His warm palms smooth over the skin of my ass, lulling me into a false sense of security before smack, the sound rings out around the room. My gasp is just as loud. Before I can react, he rains down two more smacks in quick succession.
“How many did we say, Skittle?”
What? I'm struggling to remember my own name, and he wants me to remember something he said.
“Five?” I guess.
“Mmm… Now that's not quite right, is it? If I remember correctly, it's five for almost making me nearly spill our wine and five for being a naughty girl and forgetting your underwear. Maybe I should add five more for so easily forgetting,” he reprimands.
“No. I'm sorry, sir,” I apologize quickly.
“Is that so?” He mumbles before smacking the other check hard enough to make it sting.
“How many was that?” he asks, probably trying to catch me out.
“Four,” I croak out.
“Good girl, now count the rest.”
So I do, counting quietly, trying to keep my breathing even, but it's useless. Every time his hand makes contact, I feel myself growing wetter and wetter.
“Five, six, seven,” I pant as he smooths his hand over each cheek again, my skin burning underneath his palm.
Smack. “Eight.” Smack. “Nine.” Smack. “Ten,” I finish on a broken whisper, having reached my limits. I need him inside me now.
“Such a good girl,” he compliments me before sliding his hand down between my legs and pushing two fingers inside me. There’s no resistance. I'm so turned on that they slip inside me with ease.
“Jesus Christ, Skittle,” he snarls.
In the next instant, I find myself up and bent over the back of the sofa as he surges inside me. He doesn't give me time to adjust, he’s too far gone to think about anything except chasing his next high, and I'm all too happy to go along for the ride—the bite of pain bringing a whole new dimension to our lovemaking.
He thrusts inside me over and over, gripping my hips hard.
“Come, now, Skittle,” he roars as I feel his own orgasm crash over him. That’s all it takes to send me over the edge.
For a moment, it's like everything freezes, the pleasure so intense that my brain just can’t process it for a moment, until everything comes rushing back in a wave of sound and color.
I’m vaguely aware of Asher untying my arms, gently rubbing my wrists to get the blood flowing again. He collapses on the sofa and pulls me on top of him, his clothing feeling rough as it rubs against my over-sensitized skin.
“Holy fucking shit, that was...”
“Amazing,” I finish for him because it was.
I need to move, but my legs are unlikely to hold me right now. Perhaps I could crawl off Asher and go and clean up but quickly veto that idea. My body feels boneless and sated. I'm pretty sure the building could fall down around us and I’d still choose to stay precisely where I am.
“You okay?” he asks, his lips against my forehead as he gently runs his fingers up and down my spine.
Okay is not the word I would use.
“I'm perfect.”
Twenty-Six
Asher
Within minutes, she’s asleep, the soft cadence of her breathing making me want to lie here with her forever. I soak in the moment, just holding her to me, enjoying the stillness around us. I never got to talk to her, but I have no regrets. Fuck me, what we did was spectacular.
Letting me restrain her like that takes trust, and I know by holding the truth back from her, I'm pulling the string that connects us tighter and tighter. If I don’t come clean soon, the string will snap, causing irreparable damage.
Aware that the nights get chilly, I somehow manage to climb to my feet with Skittle in my arms, who, except for a moan, remains asleep. I carry her quietly to our bedroom and lay her down on the bed. Grabbing a cloth from the bathroom, I wipe gently between her thighs, trying not to disturb her.
Just the sight of her naked body sprawled out on our bed has my already sated dick getting hard all over again, but I ignore him. Instead, I jump in a cold shower, towel off, and head back into the living room naked. I place the food in the fridge and make sure everything is locked up before going back to my room, climbing in beside Skittle and pulling the blanket up over our bodies.
Tugging her close, I wrap my arms around her tightly, breathe in the scent of her hair, and let sleep pull me under.
Blinking my eyes open the next morning, I find myself alone.
I figure she must be in her studio until I catch the scent of bacon in the air. Climbing from the bed, I slip on a pair of clean boxers and pad out to the kitchen on silent feet, pausing to take in the sight of Skittle dancing around in nothing but my shirt, singing into a spatula.
“Morning,” I call, but she doesn’t answer. It isn't until I'm right behind her that I realize she has earbuds in, so I sit at the island and take in the show before she spots me and squeals.
“Holy shit, Asher, you scared me,” she yells, pulling the earbuds out of her ears.
