His fingers trails back to my s.e.x, and he toys with me a little, that obnoxious grin still plastered on his face.

And then he slides his finger inside.

Finally...

I close my eyes and let myself enjoy the sensation. He's so wonderful at this. I can feel myself responding to his touch, so strongly, so quickly. I don't want to climax like this, but I let him tease me a little more, enjoying the building pressure.

And finally when I'm nearing the edge, I force myself to pull his hand away. I want to be with him. "Weston," I whisper. "I want you."

His kiss trails down my neck to my shoulder, and he grabs my rear. He pulls me up against him, and I wrap my legs around his hips.

He carries me across the room, and everything's a blur-the living room, the dining room, the entire s.p.a.ce. I feel light in his arms-my body fits perfectly against his-like it belongs there. He throws me on the bed and leans down on me, his body heavy. My legs are still in tangles around him, and I don't want to let go.

He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear and looks at me, his gaze soft. I stare at his beautiful eyes, his sensual mouth. His touch is suddenly gentle as a feather as he undoes the pearl b.u.t.tons on my blouse, not taking his eyes off me. We're in slow motion-time seems to stand still. Finally, he leans in to kiss my collarbone. I pull his face to mine, and kiss him...completely caught up in him.

Desperately wanting him inside me, I tear my mouth away from his. "Do you have..." I ask him, my words breathless, my hands buried in his boxers, the warm smooth skin of his rear on my palms.

He doesn't say a word and reaches into his pocket.

I realize I've never used a condom. I've always been on the pill, and I've only been with Gabe. I struggle and Weston helps me-he seems to sense my lack of experience. Finally, I gently slide the condom on, my heart pounding.

He buries his face into my neck, and touches me again, sliding his fingers in and out. I don't want to come just yet. I don't know how long I'm going to last. I want to make love.

"Please," I plead. "Now..."

He pulls his hand away from my s.e.x and wipes his wet fingers along my thigh. He trails kisses along the lacy edge of my bra and pulls my breast out of its cup and kisses it with such gentleness, I almost melt.

His kiss travels softly to my neck as he sinks into me. His heat fills me. And it seems my whole body sparks. But as wonderful as it is, it does feel somewhat foreign-another man inside me.

He buries his face in my hair. "You are beautiful."

He's slow and gentle at first. We kiss softly, hands tangled in each other's hair.

But before long, his grasp pulls at my hair, his lips tear away from mine, and he pushes into me harder, driving deeper and deeper into me-I love every thrust. I moan so loudly, I am practically screaming. I want him to hear how amazing he makes me feel. He breathes hard into my ear, and I think he whispers my name-his voice is so soft, I'm not sure.

I'm coming closer and closer to the edge. The louder I moan, the harder he pushes, my climax building.

He owns it. My pleasure is in his hands.

Finally, the tension in me releases in waves of pure ecstasy. I cry out and dig my nails into his back, the cashmere soft against my fingers. He pushes hard into me and stills as his climax follows mine. His moans are slow and soft, his breath is warm against my ear.

I feel slightly numb.

And wonderful.

His face is still buried in my neck. I don't dare look at him. I realize we are both still fully dressed. I hadn't imagined our first time like this-in my fantasies, we were both completely naked, exploring every single inch of each other's bodies. But reality is never quite like fantasy. Reality, in this case, was still pretty amazing, I tell myself, still recovering from one of the best o.r.g.a.s.ms I've ever had.

His weight suffocates me.

I push him off me. "Weston..."

He slides out of me slowly and pulls away. I almost reach for him. But he moves swiftly to the edge of the bed. He stands and turns from me. I catch a glimpse of his a.s.s as he pulls his pants back up-he has a great a.s.s. He leaves for the washroom without looking back.

I sit up, pop my breast back into my bra, and smooth down my skirt. My heart sinks. I don't know what to think.

What was I expecting? Cuddles?

I should have expected this-he warned me.

This is about s.e.x. Plain and simple.

I hear the running water.

No words. No kiss. I still can't believe it.

He comes back and his pants are done up, his hair is smooth, and he's wearing his gla.s.ses.

He smiles at me and grabs his satchel off the floor. "You were wonderful."

Well, there's something.

He kisses the tip of my nose. "I'm sorry, but I do have to run. I'm running late. My date with the kids..."

I b.u.t.ton up my blouse and stare down at my sensible black ballet flats-s.e.x with my shoes on-how wild. "I understand."

My heart sinks even deeper. I want to cry. But I can't let him see me crumble. He has warned me about this. And I promised him I could handle it.

He reaches into his satchel. "Feel free to stay." He pulls out his wallet, and for a brief moment, I have this horrible vision of him giving me money.

"Here's a card for my car service. Call them when you're ready to leave," he hands me the card, "You can order room service if you wish. You barely ate a thing at lunch."

"I might." I try to act normal, even though I'm dying inside.

"Good, I was starting to wonder how you keep your curves," he teases. "I've barely ever seen you eat a thing."

"What are you trying to say?" I ask, a little self-conscious.

He laughs. "You're beautiful," he a.s.sures me. "You're perfect. Please don't ever lose an inch."

