He set his wine on the bedside table, then secured her leg in the first handcuff. Trailing fingers along her skin, wherever he could reach, he repeated the procedure with feet and hands until she was restrained and spread for his eyes alone. Standing behind her, he leaned over, kissing her upside down.
“You are so beautiful,” he whispered, “and you’re all mine.”
Her heart tripped. She’d wanted this for so long, the words, the need. She’d wanted it, yet she’d forgotten how it made her soar, how it eclipsed every other thought in her head.
He padded once more around the bed, returning to the place he’d started. His gaze fixed on the triangle between her legs, he popped the buttons on his shirt and dropped his jeans. His penis jutted, a greedy length.
He climbed between her legs, reaching for the blindfold.
“No. I want to watch.”
He shook his head slowly, dipping down to kiss, lick, then suck her nipple into his mouth. “You bought it, must mean you want it, so we’re using it.”
He slipped the elastic band behind her head and fit the material to her eyes. His chest flattened to hers, and he fiddled a moment with the bottom of the covering, making sure for himself that she couldn’t see from beneath.
“I’d turn out the lights,” he said, “but I want to see. Everything.”
He slid down her body, trailing his tongue over her breasts, dipping into her belly button. Without sight, the sensations were all fresh, acute. His lips were softer, his tongue warmer, the pads of his fingers rougher. His scent, intensely male, intoxicated her, filling her head like a drugging incense. He turned his face, and his hair brushed her belly, the feeling electrifying. How many times had she run her hands through his hair, yet never had she felt each individual strand like this or savored its thick softness. The lack of sight intensified everything, made each single stroke the center of her universe.
He parted her folds and blew lightly. Her body arched. Her whole being became her throbbing clitoris.
“Mitch, please.”
He prodded her with the stiffened tip of his tongue, then delved down to lap straight up inside her.
“Jesus, baby, you are so wet.”
“I got turned on thinking about sucking you.”
He followed up his tongue action with two fingers. “I like that sucking me makes you hot. Licking you is about to make my balls explode.”
She wriggled as much as the cuffs would allow. They weren’t tight, but she couldn’t bring her legs together nor find the leverage to push her hips off the bed.
“Stop talking, please.”
“Whatever you want, baby,” he whispered, then assaulted her clitoris as if it were quarry he had to subdue. Fast, sharp licks, then a suck, followed by slow swirl that quivered along every nerve endings, from the bud of her clitoris to each square inch of her skin. He set her on fire inside and out. She moaned, letting him know his effect. She was so wet and hot, moisture trickled down to the bedspread.
“Please don’t stop, please don’t stop.” She panted, tossed her head on the bed. Spirals of near violent pleasure shot out and back. “Oh God, I’m going to come, I’m coming.”
He slid down to lick her opening, and the force fled, the orgasm retreating.
She raised her head as if she could see him. “What are you doing? I was almost there.”
He chuckled. “I know. But you weren’t ready yet.”
“I was, too. I was more than ready.”
She felt him shake his head, his faintly stubbled cheeks caressing her inner thighs. “You weren’t screaming and begging.”
“Do it again, I’ll beg, I promise.”
Blowing on her, he started the whole thing over again, pushing her higher and higher, forcing a fast pant from her, until finally she keened for the come.
He pulled back again, this time nipping her thigh.
“What are you doing?”
He gave her that all-knowing chuckle again. “It can be better, baby, I know it can. Just be patient.”
“Please, Mitch, let me come.” There, she was begging.
He squeezed her thighs. Her skin felt near to bursting, on fire with his touch. She wriggled, presenting him with her so-called beautiful pussy and showing how needy it was, how needy she was.
“Please, Mitchie.”
He didn’t, he wouldn’t, torturing her, shoving her to the precipice, holding her a moment away from orgasm. Beneath the mask, her eyes teared with need, she begged and pleaded, yet he kept her on the razor-sharp edge until she was delirious.
“Please, please, please, oh God, oh God, oh God.” Her mind whirled, her thoughts, her feelings, everything centered on his tongue and her clitoris and the screaming, aching need. Flailing her arms and legs as far as the cuffs would allow, the chant pounded inside her head. She would implode. Cease to exist.
“Pleeeeease.” A long wail escaped her lips, fell into the night, surrounding them both.
Mitch sucked her clit into his mouth, flashed his tongue over the hard bead, then stabbed the hot flesh repeatedly.
She went off like Mount Saint Helens, bucking and heaving. He held onto her hips, keeping her on the knife edge of orgasm, making her ride long and hard. He held her when she fought him, when the pleasure was at its peak, its intensity near painful, when she was no longer inside her own body. When everything centered on the orgasm. When she’d do anything for him.
He knew the feeling exactly. When he was inside her, when his mind existed only for her, only to come in her. He needed that now more than he’d ever needed anything. He needed her.
Without giving her time to come down off the high, he slid up her body, ripped the mask from her face, and drove inside her. Her dazed and glassy gaze didn’t even focus on him. But her body took him, rippled beneath him, shot close to orgasm once more as he ground against her and inside her. She milked him with her muscles, caressing his cock as he thrust.
