Sharing Adam (2 page)

He had sapphire blue eyes, clear and smiling and full of warmth, coupled with the sort of bone structure that made a face interesting. A slightly overlarge mouth, united with a deep brow and a prominent chin; the sort of man who walked a fine line between devastating and ugly. He held on to her hand as she swallowed down the vision of him.

“Adam, stop it!” Elliot snatched her hand away from his lover’s. “Come upstairs, Becca. We can talk about this in our room. Please,” he added as an afterthought.

She wasn’t sure what there was to say. She wasn’t pushing him away. Her arousal had squashed her initial swell of outrage. It was on the tip of her tongue to invite Adam up to their room with them. She’d rather watch him and Elliot make out than stumble into an argument.

Adam patted Elliot on the shoulder. “You know where to find me.” He wandered off in the direction of the bar, leaving them to consolidate themselves as best they could.

Their room, like much of the hotel, incorporated red brickwork interspersed with tartan furnishings in a variety of shades. They had a king-sized brass bed made up in red and gold and a little window area consisting of a squashy tartan love-seat and a brown leather banquette.

Elliot led the way into the room, but hung back to hold the door and allow her to pass. His eyes were glassy with guilt when he looked at her. The same emotion had already sharpened his jaw line and given him a deliciously kissable pout. He came towards her slowly. He brushed one hand through his hair, causing several of the longer strands to fall forward over his brow. He always slicked it back, but she loved it when it hung over his forehead, partially masking his whisky-gold eyes.

“I don’t want to hear it if you’re going to make some half-boiled excuse. You knew what you were doing. Don’t compound things by insinuating that I’m stupid or blind.”

Behind the fallen lock of hair, his frown tugged at the centre of his brow, etching a pattern of deep lines into the skin there.

“My God, Elliot, you were with a man! I’m not sure what I think, let alone how I’m supposed to react to it. Is this something new? Have you always known? Am I doing something wrong? Not pleasing you enough?” She didn’t blame herself, not really, but the question slid out regardless. Maybe she just needed to hear his reassurance in order to believe there was still a bond between them.

“You’re doing nothing wrong.”

“Then—then explain it to me? Have you—? Did you, before we married?”

His sheepish grin morphed into a grimace. Elliot was a private soul. He kept things close, never revealing more of his personal views and emotions than he needed to. It made him mysterious or plain old hard to get to know, depending on your point of view, but behind that outer shell of cool indifference she’d found her soul mate. At least she’d thought she had. How much did she really know about him? If he’d detached himself and her from this aspect of his personality, what else had he hidden?

“A few encounters,” he mumbled, his eyes downcast. “Nothing serious. And not since we married, apart from downstairs. I’ve not thought about it, or him.”

The hell he hadn’t, based on his reaction to a little encouragement from Adam. Although, she conceded, she could see how Adam would have that effect. Even smarted up in a suit, it was apparent he was that sort of guy—wild, a tad unpredictable, and absolutely capable of rocking his lover’s world.

Still, she chose to take Elliot’s admission as what he believed to be the truth. Maybe he was in denial. Maybe nothing beyond a little drunken fooling had occupied his past. Like many young men, he’d perhaps experimented but hadn’t ever involved himself in anything serious. Though that in itself raised questions. What else didn’t she know? She’d always pinned Elliot as a serial monogamist, and not one for brief flings or hazardous, yet sweetly illicit, fucks.

“What are you then—gay, bi, something else?” She’d never believe he was simply straight any more.

“I’m just me.” He held his arm out towards her, but she didn’t go to him. Not yet.

“How well do you know him—Adam?” she asked. Something about him piqued her curiosity—like a tabloid headline. She needed to know more, even though she knew she’d feel dirty afterward. “He’s not just an old friend? What is he, your former fuck buddy?”

Elliot’s mouth fell open. He closed it again. Then he slumped onto the banquette and braced his elbows upon his knees. He wasn’t even looking at her now. His gaze was riveted on the floor between his feet instead.

“He seems familiar—a bit more than just a drinking buddy.” Despite her best efforts to remain calm, her voice had grown whiny and defensive. She didn’t want to sound like this, nor did she intend to make any of it an accusation, but the lingering pall of arousal complicated matters, compounding her hurt with tetchiness. “Say something, Elliot.”

