they’d done nearly everything but vaginal intercourse. He’d seen all of her already, but, she supposed, never quite all at once, never completely nude. She’d nodded and he’d smiled. She expected him to slowly undress her, as he always did. To unbutton her top, unhook her bra, slide her panties down past her knees and over her ankles. She waited, but he made her do it. Made her stand up and undress for him. While he watched.
It had been erotic and embarrassing and empowering and thrilling all at once. Part of the time she looked deep into his eyes, and she felt like a seductress. For some of it she wasn’t able to look him in the face so she turned around and squeezed her eyes shut, slipping her panties down to a soft ‘mmm’ from him where he watched.
When she’d screwed up the courage to turn, to reveal her bare front in the flickering, dancing light of the fire, the expression on his face had been one of awe and worship and hunger. “You’re perfect.” He’d breathed, and come up to his knees before her. She was naked and he was still clothed. He made her feel like a goddess, but somehow like she belonged only to him, even though he was the one on his knees worshipping, kissing, paying homage to her.
“Happy Birthday.” She’d whispered, and he’d looked up at her, his gaze smoldering. “I want to give you everything.” She’d said, barely louder than a breath.
His face had softened, then, his eyes flashing in the firelight. “Are you sure?” He’d asked her, tracing his fingers along the outside curve of her breast and then over the swell of her hips.
She was sure. She wanted him more than she could bear. She wanted to know what it felt like to have him within her. She nodded.
His lips quirked. “Tell me.” He murmured, and kissed the soft ‘v’ where her thighs met.
She didn’t know how to say it without sounding ridiculous. “Hazme el amor; Necesito sentirte.”
She’d thrilled at the sound of his low chuckle. “You’re calling my bluff?” He’d asked, rising to his feet, dragging his entire length against her as he did so. He pulled her against him and kissed her deeply.
She’d suspected he spoke more Spanish then he let on. When he’d gone down on her and she’d cried out things like ‘faster’ or ‘slower’, or ‘more of that’, he’d responded readily and without translation. But he’d pretend ignorance most of the time, even asking her to translate different words and phrases for him; he played at letting her teach him Spanish.
“Quiero estar dentro de ti.” He told her in a low, dangerous voice. His accent wasn’t half bad.
She gasped at what he’d said, that he wanted to be inside of her, and whimpered when he took one of her nipples into his mouth and sucked possessively. “Yes.” She said. “Yes.” She demanded.
“Let’s move our picnic blanket to the bedroom.” He’d said, with a sly smile, releasing her from his embrace slowly and almost reluctantly. “We’ll be more comfortable there.”
She’d helped him spread the picnic blanket over the large, luxurious bed in the cottage’s beautiful master bedroom. And he’d dimmed the lights, but refused to turn them all the way off despite her blushing and pouting. “You’re gorgeous.” He’d told her. “I want to see everything.”
She’d helped him take his clothes off, slowly, kissing and fondling the entire time, and when the last item had been removed she’d boldly demanded that he stand there while she looked him over, the way he’d done to her. He’d indulged her with a laugh and even spun in a slow circle on command. “Like what you see?” He’d teased her with a wicked grin. He knew he was gorgeous.
“Mi Corazon.” She told him.
His smile melted, but his eyes still twinkled with warmth. He stalked slowly forward and then moved on his hands and knees toward her from the foot of the bed. She felt his weight dip the mattress and she found it difficult to catch her breath. “I’m going to kiss every inch of your body.” He told her softly.
And he’d stretched her form out on the bed and proceeded to do just that. With careful, deliberate precision. He was unhurried in his exploration, and his measured calm seemed to make her desperately impatient and needy. He’d kiss softly in some places, so softly it felt like a tickling breeze. Sometimes he’d lick, tasting her, or suck a little, like he might on a juicy piece of fruit. Other times, always when she’d least expect it, he’d nip, causing her to startle and shiver and laugh a little at her surprise and excitement.
And he had a way of downplaying and skirting around the most blatantly erogenous regions—her mouth, her nipples, between her legs—and instead heightening the eroticism of places she’d believed to be fairly innocuous. Suddenly the arches of her feet were unrivaled pleasure zones. The delicate skin in the crook of her elbow felt maddeningly sensitive when he lavished his attention there. The hot kisses he trailed along her abdomen felt as graphic and possessive as his lips on her sex. And when he kissed around her nipples, kissed and nuzzled everything but her nipples, dancing close but never touching, teasing her, making them ache and stand on end, she finally wrapped her fingers into his hair and pressed his mouth onto one of them, ready to weep and scream if he refused to pay service there.
And when he obeyed her command, when he captured her nipple in his mouth and lapped and nibbled and suckled she felt insane with need. She felt the tickling tug of something stretching taught inside her, from nipple to belly button, and lower still, and she needed him to complete her.
But still he made her wait. When he’d finished greedily devouring her breasts and neck and lips he whispered in her ear a command to roll over. She hadn’t obeyed right away. She’d been frozen in a sort of panic. She didn’t want her first time to be facing away from her lover.
