Anton was quiet at last; otherwise Charlotte would never have dared peep into his bedroom without knocking first. However, there was no polite reason for watching him sleep. In fact, reason didn't come into it at all, polite or not. Reason had deserted them days ago when his wife, Charlotte's big sister, fellated her secret lover at the wheel of his Aston Martin until they ploughed into oncoming traffic. Now anything could happen.
He still had a towel bunched on his midriff following a long, hot soak Charlotte had talked him into at dawn. Apart from this, her brother-in-law was naked, his massive frame barely contained by his bed; limbs dangling over the edges. Her stomach twisted. His wife was twice lost to him, yet Anton still left her side of the bed empty.
She should close the door and go. Leave him be. She had texted her husband, Jeff, so they could swap shifts. Anton could be left alone for a few minutes until relief arrived.
But Charlotte didn't move. Despite his lumpen masculinity, her brother-in-law looked like a sleeping child. After a night of bitten, wrenched sobbing, his peace was mesmerising. It enveloped her along with the fragrance of bath salts still warming off his skin. Her own pain seemed muffled while she stood here, watching his chest rise and fall in filtered stripes of morning light, listening to the rolling waves of his breath.
Charlotte hoped her husband had slept, too. God knows he needed to. Jeff did not seem to understand that Anton was the only person who could properly share her loss. Instead, he stewed with anguish over his wife and his best friend, bubbling up with bitter accusations: "I guessed you'd want the night shift... I've seen how you are together... You can't keep your eyes off each other, let alone your hands... There's nothing to keep you apart now." All nonsense. Charlotte had always been utterly loyal to her husband. She was a Leo for goodness sake. Anton too.
Yet here she was, a step closer to her brother-in-law's bed, closing the door behind her.
As she'd prepared for her visit the evening before, Jeff had spat, "Don't forget your condoms." So she had left quickly, in a swallowed temper, and had only brought her toothbrush with her. Not even a change of underwear. Then this morning, after her shower, she'd decided she'd rather go commando than wear the same pair two days running. So it was really Jeff's own fault that Charlotte was naked beneath her summer dress, now, and that same air that slid over Anton's powerful arms and thick fingers also ran, unobstructed, over her secret skin.
Shut into the room, closer to the bed, the hypnotic calm of him doubled. His presence tugged at her middle, urging her closer still. After 48 hours without sleep, and the sleeping pill she had given him, Anton would be oblivious to her. And just as well, because her body had carried Charlotte right to the side of his bed.
Her cheeks prickled and she tapped a bare foot. She should not be here, what did she think she was doing, gawping at her sister's husband, like this? Then a dark and shameful thought occurred. Was he still technically her brother-in-law? She shook the hideous question from her head. Lack of sleep had weakened her resolve. Enough.
Anton's body was captivating, though. Not small and lean like her husband's, but broad and strong and generously proportioned. A body that once moved house for them, single handed, when Jeff had pulled a muscle in the gym. A body that was always ready with a hug, or to toss her into the air.
And he was larger than life all over, according to Charlotte's sister.
An illicit flood of warmth beneath her skirt had her pressing her palms to her legs. She had forgotten what her arousal felt like, how it had the power to drown out everything else. Even the gut-wrenching flashback of her sister's wicked smile – describing her husband with a rigid forearm – seemed dampened by the flush of imagining what lay hidden under that towel. Charlotte bit her lip and crossed her arms over her heart as it thumped at her rib-cage, as if to say, "Go on then!"
Before she knew better, she had slipped the towel off him.
Charlotte swallowed, hand to her mouth to stifle a leaked gasp. Her sister was right, even recumbent, Anton was huge; a little longer than Jeff but much, much thicker. Her hands trembled, a liquid sensation made her squirm and cross her feet.
Then Anton, who had been facing away, groaned and twisted his head on the pillow toward her. Charlotte flinched, ready to spring to the door, but his eyes were still shut fast. He snored softly. She melted, her gaze dancing over his olive skin between the sweet peace of his face and the compelling meat lolled across his hips.
In this position the sun threw her shadow over him, her legs cast across the bed and hips at his head. She fancied her blue ghost projected darkly into his dreams. What would she do in there? In Anton's' fantasy? His manhood shifted in its own slumber, unfurling a little and she wanted to giggle.
Her sister generally complained about Anton and his artisanal poverty, but loved how much her husband adored her, especially the neat folds of her sex. When she modelled nude for him, it drove him wild. Drove them both wild; she relished being so desired that he couldn't even work, that he had to stop and ravish her.
Secretly, the thought of this had kept Charlotte awake quite a few times. The elegant rudeness of it. But then, her sister was supermodel-long and languid, compared to Charlotte's bouncy sex-kitten curves. Maybe that was why, when she tried posing for Jeff – who wasn't even an artist, anyway, he was an estate agent – there was something tawdry about the act. Seedy even, no matter how much effort she made on neat waxing and expensive underwear. Jeff would leer sweatily, and bark instructions: "Squat... Open your pussy... Bend over... Put two fingers in." Then he would insist on posing, too, and then climax well before she did.
