Chapter 6
Sandra sank into the plush mattress after the covers were jerked back, her body melting against the expensive memory foam.
Terry's bed put her own to shame, and that was saying something. She believed an excellent mattress made for a good night’s sleep and a happier back.
But his mattress was beyond excellent. Or maybe it was because her eyes were filled with him.
She'd caught glimpses of his bedroom as he'd carried her here, her legs wrapped around his waist, their mouths fused in desperate hunger. Pale gray walls. Navy-and-charcoal bedding that matched the curtains and area rug perfectly. Orderly space for an orderly man.
The room smelled like pure temptation, a mixture of clean soap, subtle cologne that didn't assault her senses, and underneath it all, the intoxicating scent that was just Terry.
Her gaze tracked his naked torso as he stripped away his jeans.
Muscles rippled beneath smooth skin, dark hair trailing down from his chest to disappear beneath the waistband of his boxers.
Mediterranean blood had to run through his veins with his olive complexion, thick dark hair, and the heavy scruff shadowing his jaw.
He belonged on the cover of a pirate romance she'd devoured as a teenager.
She wanted to shout out how much he’d come to mean to her. Having to keep their relationship secret due to his kids having not met her had been hard. But when he shed his final piece of clothing and rolled on protection, all coherent thoughts abandoned her.
She was already naked, and heat pooled low in her belly as she lifted her arms in invitation.
Terry climbed onto the bed, his large hands settling on her knees before he bent lower, positioning his face between her thighs.
He inhaled deeply, and the sight of him breathing in her arousal sent liquid fire racing through her veins.
Then he dove in like a man starved, and her lips parted on a sharp gasp.
Shivers cascaded over her skin from scalp to toes, then centered where his mouth worked its magic.
His tongue, his fingers, his relentless attention drove her higher than she'd ever been. Her climax slammed into her without warning, turning those shivers into a full-body earthquake that left her trembling and breathless.
"Holy fuck," she managed, her voice barely a whisper as aftershocks rippled through her.
Terry chuckled against her skin, then kissed his way up her body, over her mound, circling her belly button, and lavishing attention on each breast before finally claiming her mouth. "You want a holy fuck, babe, I'll give it to you."
She grinned, knowing he'd deliver on that promise. She was ready for this moment after two months of stolen kisses and more during their coordinated lunch breaks, text messages late at night, and heated looks when they managed to run into each other that no one else could interpret. Jesus, we’re worse than two horny teenagers sneaking around!
He was everything she'd ever allowed herself to dream about—handsome, intelligent, dedicated to his work and his family. And now she knew he was incredible in bed too.
Sandra had never mixed business with pleasure in her career, but Terry made her want to break every rule she'd ever set for herself.
Their relationship was moving slowly out of necessity, but that was fine.
She wasn't about to parade a relationship around the county unless she was certain it had potential.
Her arms wound around his neck as their mouths fused, tongues dancing in a rhythm that sent heat spiraling through her core.
"You taste better than anything I've ever had," he murmured against her lips.
"Mmm." That was all she could manage, considering her brain was short-circuiting from sensory overload.
His hips shifted, and she instinctively widened her legs, welcoming him while silently urging him on.
With his muscular arms braced beside her shoulders, he held his weight off her as he drove forward in one smooth thrust. His thick length filled her completely, and she gasped at the exquisite sensation.
They were frantic for each other, and it showed in his urgent movements and the way her nails dug into his back.
He increased his pace, and she wanted more, wanted everything.
This was raw, unbridled need. Their first full night together, and they could finally experience no rushing, no hurry.
They had all night to explore everything between them… emotions as well as physical.
And with his kids at their mother’s place for the weekend, there would be time later for slow discoveries, for her to take control, for them to christen his shower—
Suddenly, he froze, his body going rigid above her. His head snapped toward the locked bedroom door, eyes wide. Before she could ask what was wrong, he pulled his cock out of her so abruptly that her core spasmed at the immediate withdrawal, leaving a bereft feeling of emptiness.
