Page 55 of The Perfect Mistake

The sound of someone whistling cuts through the fog of desire that blankets us both. Alec releases me instantly, his hands gone in the next moment, and takes a step away.

He’s breathing so hard I can see his chest rise and fall with every intake, and his eyes are nearly black. “Fuck,” he mutters.

He retreats after a beat, walking toward the home office with long strides.

Katja strolls into the living room a few seconds later. She’s carrying a large grocery bag and whistling to herself. There’s a little bakery bag in her free hand, and a delighted glint in her eyes.

She startles when she sees me. “Isabel! Didn’t know you’d be home. Oh, are you working out?”

I run a hand over my lips. “Yes.”

“Well, don’t let me bother you,” she says. “I’ll enjoy my cupcake on the patio before I start work.”

I watch her leave the living room and wonder what the hell just happened.

Alec

On Saturday morning, I wake up to the nearly complete darkness in my bedroom. A quick glance at the clock tells me the score. It’s not even six thirty, yet. After years of following the same schedule, my body refuses to treat the weekends any differently from the rest of the week.

Right now, it’s also refusing to let me fall back asleep. Beneath the comforter, I’m hard. Achingly so. Even the friction of my boxer’s elastic makes me hiss.

My sex drive has been at a steady simmer over the last few years. Something I can easily take care of myself, twice a week or so, and move on with my life. A need, just like food and sleep and showering. One I’ve rarely given a thought to.

But now it’s a burning desire that scalds the blood inside my veins. It’s not simmering. It’s not under control.

And it’s not something I can ignore.

I stare up at the ceiling and try to ignore the painful erection resting against my stomach. It’s frustrating, my body betraying me like this.

In a pre-Isabel world, I would have taken care of it in the normal fashion. Locked the bathroom door, stroked in the shower, and ten minutes later, I would have carried on with my day. But nothing is normal anymore, and I know that the instant I grip my cock, images of her will explode before my eyes.

I’m not supposed to think about her like that, for more reasons than I can list.

Though I should probably list them. It would do me and my erection some good. Some count sheep, I count the reasons why I’m an immoral asshole…

It’s incredibly easy to picture her. The slender curve of her neck, the warm smile, and the strength of her body, an instrument and a home she takes care of so well. She’d been almost naked the other day. Long, strong legs, a flat stomach, and muscled arms. She’s like the first letter of her name. An I, with a hint of delicate curves over her waist and hips.

Her skin had been warm to the touch from her workout, and soft, and I wanted to tear the teensy fabric clean off her.

My cock throbs, and I curse, reaching down beneath the covers. It’s hot and hard in my grip, and a shiver passes through me at my tight squeeze.

Kissing her was so damn sweet. Like eating a decadent dessert, and never wanting to stop. She responded so beautifully. Both times, she gripped me back, leaning into me. I didn’t know I was missing that. Being someone’s pillar. Feeling a woman holding on to me for support.

Guilt dances alongside my desire. I haven’t wanted anyone like this since… I can’t finish the thought. Can’t be thinking of her right now. Not while Isabel has me tied up in knots, or the shame will drag me under.

The need coursing through my system makes it easy to push away the guilt. To shove it into a drawer that I know will haunt me later. So I stroke myself tightly and let the fantasies flood as if I’d not tried to erect a wall.

Isabel, with her hair down and her top undone, showing a hint of bra. It’s white in my mind. She is glancing at me with that shy warmth as she unbuttons her shirt the rest of the way and drops it to the ground.

Fuck, she looks delicious. Her tits are small and perfectly formed, and I shouldn’t have noticed but I have, I have. I tighten my fingers around my base to stave off a too-early release.

Alec, she sighs in my fantasy, and then she’s pressing her naked body against mine, and her arms twine around my neck.

The fantasy shifts, keeping pace with the increased speed of my hand. Need races down my spine, pulsing in my thighs at the image in my mind. Isabel laid out beneath me. Her dark eyes are pleasure-drunk, and her hair is silk on my pillow. Her legs spread wide to welcome me inside, like she truly wants me. I buck into my hand and wish it was her I’m fucking, her heat instead of my right hand, her breathy moans in my ear.

I imagine she’d be natural, no artifice, just the truth in her responses, and I’d love to evoke every single one. Looking up at me, she’s lithe and so painfully pretty, and whispering my name. Her legs are wrapped around my waist, and her heat feels so good, so deliciously good. My balls tighten and my heels dig into the mattress, and then I’m coming.

Inside of her. But, in reality, it’s in my hand and on my stomach, and in the silence that follows, I hear my heartbeat pounding in my ears. The fantasy slips away along with the last vestiges of pleasure.

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