The Unwanted Wife (Unwanted #1)(19)
Theresa’s breath was starting to come in little gasps as she tried to control her own need to move against him. Her hips gave the slightest twitch, and she felt herself spasm around him. He hissed at the movement, his face clenching as he withdrew slightly, only to plunge back into her as if he couldn’t bear to leave. That was all it took for Theresa’s head to fall back limply and her mouth to open on a soundless scream of ecstasy. The record speed of her orgasm seemed to take Sandro by surprise, as well as trigger his own. With a shocked sound and another half thrust, he buried himself as deep as he could go, arching backward in the process and coming violently. It seemed to last forever, but eventually his entire body went limp and he half collapsed against her, burying his face in her damp neck.
So stunned was Theresa by the unprecedented swiftness of the act, it couldn’t have lasted more than three minutes, that she nearly missed the words. In fact, she might have missed them entirely if she hadn’t felt his telltale breath on the sensitive skin of her neck. But he said them. The words were muffled but she knew exactly what he was saying. His mantra, his prayer…
“Give me a son, Theresa…” and just like that, it was over for her. Her legs fell away from his waist, and she pushed at his chest until he levered himself up to look down at her curiously. He made a soft sound of protest when he saw the tears on her cheeks and attempted to fold his arms around her. Yet another unprecedented move, but she shoved him again until he stepped away from her.
“Why are you crying?” he asked hoarsely as he readjusted his clothing.
“I hate you,” she said, dashing at the tears, despair weighting her voice.
“What we just did didn’t feel like hatred to me,” he pointed out.
“Just another…” Her mouth started to form the ugly word but he cut her off.
“Don’t say it,” he snapped. “Don’t you dare say it!”
“Why not?” she protested. “It’s the truth, and don’t you try to pretend otherwise at this stage of our so-called marriage, Sandro. Do you think sex makes things better? It makes everything worse, like adding gasoline to an already raging fire. All you’ve proved is that I am unable to resist you!”
“That is entirely mutual,” he responded dryly, and she went still.
“Oh, please…” she choked out. “Of course you can resist me. I’m just another woman to you. I’m of no particular consequence, so don’t try to play yet another game with me, Sandro! I’m sick of your lies and deceit.”
“Dio,” he hissed furiously. “You’re not just another woman, you’re my wife! You hold a position of great consequence in my life.”
“A wife you’re ashamed of? I don’t think so!”
“Whoever told you that I was ashamed of you?” He seemed outraged by the very notion.
“You did.”
“Theresa, everything else that you’ve accused me of so far has had some element of truth to it. But this is just plain ludicrous! I have never, not once, told you that I am ashamed of you.”
“You never said it; you didn’t have to.” She slid off the desk, making sure that her skirt was straight before looking up at him again. “You show me every day.”
“What?”
“I’ve never met your family, the large and extensive family that means the world to you. I know that you have two close friends, Rafael Dante and Gabriel Braddock, they’re university buddies if I’m not mistaken, and you play football with them every week. You didn’t think I knew that, did you? I haven’t met any of those people of consequence in your life.” And there was Francesca, of course, but Theresa wasn’t ready to confront him with that bit of knowledge. “They are the people who matter to you, and if I’d been the wife you wanted, a wife you were not ashamed of, I would undoubtedly have met them by now!”
“It’s not like that,” he denied, almost stumbling in his haste to reach for her, but she stepped away before he could touch her.
“Yes it is. Please don’t insult my intelligence by denying it.” She desperately looked around for her panties and saw them lying beside her drawing board. She very quickly swooped them up before turning back to face him.
“I need a shower,” she whispered bitterly. “You know what it’s like when you have an overwhelming urge to scrape the touch, the smell, the very essence of someone off your skin, don’t you? After all, that’s what you usually do thirty seconds after your orgasm, and I can finally relate to that.” She turned and left the room before he had the opportunity to respond.
CHAPTER FOUR
They barely spoke over the next week or so, merely coexisting in the same house. Sandro insisted that they take breakfast and dinner together still and that they sleep in the same bed, but he never touched her, maintaining the distance that she had insisted on. Some part of Theresa was relieved while another bemoaned the loss of the one bond they had shared. She kept telling herself that it was just sex and it had never meant anything.
Besides, she had other, more immediate, concerns. Like the fact that she had thrown up every day for the last week and she was still stricken by dizzy spells at the most unexpected times and that her period was now later than it had ever been before. She was relieved that the intimacies between her and Sandro had ceased, because he was as familiar with her cycle as she was and she would really prefer absolute certainty before telling him anything. She also wanted time to figure out what her next move would be.