Indiscretion: Volume Three (Indiscretion #3) (6 page)

She was biting her lip, looking somewhat self-conscious as she nervously smoothed her dress down her slender thighs. “I have this habit of wanting to learn really strange English words, or learn words in other languages that don’t have a literal translation to English.”

I chuckled. “That’s sort of cool, actually. Can you give me an example? One of the words that can’t be translated to English?”

“Sure. Um…” She seemed to relax a bit now that I’d expressed an interest. “There’s
Komorebi,
which is Japanese.”

“Komorebi,” I repeated. “Alright, so what does that mean?”

She laughed for a moment. “It’s a word used to describe the interplay between light and leaves when sunlight shines through trees.”

I thought about it for a second, then nodded. “You’re right. I can’t think of one word in English to describe that.” I laughed. “This is fun. Give me another one.” Not only was I actually finding this interesting, but it showcased her intelligence, which made me just as rock hard as the thought of getting her naked.

“Okay,” she said, excitement in her voice. She was having fun now, and as I spared another glance over at her, I couldn’t help but think how much I enjoyed seeing her eyes light from the inside when she was enthused about something. “
Jaaneman
. It’s Persian. Now you try to guess what it means.”

This ought to be interesting. “Shit. I don’t have a clue.”

“You have to guess,” she said with a playful tone, shoving my shoulder lightly with her hand.

“Alright.” I decided to go with the first thing that came to mind. “Does it mean to be in close quarters with someone and be frustrated that you can’t touch them?”

Chloe sucked in a breath. “That’s not what it means, no.”

“Hmm. I’m all out of guesses then.” I couldn’t help myself. I placed my right hand just above her knee and squeezed.

“Are you sure you don’t have any more guesses?” she asked. It was evident from her tone that she was as affected by my touch as I was simply having her near me in this small space.

“Let me think for a second.” I traced my fingertips up and down her inner thigh, pushing the fabric of her dress up a little more each time. When I reached the top of her thighs, she squeezed them together tightly, trapping my fingers there for a moment. I grinned over at her. “Does it describe when a woman spreads her legs wide?”

She was sucking on her lower lip and shaking her head, but she opened her legs wide for me, just as I’d hoped she would. I twisted my wrist so I could run my fingers along the outside of her underwear. Fuck me, she was already soaked, the dampness of what lie underneath the silk evident.

“Does it mean a woman who removes her underwear in a moving vehicle?” I asked, my voice low and full of desire.

“No,” she said, her voice coming out all breathy and please-fuck-me sounding.

I was making a concentrated effort to keep my eyes on the road. Luckily, the highway wasn’t busy. I sent a small prayer up thankful for the fact that my rental car had extremely dark tints on it. I was going to need it for what I was about to do.

I could see in my peripheral vision that Chloe was removing her underwear. Once they reached her ankles, she kicked them off with one foot, letting them fall to the floor mat at her feet. She immediately spread her legs again, and I returned my hand to where it’d been a minute before.

Damn. She was so wet and worked up. As soon as I pressed my fingers against her swollen bud, she began grinding against it, trying to gain some leverage to finish herself off.

I wasn’t going to make it that easy.

As luck would have it, Carmina Burana was the next random selection on my iPod. I let the music be my guide as I brought her close to orgasm, swirling my fingers over her clit and then teasingly circling her slit but not entering. When the sound of the orchestra and chorus of opera singers dropped down to an almost inaudible level, I gentled my touch—much to her displeasure. She moaned her disagreement, and I started again, bringing her to a peak, slowly increasing the pressure of my fingers on her hot core.

She had her legs splayed as wide as she could get them and was gripping the edge of the seat cushions hard, her knuckles white. The music built louder and louder, cresting until it finally reached its crescendo, and I gave her the release she sought.

She moaned, far louder than the music in the car, and grabbed at her breasts over top of the material, writhing on my fingers as she rode out her climax. Chloe was so fucking beautiful when she came. She was always gorgeous, but seeing the look of pure satisfaction on her face as she climaxed, and better yet, knowing I was the one who put it there, was the cherry on top of the fucking sundae.

Chloe was still panting when I removed my fingers from her, brought them to my mouth, and sucked them clean. “Your pussy always tastes so delicious.”

She tasted as good as I remembered, and I planned to get a full-on refresher during this little trip of ours. Having her release on my tongue only increased the throbbing below my waist. I was rock hard and straining the confines of my cargo shorts, but I’d just have to deal with it. There wasn’t a chance I’d keep this car between the lines if I let her get her hands on me.

We drove on without saying a word for a minute when something occurred to me. “You never did tell me what jaaneman means,” I said. I glanced to the side to see that her head was leaning back on the headrest, her eyes closed, a small smile on her lips.

“It means ‘the soul of me’. The Persian word for ‘sweetheart’ or ‘darling’.”

I didn’t know what to say. Not because I didn’t know what she meant by the whole ‘soul of me’ thing. No, it was the complete opposite of that, I feared—and that was the problem—I had to keep reminding myself that there was no future for us. Allowing myself to think anything different would be foolish.

Once we were settled into our hotel room, Chloe insisted on taking me to the Portland Head Light in neighbouring Cape Elizabeth first. As we made our way out of our hotel and back to my car, I reached for her hand and entwined her fingers with mine. Just because I could. Because I didn’t need to worry about anyone seeing us. The freedom to be ourselves together was liberating.

After a short drive, we arrived at Fort Williams Park, which sat adjacent to the lighthouse. Chloe was practically tugging me along by the arm, she was so eager to get across the field to our destination.

“Come on, slow poke.” She grinned, glancing over her shoulder at me.

