Keep Me (Sinful Manor #1)

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

The day goes by in a blur of laughter and conversation. My friends leave tomorrow, and already I’m feeling like a real ass for staying out of touch for so long. We reminisce about uni, catch up on each other’s lives, and make plans to definitely do this again soon. Like this.

I manage to avoid Claire for the rest of the day, never even daring to look in her direction over lunch or the walk around the grounds later in the day. At the same time, I also manage to avoid Sylvie as well. When she is with our group, she keeps her distance from me, blending in nicely with the ladies so it doesn’t seem strange that she and I aren’t speaking or touching.

The plan tonight is to throw an old-fashioned rager. Everyone wants to get piss drunk, and I’m feeling uneasy about it. I can’t let things get out of hand like they used to.

I’m the first one down for dinner, and I can’t ignore the sour feeling of anxiety gnawing at my gut. Something about what happened today with Claire and Sylvie isn’t quite sitting right with me.

What do I have to feel bad about though? I’ve called off things with Claire.

I’m certainly not going to feel bad about it now. And the last person I’m going to explain myself to is Sylvie.

To my relief, the next person downstairs for dinner is Liam. I’m standing near the bar in the parlor when he walks down and finds me deep in contemplation.

“What’s on your mind?” he asks with a smile as he crosses the room.

“Not much,” I reply nonchalantly.

As he pours himself a drink, he nods toward the hall. “Where’s that hot wife of yours?”

I chuckle. “Still getting ready, I think.”

Liam whistles with a shake of his head. “If that were my wife, I wouldn’t let her out of my sight.”

It’s not the first—or even second—time this weekend my friend has commented on the beauty of my wife. This is exactly what I want, but for some reason, it bothers me.

“I couldn’t control her if I tried,” I reply with a smirk.

“It’s not her I’d be worried about.”

Glancing out the side of my eye, I wonder exactly what Liam is talking about. Is there another man in this house I should be worried about? What is he implying? Sure, my friends can be flirty, but none of them would truly touch my wife in my own home. Would they?

Suddenly, I see an opportunity. And I’m not proud of myself for it.

“Well, you know…” I mumble quietly. “Sylvie and I…we keep things open .”

Liam’s head pops up, and he stares at me for a moment as if he’s trying to put something together. “You mean…”

I nod.

When he picks up on what I’m implying, a smile stretches across his face. “You’re still a kinky fucker.”

“Shhh… Keep your voice down,” I mutter. Trying to keep things casual, I smile at my old friend. “She knows what she’s getting herself into this weekend. I let her do what she wants, and she lets me do what I want.”

He scratches his head. “I don’t understand you married guys. Doesn’t that bother you? For other men to touch your woman?”

My jaw clenches, but I bury the rising hesitation. “It just means I get to remind her who she belongs to when she comes back.”

Liam’s eyes widen. “Good point.”

I shoot back my drink, hoping the alcohol will cool the buzzing heat in my blood. I hate the way this feels, and I really shouldn’t give a shite. I barely know Sylvie, let alone have any romantic feelings for her. Hopefully, she’s into Liam, and this could all work out in my favor.

What happens at the house this weekend stays here.

When I look up, I spot a mess of reddish-blond curls. My eyes collide with Sylvie’s. She’s wearing that same cold, dead expression she always seems to wear around me.

Liam still has his back to the room and has no idea she’s on the other side. “So…does that mean you wouldn’t mind if I—”

I knock him with my elbow, nodding toward my wife. Liam spins to find her there, quickly putting a fake smile on his face. “Sylvie!”

Sylvie stares at us in contemplation for another minute before turning silently on her heels and walking into the dining room. I’m willing to bet my wife will be glad when this weekend is over, and she can go back to her solitary routines.

Liam and I laugh for a moment before the rest of the crowd files down the stairs. Most of us have been drinking already so the party is already rowdy as we head in for dinner. The first thing I notice is that Claire sits right next to Sylvie at the table. I take the seat at the head again, but I can’t get Sylvie to even look at me. And it’s bugging the hell out of me.

The group is rowdy. As soon as we’re all seated, Angus clinks his fork on his glass to make an announcement.

