Truce of Trust

Excerpt From: Truce of Trust

“I’m home!” Leah’s voice rang through the silent house. No one answered, but she noticed the screened doors to the deck were open to the balmy September breeze. Someone must be around.

She parked her overnight bag near the door, dumped her briefcase onto a chair and headed down to the basement. Daniel was probably in his studio; he wouldn’t have heard her.

Two doors faced her at the foot of the stairs. Leah cracked open the one on the right, peeking inside. She didn’t want to distract her husband if he was in the throes of a creative fervour.

Daniel hunched over the synthesiser, his eyes closed, while his nimble fingers danced across the keys. Headphones nestled in his lush, black curls, sealing him away in his magic world of sound. He had the face of a Renaissance poet, elegant features harmoniously arranged—finely drawn cheekbones, strong nose, arched brows, sensual lips. His buccaneer moustache offset the androgyny of his countenance, giving him the air of a rake, and indeed, he could dream up some extravagant mischief when he chose. Now, though, he was focused inwards, listening to the melodies in his head.

Love clutched at Leah’s chest, as it always did when she beheld his beauty. She ached to touch him. She imagined standing behind him, resting her palms lightly on his shoulders, feeling the shift and surge of his muscles as he played. She wanted to brush that stray curl away from his pale forehead, to run her tongue down the side of his neck and along his collarbone where it disappeared under his Led Zeppelin T-shirt. She would reach around to his chest, circling his sensitive nipples as her own tightened and throbbed, challenging him to ignore her caresses if he could.

Instead, she simply watched him, marvelling at his grace. She was about to shut the door and leave him in peace when his green eyes snapped open.

“Leah!” He tossed the earphones onto a pile of sheet music beside him. “Why didn’t you say something?” In an instant, he was in front of her, cradling her against his chest. “God, I missed you.”

He swept her into a kiss whose intensity confirmed his words. His mouth locked onto hers, his lips soft but his tongue brazen. He tasted of coffee and tobacco, his two vices while he was working. His passion melted her, as it always did. Her legs turned to rubber. Hot juices pooled between her thighs.

His swelling erection prodded her, through his jeans and the fabric of her dressy trousers. He reached between their bodies and unzipped her. His long fingers slipped into the opening, wriggled under the elastic of her panties and came to rest nestled in her bush. He moved his fingertips in gentle circles across her pubis in an intimate, teasing massage.

“Did you miss me?” he murmured, close to her ear. Leah tilted her pelvis, working without success to bring her hungry clit into contact with his roving fingers.

“Of course,” she replied, cupping his bulk in her palm to seize the offensive. It was true. In the middle of the afternoon’s editorial meeting, she’d had a sudden, highly distracting vision of Daniel lying naked on their bed, stroking his cock. Mr. Jamison, seeing her flush, had inquired sharply whether she was feverish. She had to excuse herself to go splash some cold water on her face.