by Salsbury, JB
“My gorgeous wife, you have nothing to worry about with me,” I whisper against her skin and unhook the next clasp at her back.
I run my fingers up and down her bare back, trying to soothe her as I push the straps off her shoulders. Her chin drops forward as if she might be trying to hide behind her hair. I know this has to be hard for her, Ashleigh has always used her sexuality to cover up the most vulnerable part of her. Her heart.
“I will never hurt you.” I kiss between her shoulder blades. “I will always accept you for exactly who you are.” I pull off the bra and straps and toss them to the floor, then I crawl back around her to work on the bottoms. I hook my fingers behind the elastic and shimmy the straps and fabric down her legs, only to get stuck at her knees that she has pressed together. “Talk to me.”
She doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, staring off to the side of the room. She finally closes her eyes and says, “I’m afraid of what you’ll see.”
Armor.
That won’t do.
Over the last month, she’s told me all about her abusive childhood, her sexual history (because I asked for all of it), and she told me about both her abortions in more detail. I wanted to assure her that there was nothing about her I didn’t love. That there was no part of her journey I didn’t accept and embrace. I know I love Ashleigh unconditionally, but it will take time to convince her of that.
“I love what I see. Give me a chance to show you.” I rub the outsides of her thighs, coaxing her to release the death grip of her knees, and eventually she does. I toss the last of her lingerie to the floor.
Because we both got blood tests with expedited results, thanks to Jesiah’s medical connections, and Ashleigh is still on the pill, I crawl between her legs and sigh as I settle into the warm cradle of her thighs. I nudge her nose with mine, her eyes filling with tears as they focus on me.
“There is no part of you I’m not desperately in love with.” She sniffs, and I kiss her sweetly before drawing my lips down her neck to her shoulder. “I love your heart, your passion, your strength and perseverance.”
Her knees fall open and she tilts her hips in invitation. I inch forward, pressing slowly inside, giving her time to adjust as I continue to shower her in worshipful kisses.
“The more I know about you, the more you share, the more I find myself falling deeper and deeper in love.” Another inch. I kiss her lips and whisper, “I will love you for the rest of your life.” I press my hips forward. “Nothing you say or do will change that.”
I kiss her quivering bottom lip and push all the way in until we’re connected in the most intimate way, face to face, lips to lips, heartbeat to heartbeat. Soul to soul.
“Do you want to know what I felt tonight, while I held your hands and stared into your eyes, making my vows to love you forever?” I ask.
“What?”
I roll my hips slowly, keeping a deliberate pace, pressing deep until soft whimpers fall from her lips.
“I had the thought that I was grateful…” My throat clogs with emotion and I fight the sting of tears.
Her hand cups my jaw, her eyes glistening, and she kisses me. “It’s okay, you can tell me.”
I press my forehead against hers, close my eyes, and nod, knowing if I expect her to open up and lay her darkest secrets bare before me, I have to be willing to do the same. “I was grateful for Maggie’s death.”
She sucks in a breath.
I keep my eyes closed. “Because if she were still alive, I never would’ve met you.”
She wraps me in her arms, wraps her legs around my waist, and holds me so close I can’t move inside her.
I bury my face in her neck and groan. “It’s awful, I know, but it’s true. I can’t imagine a life without you. You see yourself like you’re a consolation prize or someone I’m settling for.” I pry myself back so I can get her eyes. “To me, you’re everything. My heart. My soul. My life. The air I breathe, the blood that feeds my body. You’ve given me reason to hope, to get excited about every new day and treat each heartbeat like a gift rather than a step closer to the grave.”
I don’t know who moves first, but soon we’re kissing again and I’m moving inside her. Long, deep, drawn-out strokes that push and pull and climb until our skin is damp with sweat and cooled only by the desert breeze that trickles in from outside.
We whisper words of love, draw sounds from each other that we don’t attempt to hide, and soon we’re teetering on the edge, only to push each other over in one earth-shattering orgasm that leaves us breathless and boneless.
I run my lips along her cheek, her neck, her shoulder, and whisper, “I love you. I love you…” Fearing I’ll suffocate her, I roll to her side and gather her in my arms. Both of us naked, hearts racing, lungs fighting for air, I kiss her head and tell her for the millionth time today, “I love you.”
Ashleigh
I always thought making love was another synonym for fucking. I know, I know, people act like making love is different than sex, or fucking, shagging, boinking, knocking boots, or bumping uglies, but I’ve had plenty of sex in my life, so I knew it was all bullshit.
I thought it was all bullshit.
Ben proved me wrong.
What we just did, the joining of our bodies and the exposing of our souls, was so much more than sex. So much more than even a loving, meaningful exchange of orgasms.
I get it now.
Making love means getting vulnerable. It means feeling out of control in the safest environment possible. It means pleasure in all aspects—mind, body, and spirit.
And it’s no wonder Jesse’s label hired my husband as their songwriter, because the man has a way with words—I almost orgasmed twice from his rumbled words in my ear. I didn’t even know that was possible.
I’m going to add that to the list of things to try.