Standing up, he stares at me with a smile. “Thanks for inviting us, Killian. It truly is great to be back with old friends again. To you and Sylvie and your happy marriage. And to get fucking bladdered tonight.”

The group erupts in raucous cheers as everyone shoots back their drinks. Even Sylvie gulps down the contents of her wineglass.

As soon as the food is served, the dinner conversation turns vulgar and inappropriate.

“Okay, be honest,” Nick says as he glances at me. “You guys have fucked on this table, haven’t you?”

Everyone laughs.

I look at Sylvie. She tilts her head to the side and stares at me as if waiting for my response.

“Twice,” I say around a bite.

The group cheers.

Nick’s girlfriend laughs. “Yeah, this is a nice sturdy table, perfect for fucking.”

The ladies chuckle along.

Then it’s Greg’s wife’s turn. “God, I miss the honeymoon period. I bet you two are still fucking like animals.”

Sylvie clenches her jaw but glances at me again. I don’t know what’s holding me back. I could easily lie and tell stories about how raunchy our nonexistent sex is. But the words won’t come.

So Sylvie chimes in. “He’s the one who struggles to keep up with me.” A hint of a smile tugs at the corner of her mouth, and I bite my tongue.

“It’s the age,” Theresa replies playfully. “Once they hit thirty-five, they lose their stamina.”

“Hey!” Nick complains.

“My stamina is just fine,” I reply heartily. “Tell them.” I glance expectantly at Sylvie.

Everyone looks at her too.

After a moment, she shrugs. “His stamina is just fine.”

“How many times a day are you two fucking? Living alone here at this manor, I bet it’s like five times a day.”

Sylvie’s throat moves as she swallows.

“What is it now, darling?” I ask, drawing her attention. “Three times a day?”

“At least,” she replies with a challenge in her expression.

“Your new wife must know everything about you, Killian,” Emma says, with a drunken slur in her voice. “That you have some wild and kinky tastes.”

My skin grows hot as I stare at Sylvie to gauge her reaction. There isn’t much of one.

It’s funny to think she knows nothing of my sex life at all, and I know nothing of hers. People around this table would be shocked to know that. They’re already imagining us fucking in ten different positions in every room of this house.

“Well, does she?” Claire asks, holding her glass of wine in her delicate fingers.

I freeze as my gaze settles on her face. She wouldn’t…

“Let’s just say…” Sylvie says, filling the awkward silence. “Don’t go snooping through drawers or under the beds.”

Everyone laughs, and my head tilts as I stare at her across the table. It almost felt as if she was covering for me, and I don’t understand why.

***

After dinner, the party spills into the parlor. It’s darker than last night, and Liam has figured out how to work the speaker system. Music blasts through the built-ins. After the very first beat drop from some twenty-year-old song from our younger days, people start dancing.

I’m not drunk enough. I wish I was drunker. I keep going for the whisky, but something is stopping me. I can’t stop watching Sylvie.

“Come on, Killian,” Emma whines as she tugs on my arm. “Let’s dance.”

She drags me into the middle of the room.

“Dance with your husband,” I reply with a lighthearted laugh.

“Boring,” she drawls.

I don’t really want to dance. I feel too old for this shit. It’s songs from my younger days, but I don’t feel like that man anymore. It’s not a fun time to relive.

But I play along, letting her grind against me as another random mismatched couple starts to dance behind us.

I can already tell this will be trouble before long. Everyone is too drunk.

Wait. What the fuck am I saying? I love parties like this. I love nights that go off the rails. I want the mistakes and the sex and regrets and the fun and the reckless abandon.

Suddenly, I feel myself leaning into it. This is what I want.

Going to the bar, I crack open a new bottle and pour my glass with far too much. By the time I turn around, I notice Liam is sitting next to Sylvie. He’s touching her arm.

So far, she’s giving him the cold front of greetings, but when he says something to make her laugh, she tugs her bottom lip between her teeth and actually blushes.

I’m suddenly dying to know what he said.

Instead, I throw back another glass of whisky, waiting for the alcohol to numb my system.

Another song on the makeshift dance floor.

Another full glass emptied.