“We slept over once or twice.” He sat up straight and lifted his chin to look at her. “I don’t know what else to confess. I’m sorry that I screwed up and let my libido get the better of me. It was stupid, I know. Don’t let’s row over this.”

“Were you going to come upstairs with him?”

“No.”

“Truthfully. If you hadn’t seen me.”

Conflict contorted his mouth into a scowl. “Hell, Becca. I don’t know. I don’t know, okay?”

At least he was being honest with her now.

“What if I said it was okay?”

God, the hurt in his whisky-brown eyes damn near seared her soul. She bowed her head, afraid he’d recognise the excitement written on her face. “No—no, it’s absolutely not okay.” The slight wobble in his voice divulged exactly how much he meant that, but then maybe he wasn’t entirely comfortable with his attraction to other men. Perhaps that was why he’d kept it quiet.

“But if I said it was?” Her heart raced a little at the admission. Her earlier vision, of how the men might look together while making love, reasserted itself.

Elliot shook his head. “It still wouldn’t be.” He rose and headed straight for the mini bar, only for Becca to put her hand in front of the door before he could add a whopping big charge to their room fee. “Is that supposed to be some kind of screwed-up test of my fidelity?” He eyed her with his sultry pout back in place.

“I just want you to admit what you feel. You obviously want him, or you wouldn’t be diving headlong into a boozy haze.”

“I want something in my fist.”

“To compensate for the lack of a cock?”

Shock. Astonishment closed his face to her. Elliot backed away. She didn’t know why she was dragging this out so much, making such a big deal out of something they could have laughed off. After the bubbly for the toasts and the plethora of wines at dinner, the sherry on the way in and a few G and T’s apiece, neither of them was entirely sober. A kiss could be forgiven, couldn’t it? She’d probably kissed one or two guys a fraction too enthusiastically tonight. It had meant nothing—but this did.

She loved Elliot and contrition filled his expression. She wasn’t even angry with him, not deep down. She was only cross with herself for wanting something that could have such a huge impact on their relationship, and for not being brave enough to properly ask for it.

“Look, I told you, I’m sorry,” Elliot apologised yet again. “It was a slip. Adam caught me by surprise. It definitely wouldn’t have gone any further.”

“Shame,” she murmured. Thank God, he hadn’t heard her. They needed to leave this room and shove his indiscretion into a deep, dark box. “We should rejoin the party.”

He nodded. “Okay, if that’s what you want.”

It both was and wasn’t. They left the room far more divided than when they’d arrived. Elliot clearly wanted Adam, but desired forgiveness and stability in their marriage too much to give in to it, and she wanted him to admit to his attraction and watch his liberation. As for what Adam wanted, there was no real way of knowing that.

Chapter Two

Becca woke in the early hours, with cramp in her foot and a cold space beside her in the bed. She groped for her mobile phone, bleary eyed, in order to check the time. Elliot was sleeping squashed upon the banquette, with his toes overhanging the end despite his foetal position.

‘Never go to bed angry and never wake up still holding a grudge’, her grandmother had once told her. Sound advice from a woman who had spent fifty-two years with the same man. They ought to have sorted things out properly before going back downstairs to re-join the celebration. Leaving things had allowed them to fester. Elliot had spent the whole night avoiding Adam, making a hasty retreat every time the broodingly handsome guy had come within a table’s length of them. She’d kept hoping that Adam would somehow sneak up on Elliot and crush him in another embrace, which had meant she had been staring at Adam every time he’d come close—a fact Elliot had noticed and clearly interpreted as a sign of her prolonged anger.

Becca cast back the duvet and padded across to where Elliot lay huddled beneath the tartan throw. He opened his eyes the moment she knelt beside him. “I’m sorry,” he murmured.

“Shh!” She pressed a finger to his parted lips. “Want to make it up to me?”

His simple nod told her how much he wanted that far more succinctly than words. He raised his head off the pillow of clothes he’d made and reached an arm towards her. “I love you,” he whispered, just before their lips met. The rush of heat and emotion that flooded her chest was vastly out of proportion to her normal reaction. It was as if they’d rolled back time to the heady days of their courtship, when everything had been new and exciting.

Elliot shoved aside the throw.

