Page 33 of Vicious Temptation

I can’t stop myself from imagining her, those full lips around my cock, sucking, that the wetness soaking my cock is from her mouth, her pussy, that the tight death grip of my hand is her instead, drenching me in arousal as she rides me. I can picture her naked all too easily, how perfect her body would be, all smooth skin and taut curves, her thighs gripping my hips, her breasts bouncing, nipples stiff and begging for my hands, my mouth as she threw her head back and cried out, coming hard on my cock?—

“Fuck!” I curse aloud through gritted teeth as my balls tighten and my cock throbs, the euphoric sensation of release bursting at the base of my spine and pulsing through the length of my cock as I start to come. I cup the palm of my other hand around the head as I stroke faster, harder, fucking my hand through the orgasm as I rub my thumb against the swollen tip, hot cum filling my hand as my entire body shudders with exquisite pleasure. It feels so fucking good that I don’t want it to stop, the first orgasm I’ve had in months, and I gasp aloud as I stroke myself through it, desperate to cling to the feeling for as long as I can.

I want her so badly it hurts. I sit up, joggers still around my hips, as I go to the bathroom to clean up, washing my hands before stripping off my clothes to get in the shower. I’m still breathing hard, the aftershocks of the intense orgasm still pulsing through me, and my cock is still half-hard. Still swollen and sensitive, sending bursts of pleasure through me every time it brushes against my thigh. When I step into the shower, the warm water pouring over me, I can feel it starting to stiffen again.

Fuck. I close my eyes, trying to banish the thoughts of Bella, but it feels nearly impossible now that I’ve let them in. It feels like the orgasm has barely taken the edge off, barely even eased the slightest bit of the ache that’s still throbbing through me, and I start to stroke again without thinking, desperate for relief. To stop feeling this pounding need that will drive me crazy if I let it. That will screw up a perfectly good thing that I’ve set up.

I try to think about anything else. An actress I find particularly attractive, a lingerie ad I saw on the way to work this morning, a faceless woman getting fucked by a faceless man in a porn I watched months ago. All of it keeps getting pushed aside by fantasies of Bella—on her knees in the shower, turned to face the wall with her hands pressed to the tiles, her full ass arched up towards me as I slide my cock against her soft folds, pushing into her, fucking her until she comes on my cock and then sliding my hard length into her tight ass?—

God, what the fuck am I thinking? I’ve gone from zero to a hundred, from nearly kissing her to imagining fucking her in the ass in the shower, but it’s like four years of keeping an iron fist on my libido is crashing over me like an avalanche, one small crack in the levy letting a tide of need flow free. I groan aloud, the sound of the shower covering up any noise, my hips thrusting as I imagine fucking her, my other hand closed in a fist, imagining the feeling of her soft skin under my palm, gripping her hip as I thrust, how hot and tight she would feel, how fucking perfect.

I can’t remember the last time I came twice in one night. But all too soon, I feel my balls tightening, that heat slithering up my spine as my cock stiffens, and I moan, thrusting into my fist as hot cum spurts against the tiles. I can’t remember the last time I came this much, either, spurt after spurt arcing from my cock as I keep stroking and wave after wave of pleasure hits me, making me almost dizzy with the force of it as I imagine that I’m filling Bella up with it instead. Pushing my cock so deeply into her that not a single drop will spill out.

I shudder as the last of it drips from my cock, finally letting go of my softening length as I lean against the shower wall, closing my eyes. Even now, after two orgasms, I can feel that I’m not far from another erection, the buzz of arousal still lingering in my veins. I feel ravenous, and I know it’s because this isn’t enough. Jerking off isn’t enough. It’s not what I want.

But there’s nothing I can do about it. I try to think of a solution as I stand there, the shower pelting against my back, but I come up with nothing. There are exclusive sex clubs that my connections could get me into, ones where I could have a woman do anything I asked for a hefty fee. It would be professional and impersonal, undoubtedly excellent as far as technique and pleasure go—but that’s not what I want, either. I’ve never liked paying for sex, feeling as if the detachment takes something away from it. On the few occasions, I did it when I was younger, partying with other rich businessmen and mafia who had invites to those exclusive, black-card member-only clubs, I felt oddly empty afterward, despite how exquisite the experience felt.

Sex has always been personal to me. Something that’s better if you like the person you’re doing it with. The skill of the other person in bed doesn’t matter so much to me as the connection, and that’s something you can’t get paying for it, no matter how good the woman is at faking it. And for that same reason, I don’t want to date a woman just to get laid. I’m sure it would be easy enough to go out and pick someone up—I’m not so modest that I don’t know how good-looking I am, and capable of charming someone easily. I used to be good at dating, back in the day before I got married. But a one-night stand feels as empty and impersonal as paying someone. And dating someone knowing that I can’t offer them anything more than a cursory relationship doesn’t feel fair. Even if I was up-front with how emotionally unavailable I am, I know how easy it is to fall for someone even without meaning to. I don’t want to do that to someone.

But you also can’t keep fantasizing about the nanny, I tell myself firmly, turning off the shower and reaching for a towel. That is the one thing I absolutely cannot do. After what happened tonight, in fact, I need to take a massive step back, and put a considerable professional distance between us.