"Shit!" His whispered curse cracked through the air like a gunshot. He leaped from the bed, finally meeting her confused gaze. "Grab your clothes and hide in the bathroom. My kids just came home early!"
Sandra didn't need to be told twice. She rolled off the bed, turned, and instinctively yanked the covers into some semblance of order, then snatched her panties, bra, pants, and shirt from the floor where they'd been hastily discarded.
"Dad?" a voice called from down the hall.
Her sex-fogged brain barely functioned as she grabbed her shoes and oversized purse that doubled as an overnight bag. She stumbled into his en suite bathroom, her heart hammering against her ribs.
Terry had managed to pull on jeans and a T-shirt, not bothering to look at her as he whispered, "Stay in there. Let me handle this. I need to see what's going on, then I'll get you home."
The bathroom door closed with a soft click, leaving her alone with her racing pulse. The scent of his cologne clung to her skin, and she had the hollow feeling of a good fuck cut short.
Sandra caught her reflection in the mirror above the double sinks and winced. Her hair looked like she'd been through a tornado, her cheeks were flushed crimson, and her lipstick was smeared beyond recognition. If she was about to meet his children, she needed to make some serious repairs.
She stepped into her panties and pants with shaking hands, then fastened her bra before pulling her shirt over her head. Her brush worked through the tangles in her hair, and she quickly touched up her makeup, grateful she hadn't worn much to begin with.
Staring at her reflection, she looked less like a woman who'd been interrupted just pre-orgasm and more like someone who might have a legitimate reason to be hiding in a bathroom. The thought should have been funny, but her stomach churned with nerves instead.
This wasn't how she'd imagined meeting Terry's kids… hiding from them like a dark secret. The last thought caused her to flinch. She’d never been anyone’s secret and didn’t like the feeling. It was one thing to sneak around, but another to be in hiding.
Sandra crept to the bathroom door on silent feet and pressed her ear against the cool wood.
Nothing. The house's open-concept design should have carried voices, but during her frantic journey to the bedroom, with Terry's mouth fused to hers and her body pinned against his, she'd caught only glimpses of the layout.
At the front, the living room flowed into the dining room, which flowed into the kitchen.
The spaces were separated by a massive island and strategically placed furniture.
He'd carried her through the main area like she weighed nothing and down a hallway that seemed to lead exclusively to his private sanctuary.
She assumed the children's rooms occupied the opposite side of the house.
That was perfect for maintaining adult privacy, but absolutely useless when she needed to decipher what was happening beyond these walls.
She held her breath and eased the door open a fraction.
His bedroom door remained firmly shut. Anxiety gnawed at her stomach as she chewed her bottom lip, her gaze drifting to what she'd initially mistaken for a window.
Now that she was fully clothed and thinking clearly, hiding in a bathroom like some guilty teenager made zero sense.
Slipping out of the bathroom, she moved closer to the far wall. She realized the "window" was actually a sliding glass door leading to what appeared to be a wraparound patio. Her mind began calculating escape routes.
"Of all the times for me not to drive myself," she muttered, frustration bleeding into her whispered words.
But even as the thought formed, bitter irony struck her.
If she'd driven her own car, it would be sitting in his driveway right now like a scarlet letter, announcing to his ex-wife and children that Daddy had company.
She pressed her forehead against the cool doorframe and released a shaky exhale that spoke volumes about her current predicament.
Her phone screen glowed as she checked the time.
The minutes crawled with excruciating slowness, each second stretching into eternity.
Fifteen agonizing minutes passed before worry began its relentless assault on her composure.
What if something terrible happened to one of the children?
What if a medical emergency brought them home early?
She crossed his bedroom with the stealth of a cat burglar and pressed her ear to the door again.
Muffled voices drifted through the wood, but nothing was coherent enough to decipher.
Another torturous fifteen minutes elapsed as she paced the confines of his room before desperation drove her to crack open his bedroom door.
