choosing temptation

“Mrs. Harrington?”

I poked my head out from under the covers.

“What?” I mumbled, wincing in the sunlight. The curtains had been pulled apart and the sunlight that poured in was near blinding.

“Mr. Harrington told me to tell you that he does not want to be disturbed this morning. He is in his study,” Holly recited, standing patiently at my bedside. “May I bring you breakfast in bed?”

“I won’t disturb him,” I muttered irritably, sitting up and yawning. “And yes, that would be great.”

Holly nodded and turned on her heel, humming to herself. She really was a doll and I had no idea what I would’ve done without her.

Smiling, I went to the bathroom, splashing water on my face and brushing my teeth. The broken shower caught my eye, and I couldn’t help the burst of energy that fizzed through my entire body. This shower was a reminder.

A reminder of the day before.

“Malfunction in the bathroom,” I’d simply told Jack when he finally reappeared late in the afternoon, half-hearted apologies on his lips. “I’m taking care of it.”

“Well, this is an old house,” he’d responded. “You called Archibald?”“Mm-hmm.”

“All right.”

And that was that. Jack didn’t particularly mind taking a bath in the large claw-foot tub. It wasn’t like it was torture.

In fact, I needed a bath myself. What happened yesterday had confused me. I’d expected to be guilt-ridden; absolutely disgusted and disappointed by the way I’d behaved. Getting head was considered cheating, no matter how hard I tried to convince myself otherwise. I spent the whole evening wondering if Jack was going to notice, whether he was going to see that this woman – well – this woman had had her pússy eaten, and it was not by him.

But he didn’t.

He barely came near me, save for a chaste peck on the forehead before bed and promises to spend time with me the next day. And, for the first time in a long time, I was completely fine with that. Hell, I even preferred it that way.Completely nude after a quick bath, I left the bathroom to find a tray of English breakfast set on the nightstand with my birth control. My stomach rumbled in anticipation. Holly was gorgeous.

It was while stuffing my face with bacon-on-toast that Jack came in, dressed in a blue shirt and khaki slacks, an anxious expression on his face. “What are you doing?” he asked, looking me up and down.

“Building a tree-house? What does it look like?”

“Don’t get cute. Didn’t you say Parker’s coming to fix the bathroom early this morning? What if he walks in and finds you stark-naked?”

“Then I’ll make his day.” I rolled my eyes up at him. “What’s up with you?”

“I’ve got a bit of work to do.” He rummaged through one suitcase until he located a handful of khaki envelopes. “Please don’t disturb me,” he said, looking up.“I wouldn’t fucking dream of it,” I fumed. Why was he treating me like a child? Scratch that, why did I let him?

Because he’s Jack and he was your first and you desperately want this to work despite everything.

My husband nodded and turned on his heel, slamming the door behind him. I flopped back onto the bed, trying to rein in my anger. If I didn’t, I’d go after him and tell him exactly what he could do with his bloody work.

But Jack wasn’t the one who’d climaxed all over the kitchen table with another man’s head between his legs.

 

“Mrs. Harrington?” Holly stood in the doorway watching me make the bed. “The plumber’s here. Shall I send him up?”

I always seemed to forget this vital actionof cleaning a room and I wanted to make sure I got it done before Vaughn came up.

“Yes. Please,” I replied, a bit too cheerfully for my liking. “Is, um, Jack still in the study?”

“I believe so.”

“OK. Well… Send the…plumber up, I guess.”

I gave myself a critical look-over in the mirror. Maybe my dress was a little too short. Maybe I looked a little too put together. Maybe Jack would come in and see right through me.

Then again, Vaughn’s hands running up my exposed thighs would feel so good…

“Hey.”

Speak of the devil.

Today, he was in a white T-shirt and checkered board shorts that fell just above his knees. His hair was unrulier than it had been yesterday, dark curls straying over his forehead. I just about dissolved in pure desire.

“Morning,” I said, forcing some normalcy into my voice. I swallowed when he closed the bedroom door behind him.

“Sleep well?” He strode into the bathroom and began rummaging through his toolbox, leaving the door open.

“I did.” And I had. Sated by my orgasm and guilt-free, I’d slumbered peacefully. “You?”

“Always.”

I pretended to busy myself with folding some random clothes, steadfastly ignoring his presence in the bathroom.

“Your husband home?”

I glanced in his direction. “Yes. In the next room. Working.”

“I’d like to meet this workaholic.” He chuckled. “Beginning to think he doesn’t exist.”

“I’ll… I’ll be back,” I stuttered. I just couldnot do this. Be around him. And pretend that I wasn’t horny. That I didn’t want to fúck him.

So I hurried out the room and flew downstairs. I just had to busy myself with something. It didn’t matter what as long as it kept my mind off actually having full-on sex with a man I’d only known for twenty-four hours.

