Unpardonable Sin-15

Unpardonable Sin-151

Chapter 102

Andrea Nelson never visited Thomas Devlin’s home. It was one of the unwritten laws that governed their relationship since the early days. There were solid reasons behind it. Heading that list of reasons was Shelia Connors Beechen. Shelia had located and helped furnish the house in Westchester and still felt attached to it and its owner. 3

So when Thomas found Andrea raging outside his door at one in the morning he was surprised. And he was stupid, stupid, stupid, he kept reaffirming his opinion of himself, for letting her in.4

The bitch had been screaming at him for the past hour. “You never intended for me to meet your precious God damn family. Andrea’s just your whore, hop on, when your prick’s hard and you need a place to stick it. From now on you can stick it up your ass!”5

‘Sure, I’ll become a contortionist’ he thought but didn’t say. When Andrea’s temper was flaring, he’d learn the safest response was no response. He moved from room to room, trying to stay sufficiently away from the furious female less one of the objects she pitched connected with him. 6

“The fucking brat runs away from a police officer! Runs away because the guy happens to be black! Your kind are worse than some bunch of hairy-ass rednecks. Because you know better—still you teach your damn kids the same racist shit….”7

On and on. To him it was all bullshit. Andrea, who he doubted had ever been subjected to a racial insult in her life, could rant on about the mess forever. ‘She should have been born a papist in Ulster’. He fought a grin. It hadn’t taken him long to deduce what was really pissing her off was his reluctance to introduce her to his family. That had nothing to do with her looks. She was beautiful and he escorted her out in public regularly. He’d never even thought about their situation or had he? Whenever they were together with other people it felt like they were two actors on a stage playing roles that someone else had written. Alone, there was nothing between them but war and sex. 8

Tried and disgusted Thomas left Andrea in the living room kicking hell out of his helpless couch. He went in the bedroom to catch a few hours sleep. He slammed the door hoping she’d take the hint and leave. 9

She didn’t. He’d just begun to drop off when she stood in the open doorway light spilling over her from the hall. Five ten in her bare feet, Andrea was swarthy the way an Arab is dark skinned. She had that tawny permanent tan of races native to desert lands like the color of weatherworn cedar. She had the flat stomach of a swimmer, with a long and angular body that boasted nicely curved hips and high placed full breasts. Extraordinarily good looking, even in crowded New York City, she could stand out, especially naked like she was now. “Come on lazy boy—wakeup and make love to me,” she slurred out the words. 10

“Boy! Shit!” He hated it when she called him boy. Once he’d considered it cute and attributed it to fact that she was a number of years older. He’d been a dumb Irishman then and didn’t realize the significance of the title to a black American. He‘d told her more than once to stick the term up her ass. So she learned to refrain from calling him boy, except when she was upset with him. Like tonight.11

Stripped to his shorts, he was only about one third functioning when she eased herself beside him on the bed. Her naked skin gave off a musky odor that reminded him of the candles she burned in her own apartment. And that’s where his brain wished she were. She positioned herself and moved closer, her feet crept over his ankles and her toes played a melody as they moved up to his calves.12

Thomas rose on his elbow and stared down at Andrea. An amazing bitch, he smiled, raunchy, gutsy—and so goddamn sexy that looking at her made his body ache. The tantrum she’d thrown should have left her face red and puffy but it didn’t. “So you’ve come back down to earth?”13

“Hush up, you silly boy.” Her lips covered his mouth as she wiggled closer. She placed her left hand on the middle of his bare chest as if listening for his heartbeat, and her right hand dropped down to travel beneath the edge of his waistband. She pulled at his shorts as if they offended her. He slipped them off. Then her breath steamy hot began sending shivers through his flesh as her open mouth moved down to his neck. He lay still, struggling not to react, as her thumbs dug into his inner thighs and her fingers messaged the tops of his legs. Soon her hands were moving again pinching his flesh between her fingers. The jolts of sensation sent nerves tingling on his stomach, down his legs, his skin’s surface seemed to whisper with a voice of it’s own. 14

Her tongue was flicking snake-like on the soft spot of his throat, just at his Adam’s apple, flicking, licking, wetting, and then her teeth began to softly nibble as the wetness and warmth of her mouth headed down chest and beyond. Pausing now and then she sucked at his flesh as if attempting to extract the fluid beneath. Suddenly she lifted her head and stared down at him. Then rose up to straddle his thighs. 15

Her head was thrown back and her long hair tickled his knees while her breasts stood out in defiance—the nipples were purple and trembling--tempting but inaccessible. He had to wiggle and squirm beneath her waiting for her permission. He tried to think how this slightly dominating business between them got started, but his tendency was not to think, the requirement was to hold on, hold back, and chew his lip until her body signaled she was ready. The sound came from her throat deep and feral and she fell forward her nipples poking into his chest as her breasts flattened against him and her knees jammed into his thighs.16

Now he reacted by grabbing her shoulders and flinging her on her back. He raised his body over hers forcing her legs apart with his knees. His penis sprung up hitting her belly fully erect and aching for the spot it sought to fill. Its head found the entrance and he rammed into her until their groins met. Again and again he drove into her body. Not allowing himself to climax while she gasped and moaned with each violent thrust. Together they came upward to a kneeling position and clutched at each other’s bodies and struggled like two wrestlers engaged in mortal combat. She pounded and squeezed on his back as if fighting him off but in truth her body pressed harder against his. Again and again she drew him into her. Finally he could withstand it no longer and exploded in several short intense bursts of pleasure.17

They fell back on the bed, drenched with sweat and Andrea began to lick the moisture from his flesh. A long slow process that often led to a repeat performance, but tonight he didn’t find it tantalizing. He pushed her away. “I need some sleep, Andrea. I’ve a lot of things going on—and you running your mouth off half the night was not in the equation.”18

“What!” She looked startled like he slapped her. “You want me to leave?” And then she began slapping him. She belted him across the chest several times before he could grab her wrists. 19

“Damn it! Cut the shit! I’m not throwing you out.” He shook her. “Go sleep in the guestroom or curl up on the sofa. I just want you away from me.” He shoved her. 20

Andrea’s buttocks hit the dresser; she yelped and lifted the first thing her hand fell on. She smashed the bottle of cologne against the wooden surface. She held up the shattered glass with the sharp edges pointed towards Thomas as she advanced on the bed. “bastard, bastard, bastard…” ran together like a single word.21

He leaped from the bed. His open palm smashed her across the face—once, twice, her head rotated back and forth like it was about to swivel off her neck. She was still holding the shard as he shoved her through the door and this time locked it. “If you feel like slicing your throat, bitch, go home and do it. Don’t bloody up my place.” He dropped on the bed. She’d gone screwy on him before, ruined a lot of his things, but never actually threatened to cut him. He didn’t like this add-on one damn bit. He couldn’t hear her. Maybe he should check on her—hell with it. She could be waiting outside the door ready to plunge a knife in him. Rolling over on his belly, he covered his head with a pillow. If she was still there in the morning—he would explain this nonsense had to stop. They were just no good for each other. Tonight was their finale.22