Adult conversation floated down the hallway with Terry's familiar rumble and a woman's voice that could only belong to his ex-wife. She strained to catch fragments, her attorney instincts kicking in as she analyzed tone and cadence. Doesn’t sound like an emergency.
No crisis. The woman was chatting about her job with the casual ease of someone settling in for a long visit.
As precious minutes continued their relentless march, Sandra felt irritation bloom in her chest like a thorny rose. The emotion made her feel petty and small, intensifying her frustration.
Terry's conversation with his ex-wife was obviously important.
The woman deserved time with her children, even if her unexpected arrival had turned Sandra's evening into a farce.
Logic told her the anger wasn't directed at the kids, the ex-wife, or even Terry himself.
But emotions refused to be contained by rational thought, something she often experienced with her clients.
Another glance at her watch revealed how much time had passed since she'd been unceremoniously banished to the bathroom. Time felt like a shameful secret, a dirty little indiscretion to be hidden away when real life intruded.
She studied the sliding glass door with a new purpose. If she slipped out and hugged the right side of the house, she could probably make it to the garage's blind spot, then sprint behind the hedge line to freedom.
Rolling her eyes heavenward, she bit back a bitter laugh.
Even her teenage relationships hadn't required this level of covert operations.
Her fingers found her phone with practiced ease as she scrolled to a friend.
She ducked back into the bathroom sanctuary before dialing.
"Margaret? You're not going to believe this, but I need an extraction. "
"Are you okay? What's happening?"
"Just come to the address I'm texting you. Park two houses down and message when you arrive. I swear I'm fine, and I'll explain everything once I'm safely in your car."
"Roger that, babe. But I demand a full debrief afterward!"
The next ten minutes felt like hours as Sandra's irritation sharpened, cutting deeper.
By now, almost an hour had passed, and Terry hadn't even attempted to check on her. No whispered updates, no reassuring squeeze of her hand, no acknowledgment that she existed beyond these bathroom walls. For all she knew, he'd forgotten about the woman his cock had been buried inside of before the interruption. She sighed and dropped her chin to her chest. Stop… he hasn’t forgotten… just… well, just not able to let me know what’s happening.
Her phone buzzed, announcing Margaret's arrival.
Sandra found a piece of paper on Terry's dresser, ready to scribble a note explaining her departure.
She poised the pen above the paper, searching for words that might capture the hurt and humiliation churning in her chest. But eloquence abandoned her when she needed it most. The simple facts would have to suffice.
She left the note on the bathroom sink like evidence at a crime scene, then eased open the sliding door. The evening air hit her flushed skin as she slipped into the gathering dusk.
Paranoia made her dart around the garage's corner, then sprint toward the hedge line in a crouch that would have been laughable under different circumstances.
She stayed low until she reached the street, then straightened and walked with forced casualness toward Margaret's cherry-red SUV that gleamed like a neon beacon.
She yanked open the passenger door and collapsed into the seat with all the grace of a woman fleeing a crime scene. "Thank you," she breathed, meeting her best friend's concerned gaze. "And please, for the love of all that's sacred, just get me home."
"Absolutely, honey. But fair warning… I want every sordid detail of this walk of shame."
Sandra released a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob.
"Simple story. Dinner leads to his place.
We're in bed, hitting all the right notes, when his ex-wife gets called into work and delivers the kids back home.
No emergency, mind you, but after being shoved into the bathroom to hide for almost an hour, I decided to stage my own jailbreak. "
Margaret's jaw dropped with theatrical flair. "Are you serious? He didn't even check on you?"
"Not once." Sandra's voice carried the weight of disappointment and wounded pride. "I understand he has responsibilities, but..."
"Responsibilities, yes. But treating you like a guilty secret for an hour? That's beyond rude! It's downright cruel."
The words validated what Sandra felt, a balm on her bruised ego. It was exactly what she needed to hear.
As Margaret pulled away from the curb, Sandra stared back at Terry's house through the passenger window. The evening that had begun with such passionate promise now felt like a master class in humiliation.