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When I hear her low moan of arousal, I quickly divest her of her black jeans, leaving her standing before me in her silky black underwear. My gaze rakes over her hotly. I watch as her nipples pebble. I reach out and circle her areola, and then I pinch her nipple just enough to elicit a gasp.
I feel my already hard cock throb, impatient to be inside her. “Is that why you allowed me to fuck you, Anna?” I taunt, my voice cruel. “Because he couldn’t?”
Her eyes practically ignite with rage at my crude words. “No,” she steps back, out of range of my touch. “I slept with you because I had fallen in love with you.”
My outstretched hand falls to my side in shocked denial at her words. Their meaning is like a bucket of cold water thrown at me. I just look at her, my mouth practically hanging open. I watch as she bends down and regally picks up her discarded clothes. She turns without once glancing my way and walks toward her bedroom; her head held high.
I hear her door close with a soft thud and then a click as she locks her bedroom door.
Sixteen
Anna
Oh, God. I shouldn’t have admitted that to him!
I lean back against the door, my legs still weak with desire. In my mind’s eye, I still see the look of contempt on Carson’s face. Even knowing how he feels about me, I wanted him to make love to me… only it wouldn’t have been love. No, what did he call it? Hate sex.
I give a silent laugh. I look down at my clothes which are still in my hands. Then look down at my body to see my black bra still pushed up over my breasts. My nipples are hard from his touch. My entire body is left aching. There is a pulsing between my thighs from desires unfulfilled. I press my legs together, hoping to assuage the need.
Damn you, Carson. Damn you for making me want you.
I think back over his questions; the word gold-digger, surprisingly, still holds the power to sting.
There was only one person who called me that, and his opinion was expected. It was too soon after Graham’s death, and I was still stricken with grief.
So, when his stepson flung those words at me and left, I cried. Tears streamed down my face as I held Connor, his whimpers a reflection of my own distress. I buried my face in his soft hair, finding comfort in rocking him back and forth. In that moment, the four-year-old in my arms offered more solace than any adult.
As an only child, I was a surprise to my parents, who were already in their forties when I arrived. Their friends, all mature and established, doted on me throughout my childhood.
My first memories of Graham were filled with joy. He and his wife, Martha, were my parents’ best friends, and they would shower me with fifty-cent pieces during visits. Graham’s laugh would sweep through the room as he’d scoop me up and spin me around. He was like a favorite uncle, a source of unconditional love and amusement.
I was twenty when my parents were both killed in a car accident. My father somehow lost control of the car, and they slammed into a tree. Graham, now a widower, as Martha had passed seven years before, stood by my side at their funeral. He was a pillar of strength and support. As the harsh reality of their lack of life insurance and a heavily mortgaged house sunk in, I struggled. He offered not just emotional support but financial guidance as well.
He was helping me find an affordable apartment when he got his first diagnosis of cancer.
While Graham was old, he had never seemed frail. Now, a noticeable decline in his vitality cast a shadow over his once vibrant spirit. I ended up moving in with him as his health failed.
When Martha and Graham married, she had an adult son, Neal. The stepson and Graham never got along. Neal had stolen money from the couple’s savings account because he battled a gambling addiction. When Martha died, Graham attempted to distance himself from his stepson without success. When Neal discovered Graham was ill, not once did he offer support, not even when Graham’s cancer took a turn for the worse.
I took a job as a barrister because the flexible schedule allowed me to become Graham’s primary caregiver, taking him to treatments and countless doctor visits. One particularly grueling day after chemo, a weak Graham informed me that he had contacted his lawyer. He was leaving his entire estate to me.
Feeling stunned and humbled, I assured him that I’d take care of him no matter what. “Annie,” he rasped, his voice weak but his eyes filled with affection, “you’ve always been like family to me.”
The lawyer, a friendly man with a reassuring smile, arrived to solidify Graham’s wishes. He listened attentively as Graham outlined his plan. However, the lawyer pointed out a significant hurdle. Due to Graham’s ten-year marriage to Martha, her stepson could potentially contest the will, especially considering Graham’s weakened state.
Graham stubbornly demanded a foolproof way to ensure I inherited everything. He was adamant that as his full-time caregiver, I should be able to quit my job. The lawyer handled the legality of everything. He established a salary for me while strongly recommending marriage to avoid any future challenges from Neal.
At first, Graham and I were both vehemently against the idea. Marriage felt wrong to both of us. However, with his stepson already inquiring into Graham’s finances, we both caved.
That didn’t stop Neal from prolonging the settlement of the estate for years after Graham’s death. It was a long and stressful battle. At times, I almost threw in the towel and let him inherit. It was only Graham’s dying wish that kept me steadfast.
I shake my head to clear away the old memories that shroud the present like a fog.
I glance at my bedside clock. It feels like hours have gone by as I reminisced over decisions made in the past. Instead, I’m stunned that it’s only been mere minutes… I’m suddenly aware that my body is still humming - like a live wire, from my pent-up desire. I drag in a few deep breaths, but I’m still unable to calm down.
I decide on a glass of white wine. Maybe it will relax me enough to sleep.
Decision made: I hold my breath and listen for any sounds in the apartment. It’s silent, except for the beat of my heart. Carson must be in his bed. I pull off my bra but leave on my panties and throw on a robe. I warily open the door and listen again. Silence greets me, so I step into the hall and pad barefoot to the kitchen.