And that’s the beauty of being loved by a man like Ben Langley. There’s no shame, no worry of acceptance or being good enough. For the first time in my life, I’m choosing to believe him because of the way he loves me. With an open heart and embracing truth with grace. I believe Ben loves me unconditionally, and it’s his love that inspires me to love myself the same way.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Ben
“No.” I shake my head because judging by her wrinkled brow and tilted head, Ash seems to be confused by the two-lettered, monosyllabic word.
“What do you mean no?” she says through a mouthful of chocolate croissant.
Our first night together as husband and wife was so much more than I ever expected it would be. With Ashleigh’s insatiable appetite for sex combined with my six-plus years of celibacy, we could’ve set the hills on fire with the amount of friction created between us.
After we made love, we had sex. Lots of it. On the bed, in the shower, back on the bed, against a wall on our way to the kitchen where we decided against food and feasted on each other. In the bathtub as the first rays of sun shone through the windows. Then we slept. After a few hours of shut-eye, I woke up to her mouth on me. That led to her bent over the mattress so I could take her from behind. At just before noon, we finally made it to the kitchen, where we found a large variety of baked goods, fruit, and coffee.
We turned the bed into a picnic blanket. With only a thin white sheet to cover the essential places we want to protect from spilled coffee, we ate and drank and laughed about things that shouldn’t be funny, but life seems so much lighter with Ashleigh in it.
That’s when she asked me if I was willing to have sex outside, in broad daylight. Of course I’m willing. She slid her hand under the sheet bunched over my dick and jerked her head toward the still-open door.
I covered her hand with mine. That’s when I said, “No.”
I squeeze her hand and smile. Her hair is straight and a little tangled from the shower, bath, and falling asleep with it wet. Her skin is clean of makeup, and her frown is sexy as shit.
I add, “As much as I want to, I want to give y
our body a break.”
“My body doesn’t need a break.” She says that last word as if it’s a dirty one.
I fight hard not to smile, but it’s impossible. She’s so damn cute. “I think it does.”
“How can you possibly know more about what my body needs than I do?”
I move the tray of food off the bed and set it on the side table, then I draw close to her and kiss along her collarbone. “You share your body with me now, wife.”
She shivers and tilts her head so I can get at her neck.
“I intend to take very good care of it.” A low hum vibrates in her throat against my lips, and I close my eyes, breathe in her clean scent, and run my nose along the softness of her neck to her ear. “We got pretty rough last night. Multiple times. Six to be exact.”
“Only four were rough.” Her breath hitches. “I can take more.”
I chuckle, and she shivers. “I’m sure you can, but I’m going to hold off on what we want for what I know you need.”
“And what is it you think I need?”
“A hot shower. Alone.”
She grumbles.
“And a power nap.”
She yawns but tries to cover it up.
I lift my brows.
“Okay, fine, I’m a little tired.”
I scoop her up off the bed and carry her blessedly naked body to the bathroom. R-rated memories of last night flash through my mind and my dick responds instantly. But Ashleigh’s needs wash away the desire. Although she says she’s fine, I know my wife will always put her sexual needs above all others. I won’t let her do that. I set her down but keep her in my arms, the softness of her body against mine the sweetest balm to my scarred soul.
“You should call and check on Elliot,” she says against my chest.
“Good idea.” I grin, thinking how lucky Elliot is to have a stepmom who worries about her as much as I do.
I kiss Ashleigh’s forehead, knowing if I dare kiss her lips, I’ll never leave the bathroom, then head out, closing the door. I throw on a clean pair of boxer briefs and hunt down a fresh set of bedsheets in the closet. Then I grab my phone, grateful I don’t see a single missed call or text from Bethany, which means things are fine with Elliot. But I miss my daughter, so I call anyway.
I’m putting the fitted sheet on the bed when my brother answers the phone.
“Please tell me your dick still works and your wedding night wasn’t a complete failure.”
I shake my head even though he can’t see me. “Why are you answering Bethany’s phone?”
“The fact that it’s nearly one o’clock in the afternoon and you’re calling Bethany rather than balls deep in your wife is not boding well for your dick health, man.”
“How is Elliot?” I say through a grin, because my brother is impossible and I still love him.
“Good. Rene is giving her some cooking lessons. She’s making dinner for us tonight.”
“Can I talk to her?”
He tells me to hold on, and Bethany gets on the phone. “Sorry. He grabbed the phone when he saw it was you. So? How’s the wedding night?”
“More than I could’ve imagined.” So much more. “I want to check on Elliot.” I turn toward the bathroom door, where Ashleigh is showering on the other side, her naked body dripping in suds and—I suck in a breath. “Do you think you could keep her one more night?”
“Absolutely,” Bethany says with a smile in her voice.
“Thank you.”
“Dad! Rene taught me how to make chocolate chip cookies from scratch and tonight he’s teaching me to make seafood risotto! Where’s Ashleigh? Can I talk to her? Uncle Jesiah says if you’re lucky, Ash will be walking bow-legged, and Bethany said it’s because you’re riding horses. Are you riding horses?”
On such little sleep, I stutter and stumble over my words.
