Faithlessness (Raylen)
Raylen is just tipsy, not drunk. He knows what he is doing. Or at least he thinks he knows what he is doing.
He is not really cheating, is he? Livia is already separated from him, and there is no hope of fixing the marriage now that his secret about Delaney has been revealed.
Livia tolerated Delaney's existence for four years before finding out she was being jealous of a dead woman.
Enough is enough. Surely she has already moved on from him, her scumbag of a husband.
He should move on too.
He wants to move on.
Much as he is grateful to Livia for bringing Cornelius and Cornelia to this world, he also knows should have never entered a relationship with her. At least, he shouldn't have fallen in love again before getting over Delaney—and that is someone he will never get over.
He has the decency to bring Bethany to one of his many penthouses instead of the main Vale residence. He respects his former partner just enough to not disgrace her place with another woman so quickly after their separation.
There is something satisfying about the way Bethany's eyes widening as she tries to take in all the luxury before her—from the private lift to the crystal chandelier to the paintings by historical greats.
Livia reacted the same once. As did Delaney a long time ago.
When Bethany kisses him deeply and presses herself against him, he allows all these thoughts to slip from his mind despite his conscience protesting otherwise.
He gently unzips her dress before letting it fall to the floor.
Her hands are busy with his belt.
"Impatient," he murmurs, busy planting kisses on her neck. She laughs again.
"Are you not excited too?" she asks playfully.
"Who says I'm not?" he retorts as he lifts her up, earning a yelp of surprise followed by a delighted smile. He can feel her wrapping her legs around him and rubbing against his bulge.
He lowers her into the king-sized bed before pulling his silk tie loose and tossing it aside.
Their clothes are scattered all over the apartment like a scene out of an unimaginative soap opera.
The bedroom's dim lighting plays with the shadows to accentuate her curves. Her body is every bit as beautiful as her face. As he admires her figure, she starts kissing his navel and moving slowly downwards.
A moan escapes him as she teases his manhood before attempting to fit it in her warm, wet mouth, pumping what she cannot fit with her hand.
She does not seem particularly experienced, but she makes up for that with her eagerness to please. That alone is incredibly erotic.
Raylen runs his fingers through her coppery hair, earning a small whimper of happiness from her.
When she lifts her head to smile at him, there's a string of saliva between her mouth and his manhood, and the sight makes him want to ruin her.
"Lie down," he orders. "It is my turn."
She obeys and soon his head is between her legs. She arches her back in pleasure as he tongues her clit while fingering her. Her hand is gripping his hair, pushing him closer, closer, closer.
"You are already so wet," he observes.
"Because I really want you," she replies, blushing from a mix of embarrassment and arousal.
"Good girl." He smirks as he sees Bethany's face turn a deeper shade of red.
"Don't tease me," she pleads and that just turns him on more.
"Why? That is the fun part."
He rubs his tip against her opening, against her folds, which are already wet with want, but he does not go further than that.
"Just take me already," she begs. "I, ahhh, can't bear it. I want you."
"Not yet," he answers in a calm voice that hides how excited he is by her moans of helplessness and frustration. She is too consumed by desire to tease him back.
He slips on a condom—he never forgets to do this—before lowering himself into her, welcomed by her warmth and softness. She moans again, louder this time, and he nearly loses control, but he does not start thrusting.
Bethany's look of confusion only lasts for a split second. "You're still teasing me," she complains breathily.
"Do you want me to start?"
"Of course."
"Then beg."
He can see the ambivalence flash across her face before being banished by desire. She wraps her arms around her neck and pulls her head up closer to his ear. "Just take me already. Please. I need you. I want you."
Raylen happily complies. He eases a pillow beneath her lower back before he begins thrusting into her. Her ankles are resting on his shoulders and her perfect breasts bouncing with each thrust.
Bethany's gasps of ecstasy fill the room. When she finally comes, he can feel her pulsating around his member.
"Good girl," he murmurs again as he brushes her hair back from her face to kiss her forehead.
The alcohol has completely worn off by then, and Raylen is surprised that he does not feel regret.
Bethany wants to cuddle and he gives in. The softness of women is something he has never been good at resisting.
Their warmth, their smoothness, their tenderness, their affection, and their love…
When Raylen wakes up again, Bethany is still sound asleep. He takes a quick shower—there is still work to be done.
He quietly pens her a note informing her of the food in the fridge and the main door's auto-locking feature. He considers telling her to make herself home, but he is afraid that she will take it too literally and overstay her welcome.
But the note seems almost heartless when it only talks about doors and fridges. He doesn't want her to stay too long, but he doesn't want her to feel like he is treating her as a prostitute either.
With a sigh, he adds one more line. He places the note on the nightstand beside his bed and weighs it down with a jewellery box containing a bracelet of rubies and diamonds.
Rubies red like Livia's hair.