“I told you; I’m going to kiss every inch of you.” He smiled. “Lay on your stomach.”
She’d taken a small breath, nibbled her lower lip and slowly rolled over for him. For what felt like an eternity, though it was probably only a minute, he held back and simply looked at her. As that minute stretched out her tension grew exponentially; she felt vulnerable and embarrassed and tears welled in her eyes.
Then he gently lifted her weighty curls from her shoulders, swept them up and to the side and placed a perfect kiss on the nape of her neck. Feeling his warm breath there, his lips, sent a current of electricity sizzling down her spine and she moaned. He was systematically unlocking the secrets of her body and she felt powerless. With each kiss he traced down her vertebrae or across her shoulder blades or along the curve of her waist he was marking her as his and she was surrendering herself to him.
And when, sometimes, she’d feel the blazing hot hardness of him softly brush her thigh or ass or arm while he ministered to her with his mouth, she’d shiver with anticipation, tremble with the need to feel it in her hand or mouth or deep inside her.
Then he’d massaged her back and she thought she’d gone to paradise. How was he managing to hold off so damned long? He rubbed and kneaded and pressed as if he’d be content to give her pleasure like this all night long. And when he focused his attention on her lower back, his fingers long and graceful and masterful, she felt herself getting almost embarrassingly wet between her thighs. And she couldn’t help moaning and pleading with him incoherently when he massaged the full softness of her ass.
And finally it was time for her to turn back over. When she did he kissed her long and slow, trailing his fingers up and down her body, sometimes gently, sometimes possessively.
And when his middle and forefinger slid upward from her thighs she held her breath. There was just one last place he hadn’t kissed yet. One place he’d teased and taunted by kissing oh so close, but never visiting with his lips yet that evening.
She whimpered against his mouth when his fingers slid over her slick sex, finding her throbbing pulse there and making her jerk and writhe and cling to him.
He chuckled very softly and she bit her lip as he moved down her body. She caught herself praying ardently that he’d go down on her until she came, and chastised herself for asking the saints for such a selfish, unholy thing. But it didn’t stop her wanting it. He was so gifted with his tongue, even from the very first night he’d serviced her it was as if he knew exactly how to please her.
And after that, after the first time he made her climax, she found herself craving that release again, daydreaming about it at the worst times, in the most inappropriate places. She needed it, needed him to give it to her. She wondered if he felt the same way about her mouth on him, drinking him, swallowing him.
She’d shuddered violently when his tongue found her clit. “Yes. Please? Yes.”
And after he’d brought her tantalizingly close to the edge, his tongue slipped down to her opening and she became very still. He was gentle and careful and she held her breath in wonder. He spread her legs wide and pulled back to admire her. She watched his hooded eyes running over her hungrily and then felt a finger flirting with the entrance to her body. Instinctively she tensed and he shook his head once.
He didn’t speak but his eyes told her to trust him. With a shaky breath she relaxed against the pillows and allowed him access to do as he saw fit. She let him examine her, more thoroughly by far than he had that first night he’d gone down on her—and she’d believed that exploration to be embarrassingly meticulous. She wondered, as she had that first night, what exactly he was studying.
Just when she was becoming almost unbearably self conscious he lowered his mouth to her again and she sighed with relief. With his fingers and tongue down there, working in tandem to bring her pleasure, she felt thoroughly owned and objectified, yet somehow worshipped as well.
She sat bolt upright when, in the middle of her mounting ecstasy, she felt a finger or a tongue lap lower than was allowed.
Her heart pounded in her chest and she flushed all over.
But he looked up at her with a smile. “Every inch of you.” He told her, and gently but firmly applied pressure to her shoulder until she’d lain back down obediently.
“But?” She whined.
“You’re beautiful.” He dismissed. “And I want to kiss you everywhere.”
She whimpered but allowed him to part her legs wide and permitted his scandalous exploration. She bit so hard on her own lower lip that she tasted a hint of rust. It felt good, what he was doing, and though her mind told her it was forbidden, her body responded as if it were yet another erogenous zone, this one more electric and deeply arousing than she could have dreamed possible.
He was careful not to push her too far, careful to tantalize and not overwhelm. This night wasn’t about that particular avenue. Using his fingers in conjunction with his tongue he brought her as close to climax as she could get without actual release, wound her up tight, and then pulled his mouth from her and moved over her body, pulling a nipple into his mouth as he positioned himself between her legs.
“Wa-wait!” She breathed and he froze.
She was panting and sweating and her heart was racing so fast she thought she might just die before he ever entered her.
His breathing was ragged too, he wanted her, desperately, and the effort to halt at her command showed as strain on his face. “What is it?” He asked in a broken whisper. The desire in his eyes rocked her to her core.
“P-p-protection?” She could feel the head of him against her sex and it took everything she had not to thrust her hips up and swallow the length of him.