“Rene told me vegetarians only eat vegetables. Does that mean humanitarians eat people? Uncle Jesiah said yes and that I’m so smart. Can we stay here forever?”
I’m pinching the bridge of my nose and cursing my brother for all the things I’m going to have to re-explain to Elliot when I get back, but when Ashleigh comes out of the bathroom wet and wrapped in a white towel, my mind blanks. “See you tomorrow, I love you.”
“Bye, Dad!”
I hang up and toss the phone on my duffle bag without taking my eyes off Ash. She smiles at me, her hand clutching her towel at her breasts. The sunlight catches the diamond at her finger, the one that says she owns me, and I can’t get her into my arms fast enough.
She must take my aggressive move the wrong way because she asks, “Is Elliot okay?”
“She’s surviving, having a great time, learning a lot from her uncle.”
“You said tomorrow. Are we staying another night?”
“I’d like to, if you’re okay with that?”
“If it were up to me, I’d like to stay longer.”
I grin and pull back so she can see me. “Oh yeah? You like it here, huh?”
Ashleigh and I have been discussing whether or not we want to move back to Surprise or stay in Los Angeles. We both agree, now that I’m an official member of the band, that Los Angeles will be our new home. And she believes the pregnancy resource center will be more useful in LA, what with the number of homeless teen runaways. But we have yet to find a house.
“I do. This place is secluded enough I don’t even feel like we’re in LA, but we’re only fifteen minutes from Bethany and Jes. It’s kind of perfect.”
“I’ll call a realtor first thing tomorrow and see if we can buy it.”
“Really?” At my nod, she jumps into my arms, throwing her own around my neck and dropping her towel.
My hands slide over her naked body until I have to adjust myself in my underwear to make room for growth.
“You know what?” she says with a hint of sass in her voice. “I think you’re right. I’m so tired, I could use a nap.” She walks to the freshly made bed and crawls on all fours to the pillows.
The sound that claws up my throat is all animal. Soon I’m moving, covering her smaller body with my bigger one. She submits and presses her cheek to the pillow, her ass in the air.
“Dammit, Ash, you’re not playing fair,” I growl.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I wish I could say I’m a man of good standing, that I stuck to my word, pulled Ash into my arms and held her while she slept.
Although I tried, I am, after all, still a man.
I kissed her, then I gave her what she wanted, and finally we slept.
Epilogue
Five weeks later
Ashleigh
The great thing about marriage is compromise. Give a little, get a little. Meet in the middle, and all that shit.
One month after Ben and I got married, he had to go on tour. Although I’m in the thick of the planning stages for the pregnancy center, there was no way I was going to miss the chance to go on tour.
Before we left, Ben called a meeting with the band and the Arienfield powers that be and proposed that, in light of our country’s current healthcare issues and considering Jesse’s fans are mostly young women, the pregnancy resource center would be a great cause for Jesse to support now that he’s off the drugs and trying to rebrand himself. The record label agreed.
So at every venue of the Jesse Lee: Unchained Tour, there’s a donation station where fans can donate money for the center. Arienfield is even auctioning off official Jesse Lee swag and VIP concert tickets to every show. Ben funded a video crew to whip up a sixty-second video about the center, including clips of testimony from women who found themselves pregnant and without resources. The video plays before the band takes the stage every night.
In return for all that, Bethany and I get to go on tour with our husbands and oversee the donations. Amazing, right?
Jesse, Bethany, Ben, and I travel in a luxury tour bus with two master suites with private bathrooms, while Ryder and Ethan tr
avel together. When Jade and Katie meet us on tour, Ethan crashes on our couch to give them privacy if we’re not in a hotel.
Ben is the talk of the music industry right now. He’s written songs for some of the biggest recording artists and he’s become a fan favorite, but you’d never know it by talking to him. If you ran into him backstage and didn’t know who he was, you’d assume he was a roadie or errand boy. He’s always the guy serving others, whether he’s bringing in food for the crew or lending an ear to the guitar tech struggling with a wayward teen or the roadie with the failing marriage. It’s not uncommon to find him backstage, praying with a fan or employee of whatever venue we’re at.
I see now why Ben had to leave the church and move on. Ben’s purpose has always been to spread a message of love and service, and Grace Church was way too limited for the plan God has for Ben’s life and ministry.
Have I mentioned that Benjamin Langley is a great man?
I’m late arriving from our tour bus to backstage in Chicago, where Ben’s currently leaning a shoulder against the wall, wearing his listening face and talking with one of the security guards. Ben’s eyes are soft, eyebrows slightly tight as if he’s really absorbing whatever the man is saying. Ben nods, his lips move at regular intervals, and I imagine he’s saying things like, “I’m so sorry” and “That must be very difficult on you” and “There’s hope, can I pray for you?” With his messy rock star hair, white James Dean tee, faded jeans that fray at the hem around black Converse, he looks the part of rock star, but his heart is for the hearts of people.
He must feel me staring because he looks at me and his expression softens. As if unable to resist the pull, he excuses himself from the man with a pat/squeeze on his arm.
The other great thing about Ben? As much as he loves and gives to people, he always loves and gives to me more.