"You've never seen me naked."

He scratches his chin. "Yes..." he says, "we'll have to rectify that, won't we?" he adds as he walks away.

"Next time, I want to see you," he says as he reaches the door, "every inch of you."

And just like that, he's out the door, and I'm left with a business card in my hands and no panties.

I feel like such a wh.o.r.e.

When I get home, I kick off my shoes and practically sprint to see the girls. They're lying on the sofa downstairs in the rec room, eating potato chips and watching a movie they've seen a million times before. I hug Chloe tightly and guilt washes over me. How could I have done this? To her...to Claire? This kind of thing never ends well. And they're the ones who will probably suffer for it...I feel the familiar lump in my throat.

Claire pops a potato chip in her tiny mouth. "What have you been up to, little lady?" she asks, her voice as sweet as ever. It's the same question she's asked me a hundred times before, parroting her father, saying it just the way he does.

Sweet heavenly days...I have been up to no good.

I bite my lip and slump on the sofa, not quite looking at her. "Nothing." I have officially starting lying now. To my own daughter.

"Well, it must have been something, Mom...you were gone for hours," Chloe pipes in, not taking her eyes off the TV. I'm glad she's not looking at me. If she were, she'd probably know I'm lying through my teeth.

"I was checking out some stores I like in the city." When I should have been spending time with you.

Gabe bounds down the stairs. I can't quite look at him.

I don't want to do this.

"Ella..." he says.

I venture a look up at him. He stands there, motionless, today's newspaper dangling in one hand.

He knows. I'm not sure how, but his expression says it all. He looks like he's been kicked in the gut.

d.a.m.n it, I didn't want this.

He throws the paper at the wall and bounds back up the stairs. The loud bang stuns the girls-Chloe finally takes her eyes off the TV, slack-jawed. It's what he does when he's p.i.s.sed-he throws things.

I run after him, wanting to explain. "Gabe, I..."

When I finally reach him upstairs, he turns to me and grabs my wrist, pulling me to him. I can tell he has no intention of letting go. He drags me to the powder room and slams the door shut behind us. He definitely knows what I've been up to.

He glares at me. "What happened?"

I can't seem to form the words I need to answer him.

"Did he hurt you?"

Did he hurt me? Yes, he did. "No."

"Why have you been crying then? What happened?"

I don't say a word, knowing my silence will be his answer. The truth is, I can't find the words. I can barely breathe.

"Did you f.u.c.k him?" he snaps. I'm not sure why he's asking since he seems to already know. He grabs my waist and buries his head into my neck. "I can smell him on you."

Tears make their way down my cheeks. "I'm sorry," I whisper, my voice ragged, "I planned to end things with him, but then..."

He presses closer against me. I want to escape. I don't want to have this conversation. "But then...you begged him to stick it in you...I get it."

"Don't be like that," I plead as I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror. No wonder he knew; running mascara, flushed face, just-f.u.c.ked hair-I'm a dead giveaway.

"How was he?" he breathes in my ear. "Better than me?"

I don't answer him of course. He wasn't better, I want to say...just different.

He presses me against the wall. "I'd be surprised if he was," gently biting my earlobe, "there's no one who can f.u.c.k you better than I can."

He trails his mouth along my collarbone. "Tell me something," he says, his words playful. "Did Mr. Stiff-Upper-Lip make you fold your panties after you took them off?"

I don't know what possesses me, but his arrogance gets to me. And I know I'll regret the words as soon as I say them. And I know I'm not supposed to talk about what happens behind closed doors, but the words come out before I can stop them. "No, he buried his nose in them...and shoved them in his pocket."

He jolts back, a scowl on his face. He turns from me, grabs the hand towel off the hook and throws it at the mirror, so hard, the "smack" bounces off the walls.

There's a good reason for the rules, I chide myself.

I have such a big mouth.

Surprisingly, his expression softens and his anger seems to dissipate.

His hand reaches for the collar of my blouse. He undoes the b.u.t.tons slowly, surprisingly gently. "Wow, I'm impressed." He trails his hand down my chest. "Did he use a condom?"

I can't believe he would even ask me that question. "Of course."

He slides his rough hand up my leg. "Good. I'm putting my stamp on you. I'm completely erasing him."

He can't possibly want me here, now, in the powder room?

I can't do this.

This is not the time or place.

And he's not thinking straight.

His hand stills when he reaches my hips and realizes I'm going commando. "What the f.u.c.k?"

"Uh..." I stammer. I want to disappear. "Still in his pocket," I tell him, my words barely a whisper.

He looks at me with an expression I've never seen before-anger mixed with pure desire. "You are a little tramp, aren't you?" he whispers in my ear. "So, you'll probably like it when I treat you like one."

He's still fuming.

The grasp of his hand is hard.

This doesn't feel right.

His reaction shocks me-I've never seen him quite like this. I can't let him treat me like this. No matter how angry he is.

I push him off me. "Back off, Gabe. I don't want to play this game."

His face softens-apparently, I've finally knocked some sense into him. "I'm sorry," he says quietly.