Union of Sin (6 page)

C
hapter Six

T.J. sipped his scotch, unable to lift his game to help out with his own business.

He should be greeting guests, making them feel welcome and at home. Especially when there were more newbies than usual tonight. The party was a success. He just couldn’t bring himself to be happy about the influx of fresh patrons.

He missed Cassie. All the more now because he knew it was over. The divorce was in motion, unable to be stopped. At least not by her.

“Hi.”

He straightened at the sound of her voice and snapped his gaze to the woman settled on the stool beside him.
Fuck.
The delusions had returned. Not in a vision this time, but her tone.

“Did I startle you?” She edged back, apprehension filling her brown eyes.

“No.” His voice was gruff. Unforgiving. “You just sound like someone I know.”

Her ruby lips parted, working up and down in a blatant show of unease. What the hell was he thinking? The woman was nothing like his wife. The eyes, framed by a concealing mask, were dark, not the inviting shade of light blue he’d fallen in love with. She had a short, black bob haircut instead of the long locks he’d adored tangling his fingers in. Fuck-me lips that resembled those of his wife, but Cassie’s mouth had always been soft and sweet with warm inviting shades, instead of tawdry colors.

“I’m sorry.” He focused back on his drink. “I didn’t mean to be rude.”

The woman cleared her throat. “It’s okay.”

Her voice was different now, sultrier. Nothing like Cassie’s voice. It merely proved his insanity. He needed to move on. To focus on something other than the perfect gift he’d thrown away.

“Do you want a drink?” It was a lame attempt at an apology, but it was the best he could do under the circumstances.

“I’d love one.”

“What can I get you?”

“Umm…”

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. She was biting her lip in an excruciatingly familiar way. He couldn’t stop seeing his wife reflected back at him, the way her teeth worked in deep concentration. He needed to get a grip.

“Malibu and lemonade, please.”

She met his gaze and her fake eyelashes flickered in an alluring message he chose to ignore.

“Travis?” He jutted his chin at the bartender and waited for the man’s attention. “Malibu and lemonade for the lady, and another scotch for me.”

“Sure thing.” Travis began fixing their order.

“Where’s your mask?” the woman uttered. “And why are you still dressed?”

“I’m working.” He fought to curb the agitation in his tone. It wasn’t her fault he was losing his mind. If someone with completely opposite features to his wife was driving him crazy with recognition, he needed help.

“Doesn’t look like it to me.”

He followed her gaze to the fresh glass Travis slid into his hand. No, it didn’t look like it to him either. But he wouldn’t be able to move until he overcame the ache in his chest. Another drink would do it. Maybe two.

“I’m taking a short break.”

She smiled, stealing the air from his lungs with her beauty.
Fuck.
What the hell was happening to him? She was his wife. His fantasy. The same bone structure, the same body frame. Yet everything else didn’t align.

“Is this your first time?”
Shit.
He already knew the answer. He’d seen her wristband earlier when she’d been with Zoe.

“Yeah.” She raised her arm and showed the red plastic strip around her wrist. “First time here, but not to this type of establishment.”

Right. He needed to quit this conversation and put a stop to the hallucinations. His interest in the woman was a betrayal to his marriage—a marriage that would soon be over. He stared straight ahead, his gaze forsaking his brain to go in search of her reflection in the mirror behind the bar. He couldn’t look away. There was something about her. Something he recognized yet couldn’t put his finger on.

“Would you mind showing me around?”

There was more than one question in her gravel-rich words. But could he take her up on it? Even for a brief moment to innocently show her around?

“Please.” She met his stare in the mirror, her sultry lips tilting at the sides. “It’s all a bit daunting.”

His heart thumped in his chest, and he wasn’t sure if it was from apprehension or anticipation. Without thought, he was on his feet, his body moving of its own volition. She was teasing him. Seducing him. And he was powerless under her spell…or maybe his heart just yearned for something other than alcohol to occupy his mind.

She wasn’t his type, that was for sure. He’d always preferred blondes. Women that didn’t rely on fake nails and the slightly unnatural glow of a salon tan to boost their appeal. She may remind him of Cassie, yet his dick remained true to his wife.

He outstretched a hand, wordlessly asking her to proceed him through the crowd. He fell back, trying to work out what it was that sparked his interest.

“This way?” she asked over her shoulder.

“Yeah.” He jerked his head toward the room farthest from the bar. The one that didn’t have a crowd hovering around the door. No doubt Zoe was doing her exhibitionist thing in the other private area, putting on a show with her men. “This room will soon be revamped.”

At the moment, it was filled with furniture. A heap of different comfortable surfaces to rest upon. Last he’d heard, Leo and Brute wanted to turn it into a room with a more specific agenda. Restraints maybe. Role-play. They’d even spoken of development nights where they could hire people qualified to teach courses on sex and sensuality, even BDSM.

“And what type of things do people do in here?” the woman asked.

He closed his eyes, imagining it was Cassie beside him, her voice so familiar. “Whatever the hell they want, sweetheart. As long as it’s consensual.”

