Secrets We Keep

Secrets We Keep

By

Caitlyn Willows

Copyright 2009, 2015 Caitlyn Willows

Cover Artist:  Scott Carpenter

Editor: Christy Lockhart

All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

Image/art disclaimer: Licensed material is being used for illustrative purposes only. Any person depicted in the licensed material is a model.

This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Warning

This book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. The author’s books are for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

DISCLAIMER: Please do not try any new sexual practice, especially those that might be found in BDSM titles without the guidance of an experienced practitioner. The author is not responsible for any loss, harm, injury, or death resulting from use of the information contained in any of its titles.

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

About The Author

Chapter One

The bar was cooler than Susan Mitchell liked. It chilled her nipples, making the already hard points thrust high in her bra in a desperate attempt to keep warm. Or maybe they were just looking for him, anxious for the heat of his mouth, the flash of his tongue, the shafts of pleasure that shot through her when he sucked extra hard.

God, he almost could make her come from that alone. Dylan knew his way around a woman’s body, knew how to take command and pull her to the pinnacle of ecstasy and keep her there until he was ready to make her climax. Come hard and long, a full-body experience—the Holy Grail of orgasms.

He was adventurous too. They both were.

Shivers quaked down her body. She bit back the moan that built from the memory of his hard body pressing deep into hers, filling her. Susan dipped her head to hide her smile as the bartender headed her way.

He slapped a thick, square white napkin on the polished oak bar in front of her. What’s your pleasure tonight, ma’am?

She bit back the response that Dylan would be her pleasure. The statement fell under the realm of too much information. Instead, she gave the bartender a slight smile. One Coke, two cherries.

No rum tonight. Susan wondered if Dylan would notice, and what she would say if he did. Rum and Coke was her drink. She really shouldn’t be having the Coke. But that would make him suspicious—something she couldn’t afford.

The bartender darted away to fill her order. Tiny ice cubes clinked into the tall glass. In less than twenty seconds, he slid the drink in front of her, then dashed toward another customer four seats away before Susan could read the words etched along the vines and roses tattoo that snaked up his beefy arm. Good guy or bad guy? It was so hard to tell anymore.

She stared at the dark liquid, counting the bubbles that kissed the surface. Her hand shook as she lifted the glass. Condensation marked her fingerprints. Maybe she should have covered the glass with the napkin first.

Now you’re getting paranoid.

Who could blame her?

Susan curled the napkin around the glass and smeared the prints she’d left there. It was the best she could do. She closed her lips over the thin red straw but didn’t drink. Her stomach was a mass of butterflies with an added dose of queasy on top.

She had to be alert, ready at a moment’s notice for everything and anything. Still, she had to maintain the ruse of bar patron, and Coke would suffice. The cherries were an extra bonus they’d enjoy once Dylan arrived. He’d trickle the juice down her throat and lick it up until he reached her lips. Then he’d thrust his tongue between them, reclaiming her as his and his alone.

Susan hadn’t expected to be this nervous. After all this time, she should be used to these hook-ups. They’d certainly done more daring things before, but nothing this dangerous. She’d been a bundle of nerves and anticipation for days, bringing herself to orgasm whenever possible to quell the ache between her thighs. It did little to soothe or calm her heart. Even now, it pounded against her ribcage, waiting and wanting. Once the night was over, her heart would break under the crushing loneliness left in the wake of this liaison.

Make sure the pretty lady at the other end of the bar gets a refill.

Susan glanced up at the sound of a man’s voice and caught his gaze in the mirror facing them. His lecherous smile widened as he lifted his beer in a toast Susan refused to return. She resisted the urge to point out he had foam stuck to his black pencil-thin mustache.

No, thank you, she replied.

Polite, firm, and chilly. She prayed he got the message. These hard-won liaisons were her lifeline to sanity. Dylan’s too. Nothing must ruin them. The place was different each time, but their monthly appointments a given for six months standing.

She shifted her gaze to her own reflection, further shunning interest. She’d dressed for Dylan, at his command. Long brown hair loose, black dress showing a hint of cleavage, no hose, no panties, and four-inch heels that were killing her feet, but really made her calves look hot.

All right, maybe not as discreet and average as she was supposed to be, but they only met once a month, and Dylan needed all his fantasies fulfilled in that single night. So did she. Come morning, she’d be sore. Well-fucked, he called it. He wasn’t wrong.

Susan brushed her fingers over the strand of pearls around her neck. A single oblong pendant dangled from it, pointing to the valley of her breasts. This was new, sent to her only that morning with his instructions to wear it tonight. The odd clasp had been a son of a bitch to hook. She hoped the little clamps held. It had to have cost him a fortune, not that money was an issue for him. Not for the moment anyway.

Her skin warmed under the necklace, imagining how it would feel when he removed the pearls and his hot lips replaced them. Susan crossed her legs and squeezed her thighs. Hard nipples now had a little friend joining them. All three points demanded attention, but the one nestled in the cleft of her body screamed for release. And it wanted it now.

Susan toyed with the stem of one cherry, flicking it back and forth, watching it bob on a sea of ice next to its partner. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t focus her thoughts away from Dylan and from what tonight would bring. It had to be a sin to want someone so badly. If so, she’d gladly go to hell for it. She’d be headed there anyway for not sharing the secret she held inside with him tonight. He’d have to understand it was for his own protection, have to understand when things became too complicated to meet with him, have to understand when...

She caught movement out of the corner of her eye and snapped her gaze back to the mirror at the same moment her would-be suitor slid onto the stool beside her. Couldn’t the guy take a hint? Alarm raced her heart. Could there be more to it? Had he been sent here to spy on them?