Then, another.

And another.

The room is starting to soften into shades of blue. It’s dark and hazy, but the alcohol isn’t kicking in as much as I’d like. It’s like I can still see too much too clearly.

Everyone around me is obviously wasted.

I’m dancing with someone. Her fingers are under my shirt, and she’s laughing. I glance over her head to see Theresa on Angus’s lap, and I know in the back of my mind that image is wrong. She’s Nick’s girl.

Two years ago, it wouldn’t have been wrong at all. This is what we did. We blurred all the lines and we fucked without abandon. We were wild and untamed.

But I’ve changed. This party wasn’t supposed to end this way.

Where is Sylvie?

I pull away from the woman with her hands up my shirt and stumble out of the room. The hallway feels long, and I stare down it toward the staircase on the opposite end. A feeling of dread crawls up my spine.

Are Sylvie and Liam up there?

That’s what I want.

But I don’t.

These feelings war inside me, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to tear them apart.

I stumble down the hall toward the stairs just to see for myself. I make it about two steps before another pair of soft hands wrap around my waist.

Sylvie.

“Come here,” she whispers softly, tugging me into a dark room. It’s a storage closet, but before I can argue, she’s pulling my mouth down to hers, kissing me with passion and need.

I surrender to the kiss, letting the intensity sweep me out to sea. Her lips feel so good, and I’m so focused on the fact that she’s supposed to be somewhere with Liam, but she’s not. She’s here with me.

Fuck, that’s not what I want. But I can’t seem to stop it.

“God, please touch me. I need you,” she whimpers into my mouth. It sounds wrong.

But I’m too drunk to stop it.

Her hand takes mine, and she drags it between her legs, shoving my fingers against the moist center of her panties. She’s so wet for me, I let out a growl when I feel it.

I don’t understand these feelings for Sylvie. This hate-fueled desire. This need to own her, dominate her, force her to submit, make her mine. I don’t want her. I don’t care about her. I just need her.

My cock is rock hard behind my slacks at the thought. It’s never felt so full of life before, a fire blazing in my groin at the idea of fucking my headstrong, stubborn wife into submission.

Before I know what I’m doing, my finger is inside her. She’s clinging to my arm, moaning and whimpering. And suddenly, I realize that this is all too easy.

Something is missing.

She’s supposed to fight with me.

“I missed you so much,” she mutters. “Please fuck me, Killian.”

I yank my hand from under her dress. “Bloody hell,” I groan as my back hits the wall, and I realize what I’ve done.

“Wh-what’s wrong?” she murmurs.

“Claire?”

“Yes, of course. Who else would it be?” she asks, her voice cracking with emotion.

My heart fucking shatters.

“I have to go,” I stammer as I tear open the door and nearly fall out of the closet and into the hallway. There are moans and cries of sex from the parlor.

Where the fuck is Sylvie?

I take one marching step toward the stairs when I hear voices from behind me. I turn to see two silhouetted figures outside through the open doors. Two bodies pressed together, practically as one.

Rage boils inside me as I inch closer to the door. The only reason I’m not barreling out there is because a part of me needs to know. Would she really let him touch her?

In the back of my mind, I remember that that’s what I want, but I can’t fucking remember why.

In the silhouette, I see her hands pressed against his chest. He has her crowded toward the low wall. He leans his mouth toward hers.

“I can’t,” she says with the cool defiance only she can pull off.

“Come on, baby. I’ll make you feel so good,” he murmurs.

Rage cracks inside me like dynamite. I’ve never felt such anger. Suddenly I can’t keep the slow pace. I’m practically running. Grabbing Liam by the collar, I yank him away from Sylvie.

“What the fuck did you just say to my wife?”

He holds up his hands in surrender, shock on his face. “Whoa, man. I thought you said it was cool.”

“She said no,” I snap.

“Okay, okay,” he stutters.

“Killian, stop it.” Sylvia tugs on my arm. “We were just talking.”

“You were not just talking, Sylvie. He was trying to fuck you.”

“I can handle myself!” she snaps.

“Go upstairs,” I growl in her direction.

She looks offended for a moment. “You can’t tell me what to do.”