“Kiss me, baby.” He wished now he’d removed the handcuffs. He wanted her wrapped around him, all of her, arms, legs, pussy. Taking her mouth, he ravished her lips, ravaged her body, and staked his claim far more thoroughly than any mere protestations of love could do. Then he lost himself in a violent, shattering orgasm that turned him senseless to anything but the feel of her body, the taste of her tongue, and the scent of her release.
* * * * *
He lay between her legs, his weight pinning her to the bed. Mitch rolled to the side.
“I’m sorry, baby.”
Connie’s chest rose, dragging in the air he’d denied her.
“Are your wrists all right?” He glanced at her restraints. She’d fought them, hard. Hopefully the fuzzy blue material saved her from slicing flesh on the metal.
She turned her head, slowly, as if returning from a long distance. Closing her eyes, she rested a moment, filled herself with another deep breath, then gazed at him. “I can’t feel them. I can’t feel anything. I think I died and went to heaven.”
“Me, too, baby.”
“Mitchie, that was the best.”
She called him that in extreme moments. Or when she wanted to piss him off. It was a testament to how profound the loving had been. For the life of him, he couldn’t remember a moment better than when he’d flooded her with his essence, his soul.
Powerful and elemental enough to make a baby. Part of him soared, praying he’d given her that in the most spectacular moment of their marriage.
Another part trembled with fear. Jesus, what had he done?
He slid off the bed, unable to face her, unable to let her see the panic in his eyes or the tension suddenly riding his face.
“I better undo you. Are you sure I didn’t pull too hard on your arms or legs?”
“You were right. That was better than if I tied you down.”
The moment she came would live in his body, a tactile memory, for the rest of his days. No matter what happened. Her pleasure had brought him to the edge of reason. He could have done nothing b
eyond burying himself inside her. He couldn’t have fought the need if he’d tried.
It was only now that his gut began its relentless trembling, when he realized what he might have done to their lives. Another baby, another mouth, another responsibility he couldn’t face.
Four depending on him.
Had she taken her pill today? He’d checked this morning, but he couldn’t remember the count. He had the overwhelming urge to check again, to assure himself. Would she remember tomorrow? Or the next day? Could he take care of them all?
His head spun. From heaven to hell in sixty seconds.
He undid the handcuffs, kissing each slightly reddened spot, then reverently setting her limbs upon the bed.
“I love you, Mitch. We’re going to be fine. Aren’t we?”
“Yeah, Connie, we are.” But he couldn’t look at her. He felt lower than low. He didn’t know how the hell he would keep her and the kids safe. For now, he concentrated on her body, caressing her skin. “I do love you.” Despite his fears, he’d never questioned that.
She sighed, a heavy, exhausted sound. “Cuddle me to sleep?”
It wasn’t long past nine, but he was bone weary. Bodily sated. He pulled back the sheet, helped her crawl beneath, then climbed in and pulled her flush against his body. She was warm, pliable, and scented with loving.
“Thank you, honey.” She said the words on no more than a sigh, then her breathing slowed and her body relaxed into his.
“You don’t have to thank me,” he whispered. “It’s what I should have been doing all along.” Making sure she felt loved and wanted and needed.
He just didn’t know how he was going to keep her safe and satisfied at the same time. He didn’t know how he was going to keep her happy without worrying himself into an early grave.
* * * * *
Connie rolled over in bed, stretching her muscles. She ached pleasantly, feeling every creak and groan. Oh, oh, that was wonderful. Without opening her eyes, she wriggled deliciously, then flopped over onto her stomach.
Mitch was gone, but she smelled him on the sheets, smelled their sex, smelled them together. She squinted at the clock on the other side of the bed. Three. Middle of the night. Yet she felt energized. She was ready to have him again. Her husband, her loving, wonderful husband.
Tossing aside the sheet, she rolled off the bed, then padded naked to the bathroom. A thin sliver of light shone through the crack in the open door.
“Ho-ney,” she sing-songed as she pushed open the door. “I’m rea-dy. I think we should use the handcuffs on you this time.”
He jerked, dropped something to the bath mat, then stared at it as if he were Rina caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
Then she saw what he’d been holding. Her birth control pills. The container had landed face up, the lid open.
“What are you doing with my pills?”
He bent to pick them up, held them without snapping the lid shut. He didn’t stammer out an explanation. He just stared at her, not saying a word.
“You were checking up on me, weren’t you?”
He still didn’t open his mouth.
“You don’t trust me. You want to make sure I’m taking them when I say I’m taking them.” Her voice rose with each word, the deep lassitude of their lovemaking vanishing as if she’d never experienced it.
“Sometimes you forget. You admitted that.”
“How can I forget with you asking me every ten minutes?” The screech hurt her throat.
“I only asked once.”
She glared at him. “How long have you been checking?”
“Just today.” He licked his lips. “And yesterday.”
She grabbed her robe from the back of the door because she couldn’t stand being naked in front of him. “You bastard. You think I lied.”
“No, not lied.”
“Fuck you, Mitch.”
“Connie.”
