A Monster In Bed (Erotica) novel Chapter 4

Derrick sighed again and got out, walking to the entrance of The House. He wasn’t even interested in any action tonight, but he was restless and on edge. Sandra had occupied his thoughts the entire day. Ever since he’d taken her to the cemetery and had seen the difference in her.

He didn’t know what to make of the abrupt change. She’d walked out of her house in jeans and a T-shirt, looking so young and beautiful that it still made his chest ache to remember the image of her.

And then she’d asked to be left alone at the grave and she’d stayed there, her lips moving as she’d spoken to Clement for a long while. When she’d returned, there was a marked difference in her demeanor. And then that spiel about not needing him. Apologizing to him, for fuck’s sake. Apologizing for being a goddamn burden. For taking up too much of his life and time. Hell, she didn’t even realize she was his life. Or at least he hoped she would be.

He checked in with the man working the door and wandered through the lower levels. The social rooms. The places where people met up, drank good wine, mingled before moving upstairs to the common room or one of the private suites.

There were plenty of beautiful women and no shortage of interested looks thrown his way. It had been a while since he’d come here to work off some steam. Usually after he’d spent time with Sandra, pretending the woman he was with was her. It made him a bastard, but he made certain the woman he was with was taken care of. She had no way of knowing that she was a poor substitute for the one woman he couldn’t have.

Was she finally moving on? She’d talked the talk during the car ride home. She’d been blunt, painfully so, and it had cost her. He’d seen the na**d emotion in her eyes when she’d said that Clement was gone and he wasn’t coming back and she had to move on and accept that. But did she mean it?

He was afraid to hope. And he was afraid of making the wrong move. He couldn’t afford to f**k it all up by pushing her too soon. She viewed him as a friend. She viewed herself as a burden to him. Someone he’d babysat through her grief. Never even realizing that he lived for the moments when he was with her.

Clement had known that his best friend was in love with his wife. He’d known and accepted it. Derrick had been afraid that it would ruin not only their friendship, but their business partnership as well. But Clement had understood. He trusted Derrick never to act on that attraction. And he’d also exacted a promise from him that were anything ever to happen to Clement, Derrick would be there for his wife.

Hell of a note when his best friend entrusted his wife to his care if something happened to him.

Worse was the fact that Clement had exacted that promise mere weeks before he’d been killed in an accident. Almost as if he knew. Had he sensed that something would happen and that his wife would be left a young widow?

At the time, Derrick had brushed off the very serious pledge that Clement had confronted him with.

If anything ever happens to me, man, I want you to promise me. Promise me that you’ll be there for Sandra. I know you love her. If there ever comes a day that I can’t be there for her, I want you to promise me that you’ll take care of her and love her like I do.

The words echoed through his mind. Prophetic? Or just coincidence?

At the time, the promise had just been a painful reminder of all that Clement had and all that Derrick didn’t. Sandra was . . . She was beautiful. Not just physically. She could light up a room by simply walking in. She had a gentle smile that could charm even the hardest heart. And she’d never so much as looked in the direction of another man after she’d met Clement. God knows, there’d been no shortage of men only too willing to seduce another man’s wife. But Sandra acted as though she had no clue of her effect on men. And that made her all the more desirable to Derrick.

After making a quick round of the social rooms, he picked up a glass of wine—Damon Roche served only the best—and headed up the stairs to the common room.

There was the usual eclectic mix of sexcapades occurring in the large, open room. Though there were no actual partitions, the room was sectioned off simply by the participants taking their own spaces for their activities.

A mixture of sounds and smells greeted him as he walked farther into the room. The slap of flesh on flesh. The smack of a whip or a flogger. The sighs, moans and cries of ecstasy. Some of pain. Some of pleasure. The air was thick with the scent of sex.

He crossed the room, taking in the occupants, wanting to ensure that Ken and Karla weren’t present tonight. Not that he was a prude by any stretch, but seeing his other best friends having sex wasn’t high on his list of priorities. Though he shouldn’t have worried because he hadn’t seen them at The House in months. The few times in the past he had seen them, he’d cut short his own visit, because he would never do anything to make Karla uncomfortable.

She was a very special woman, and Ken was a lucky son of a bitch to have such perfection. Submissive. Beautiful. Gifting him with her absolute trust. There was not a more precious gift than a woman who gave her submission to a man.

It was what he wanted for himself, what he’d always sought out in any relationship he’d formed. But for Sandra, he’d deny that part of himself if it was the only way he had a chance at having her. Knowing Clement’s background, Derrick knew with certainty that Clement and Sandra had never delved into that lifestyle.

But then he’d never gone beyond casual sex after Sandra. Once she’d come into Clement’s life, a whirlwind, there hadn’t been another woman for Derrick. He sated his needs, made certain his partner’s were met as well and then he moved on, never willing to commit, even though he’d known that Sandra was unattainable. Only now that wasn’t true. She was free. But could she ever love another man as she’d loved Clement?

That was the question of the day. And could Derrick be content with only a part of her heart?

He nodded before he could stop himself. Hell yes, he’d take any part of her he could get. The question was, when did he make his move?

Today had given him the first ray of hope in three years that Sandra was ready to move past her grief and live her life again. He’d been patient. He’d been whatever she needed him to be. But he wanted to be so much more.

He retreated to the corner of the room, politely declining with a gentle smile a woman who offered to service him. Another night he may have let her, close his eyes and imagine Sandra under his firm but tender grasp. But tonight his thoughts were consumed with Sandra and he couldn’t muster the heart to pretend as he’d done so many other times.

His family thought him a fool for not moving beyond his feelings for Sandra a long time ago. They’d eyed him with sympathy for the last three years. His brothers had even asked him when he was going to act. But he’d known it wasn’t time. Not then. But now?

He couldn’t help the petal of hope that unfurled when he’d been with Sandra earlier today. He’d seen the difference in her eyes and in her demeanor. But then that bullshit apology for being a burden, and she’d acted as though she were finished being that burden to him.

To hell with that. If she thought he was just going to step aside, she was very wrong.

He stood watching with waning enthusiasm, not even sure what had driven him here tonight. What he wanted was to be with Sandra. Watching a movie and trying to get her mind off her grief, which is what he’d done the last two anniversaries—and plenty of times in between. The day hadn’t gone at all as he’d expected. He’d cleared his calendar, made certain his clients were covered so that he could spend the day with her.

He hadn’t expected her to all but dismiss him after their trip to the cemetery.

His gaze was drawn to the entryway where a couple entered, and he did an immediate double take.

What the ever-loving fuck?

He stared, unable to believe what he was seeing. Sandra had just walked through the doorway, a man he knew from The House at her side, his arm wrapped intimately around her waist, his hand splayed very possessively over her hip, leaving no question of his . . . ownership. Or impending ownership?

She was dressed in a killer black sheath that hugged and outlined every single one of her perfect curves. And she wore a pair of fuck-me shoes that just begged for a man to do just that. Fuck her in those heels until she screamed his name over and over.

Her hair was upswept, a few tendrils floating lazily down her slender neck, drawing attention to the delicateness of her features.