May I help you? Ice filled her words.

The man’s too-white grin blinded her. Let me count the ways.

I’m meeting someone. Sorry, not interested. Not now, not ever.

Ah...husband. He glanced at her left hand.

Susan looked too, giving herself away. She’d removed her wedding band before she’d left the house, but the fact she’d looked was clear indication a ring should be on her finger. No tan line marked the spot. They were careful about that. Oh-so-careful about so many things, and foolishly negligent with others.

That’s okay, he said, leaning closer. He reeked of booze. I like a little walk on the wild side myself.

He dropped his hand to her knee. Susan jerked away and wrapped her fingers around her clutch purse. She’d deck the guy if she wasn’t so afraid a scene would draw the wrong attention.

No, thank you. She hopped from the stool. The man blocked her exit. He moved fast for a drunk.

Come on, baby. A woman like you is either a pro or a horny housewife on the prowl. Either way I’ve got the stuff to deliver.

She bit back a scathing retort.

He edged closer, nailing her in place with his hands locked at her sides on the bar. Susan’s stomach roiled from the cloud of alcohol pouring off him. Her rising anger chased away the urge to gag.

Where the hell was the bartender? Or did the jerk think a woman like her didn’t deserve protecting?

A knee to the crotch? Her drink dripping from his pointy nose? Both sounded great but were far from the low profile she was supposed to maintain. Any deviation would end her night before it got started and could eliminate future dates sooner than she wanted—a thought she couldn’t bear since they only had three hook-ups left. Until then, she wanted every minute they could steal.

The edge of the bar dug into Susan’s back and pushed her chest out. The guy moved in for the kill. She leaned farther away. If he so much as breathed on her, she’d—

Hey! You! Back off! the bartender snapped.

Finally.

Then long fingers clamped over the man’s shoulder, fingers she’d recognize anywhere. Susan sagged with relief.

You heard the man. Dylan’s deep voice caressed her. The lady’s not interested.

The guy jerked his head around, glaring up at Dylan. How would you know?

Dylan’s grip tightened. Susan gloried in the wince twisting the other man’s face. Both men wore dark gray suits, but Dylan filled his with the bulk of a linebacker, while this jerk looked like he’d been playing in his father’s closet.

Because she’s mine.

She held her breath waiting for Dylan to add, Bought and paid for. The words went unspoken. Instead, he wedged his hips against the guy’s ass, threatening him in a different way. Unless you’d rather take her place.

The man’s eyes and mouth widened with horror. No fucking way. I’m getting the hell out of here. He scrambled for freedom, but not before Dylan added another hip thrust to make sure the guy got the message. Then Dylan stepped to one side. The man took off like the hounds of hell snapped at his heels.

It was hard not to laugh. Harder still not to wrap her arms around her hero. Impossible to bank the love she knew blazed from her eyes.

Dylan didn’t call her on the lapse from protocol. He winked with his smile, then caught her fingers in his own. The devil danced in his golden-brown eyes. Angels blessed his magnificent body.

Come, sweetness. I believe a darkened booth is calling our names.

She gripped the lifeline he offered, knees shaking with every step she took forward. We aren’t going to your room?

He burrowed his face into her hair until his lips met her ear. Such impatience. I’m in the mood to savor the experience tonight. He flicked his tongue around her ear, then nipped the lobe. Come.

She bit back the urge to tell him she’d like nothing better than to come. Right here, right now.

He snagged her drink in one broad hand and placed the other over her hip, drawing her with him to the darker corner. The heels put her right in that sweet spot under his arm, where all she had to do was lean in to rest her head on his shoulder.

Whispered conversations and soft moans drifted her way. There was the clink of glass on glass, husky and seductive laughter merging as one. A piano on the other side of the room finally found its mate. Music filled what few voids in sound existed and covered the gasps of passion not meant for public ears but impossible to control.

Nice touch, he said against her ear.

Not bad. Susan glanced up at him through her lashes. I’ve heard better.

Spoiled. He squeezed her hip.

Cultured by the best, she tossed back, and slid into the black leather booth, scooting to the top of the small semicircle.

Dylan leaned over the amber candleholder aglow in the center. One puff extinguished the flame and ignited fire in Susan’s veins. He glided into place beside her, placing the drink on the table with such precision the ice didn’t rattle. That was Dylan—precise, methodical, determined, aggressive. Thorough in everything he did. All he had to do was crook his finger and she was his. It’d been that way since the moment they’d first met.

He plucked a cherry from her drink. It’s been a long month, sweetness, he said, bringing the dripping fruit to her lips. I intend to fuck you long and hard tonight.

Her mouth parted on a gasp. He filled the gap with the cherry. Remind me of what you can do with that nimble tongue of yours.

Gaze locked to his eyes, Susan looped her tongue in a slow circle around the cherry. Long lashes kissed his cheeks with his sharp intake of breath. The sound speared her soul and lodged in her heart. He lifted his lids partway, watching her through a veil of lust. Susan rolled the fruit between her lips, then flicked her tongue out to map the corners. His gaze tracked the movement, mouth open as his breath grew more labored. She longed to drop her hand to his lap and cup the erection she knew thrummed hot and hard for her. It wasn’t easy letting him have the lead when all she wanted was to shove him down, straddle him, lift up her dress, and slam onto his cock so deep she could taste his cum.

Susan pulled the cherry off the stem. His eyes glazed over. Dylan cupped her face and plunged his tongue into her mouth, dueling for the fruit until her whimpered moan masked his groan. One flick secured his prize. He pulled away, chewing slowly, and kneaded his fingers over her hip, then around to her backside.

"Good