Everything But Perfect, page 9
Instinct tried kicking in, very slowly. The instinct to know this was wrong, but the body overruling the head and allowing the heart to have its moment.
“No lines drawn, no fences put up, and no complaints…whatsoever,” he whispered near her ear, sending gooseflesh to every part of her body.
She would not be able to complain even if she tried. Her breathing rapid, he was making love to her by only his mouth, and every molecule inside her wanted this new experience. Every inch of her was awakening to the touch of a man, coming alive.
She’d never made love to anyone before. Still a virgin at twenty-four, her husband was about to get the surprise of his life.
Mitch dipped lower. Cheyanne moaned at the exquisite touch of his mouth to her skin, she tensed when his lips met the bottom of her bared breasts, cried out his name when his mouth locked on to one nipple, but, as he said…no complaints, whatsoever, when he moved onto the other.
He was doing things to her that had never been done before…and she was willfully allowing it to happen. What was the matter with her? Why wasn’t she fighting this? Why wasn’t she telling him her lack of experience?
Because he did not deserve to be told, that’s why.
Fully disrobed, lying naked on the bed, her husband on top of her, she should have known better, or at least expected what was about to happen. He’d somehow parted her legs without her knowledge and then entered her quickly, one hard thrust of his hips and a deep growl to resonate out of his chest.
Dear God!
Her body reacted in the only way that it could. She yelped, tensed, tried to get away from him, but Mitch held her down until she would accept the invasion.
“Sonofabitch,” he muttered, staring at her face. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Tears sprang to her eyes, the pain intense, strange, and surreal; she wasn’t able to control her emotional release, the moisture freefalling down the sides of her cheeks.
Dammit. She could not speak, she could not move; every part of her had awakened to a man being inside of her, and it did not know how to react.
“Don’t move,” he said gently.
She could feel his large cock pulsating inside of her, disturbing her soul.
“Sonofabitch,” he muttered again, backing out of her slowly.
Thinking it was over, he pushed in again. More tears spilled.
“Please stop,” she begged.
Mitch shook his head. “I can’t. Not yet.”
“Please, Mitch?”
“Dammit, Cheyanne, you should have told me,” he said firmly. A half second later, his body convulsed and she felt warmth rushing inside of her as a guttural groan slipped out of the back of his throat. He then fell limp onto her, breathing heavily.
“I would not have…” he started, unable to finish. His head raised, his eyes locked with hers.
“You didn’t give me time to tell you,” she sputtered out.
Mitch withdrew fully and rolled to his back, tossing his arm over his face. “Sonofabitch!” he said loudly.
Cheyanne just had sex with a man she didn’t love, and it hurt—body and soul.
He rolled to his side this time, facing her. “I wouldn’t have done this…dammit! I wouldn’t have done this to you, had you said something.”
She turned her head and faced him. “I doubt it would have mattered to you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You take what you want. You said so yourself.”
“I never meant to take your virginity. I thought you were, you know…used goods.”
“Jesus! Used goods? How romantic. Just what a girl wants to hear on her honeymoon.”
“You know what I meant.”
She shook her head vehemently. “No. I don’t.” Every part of her lower half pulsated with the fact it just did something it had never done before.
“You’ve never been with a man before, have you?” he suddenly asked.
“I have now!”
“Your father…” he started.
She pushed up on her elbow, reacting badly to this. “My father…what? Told you I’m promiscuous? A dirty whore?”
His dark brow arched high. “In a way…yes.”
Cheyanne closed her eyes quickly. Her groan was not about to stay hidden. “I haven’t seen my father in four years. How the hell would he even know if I’ve slept with anyone?”
“He must have assumed…”
Her eyes reopened quickly. “Yes, he must have! Same as you.”
She could not take the pity in his gaze much longer. She bolted upright, scooted to the end of the bed, grabbed her discarded robe and tread quickly for the bathroom, slamming the door.
She could hear through the door Mitch saying “Sonofabitch!” again.
Chapter Eleven
How in the world was he supposed to get past the fact he just made love to a virgin? Well, had sex with one, anyway. Mitch wouldn’t dare call what they had love. It would be like putting the cart before the horse, and if anything, he knew love when he saw it.
Loving a woman was supposed to be a two-way street, give and equal parts take. He was not supposed to force himself onto her—then, into her. Jesus! What he did to Cheyanne was unforgivable.
With hope, she came out of the bathroom not hating his guts, or tried to kill him in his sleep.
She had every right to be angry. Hell, he all but thought her a whore, and boy was he surprised she hadn’t been. The shock hadn’t stopped at her virginity, but at the fact Joe set him up, Mitch thinking she’d been around the block a few times and this would be an easy if not satisfying four months.
“Sonofabitch,” he repeated, and even as the fifth time saying it, it still did not make him feel any better about what he did to her.
The bathroom door opened, and out walked a subdued woman. She would not look at him, but he could more than tell she’d been crying.
