“She’s got a sweet mouth on her,” Declan says.
“You have no clue,” Bennett responds as he looks down at me with his grin. “But despite what she says, she loves planning this yearly engagement, and I get a thrill out of watching her spend all of my hard-earned money. But we’re in a bind because the venue we selected a few months back is now under renovation and the space won’t be ready in time.”
“When does this event take place?”
“It’s a New Year’s Eve ball,” he answers.
“Sounds like that is doable,” Declan says as he takes out a business card from inside his suit jacket, and instead of handing it to Bennett, he hands it to me, saying, “Since it seems you’re the woman I’ll be answering to, here are my contact numbers.”
Taking the card from between his fingers, I watch as he turns and tells my husband, “I’ll be sure to oversee the planning to ensure that Nina gets everything she requests.”
“Looks like I’ll be writing a big check this year,” my husband jokes. “Well, Declan, it was great to finally put a face to the name, but if you’ll excuse us, I’d like to show off my wife on the dance floor.”
When Bennett leads us to the full dance floor and wraps me in his arms, I take the opportunity to peek over his shoulder to find Declan watching me intently. This guy makes no qualms about his interest, and a pang of elation thrums inside me as my husband slowly moves me with ease.
We continue to spend the evening mingling and visiting with friends and business associates before we retire for the evening and head back to The Legacy. Stepping off the elevator and into the penthouse that Bennett owned when I first met him four years ago, we walk through the darkened living room. The only light is from the moon that’s casting its glow behind the snow-filled clouds outside the floor to ceiling windows that span across the two walls. I enter the master suite behind Bennett, and as I slip off my heels, I look up to see that he has already undone his bowtie and it hangs around the collar of his white tuxedo shirt, which he is now unbuttoning.
His eyes are rapt as they move down my body. I stand there as he slowly approaches and then slides his hands along the length of my sides until he finds himself on his knees in front of me. He runs his hands up my legs through the opening of the slit in my dress, and as soon as his fingers hit my panties, I turn it off.
The steel cage wraps around my heart and before my stomach can turn, I shut down.
Numb.
Vacant.
He drags my panties down my legs and I step out of them before I feel the warmth of his tongue when he slides it along the seam of my *, but I am able to keep myself from entertaining the slightest impulse of intimacy. I’ve been sleeping with my husband for years, but I refuse to allow the pleasure I lead him to believe I’m experiencing.
Why?
I’ll tell you why.
Because I hate him.
He thinks, in this moment, that we’re making love. His cock fills me slowly as I lie beneath him. Arms laced around his neck. Legs spread open wide, inviting him in deeper as he makes a meal out of my tits. He believes everything I want him to. He always has. But this is merely a game for me. A game he foolishly has fallen into. He never questions my love for him, and now my body writhes underneath his and moans in mock pleasure as he comes hard, jerking his hips into me, telling me how much he loves me, and I give his words right back.
“God, Bennett, I love you so much,” I pant.
His head is nestled in the yoke of my neck as he tries to calm his breathing, and when he lifts up, I run my fingers through his hair and over his damp scalp as he looks into my eyes.
“You’re so stunning like this.”
“Like what?” I question softly.
“Sated.”
Idiot.
ROLLING OVER IN bed, I find myself alone. Nothing new. Bennett’s aftershave still lingers in the air, and when I freshen up and walk out into the open-concept living room, I see him sitting at the bar in the kitchen. He reads a file while drinking his coffee. Tying the sash of my silk robe around my waist, I approach him from behind, wrapping my arms around his shoulders, giving him a kiss.
“Good morning,” he says with a grin, happy to see me.
“You’re up early,” I respond as I note his three-piece suit.
Setting the file down, he turns to pull me in between his legs. “I’m leaving for Dubai. Did you forget?”
“Of course not. But you don’t leave for another few hours,” I tell him and then drop my head, adding in mock sadness, “I wish you would stay.”
Kissing my lips, he draws away and strokes his fingers through my long hair, combing it back. “It’s only for a few days. Plus, you’ll be busy.”
“Busy?”
“I need you to start getting everything lined up for the party. It’s just over a month away and announcements need to go out soon. Richard isn’t going with me, so he’ll be around this week if you need anything.”