Page 30 of Richard

Pulling up at her gate, she turned into her driveway, the lights on the garage doors coming on automatically. Shutting off the engine, she sat there in abject misery and wondered how she was going to look at herself in the mirror.

*****

Richard prowled the length of the sofa restlessly. Alternately cursing himself and her for the predicament he found himself in, he continued to wear the carpet out in his agitation.

So, he was halfway in love with a woman he had met just recently.

So, the lovemaking had shaken him to the very core, and he would never be the same again. Hell, no big deal, right? Right. Except that it was a frigging big deal.

He had gone through his twenties, thirties, and was almost in his fifties and had always, always managed to be in control of his feelings.

He usually could be with someone and maintain control. He prided himself on that. He could walk away without looking back. He believed in pleasuring the woman he was with at the time while holding himself back.

He had been accused of being a robot who could switch his feelings on and off at will.

One furious female had accused him of having a timer on his dick.

“Did you even climax?” she had asked in frustrated anger.

“Did you?” He had been unmoved by her histrionics, as he had called it.

“Yes, damn you.”

“Then my work here is done.”

He never got emotionally involved because he had seen the damage of being that vulnerable. He had friends and acquaintances telling him what a lucky bastard he was to stay away from matrimony.

He dealt with people in Hollywood, and the rate of marriages ending in divorces was alarming and depressing.

A movie producer friend of his had sunk into such deep depression after discovering that his very young wife was having multiple affairs he had almost taken his life. They were divorced now, but the man was still not himself.

“I loved her Richard,” he had confided sadly. “I know what people are saying. I should have expected her to be spreading her legs to a younger man. That I am a cliché, a has-been and she obviously married me for my money.

But I loved her. He made me feel young again, gave me hope, and made me happy. I was a fool, but if she comes back to me, I will gladly take her back.”

Richard had privately thought the man was a fool, too. He would never be so vulnerable or so forging. He would never ever give anyone that power over him. He had seen what his father did to his mother and how he kept her under his thumb.

He flaunted his affairs in front of her, and she remained the dutiful wife—always without fail. And even now, she continued to defend him.

He would never allow that to happen to him. Absolutely not. But tonight. Tonight had upended his thinking—his entire life and had him yearning for more; for permanency, for the first time in his life, he wanted someone with a keenness and acuity that was beyond explaining or even comprehending.

When he was deep inside her, the tightness gripping him and drawing him even more, he had felt his heart shift.

He was a music producer who had coached and tugged at artists’ abilities and forced them to reach deep inside their souls to bring life and feelings to a love song, not because he believed the poignant words but because he wanted the best, anything less was unacceptable.

But tonight, he had felt every love word that had ever been spoken. He had felt the electric touch of desire and passion that had escalated each time he drove into her. He had wanted to touch her soul and wondered if he had.

When he kissed her—Oh Christ! When he drove his tongue inside her mouth, he wanted to devour her. Suckling on her sweet, honeyed nipples had made him ravenous. He wanted more.

He wanted nights with her, making love, worshiping her body until they were both weak to even get up the next morning. He wanted to take her to paradise, to love her until every last vestige of hurt was erased.

“Oh Jesus!” he whispered. Spinning around, he was about to get himself a drink when he noticed something peeking out from the cushions. Striding over to the sofa, he tugged at it and went weak as he stared at the flimsy black lace. She had been in such a hurry to leave that she had forgotten her panties.

Sinking down on the sofa, he held the material that seemed too fragile to not disintegrate between his fingers and recalled how it had looked against her skin. Bringing it up to his nose, he inhaled her scent and felt his senses spinning. It smelled of woman, that unmistakable scent that differentiated them from each other.

He held it against his nostrils and closed his eyes. She had tastedlike heaven, and he wanted to spend time with her. He had no idea when his life would be taken away from him, and he didn’t want to waste another day without her.

She had asked for a week, and he had reluctantly given it to her. No calls—that was madness. He shouldn’t have agreed to that.

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