He wasn’t a monster, nor was he an animal. He felt sorry for her, knowing she would be sore and ridiculously embarrassed about the forced copulation. It wasn’t his fault she was smoking hot and he could not stop in time.
Dammit. Too late to fix the course of events already occurred, he was going to do everything he could to correct any further mistakes with her. He moved forward and she flinched, seemingly afraid of him.
She then held up her hand, stopping any momentum. “Please…let’s just go to bed.”
“I can sleep on the couch,” he gently offered.
Her eyes met his. “Why bother now?”
“Cheyanne…”
“No, Mitch. You get the left side, I get the right. Those are the rules, aren’t they?”
He watched as the tears welled in her eyes again.
“God, I’m so sorry,” he said firmly.
Her cheeks turned crimson. “About what? Forcing me into marrying you, or forcing yourself into me?” Yet her eyes would not stay on him for long.
“Both,” he said. “It should not have happened.”
“But it did,” she mumbled. “And now I will have to deal with it.”
“Cheyanne…”
She raised her chin, squaring her shoulders. “Did you really think I’d be on birth control, not knowing this was my fate?”
“Oh, God…I never thought…,” he began.
“I know. You never thought of any future errors, did you?”
“I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about,” he said. Jesus! He hoped there’s nothing to worry about. Nevertheless, what if there was? He never thought of that. He just assumed she would be ready for consequences.
He started moving toward her and she backed away, but he was not giving up on fixing this. He literally backed her into a corner, setting both hands on her upper arms. She would not look at him, so he used one hand to force her chin up and her eyes toward his.
“I am sorry, even if you don’t believe me.”
She opened her mouth, but closed it again, saying not a word.
“As God is my witness, I’d been told you’d been around, and I would never have done to you what we just did, if told the truth.”
She gave a little hiccup, Mitch knowing she was doing everything in her power not to give in to an emotional loss of control.
“We will go to bed. In the morning, we’ll leave. Is that okay?”
This time, her gaze drilled through his soul. “The damage is done, Mitch. We might as well stay and pretend this farce is real.”
“Is that what you want,” he asked.
“Does it matter what I want?”
“It does now,” he said glumly.
“Why? Just because you…” This time her pause was long enough to the point she could not recover. The tears spilled freely.
Instinct kicked in. Mitch bent and kissed her, but she was trembling under his touch. He did not blame her. He hated the reaction, but he did not blame her. He drew back slowly, released his grip on her and his heavy sigh burned through his soul.
“Left side, right side, line drawn down the middle,” he said.
She took a deep breath, nodded, then walked past him to the bed. He wasn’t going to comment on the fact she climbed under the quilt still in her robe. Nor was he going to sleep as he usually did—naked. He would just have to be uncomfortable for tonight.
Four hours later, Cheyanne faking sleep next to him, Mitch wasn’t tired, either.
“Cheyanne?”
He’d never slept flat on his back in all his life, almost afraid to roll over and have her bolt for the door.
When she did not answer him, yet he heard the distinct change in her breathing, he said, “I know you’re awake.”
“I am now.”
“You were before,” he promised.
“What do you want, Mitch?”
He took a deep breath, flared his nostrils, and told her the truth. “What I want, I can’t have, so I’ll settle for just talking.”
“Jesus Christ! It’s…” she paused, long enough to look at the bedside clock, “four in the morning. Can’t we talk at seven, at least when the Robins are awake?”
“They’ve been awake for a half hour. Besides, I usually take a run at this time, clear my head; get the blood flowing to all the right places.”
She quickly rolled over, facing him, so he rolled too, facing her. “You run?”
“Yes,” he answered.
“So do I.”
They stared at each other in the dark room, moonlight barely filtering through the open window.
“Are you really going to pretend sleep any longer?” he asked.
“Are you?”
“I wasn’t pretending.”
“Oh, really? I could have sworn I’d heard a fake snore or two,” she quibbled.
“I don’t snore.”
She nodded. “Yes, you do.”
“Sorry about that. No one ever said I did.”
“Likely because no one dares tell you the truth.”
“Cheyanne?”
“What?”
“It’s four in the morning.”
“Yes.”
“Let’s call a truce today.”
She drew in a deep breath, held it, but finally agreed, “Fine. Truce.”
“Up for that run?”
“No.” She then released a genuine yawn. “I would like an hour or two of actual sleep, if you don’t mind.”
“You could have had four hours,” he teased.
“Don’t start with me, Mitch.”
“I’m just saying…,” he said, smiling at her.
“I’m just saying…” she mimicked.
“Mrs. Lavede?”
“Yes, Mr. Lavede?”
“Truce?”
“Yes, truce.”
“Good.” He then leaned forward and kissed her. She didn’t balk, she didn’t tense up; in fact, she kissed him back.
Mitch eased back and looked at her face. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
Her smile slow in coming, it formed, nonetheless. “No. I guess not.”
