One Foolish Night
Page 53
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“Yes!” he yelled. “Fuck, yes!”
On his next thrust his orgasm crested like an ocean wave, then crashed over him, colliding with the waves that went through Holly’s body as she climaxed. His chest was heaving, his body dripping with sweat, and his heart was racing as if he were sprinting.
“Baby,” he managed to say, before capturing her lips again and kissing her for what seemed like an eternity.
When he released her, there was a wet sheen covering her eyes. He didn’t want to embarrass her, so he pretended not to see it, but the knowledge of how emotional their lovemaking had been for her warmed his heart.
“Let’s stay here tonight,” he murmured. “I don’t want to run into anybody in the house and ruin this night.”
Holly smiled up at him. “I’d like that.”
Paul nuzzled his face in the crook of her neck and chuckled. “I have to warn you, though—since we’re out here where nobody can hear us, you’re at my mercy.”
Her legs tightened around his hips as she pulled him closer. “See, that’s where you’re wrong. Because you’re at my mercy tonight.”
“Do your worst,” he encouraged her, and tried to remember how many condoms he’d tucked away in his pants pockets.
24
Holly managed to ease the bathroom door shut, hoping not to wake Paul, before she had to bend over the toilet bowl to throw up. Sabrina had warned her that morning sickness could be awful, but until now Holly had dismissed her claim as exaggerated.
Not anymore. Morning sickness was awful.
It took minutes before she was able to lift herself up again, flush the toilet one last time, and wash out her mouth at the sink.
“Holly, are you okay?” Paul asked through the door.
She glanced in the mirror over the sink and nearly recoiled. She looked as white as a sheet. “I’m fine. It’s nothing.” She opened the medicine cabinet, found a bottle of mouthwash, and gargled.
“Are you sure?”
Holly placed the bottle back where she’d found it and opened the bathroom door, forcing a smile. “Probably just something I ate last night. The food your mother’s cook made was very rich. I’m not used to that,” she lied.
“I should have offered you a brandy after dinner. It helps with digesting all that fat in the food,” Paul suggested, and brushed his hand over her head.
He was wearing his boxer briefs and his shirt, while Holly had wrapped a blanket around herself. “We’d better get dressed,” she deflected. “I’m sure they’re wondering why we’re not there for breakfast yet.”
Paul chuckled. “I must admit, I’m a tad hungry after last night’s . . . pleasurable activities.”
The thought of food made Holly’s stomach feel queasy once more, but there was nothing left in it to throw up, so she tried not to think of it and reached for her clothes. They got dressed in companionable silence, and moments later, left the pool house.
Instead of having a few moments to brace herself for the next encounter with Paul’s mother, Holly was confronted with her instantly. The entire Gilbert family—plus Tara—sat on the terrace, enjoying their breakfast. Everybody turned to look at her and Paul when they approached, surprise etched on their faces in various degrees when they realized where they’d emerged from.
“You slept in the pool house?” Paul’s mother asked, tossing a disapproving look in her son’s direction.
Paul’s hand holding hers tightened as he guided her up the stairs to the terrace. “Morning, everybody.” He motioned for Holly to sit in the chair next to Tara’s, while several good mornings came in response.
Holly noticed that the only other empty chair was next to Paul’s father, so she and Paul would have to sit as far away from each other as possible. Was this his mother’s way of trying to split them up? She would have to do better than that.
“Coffee, Holly?” Paul asked.
Though she knew she couldn’t drink it right now, she nodded.
“Sit down, Paul! Consuela will serve the coffee,” his mother commanded.
Holly fiddled with her napkin. When she looked up, she stared right at Mirabelle, who gave her a concerned look.
“You look awfully pale, Holly. Are you feeling all right?” Mirabelle asked.
“I’m f—”
“Holly isn’t used to the rich food Consuela cooked last night,” Paul interrupted.
Holly wanted to groan. There was no need for his family to know that she wasn’t feeling well. She didn’t want to draw any attention to herself. “I’m perfectly fine.”