The breeze had her hair blowing across her face, and I tugged her toward me, then gently tucked the blond tresses behind her ear. Leaning in, I pressed my lips to hers, pushing my tongue into her mouth. Cupping the back of her head, our tongues met, and we kissed slowly and leisurely, as if we had all the time in the world.

Though I knew we didn’t. In the back of my mind, I knew the clock was ticking down to the end of our time together, but in this moment, I didn’t want to rush things.

She eventually pulled away from the kiss. “Thank you for that,” she said with a little giggle.

“My pleasure. Now let’s go check out this awesome lighthouse.”

When we reached the rocky shore, where she insisted the best view was, it was apparent why she loved this spot so much. It was straight from a postcard. The lighthouse stretched tall and proud up into the air and was nestled on the edge of the rocks beside a white house that Chloe informed me was now used as a museum. Waves crashed loudly against the rocky wall where the coast jutted in and out.

“It’s over two hundred years old. Isn’t that something?” she said in awe, turning to face me. “To think that two hundred years ago people stood in this exact same spot, looking at this same view?”

I brought my hand up and cupped her cheek. “It really is something to see,” I admitted. “Built to stand the test of time.”

“I wonder what their lives were like back then? Simpler, I suppose.” She sounded wistful.

“Simpler but no easier would be my guess. They were probably more focused on survival than most of us have to be these days.”

She looked at me with sad, downcast eyes. “I know some of what it feels like to only be worried about surviving one day to the next.” She turned her attention back to Portland Head.

I gripped both of her shoulders in my hands and squeezed. “I suppose you do,” I said softly, feeling distraught at the thought of this woman having to worry about how to feed, clothe, and raise a child when she would’ve been only a child herself. I took a deep breath to relieve some of the ache in my chest. “Should we go check it out up close?”

She patted the hand I still had on her shoulder. “One more second. I don’t know when I’ll be here next. I want to take it all in and remember every single thing.”

Her voice was awestruck, but I knew exactly how she felt. Only I wasn’t trying to remember every detail of the lighthouse, but of the amazing woman in front of me as she looked on to the beautiful surroundings with such wonder. I realized that the goodness inside her, the light she exuded, was like my own personal beacon, my own lighthouse, leading me where I belonged—to her. Didn’t that realization make it that much harder to know I’d eventually be leaving her behind.

We drove back into Portland and headed to Victoria Mansion. Given Chloe’s love of architecture, I was looking forward to seeing her in her element. She explained to me that she’d only ever visited once before while she was in high school on a field trip during her junior year.

We approached the foreboding home, and she explained further. “It was that trip that really solidified in my mind that I wanted to be an architect. The thought of creating something that years later people would be enjoying and spending time in was a dream of mine.”

“Have you ever considered going back to school for it?” I asked.

She crinkled her face up in distaste and shook her head. “I’m way too old for that. Too many responsibilities and bills to pay to be able to leave my job and become a student again.”

I didn’t comment, not knowing what to say without sounding like an ass. I grabbed the door and held it open for her. Her perfume wafted by me as she passed and, though it would normally have me adjusting myself, for once I was thinking beyond that. I couldn’t help but feel sad that she couldn’t pursue what was obviously a passion for her. At times, I guess I took for granted my lot in life. Yes, my father could be a demanding S.O.B., and having the last name Richfield came with a certain set of expectations, whether you were prepared to live by them or not. But at the end of the day, my family’s wealth afforded me opportunities and choices, something not everyone had the privilege of having.

As we stood waiting for the tour to begin, Chloe filled me in on how the home was completed in 1860 and was well known because it displayed the Italian Villa style very rarely seen in American domestic architecture. She referenced the four-story tower, overhanging eaves, and ornate windows as classic examples of such design. She was interrupted by an employee calling us to join the tour, but what I was beginning to see as she spoke about the house only became more pronounced as we made our way through the tour.

She lit up. She was so passionate, asking questions and looking around every room to be sure to take in every detail, that I couldn’t help but feel melancholy at the fact that she would never fulfill her dream of being an architect.

When the tour finished, we made our way down the front steps, her smile wide across her beaming face.

“What do you want to do now?” she asked, as eager as a child at an amusement park.

As if on cue, my stomach rumbled and we both broke into laughter, heading to where I’d parked the car. “Apparently, I need to refuel.”

“I’m getting hungry, too. I have an idea. Let’s head back to the hotel, and we can drop the car off and go from there.”

“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?” I asked with amusement.

“Uh-uh.” She shook her head, a playful glint in her eyes. “You’re just going to have to trust me. Think you can handle it?”

“Undoubtedly,” I said and took her hand in mine.

Chloe had us walk from the hotel to our dinner destination. The entire way she still wouldn’t give me a clue as to where we were going. We ended up stopping in front of a quaint restaurant set on the corner of one of the downtown streets, aptly named The Corner Room.

“The Ravioli here is to die for, but I think you’ll love anything on the menu.” She raised her eyebrows, as if questioning whether this place met my approval or not.

In truth, I was famished so I would’ve eaten street meat from a cart, but the restaurant seemed to have a great atmosphere and a lot of patrons, so I had no doubt she was spot on with her assessment.

“Looks good, though I really wish
you
were what was on the menu right now.” My heated stare caused a blush to creep into her cheeks. God, she was so fucking sweet sometimes.

She smacked me lightly on the arm. “Behave. There will be no underwear antics here.”

Images of Chloe being bare and accessible under that skirt of hers barraged my mind, and I had to force myself not to concentrate on them. As she walked into the restaurant, she grinned at me like she knew exactly what she’d done.

The place was as impressive inside as it was outside, and the smell had my already empty stomach contracting painfully. The scent of homemade pasta and olive oil permeated the air. The décor wasn’t overdone, which was nice. It showcased rich wood floors, an open kitchen, and large windows that wrapped around a good part of the building. It was casual but stylish.