With my teeth clenched, I drop Liam’s collar and turn my attention toward Sylvie. I’m too filled with anger to think clearly. My hand encircles her arm, and I drag her back into the house and all the way down the long hall. She’s digging in her heels the entire way, slapping my arm and screaming.

“Let go of me, you fucking brute!” she shrieks.

But I don’t stop. All I can see is her letting Liam put his hands on her. Letting him take what should be mine. Making a fool of me.

When we reach the bedroom, I toss her inside and slam the door behind me, locking us both in.

She swings her arm back and lets her hand come flying across my face. I don’t even feel it.

“What is wrong with you?” she screams. “Everyone was having a good time, and you had to ruin it! You’re so fucked up, Killian!”

“You were about to let another man fuck you in my home ,” I argue, my voice so loud it’s practically shaking the walls.

“Everyone is down there fucking, Killian! You think I can’t tell what kind of party this is? You think I couldn’t see the way you were pushing me toward him? I know what you told him, Killian! That we have an open marriage. I know deep down you were hoping I would fuck him because you think that would be your free ride to fuck whoever you want!”

“You’re delusional!” I shout in return, meeting her level of anger.

“I’m delusional ?” she retorts. Her eyes are wild with rage, and I don’t want it to end. I love the fire in her expression when we fight. “You are so manipulative and ignorant! God, I fucking hate you!” Her voice is a screaming pitch now, and there’s no way our guests can’t hear us.

I’m still drunk, but something about her fired-up state has me wanting to touch her. Not in a sexual way, but in a desperate way. Reaching toward her, I grab her arm again and haul her toward me. She immediately puts up a fight.

“Get your hands off me!” she shrieks, trying to tear her arm from my grip.

I tighten it and lean in, sneering in her face. “You are my wife, and I will put my hands on you as much as I want.” I say it only to fuel her rage. It’s too easy to do.

Her nostrils flare, and her molars grind as she glares into my eyes. Deep down, she’s silently wondering how much I’m truly capable of. “Touch me, and I swear you’ll die in your sleep,” she mutters with vitriol.

“Being dead would be preferable to being married to an ugly, selfish cow like you,” I say. It’s like a game. One insult is traded for another until we’re both satisfied. “You mean nothing to me.”

“Good!” she snaps. “Then I’ll just go back down to Liam.”

She tries to move away, but I yank her back toward me. When I do, I spot a hint of moisture in her eyes. Something I said hit a nerve.

“Over my dead body,” I bellow. She swings an arm out toward me. I snatch it at the wrist before it can make contact with my face.

“That’s what you want, isn’t it?” she shrieks. “You want me to fuck your friend so you can be free of me. Just keep living the way you always have, Killian. So nothing has to change.”

The more she screams, the more we struggle. Until the only way I can calm her is to force her to the bed, draping my body over hers. Taking her wrists in my hands, I pin them to the bed over her head.

Suddenly, with our faces only inches apart, she stops yelling, and we are caught in silence. The way her body feels under mine is visceral. I feel so large in comparison to her, but I know I’m not crushing her. She can handle my size and anything else I give to her.

Again, I notice the moisture in her eyes. When she blinks, a tear rolls down the side of her face, disappearing into her hair. What could I have possibly said that would truly hurt her feelings?

“Why do you care so much about what I do?” she asks, her tone dripping with hatred.

“I don’t,” I reply.

Her vibrant eyes hold mine for a moment. We’re staring at each other as our breathing returns to normal. Finally, she mumbles, “Get off me, Killian.”

Carefully, I release her hands and roll away from her body.

Without another word, she stomps toward the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

I struggle to keep from passing out as I wait for her to come out. When she does, she’s wearing the same pajamas as last night. Giving me the silent treatment, she marches to her side of the bed and climbs in. With her back to me, she huffs as she punches her pillow again.

I stagger as I tear off my clothes down to my underwear. After switching off the light, I climb into bed next to my wife.

I know I should feel bad for how I handled this tonight, but I don’t. Honestly, I’m still a little confused. I don’t understand if things went right or things went wrong. I just know that wherever this woman is concerned, I’m often more confused than not.