Page 46 of Veiled Fantasies

Another deep breath, and Erik angled her back, all the way back. As she arched through the air, a ripple of unbridled joy ran through her. He was a pianist, flicking practiced fingers down the length of the keyboard, striking one note of pleasure after another in a long, unbroken sweep.

When her head touched the pillow, he drove deeper. His hands anchored her tightly as he pulsed inexorably toward the deepest point of her steaming core. She could do nothing but exalt the sensation rippling through her. He touched there, again and again. Everything was the sensation inside, the driving need.

They pounded through a series of highs and onto a final cresting ride where Jill let go of her last contact with the outside world and soared into pure ecstasy.

* * *

Erik had never felt anything like it. Her trust. His need. This incredible, consuming high. He pushed into her as desperately as her legs clung to him. Her walls clamped down around his cock, milking him hard, demanding more and more.

He fought his release, held it back, concentrating on the firm feel of her buttocks in his hands. They were squeezing hard, pushing to meet him every time.

He’d never done anything quite like this before. Never had a woman trust him so completely that he would even dare try. Never wanted that responsibility. But something in him roared for more—more of Jill, more of both of them. Each of them was leaning way out of the familiar, but they struck a perfect balance—in more ways than one.

It was uncharted territory for both of them. The question was, was he ready to let himself trust her with more than just this crazy week under the sun? Her hands brushed his arms. His fingers were gripping tight, maybe too tight. His teeth were gritted, too, every muscle taut. He could feel every millimeter of her slick channel, pulling him deeper and deeper.

Yes, he wanted it, too.

Then rational thought exploded out of his mind as he came. A soaring high, a blinding roar. He shuddered with the power of it, the wet heat. A high he’d never reached with any woman before. His release was so great that with it came half his heart, bursting through the barriers he had built around it.

He lowered Jill, still quaking, to the bed, and collapsed beside her, drained but unable to let go. It wasn’t his arms around her, it was his soul.

He murmured her name, feeling a warmth lost so long ago. Feeling so much more than he ever had—not just in the past few years but ever before. The harsh edges of the world disappeared, replaced by something warm, beautiful, and comforting. A desert in bloom, full of promise.

But his inner circuitry was still reeling; his lips got it all wrong. Instead of her name, they uttered a different sound.

“Anna,” he whispered, tender and yearning. “Anna.” Because to him, Anna didn’t mean the woman. It was more. Life. Love. A future he could embrace.

* * *

“Anna,” he whispered, right in Jill’s ear.

To Jill, it meant betrayal.

She felt shards of happiness whiz past her ears as her bubble burst, until the last wisps of contentment cried and evaporated into thin air. One cramping muscle set off the next, and the next, like a row of dominoes set off by a single touch.

Anna?

He realized it, too, now. She felt him tense as she drew back. He reached out, trying to find some words, but she rolled away. Right out of bed and into the bathroom, where she locked the door and turned off the light. She sat on the toilet seat in darkness, stunned.

A tap on the door. “Jill?”

Apparently he had just noticed the difference between her and his ex-girlfriend.

She covered her ears. She wanted to kick the door and yell, but she just sat and tried to push it all away by pressing her hands harder to her head.

Mr. Perfect just got outed as merely human.

She hugged her knees to her chest and opened and closed her mouth like a suffocating fish. Her thighs were still warm, the walls of her core still shuddering from their intimacy. But all the time she’d been celebrating the feel of him inside her, he’d been with Anna, at least in his mind. Anna. He wanted Anna.

And she was only Jill.

With abrupt decisiveness, she got into the shower and turned the tap to ice cold. She gasped but forced herself in, letting it pound her skin. She tried soaping the feeling away, scrubbing hard. Washing it all away, this grand mistake.

He didn’t want her. She was a mere substitute, a toy. What he really wanted was Anna back. The man was suffering, but what could she do? She was just a convenient, if inferior, substitute—secondary, just like with Roger.

It wasn’t really his fault. It was hers, for being such a fool. What had she been expecting from this little fling, anyway? This is what she got for letting heart and reason operate independently.

She wiped herself dry and strode out of the bathroom, jaw clenched.

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