I found Holly in the kitchen, doing the washing up.

“Do we have any baking ingredients?” I asked her.

She gave me a strange look. “It depends on what you want to bake, Mrs. Harrington.”

I bit my lip. “A cake.”

“Yes, but what kind of cake?”

I thought about it. “Chocolate? Yes. Chocolate. A moist chocolate cake.”

She gave me a candid look. “I can make that for you. You don’t –”“No,” I said firmly, then sighed. “Holly, I’m useless in the kitchen. I just have to learn. Is there a cookbook around here?”

She dried her hands with a dishcloth and rifled through some drawers, producing an ancient cookbook and handing it to me. “This is an Alfreda Jefferson classic. It has some of the oldest recipes known to woman.”

I took it from her. “As long as there aren’t any bat wings involved, it’ll do.”

She smiled warmly. “Are you baking for Mr. Harrington?”

I nodded. “Yes. I just feel like doing something…womanly.”

After sitting at the kitchen table and paging through the book for a suitable recipe, I came to the conclusion that the kitchen was no place for someone like me. Just what the hell were all the measurements for? Did it matter how much sugar you used? Couldn’t you use your discretion? I mean, no one wanted to overdo sweetness, unless they wanted toput themselves in an early grave, right?

Sighing, I carried the book up with me upstairs, pausing at the door of Jack’s study.

If I knock, he’s definitely going to bite my head off, and then some.

I grudgingly returned to our bedroom, sitting at the vanity table. Vaughn had shoved earphones into his ears and was now hammering away at the shower wall. I got to work rearranging my toiletries on the table. I couldn’t live out of a suitcase like Jack could; it just wasn’t right. I always unpacked, even if we stayed at a hotel.

“What are you doing?”

I glanced at the bathroom. Vaughn was giving me a quizzical look.

“Cleaning,” I replied.

“Is this how you spend your mornings on holiday?”

I blushed. “Of course not. I’m just… I’m –”“Sofia.”

There he went, saying my name that way. I turned in my seat, looking at the open bedroom door. Vaughn took that opportunity to come at me from my side.

“You look tense,” he said simply.

Oh God.

“Vaughn, don’t.”

His hands were on my shoulders, and he slowly began kneading the muscles there. I uttered a low moan, squeezing my eyes shut, succumbing to the instant pleasure. All thoughts of my husband in the next room and maid downstairs flew out the window, along with the small twinge of guilt.

But then, when Vaughn’s hands began to wander towards my aching breasts, a wave of thick shame washed over me. I jumped up, breathing heavily. I was married. My husband was a wall away!

“Please stop,” I whispered, picking upthe cookbook, intent on heading to the kitchen and being a good little wife. Maybe I’d make a simple vanilla cake.

Vaughn turned me around, eyes trained on me. “Do you really want me to stop, Sofia?”

No, I thought to myself. No, I want to throw you onto the bed and ride you until Jack comes in, wondering what the hell is going on.

No. “Yes. I do. Please, Vaughn. This isn’t right.”

He arched a brow. “Sofia. You want me.”

“Yes, but wanting and having you are two different things,” I murmured, trying to fight against the things he was making me feel.

I was married, I was much older than him, I was sure, and someone like Vaughn – someone so sure of himself – was going to be bored with little Sofia Lopez who’d only ever fúcked one man; a man who didn’t seem to want to fúck her anymore.Vaughn kicked the stool aside, and it fell to the floor with a loud thud. Pressing himself up against me, I held the cookbook to my chest like a lifesaver. His breath was on my neck.

“W-what are you doing?” I breathed, aware that my eyes were widening to saucer-like proportions. His lips were on my skin, his breath warm and titillating.

“I will savour every part of your body; every nook and every cranny Sofia,” he murmured into my skin. “I will make you feel like my last meal, make you want to be eaten. And I will do it with your husband in the next room.” His tongue flickered out, electrocuting me almost instantaneously.

“Vaughn,” I sighed, lost, completely lost to him.

“Where can we go, Sofia?” he breathed. “I have to have you. Today. You think I slept a fúcking wink last night? Think again. Cold shower after cold shower, and I couldn’t get rid of this.” He brought my hand to the bulge in his pants. “Tell me you want me, Sofia. Just say it. Admit it.”instantaneously.

“Vaughn,” I sighed, lost, completely lost to him.

“Where can we go, Sofia?” he breathed. “I have to have you. Today. You think I slept a fúcking wink last night? Think again. Cold shower after cold shower, and I couldn’t get rid of this.” He brought my hand to the bulge in his pants. “Tell me you want me, Sofia. Just say it. Admit it.”

I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t perform the simple act I needed to do to live. Could desire make your lungs malfunction?

“The attic,” I heard myself saying, squeezing his cóck through his shorts. “No one will go up there.”

“Then let’s go.”

I took his hand and led him out the room.