Melissa turned her face back toward the ceiling. She shut her eyes. She swallowed,, finding it hard to get her saliva to move through her constricted throat.
She told herself to quit breathing so hard. She didn't want John to even suspect she had seen him. She had to pretend as if she had slept through it all.
Why were the insides of her thighs wet?
Melissa heard the sounds of her reviving husband on his bed. Shortly, she heard John leave his bed and go into the bathroom. Melissa waited for the sound of running water. She then opened her eyes, glancing to make sure that John was indeed out of the room.
Melissa ran her right hand down over her breasts. Jesus, her nipples were hard! She glided her fingers further, down over ' her belly. Her palm cupped over her pussy, her fingers curving downward between her legs.
"Ugghhhhhh!" Melissa groaned in surprise, her eyes popping wide with the unexpected shock that shot through her.
Oh, Jesus, she thought, feeling the dampness of her nightie between her legs, she was cumming. She was cummming. Oh… Jesus… Jesus… Jesus… she… was… cummmmmmmming!
In the bathroom, John finished wiping off his cock and hung the wet washrag back on the towel rack. As he did so, he was hoping his wife would use that particular washrag to clean off her face in the morning.
Chapter 2
Marne Davenport shut the book in her lap and looked up as if she were on the verge of saying something. Seeing her husband seemingly engrossed in the paperwork scattered on top of the bed, Marne apparently decided not to say whatever it was she had been going to. Instead, she laid the book to the table beside her chair and got up.
She crossed the room to the large window that looked out on the manicured lawns, geometric gardens, swimming pool and cabana. It was a beautiful house. It really was. Marne hoped Creagon and his sister would decide to keep it. There was plenty of room for four people to live comfortably on the premises without getting in each other's way. There would have been plenty of room for children, too. AND, Marne did want children. Now that Creagon was due to get half of the inheritance, money wouldn't be quite so tight; and, they could start their family without further waiting.
And, if the two families did decide to move in together, Marne would have the chance to get reacquainted with her brother…
Creagon had sensed his wife's movement, but he finished reading the document in his hand. It was paperwork from the office; although, he didn't know why he was bothering. He was half owner now of Davenport Electronic International, wasn't he? He really didn't have to worry too much about his own struggling little electronics firm, did he? Not any more. The concern over the finances of the small business operations which had compelled him to bring his stuffed briefcase along to the house of his ailing father was no longer present, was it! Creagon Davenport was now solvent. He now had no money worries. He was now his own man. He could either fold his own firm or merge it into the bigger Davenport Electronic company. He was sure Melissa wouldn't object to the latter. Melissa had already told him she was going to be counting on him to run the business. It was funny, but Melissa hadn't even mentioned what part she expected John to play. But, then, there was plenty of time to get into that, wasn't there? William Davenport, after all, had only been buried a few hours.
And, wasn't it strange trying to image a world without William Davenport off somewhere lurking in the wings? Somehow, Creagon had actually expected the old man to go on forever. Creagon hadn't even thought of the possibility of his father's death. He had certainly never wished it on the old man, no matter how much of a bastard his father had been. Perhaps, though, the only reason Creagon hadn't wished for his father's death was because he hadn't expected it to do either him or Marne any damned good. Creagon had believed his father's threats of complete disinheritance. Creagon had quite accepted the idea that he would have to struggle his whole life to get the things he wanted; and, then, his father had said he wanted to see him.
So, what had changed his father's mind? Would anyone ever know? Maybe the elder Davenport had simply sat down one day and taken account of the mess he had made out of his family. God only knew; because it was obvious William Davenport had taken the secret to his grave with him. While he had asked to talk to both Melissa and Creagon in the end, he had gone way too fast to get that last final wish. He had only muttered something about being sorry to Melissa. Had he been delirious or cognizant of what he had been saying? Was he really sorry?. If so, why did the bastard have to wait so fucking long to realize it?
Oh, Creagon wasn't so concerned about the way his own life had turned out. He was a man, after all. He had been able to break away, live without William Davenport towering over him ever minute of the way. What pissed Creagon off was what William Davenport had done to screw up Melissa.
Creagon realized he wasn't paying attention to the paperwork any longer. He gathered up the sheets, tapping them into a neat pile. He then turned his attention to Marne, knowing intuitively that something was on her mind. Creagon and Marne had been able to communicate without words since their first meeting at Melissa and John's wedding.
"Want to talk about it?" Creagon asked the back of his pretty wife.
Marne turned from the window, flashing her husband a wide smile. She was, indeed, a beautiful woman, made even more so by the sensuously clinging folds of the apricot-colored negligйe that molded to her exquisite body. Her rose-tinted nipples were visible beneath the filmy material that fell over luscious breasts and down to her ankles.
"Is it all that obvious that I'm thinking about anything needing discussion?" Marne asked.
"Yes," Creagon answered, knowing Marne had known the answer without hearing it.
Creagon patted the edge of the bed, indicating the spot his wife could take if she wanted a willing ear.
"It really can wait until you finish your work," Marne said. "It's not anything so vital that I can't wait another few minutes."
"It's the business that can wait," Creagon said. "Certainly this business anyway. After all, I'm a millionaire, aren't I? A few thousand dollars worth of sales no longer seems quite as important as it did only a week ago."
Marne moved from the window, gliding toward the bed like some fashion model in one of those TV commercials who miraculously transforms into a sleek jungle cat right before your eyes.
Creagon watched his wife with the same awe and wonder that had always accompanied his viewing of her. He felt the familiar responsive jerks of his cock at his groin. Only one other woman (girl?) had ever affected him quite that way. And that other woman (girl) had been dead now for some fifteen years.
Marne's titian hair was thick and luxurious, tumbling down in swirling waves of brownish-red hues. The red highlights caught in the light from the chandelier, moving as Marne moved. The hair framed a face that was, surprisingly enough, completely free of freckles. The skin was clear of any blemish except for the small dark mole at Marne's upper left cheekbone. The darkness of that mole made Marne's skin appear almost the color of fine porcelain in contrast.
Marne sat on the edge of the bed. She leaned toward her husband, giving him an affectionate kiss on his lips. She then pulled back and gave Creagon another smile.