She stepped closer, the heat from her body thrumming from her in waves. “And what have you done in here?” she cooed.

Not a damn thing. “I watch,” he grated. “That’s it.” He opened his eyes and caught sight of her lips pursed in a conniving smile.

“Would you like to watch
me
?” she whispered.

Fuck.
His nostrils flared and a burst of adrenaline shot down his spine. She was a temptation, but more for the need to quash his preoccupation with Cassie than a sexual desire. He wouldn’t enjoy her show, no matter what she did. Although his cock did stir at the image. The first sign of interest his dick had given the world in months.

“Not tonight.” He eased a hand through her hair, trying to soften the rejection. The coarse texture ran over his palm, nothing like the silky blonde strands he’d spent years filtering his fingers through.

He turned to walk away and then froze when she grabbed his hand. He stiffened, his spine rigid as she came up behind him, hovering at his shoulder. Gentle hands encased his waist, the pleasant slide of her fingertips moved over his stomach, the softness of a womanly body melted against his back. Over the scent of sex and foreplay in the air, he could smell her, not this stranger, but his wife.

She was here. In his head. Under his skin.

“Don’t be so quick to walk away,” the woman murmured, sounding more like Cassie with every heartbeat. “What harm can come from watching?”

Ch
apter Seven

Cassie wasn’t prone to crazy outbursts. At least she hadn’t been. Until now, apparently. She didn’t even know what the innuendo in her own words meant. There was no plan. No strategy. Just an invitation to put on a show she didn’t have the faintest clue how to perform. The only thing she knew was that she couldn’t let him go. His back against her chest was too comforting, and watching him walk away again wasn’t an option.

At first, she’d sat next to him at the bar, hoping to witness the level of his suffering. His emotional struggle had been clear to see. But it wasn’t enough. She yearned for something else. Something she had no clue of. That’s when she’d asked for a tour.

A part of her wanted to be rejected. She already knew her way around. The request was a test. An indicator. She’d held her breath, waiting for him to shoo her away, to show no interest in the appeal of a woman that he didn’t know was his wife.

Then he’d caved, too easily, and a part of her heart had shattered. At the same time, the pounding in her chest had intensified, yearning for more of the ferocity in his eyes. She’d became seduced by his proximity. After the months apart, she would kill to have his hands on her. To feel his passion and adoration.

He was hooked.

To her.

He turned in her embrace, his jaw set in a stubborn line. “Let me go.”

No
. Not now, not ever. She did loosen her grip, though. “Don’t newbies get special treatment?” Still, she had no clue where her words were coming from. This wasn’t her.

She dug her teeth into her lower lip and batted her fake lashes. “You don’t have to touch. You don’t even have to speak. Just watch. Your eyes will tell me everything I need to know.”

His discomfort gave her confidence. Too much. Because now she was backtracking to the empty single bed, hiding the grief of losing his body heat as she scooted onto the mattress. A feast, not only for his eyes, but for the numerous other patrons in the room.

He was interested in her for one reason—she was his wife. His soul mate. Nobody else here tonight could’ve evoked interest from him. His attraction was subconscious. She knew it was and wouldn’t allow herself to believe otherwise.

She crooked a finger at him and slid farther back. This was crazy. The actions of a love-starved woman. But he was also her husband. She could do insane things for him. Anything for him.

She nestled onto the cushions, parting her thighs while she licked her lower lip in a coy taunt. Her stomach was filled with butterflies. Her heart was pounding in her throat. And despite the nerves, her nipples hardened to painful peaks and the sweet spot between her thighs began to tingle.

T.J. lifted his chin and clenched his hands at his sides once…twice. The internal struggle was etched across his tight features. He was fighting the attraction, denying he wanted another woman. When all along it was his wife he still desired.

Slowly, she raised a hand, trailing it over the material of her slip, along her sternum, her neck, to her lips. T.J. watched the progression, his focus riveted, his hands still clenched. She sucked the finger into her mouth, all the way to the knuckle, and then released it with a pop.

She’d never been so blatant. That had always been his job. He’d taught her everything she knew about sex. His desires had shaped her own. She’d been the young, inexperienced woman about to reach her twenties when T.J. had strode into her life and ruined her for all other men.

He’d taken his time, getting to know her leisurely. Intimately. More thoroughly than she’d known herself. The sex between them had gone from casual to exploratory. By the time they’d married, she’d been willing and eager to try anything and everything.

In the past, the awe in his eyes had given her the confidence to find herself sexually. Right now, that same look gave her the ability to be on a foreign bed, observed by strangers as her finger lowered to the hem of her tiny dress and underneath to the waistband of her panties. She couldn’t tear her gaze away from him. Like a hawk, she scrutinized his expression, gaining evidence of his arousal from the flaring of his nostrils and the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

“Do you want a taste?” It was a bittersweet question. Dismissal would bathe her in rejection. Acquiescence would mean he was ready to move on from their marriage. So she was thankful he didn’t answer.