I had hoped that letting myself give in to the need just long enough to satisfy it myself would be enough. But as I’d suspected, it wasn’t. And now I have even more of a problem than before.

I toss my clothes into the hamper, changing into fresh ones to sleep in, and crawl into bed. I stubbornly ignore the heat still lingering in my veins, the way my cock still hasn’t softened entirely, and roll over, letting myself drift off into sleep.

But even sleep isn’t an escape. My dreams are full of her—of how beautiful she looked coming down the stairs the night that I took her out to dinner, radiant even wrapped up in that shawl, of her bright, laughing expression when I opened the car up on that back road, of the happiness I’ve slowly seen building in her over the past weeks. Of her face, so close to mine tonight, of how easily I could have leaned in and kissed her, lifted her up onto the couch, slowly peeled away her clothing until I had all of her soft skin under my hands. There’s nothing in my dreams to hold me back, to keep me from moving in between her thighs, pushing my pants down to my hips and sliding the swollen head of my cock against her soft folds, pushing inside of her as she clings to my shoulders. Nothing to keep me from feeling her full mouth parting under mine, the heat of her tongue sliding against mine matching the heat of her body enveloping me, gripping me, pulling me in for the first time, her nails digging into my skin as I show her just how good a man’s cock can feel, how well I can fill her up, how I can make her cry out my name just as I lose control of my own pleasure and?—

I jerk awake, panting, sweat gathered at the nape of my neck. My cock is painfully hard, so much so that it’s pushed out of the waist of my pants, lying flat against my abs, the slick wetness of my pre-cum streaked across my skin. My heart is pounding, my cock throbbing like there’s a second pulse lodged there, and it takes everything in me not to reach down and ease the arousal that feels as if it’s on the verge of blocking out every other thought.

No. I clench my hands into fists, gritting my teeth. Last night was a mistake. Everything about it was a mistake. I gave into weakness once, and it didn’t help. If I keep doing it, if I keep letting myself sink into fantasies of her, getting off to them, it won’t end there. It will spiral into an obsession that will ruin everything, and I’ll lose what’s most important to me—something that gives stability to my family, that fills in the gaps that I can’t.

Instead, I push myself out of bed, grabbing my workout clothes, and changing into them, ignoring my stubborn erection as I do. I head downstairs in the quiet stillness of the house to the basement gym, straight to the boxing bags, and put my earbuds in, setting it to the loudest, most overwhelming music I can find as I start my routine, ignoring my throbbing cock the entire time.

Somewhere in the middle of the workout, my arousal finally starts to ease, the aching desire transmuting into something else as I go from boxing to weights, pushing my endurance to the brink. I work out harder than I’ve worked out in years, forcing every other thought, every other need out, until there’s nothing but the repetitive motion of pushing my body to lift harder, go further. Until I’m utterly exhausted, and I stumble back to the shower, my libido restrained, at least for now.

I do everything I can, for the rest of the day, not to think about Bella. I don’t linger for breakfast, eating as quickly as I can and telling Agnes I have meetings to get to. I do, in fact, have a few important meetings this morning, and I focus on that, stubbornly guiding my thoughts back to business every time they threaten to wander to the gorgeous woman I somehow thought it was a good idea to employ as my children’s nanny.

You did it because she’s kind, capable, smart, and in need of help, I remind myself. All of my intentions in bringing her into my home were good, and honorable. As long as I can hang onto those, nothing will go wrong.

I work diligently until the end of the day, turn off my laptop and pack up, and go down to get my car, running through my new resolutions in my head. Distance. No more asking her to have a drink with me. No more discussions about her personal life. She’s an employee, and while I wanted to be closer to her, I clearly can’t manage that kind of relationship. Instead, a more formal one will suit us better. Beyond that, I can manage my own mind. I’ve done it in the past, and I’ll do it again now.

With that in mind, I head home, letting out a breath as I hand over the keys to Aldo and walk up to the front door. Everything will go back to normal. One night’s slipup isn’t enough to bring the entire house of cards crashing down.

I walk in and hear an unfamiliar voice in the living room. Confused, I kick off my shoes, setting down my bag, and stride in that direction. As far as I knew, no one should be here other than Agnes, Bella, and the children. I walk into the living room—and stop in my tracks, shocked enough to freeze for just a moment.

Cecelia is sitting on the couch, reading. Danny is on the floor with a comic book. And Bella is sitting on the loveseat—with an unfamiliar blonde across from her, talking animatedly with a smile on her face.

A stranger. Someone I don’t know. In my house.

Irritation floods me, my frustration from last night and this morning feeding it until it turns into irrational anger. Anger that I know is disproportionate to the situation, but my voice is sharp all the same, ringing out through the room as I fold my arms and stare at Bella, who has just noticed I walked in and turns to look at me.

“Bella, what in the hell are you doing?”

12

BELLA

Iwake up feeling groggier than usual, dragging myself into the shower to wake up so I can go and get Cecelia and Danny without looking like death warmed over. I didn’t dream, thanks to the sleeping pill, but the moment I wake up, thoughts of that almost-kiss flood back in.