She’d shocked him with the curse word, and she didn’t give a damn. She’d given him the benefit of the doubt the other day, telling herself he trusted her. But here was proof he didn’t. He was checking up on her. She did everything he asked, watched every penny she spent, every penny he earned, and it wasn’t good enough for him. She was so angry, she couldn’t even sort out her thoughts.
Except one. Suddenly...certainly, it was there.
“You don’t intend to have another baby, do you? You’ve just been stringing me along for as long as you could.”
“Connie, I—”
“Tell me the truth,” she shouted, stretched past a limit she didn’t know she had.
“I just don’t think it’s the right time.” He stared at her with bleak, brown eyes.
“You never do, but you promised. That’s what we promised each other.”
“We made that promise when we were younger, more naïve.”
“You changed your mind, and you didn’t tell me. You’ve been lying to me and checking up on me.”
“That’s not what I was doing.”
She looked pointedly at the pills in his hand. “You think I’d trick you into having a baby. You think I’d miss taking a pill on purpose. How could you do that to me, Mitch?”
They were supposed to love each other. How could he touch her the way he had tonight, then sneak into the bathroom and check to make sure she hadn’t lied?
Mitch didn’t say anything.
She crossed her arms over her abdomen. “I don’t know you anymore, Mitch. We had plans. We had trust. Now all you do is bitch and moan about money. It’s the only thing that’s important to you. How many dollars you have in the bank. What about your family? What about Rina and Peter?”
The calmness in Connie’s voice belied the angry glitter in her eyes. Yet there was more. Lines of sorrow etched her mouth. The saddened tilt of her head. The way she pulled her lower lip between her teeth, biting down as if to stem the tears sparkling in her eyes. She broke his heart.
“I’m sorry,” he said. He wanted so badly to grab a towel, something to cover himself with, anything. More than just his body lay bare before her. So did his soul.
“That’s not good enough.” She pulled her robe tightly closed at the throat. “Answer the question.”
He didn’t pretend he didn’t know what question lay between them. “Connie, please, let’s talk about this.” His life was shattering at his feet yet he clung to the small hope that he could talk his way out of it.
“I’m done talking. That’s all we’ve done since Rina turned three and we were supposed to start on the next baby. You need to be honest. Are you giving up our dreams of a big family?”
They stared at each other for long moments. He could see the ultimatum in her eyes, feel it in his heart. His life with Connie flashed before his eyes, laughter, passion, joy at watching his babies grow in her belly. Her arms around him the night after Lou died. He’d cried. She’d loved and soothed him even as his meltdown shamed him. And finally, these last three years, the growing anger and dissatisfaction. His growing fears consuming him until that’s all that existed for him.
He wanted her. He needed her. “I love you, baby.”
She continued to stare in stony silence, her knuckles clenched white.
She could be his if he said yes. They could stop fighting. She’d be happy, but they could never return to what they once had. A man’s fear did terrible things. It ate him up inside. It twisted his feelings. One day he might end up resenting her for forcing his hand. Eventually, he might even hate her.
It was easier to have her hate him.
So he said it, uttered the only thing he could. “I don’t want another child.”
The words rang in his head like a death knell, sealing the fate on their marriage and their love.
Chapter Seven
She wanted to cry, scream, rant, rave, demand. She wanted to hit him, kick him, bite him. Anything to get rid of this hot knot of anger and pain strangling her. How could he do this to her? Why? The line between love and hate
was indeed thin, and right now, she’d fallen off the line right into the hate side.
But Connie didn’t do any of the things she thought about. Instead, she let her gaze ride his naked body with as much disdain as she could muster.
“Tonight I’m sleeping in Peter’s bed. Tomorrow I’ll clean up the sewing room and you can start sleeping on the day bed.”
“Connie, please let’s—”
She held up a hand. “You’ve made your bed, now lie in it.”
She’d made her own bed, too. “We’ll talk about divorce after Taylor and Jace’s wedding. There’s too much to do right now for me to even think about it.”
Then she turned and left him standing naked in the bathroom. In Peter’s room, she fell asleep without a single tear. She was too angry for tears. She’d do all her crying after the wedding. After she decided whether she’d divorce him or stay with him for the kids’ sake.
Whatever she ended up doing, the love, happiness, and passion of the last two days was gone forever.
* * * * *
That was the problem with ultimatums. You made them thinking you were going to get the answer you wanted.
In those few moments Mitch stared silently, Connie had vindicating visions of him on his knees, begging her forgiveness, then throwing her birth control pills down the toilet.
A week later, she still couldn’t quite believe he hadn’t done just that. She wouldn’t think about that now. She’d concentrate on her anger. All the bad things started with Lou’s death. But Mitch had had three years to work it out. She’d offered solace, he hadn’t accepted it. Instead, he lied, he broke his promises, and he didn’t trust her. Even just one of those transgressions would kill any marriage.
A vice tightened around her heart.
“Connie, you’re messing up the roses.”
Evelyn’s voice brought her back to the moment. Connie stared down at the red splatter on the white icing.
Somebody's Wife: The Jackson Brothers, Book 3 Page 6