Two seconds later, he drew back the covers and groaned. Her robe had lost its cinch sometime during the night. She’d been half-naked lying next to him.
He did everything in his power to keep his cock under control.
Climbing out of bed, heading to his suitcase, he grabbed out a pair of sweats, clean underwear, and headed to the bathroom. By the time he came back out, she was already dressed in sweats.
“I thought you said you wanted to sleep.”
“Not possible anymore, so I might as well run with you.”
“You sure?”
“Positive.”
Mitch found his tennis shoes, finished dressing and waited until she was ready, as well.
“Think we can sneak out without waking Charlie and Laura?”
“I’ve been sneaking out of the house for years. I can be quiet,” she replied.
“You weren’t last night,” he mumbled.
His wife missed the words, already halfway down the long hallway before he caught up to her.
An hour later, they came back to the inn, drenched in sweat. She’d given him a run for his money, proving her worth.
“Ever do marathons?” he asked, taking off his soaked T-shirt once they were back in their room.
“No. Too long.” Cheyanne was removing her tennis shoes.
“I did one, once. Thought I was going to die at the end of it.”
“A little old marathon whipped your ass?” she asked, teasingly.
“Hell, yes! And it wasn’t little. I swear to God, there were mountains in that marathon. I think I made it up only two of them before puking, wishing myself dead.”
“Mitch?”
“Yes?”
“This was nice. The run. Us being civil to each other.”
His eyes reached hers. “It was, wasn’t it?”
She smiled, the first time in two days.
“Same time tomorrow?” he asked.
“We’ll see,” she said, grabbing a set of clothes to take a shower and change.
Mitch watched her go, his smile unchecked. If running was something they had in common, perhaps there were other things, and these next four months would be livable.
After her quick shower, she found him at the table by the window. While she’d been in the bathroom, Laura brought up breakfast.
“I don’t usually eat this early in the morning,” she said.
“Neither do I, but apparently neither of us are very good at sneaking out of a house quietly.”
“Oh, God! Did we wake them?”
“Just Laura. She thought we wanted breakfast.”
Cheyanne sat down opposite him. “Then I suppose we should at least try to eat some of it.”
“Cheyanne?”
She was about to pick up a piece of toast off the plate. “Hmmm?”
“Are you ready to talk about last night?”
Her eyes met his. “No.”
“Later?”
This time, she lowered her gaze. “No, Mitch. Not at all.”
He took a deep breath, leaned back in his chair, and said, “Sooner or later, you will have to.”
“I’d prefer later,” she said firmly.
“How much later?”
Her brows rose. “What’s with all these questions?”
“I’m concerned, that’s all.”
“About what?”
He drew in a deep breath, releasing it slowly. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Why would you think I’m not?”
“Are you sure?”
“Don’t I look fine to you?”
His eyes darted to the bed. The bed sheets told the truth. She wasn’t fine. He took her virginity and the evidence was quite clear on the sheets. He hadn’t noticed it before, but it was very noticeable now.
Cheyanne turned that way, as well. She looked as if wanting to groan but sighed instead. “I’m fine, Mitch. I’ll survive. She then looked at him, staring at his face. “You can’t possibly think what we did will break me.”
“What we did was not meant to break you.”
“Oh, then why did you do it?” She was now staring into his soul.
He gathered the courage to tell her the truth. “I don’t know what it is about you, but you make me so angry, then so turned on, it’s all I can do to behave when around you.”
“If you call what you did last night behaving, I’d hate to see you misbehaving.”
“You know what I meant,” he said.
“Yes, I do know what you meant.”
“And?”
“And…I’m fine. I’m not broken.” She reached for a glass of orange juice on the tray and he could then see just how broken she was. Her hand was trembling.
Mitch reached for it, grabbing her wrist. “Dammit, Cheyanne.”
“Please, Mitch? Let’s just get through today, then tomorrow, then the day after that, and before you know it, our four months will be over.”
“Is that what you want?”
“I—” she started. “I don’t know.”
He raised her wrist, bringing her hand to his mouth. Very gently, he kissed her knuckles, his eyes watching her face. “I don’t know, either,” he promised.
****
Mitch may do things to her body that she cannot control. He may be all-powerful and all knowing, but she could easily walk away from all that, if trying hard enough. Can’t she?
Cheyanne did not want to admit what happened last night wasn’t his fault. He’d been duped by her father, and he was a man, doing man things expected of a honeymoon. Of course, he would want to consummate their marriage. In the eyes of the law, there’d be no question to it being a real marriage.
She could not fault him for that, but she could blame him for the continuous conversation about it. They had sex. So what? Many people do it all the time, and they don’t break into a fit of tears because of it.
The real issue was he did not love her. She had thought to lose her virginity to the man of her dreams, a man who would tell her he loved her while making love to her, but Mitch wanted the sex, nothing more.
Dammit! He certainly did not need to acknowledge the fact he’d broken her spirit, as well as her body, or make certain the evidence of their copulation was still visible on the sheets.