On his next thrust his orgasm crested like an ocean wave, then crashed over him, colliding with the waves that went through Holly’s body as she climaxed. His chest was heaving, his body dripping with sweat, and his heart was racing as if he were sprinting.
“Baby,” he managed to say, before capturing her lips again and kissing her for what seemed like an eternity.
When he released her, there was a wet sheen covering her eyes. He didn’t want to embarrass her, so he pretended not to see it, but the knowledge of how emotional their lovemaking had been for her warmed his heart.
“Let’s stay here tonight,” he murmured. “I don’t want to run into anybody in the house and ruin this night.”
Holly smiled up at him. “I’d like that.”
Paul nuzzled his face in the crook of her neck and chuckled. “I have to warn you, though—since we’re out here where nobody can hear us, you’re at my mercy.”
Her legs tightened around his hips as she pulled him closer. “See, that’s where you’re wrong. Because you’re at my mercy tonight.”
“Do your worst,” he encouraged her, and tried to remember how many condoms he’d tucked away in his pants pockets.
24
Holly managed to ease the bathroom door shut, hoping not to wake Paul, before she had to bend over the toilet bowl to throw up. Sabrina had warned her that morning sickness could be awful, but until now Holly had dismissed her claim as exaggerated.
Not anymore. Morning sickness was awful.
It took minutes before she was able to lift herself up again, flush the toilet one last time, and wash out her mouth at the sink.
“Holly, are you okay?” Paul asked through the door.
She glanced in the mirror over the sink and nearly recoiled. She looked as white as a sheet. “I’m fine. It’s nothing.” She opened the medicine cabinet, found a bottle of mouthwash, and gargled.
“Are you sure?”
Holly placed the bottle back where she’d found it and opened the bathroom door, forcing a smile. “Probably just something I ate last night. The food your mother’s cook made was very rich. I’m not used to that,” she lied.
“I should have offered you a brandy after dinner. It helps with digesting all that fat in the food,” Paul suggested, and brushed his hand over her head.
He was wearing his boxer briefs and his shirt, while Holly had wrapped a blanket around herself. “We’d better get dressed,” she deflected. “I’m sure they’re wondering why we’re not there for breakfast yet.”
Paul chuckled. “I must admit, I’m a tad hungry after last night’s . . . pleasurable activities.”
The thought of food made Holly’s stomach feel queasy once more, but there was nothing left in it to throw up, so she tried not to think of it and reached for her clothes. They got dressed in companionable silence, and moments later, left the pool house.
Instead of having a few moments to brace herself for the next encounter with Paul’s mother, Holly was confronted with her instantly. The entire Gilbert family—plus Tara—sat on the terrace, enjoying their breakfast. Everybody turned to look at her and Paul when they approached, surprise etched on their faces in various degrees when they realized where they’d emerged from.
“You slept in the pool house?” Paul’s mother asked, tossing a disapproving look in her son’s direction.
Paul’s hand holding hers tightened as he guided her up the stairs to the terrace. “Morning, everybody.” He motioned for Holly to sit in the chair next to Tara’s, while several good mornings came in response.
Holly noticed that the only other empty chair was next to Paul’s father, so she and Paul would have to sit as far away from each other as possible. Was this his mother’s way of trying to split them up? She would have to do better than that.
“Coffee, Holly?” Paul asked.
Though she knew she couldn’t drink it right now, she nodded.
“Sit down, Paul! Consuela will serve the coffee,” his mother commanded.
Holly fiddled with her napkin. When she looked up, she stared right at Mirabelle, who gave her a concerned look.
“You look awfully pale, Holly. Are you feeling all right?” Mirabelle asked.
“I’m f—”
“Holly isn’t used to the rich food Consuela cooked last night,” Paul interrupted.
Holly wanted to groan. There was no need for his family to know that she wasn’t feeling well. She didn’t want to draw any attention to herself. “I’m perfectly fine.”