Something she didn’t recognize flashed over his features and he gathered her face up for a deep, mind-fogging kiss. She tasted herself on his lips and it made her feel wild and naughty. When he pulled back from the kiss his expression was deep and almost pained.
“I don’t want anything between us.” He told her, her skull cradled in his wide strong hands, his fingers buried in her curls and curving around her nape in such a way that she knew she belonged only to him. “I want to feel us, together. My love.” He finished, searching her eyes with those pale-green heartbreakers of his.
And his cock brushed her clit and she thought about feeling him within her with no barriers, nothing between them, just flesh on flesh and she nodded. “Yes.” She begged him, and pulled his face to hers for another passionate kiss. “Yes.” She affirmed again.
She felt him shiver under her fingers and heard his enormous sigh of relief. “Are you ready?” He asked softly, and she nodded.
“I am.” She whispered, and he closed his eyes for a moment before adjusting his body and repositioning himself at her entrance.
“Maggie?”
Presently Maggie startled violently and gasped. She’d been so lost in her memory that she hadn’t heard him emerge from his bedroom and approach.
“Is everything ok?” He asked, looking her up and down skeptically and sparing a cursory glance around the livingroom.
She realized she was breathing unevenly, that her nipples were hard and that she was wet. “What?”
Grey frowned. “Are you feeling alright?”
Her fingers found her necklace and twisted frantically. “Mmhmm.” She answered with a nod, not trusting her tongue.
“Why are you still standing out here?” He asked dubiously. “Do you need something?”
She cast a quick glance around. “I, just, I, it’s a strange place and, I, water?”
He raised his eyebrows and then looked pointedly at her untouched water glass from before.
“What are you doing up?” She accused him, deciding it was better to be on the offensive than the defensive.
“I forgot to brush my teeth.” He answered readily. “I don’t even know if my toothbrush is here…” He trailed off as he studied her. “You look flush, are you sure you’re feeling ok?”
A hand flew to her face and she felt the heat there, on her cheeks. “I’m fine.” She insisted with more force than was necessary.
They stared at eachother in silence for a moment. She wished he were drunk. She wished he were free of inhibitions and would take her again as he’d done the night before. He’d been rough and demanding and possessive and greedy and she’d gloried in every minute of it. She’d taken him deep inside her and met him thrust for thrust, urging them both toward release. It had been so long since she’d felt it, she’d needed it, perhaps worse than he had. And she wanted it again tonight, right now.
But the Grey Delaney standing in front of her now was restrained and taut and controlled. And he wouldn’t touch her. Even though she knew he was attracted to her. He wouldn’t make a move because he resented her, resented the marriage and the baby and the prison she’d put him in.
“I think there are toothbrushes.” She said, wishing with every fibre of her being that she’d said: ‘I need you to hold me down and make me yours’. “New ones.”
“Oh.” He said. And another minute ticked by with them staring at one another. “Are you frightened?” He finally asked, very quietly. It was delicate and fragile and she knew instinctively that he wasn’t referring to sleeping in a new place.
“Of course not.” She said gently, looking deeply into his eyes and trying to communicate an absolution for what guilt he still felt. He believed he’d raped her. He’d been carried away and he was ashamed. He’d lost control and it was something he didn’t do.
“Because—“
“Grey.” She cut him off. “You’ve done nothing to make me afraid of you.” She insisted.
He winced and ran both hands through his hair. He shook his head, disbelieving.
Before she realized quite what she was doing her feet were moving toward him. He stayed very still as she approached, his wary eyes following her every movement. When she was standing toe to toe with him, gazing up at him, she felt the strongest urge to kiss him. But what if he didn’t return it? What if he stood there politely and took it but never moved his lips in response. What if he turned his head and her unwanted kiss landed on his cheek?
He’d kissed her at dinner, in front of everyone, and it had felt so right; it had held a promise and a tenderness and a quiet need. Or maybe she was projecting and it hadn’t been anything more than a stage kiss, a safe counterfeit of a kiss, and she’d read way too much into it. But she thought she’d seen a flash of something in his eyes, something raw and real before he’d plastered that charming smile on and looked away from her.
She sighed. “Grey?”
His tongue darted over his lips and he blinked. “Mm?”
She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know what she wanted. And she certainly didn’t have a clue as to what he was thinking.
She remembered the sharp, hot pain of him entering her for the first time, remembered him cradling her against the lean, muscled expanse of his chest until the initial shock subsided, Remembered him kissing the salty moisture from her cheeks, and remembered him stroking deep into her, filling her, completing her and bringing her to an earth shattering climax before shuddering with his own warm release inside of her.
This cottage had too many memories. “Goodnight.” She said softly, and, with great effort she made herself step away from him, past him, and down the hall to her bedroom. She purposefully kept her eyes away from the master bedroom at the end of the hall.
“Night.” He responded vaguely, sounding perplexed and tired.
She had to pee. And brush her teeth. But she decided she would wait until he’d finished and gone back to his room. She was exhausted, but she was wired now, and didn’t expect she’d be getting much sleep for the second night in a row.