Still unsure what she was doing, or why, she continued the charade. She slid her hand under the lace of her underwear, the tingles of awareness igniting all over the newly skimmed flesh. She grazed the rough patch of curls at the apex of her thighs and held her breath as she drowned in the darkness of his eyes. She was on display, alone, confused, yet her body was burning with the need to be sated. By him. Only him.

Her husband inched forward, his large frame a menacing force at the end of the bed. He was riveted with her, his jaw tight, his hands still clenched, yet those deep irises were enthralled with her alluring display. Hypnotized.

She crept her hand lower, closing her eyes briefly when her fingertips found her clit. The tiny bundle of nerves was throbbing. Begging. Pleading with every rush of blood and pound of her heart to be sated beyond her wildest imagination. Here. In front of all these people.

Pleasure took over, her fingers moved of their own accord as they rubbed back and forth, tearing a gasp from her throat.

“You should stop.” His words barely penetrated the pounding heartbeat echoing in her ears. “I need to get back to work.”

She quirked a brow when he didn’t leave. Rejection would soon be upon her. It was inevitable. But her mask would hide the humiliation. It was already shielding her from the intensity of numerous people who had stopped their own play sessions to see if she would succeed in seducing this glorious man.

With a dramatic sigh, she slid her hand from her panties and crawled toward him. He backtracked, cautiously leaving space between them as if she were a predator ready to pounce. The contrasting dynamic was unnerving. T.J. had always been the dominant force. He never backed away. He always inspired the need to please him. The desire to succumb. She thrived on the way her heart, mind and body submitted wholeheartedly to his instructions. Now she was in the lead and wasn’t sure what to do with the power.

She stood, allowing a few brief seconds for her jelly legs to strengthen before she sauntered toward him on her heels. Her gaze held his as she approached. The room fell silent, and the pressure of anticipation pressed hard against her skin. There was a breath of space between them when she planted her feet and peered up at him with a coy smile.

“Touch me.” Her heart hammered behind her ribs. It was becoming harder to disguise her voice. Everything inside her urged her to stop pretending. To quit hiding.

“I can’t.” His fierce tone was almost inaudible. “I’ve gotta go.” Again, he didn’t move. He held his chin high. His shoulders were broad and eyes intense as he frowned. “I just don’t understand.”

“Understand what, T.J.?” She raised a hand, her touch almost reaching his cheek when he lifted his arm in a flash and a heavy force gripped her wrist.

“Understand your familiarity,” he growled. His gaze narrowed, the softness she’d always seen in the brown depths now harsh and unforgiving. “How do you know my name?”

Oh, heck.
Her lips worked as she struggled to figure out her answer, his grip unyielding. “You work here.” She managed a fake grin. “The man at the door told me your name.”

He jerked back, his eyes clouding with confusion as he released his hold. “I’m…sorry.”

“Don’t be.” She bridged the distance between them again and rested her palms on his hard chest. She missed this expanse of skin. The hard muscle that used to keep her protected at night. “Sometimes attraction can be confusing.” She glided her hands higher, over his shoulders, around his neck. “Sometimes it can be clarifying too, like the world is sending you a sign.”

She was going to tell him. As soon as her heart stopped pounding, she was going to remove her wig and prove he would always be attracted to her. “You want me,” she whispered.

He sucked in a breath, the rampant beat of his chest echoing into hers as she leaned into him.

“You want me just as bad as I want you.” Her stomach was overcome with excitement. With passion. In her mind, she wasn’t wearing a mask, or a wig, or fake nails. She was the normal Cassie, whispering words of endearment to a husband who had lost faith. It was just the two of them. No sex club. No witnesses.

She pushed up on the tips of her toes and pressed her mouth against his, kissing love back between them. He stiffened, dropping his hands to her hips. She wasn’t sure if he was poised to pull her closer or ready to push her away, but she didn’t care. She gripped him tighter as she parted his lips with her tongue, unable to deny herself even a second of his confused acquiescence.

Don’t let me go.

She clung to him, kissing him harder, pressing her breasts into him as she reveled in the only physical affection he’d given her in over twelve months. This was her home—in his arms. This was her life—striving for more of his love.

She stepped closer, moving one thigh between his, brushing her pelvis against the thickness of his erection. The comforting feel of his arousal rekindled hope. Their bodies were meant to be like this. Brushing. Touching. Always connected. She tilted her pelvis, rubbing her pubic bone against the hardness of his leg. Her pussy was begging for him. Soaking her panties. Every inch of her wanted to be consumed. She was merely waiting for him to take over. For her husband to find his usual dominance and use it against her.

Her excitement grew, the pleasure inside her morphing into a need more necessary than breath. She loved this man. So much it hurt and healed, all at once. But it was his hands, the relaxation of his grip against her hips, his surrender to the affection, that washed away the desire and filled her with nauseating clarity.

She was kissing her husband. Reuniting passion. Yet
he
was kissing a stranger. Extinguishing the memory of their marriage and moving on.

The truth filled her with agony. Their connection becoming bittersweet.

With every brush of his tongue, he was leaving her. And she’d been the one to help him take the first step.