Arousal bloomed between Becca’s thighs, so that when Elliot coaxed her onto the banquette, she covered him, straddling his waist. The gentle exploratory way in which he touched her couldn’t satisfy her rabid desire. Becca broke the kiss and sat upright. She tore her nightshirt off over her head, so that they were both bare above the waist. Elliot immediately sought her breasts. He cupped them, then, rising into a sitting position too, buried his face between their plump swell. His mouth closed over one nipple. He sucked, teasing the whole of her areola into an engorged point. Her breasts were always sensitive, but now they seemed doubly so. If only he could encompass both nipples at once, then heaven would surely be hers.

Becca’s hips began to roll of their own accord, seeking out friction for her needy clit. Elliot still had his shorts on, the cotton of which was now pulled tight over the length of his erection. Something about seeing him restricted like that chafed her senses. She shuffled backwards until she rode his trapped length.

“Damn, Becca…” He pulled aside the damp scrap of her knickers and thrust his fingers into the melt between her legs. “Let me.”

His touch seemed to draw heat into her clit, so that it bloomed with sensitivity. Her skin prickled as blood rushed to the area to satisfy her need.

“Lord, you’re so wet. You need this, don’t you? I’m so sorry I made you mad.”

“Don’t,” she chastised. She didn’t want to talk about it, didn’t want to pollute this moment with her perverse desire to see him straining beneath Adam’s strong hold. Except, it was already too late for that—the image immediately took root. Sharp and delicious, it filled her imagination. Two strong male bodies writhing together, set against the grainy background of an off-air TV set.

“What is it?” He seemed to sense her change of mood.

“Is he your type?”

“Shit, Bec! You’re still pissed at me.”

At least his fingers kept working so that she didn’t genuinely get peeved.

“I’m not mad. I’m not. I just can’t get the image of the two of you out of my head. I need to… What’s it like? How does it feel kissing him?” She imagined the rough scrap of stubble.

Elliot shook his head. “You don’t want to hear this.”

She did. She very much did. The desire for that knowledge was the primary motivator for the continued glide of her pussy over his still-confined cock. Very soon, she’d need to free him. She’d slide over him, using all the liquid heat pouring from her to welcome him deep into her sheath.

“I want to watch you.”

“You do not.”

She thought he was going to make a genuine issue of the point, until she looked into his face and recognised the germ of excitement there. He was considering it. Whether he truly believed her or not, at this moment he recognised the benefit of exploring the concept. For some crazy, unfathomable reason, the notion of seeing Elliot entwined—actually, scratch that, held down and fucked—did more for her libido than a thousand pleas for forgiveness and declarations of undying love.

“I want to see him sucking you.” The very concept made noodles of her insides. She shimmied back immediately to perform that very act herself.

The outside of Elliot’s shorts were damp with her arousal. She peeled them down over his hips, revealing the sharpness of the bones beneath. Elliot’s erection clung to the lean ridges of muscle that defined his abs. He was every bit as aroused as her, waiting, barely containing his excitement as she lowered her head. The scent of him, salty and musky, filled her nostrils. Becca made an O around the cherry-hued tip of his cock and took him into her mouth. The primal nature of this act and the level of trust involved always enthralled her. This time was no exception.

“Has he gone down on you before?” she whispered, before taking him again.

A ripple, she wasn’t sure if it was arousal or fear, rolled through Elliot’s slightly tensed limbs. “It was a long time ago.”

As if he’d thrown dynamite onto a fire, the mumbled confession set everything alight. In her imagination, it was Adam going down on Elliot, not her. His black hair fanned out over the top of Elliot’s thighs, his throat relaxed in order to take more of Elliot’s cock. Then, when Elliot started to kick and buck, and she had to hold on to him to keep him from pushing too deep, it was Adam she envisaged using his tongue against the sensitive slit to drive Elliot into a state of utter frenzy.

Becca had no idea if men performed fellatio in the same way that women did. She had only her instincts to guide her and they said ‘yes’. Although, perhaps they did it with more gusto than the typical girl. Maybe that’s because they’d know first-hand how good it felt, or maybe it was because they’d understand the correct rhythm and pace to set. The details didn’t really matter at this point, because, if she didn’t pull back, the whole fantasy would be over all too soon.