|Every Step You Take by Jane New|
Chris laughed and fell back onto Tracy’s bed, taking her with him. “Don’t you ever get enough?”
“Of you? No, never.” She lay across his broad chest while his cock faded within her. He’d be hard again in about half an hour, she knew. No one man had ever satisfied her like Chris did, or as often.
He buried his fingers in her brown curls and raised her head so she was looking into his eyes. “Then why do you stay here?” he asked.
It was an old argument, one they had rehashed many times in recent weeks.
“I have to,” she answered, wriggling up to his mouth and kissing him deeply in an attempt to prevent further discussion.
As usual, they lost themselves in their kiss, and the first signs of his prick reviving pressed against her thigh.
She rolled off him, putting a little distance between them.
His question felt like ripping warm bed clothes off her on a cold winter’s morning.
She sighed. “Because Mr. Browne needs me. He relies on me. We’ve been together a while now, and I understand his...needs.”
“Been together?” repeated Chris. “You make it sound as though you’re married to him. You’re just his housekeeper, or that’s what you told me.”
“Don’t be like that, Chris. Mr. Browne’s been good to me. He’s given me a lot of...freedom. I love this job, I really do.”
“More than you love me?”
Tracy rolled off the bed, stood up, and turned to face him. In the soft glow of the bedside lamp, he was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. He could have been a male model, a film star, or even an ancient god. Instead, he was a gardener who mowed lawns, trimmed trees, and loved flowers of all kinds.
Now, as always, the look in his eyes told her he thought she was the best thing he’d ever seen.
She needed to put some distance between them. “Mr. Browne gave me this job and a place to live when no one else would even let me in their front door. I was unemployed and flat broke and living in a shabby little studio next to a railway track.”
“He’s a dirty old man who gets off on perving on you all day.”
Tracy wrenched open the wardrobe door and grabbed a terry bathrobe. “You don’t know what you’re fucking saying. If you’re going to insult someone I care about deeply, then you can get out of my fucking bed and my fucking bedroom.”
She shoved her arms into the sleeves of the robe, knotted the belt around her waist, and stalked out of the bedroom.
Standing in the center of the moonlit living room, she breathed deeply and forced herself to calm down. She had never told Chris about Philip being her lover or of the many times Philip had encouraged her to have sexual adventures and relate them to him later so he could enjoy them vicariously.
But she cared about Chris, she really did.
She clenched her fists and ground her teeth together. She didn’t know whether she wanted to burst into tears or scream. Why does it all have to be so fucking complicated?
Chris came up behind her, wrapped his arms around her, and gently pulled her back against his chest. His short, soft beard brushed the side of her face as he kissed her temple. “Tracy, I don’t want to fight. I care about you, you know I do. I want us to be together instead of just stealing a few hours when your boss can spare you.”
“Leave Philip out of this. He’s none of your business.”
As soon as the name had slipped out, she knew she’d made a mistake. She felt Chris tense at the use of her boss’s first name.
“Philip, is it? Not Mr. Browne?”
“I... I think of him as Philip, that’s all. Of course he’s Mr. Browne when I’m working.” She turned in Chris’ arms and looked up at him. “Just imagine, for one moment, what it would be like for a strong, virile, attractive man—a lot like you are now—to lose not only the wife he loved deeply but the use of his legs as well. Because that’s what happened to Philip five years ago.”
Chris ducked his head and looked away. He already knew Philip’s story. “You’re right Tracy. I’ve been a right prick, haven’t I?”
“Yes, you have. Now can we drop it? I have to stay here. You’re going to have to accept that if you want to keep on seeing me.”