“I was just enjoying the show,” I tell her with a grin.
“Shithead, be nice, or I won’t let you eat.”
I grin salaciously, making her roll her eyes, but I don't miss the twitch of her lips.
“I meant the bacon. Lord, I married a sex fiend,” she mutters under her breath before turning away to grab the plates. I move around the counter and press up against her back, lifting the plates down from the cupboard above her head.
She hisses a little at the contact, making me step back and spin her once I've placed the plates on the counter.
“What's wrong?” I ask her, worried.
She glares at me before sighing. “My ass hurts.”
I chuckle.
She slaps my chest. “See, this is why I didn't want to say anything.”
“I'm joking. Let me grab you a cushion to sit on and then when we've finished eating, I'll rub some cream on it for you, okay?” I say, fighting to hide my grin.
She nods but doesn't make eye contact as she squirms, likely remembering the reason her ass hurts in the first place.
“Last night was hot, Skittle. I never really considered role play in the bedroom before, but seeing you come out here in those itty-bitty shorts of yours, I just about came in my pants,” I admit.
How she managed to look both slutty and innocent at the same time is beyond me.
“It was fun. It's not something I've ever felt comfortable trying with someone else, but who better to be adventurous with than my husband?”
“Well, I, for one, am happy to be your guinea pig anytime the need to try something new hits,” I graciously offer. “And I'm glad you trusted me with that, Skittle, it means a lot.”
“You’re welcome,” she tells me with a blush.
She rocked the sex goddess vibe last night, but my words still make her blush. Will this woman ever stop surprising me?
“I want to talk to you about something, okay?" I ask, biting the bullet.
“Sure, let's eat first though, I seem to have worked up an appetite,” she teases.
I move to the sitting area and grab one of the large soft gray cushions from the sofa and place it on the padded seat of the breakfast stool, knowing she might still be uncomfortable, but it won't be as bad with some padding.
She sets a plate in front of both of us before gingerly sitting on the cushion and digging in. She moans around a mouthful of bacon, making my eyes move to her mouth as I remember just how talented it is and what it feels like when she moans around my cock.
When she sees me watching her, she must know where my thoughts have gone as she laughs and shakes her head.
“Oh, no. Down, boy, I need a little longer to recover from last night's escapades before you look at me with those come fuck me eyes,” she retorts.
“Come fuck me eyes?” I muse with a wicked grin.
“See that right there. That look is hard wired to my libido. When you stare at me like that, I wa
nt to just rip my panties off and throw them at you,” she admits.
“Well, don't let me stop you.” Hell, this sounds like heaven to me.
“You are out of luck hubby of mine, I'm not wearing any,” she informs me with a wink before shoveling a forkful of scrambled eggs into her mouth.
Damn vixen.
Getting back on track, I decide to get this conversation over with. It will be hard for her to run while she’s only wearing my shirt.
“So,” I start as the buzzer for the intercom sounds.
I climb to my feet and walk over to the door, hitting the button to answer.
“Yes?” I question, frustrated with the timing.
“Sir, Mr. Morgan is here to see you. He says it's important,” Sam answers.
I sigh and look at Linda. She shrugs, shoving the last of her bacon into her mouth before standing and walking over to me, pressing a kiss to my cheek.
“I'm going to shower and get dressed. Do what you’ve got to do,” she tells me.
I watch as she walks away, enchanted by the sensual sway of her hips before remembering Sam.
“Send him up, Sam, thank you.” This better be good.
“Fuck sake,” I mutter, unlocking the door for Graham before stomping back over to my food.
I know he wouldn't be here if it wasn’t important. I guess the conversation between Skittle and me can wait until tonight. I've finished my eggs by the time he gets up here. Without knocking, he opens the door and lets himself in like usual. I frown when I think about Linda being naked underneath my shirt. I’ll have to make sure the fucker knocks next time, just in case.
“Oh bacon, I’m starving. Got any more?” he asks as I shove the last piece of bacon in my mouth, shaking my head.
“Damn,” he grunts, heading to the coffee pot and pouring himself a drink.
“Well, if you had called first, that wouldn't be an issue now, would it?” I reprimand him.
“Yeah, well, I got a call and decided not to waste any time. Where's the wife?” he questions, looking in the direction of the bedroom.
“In the shower. What's the issue?” I ask impatiently.
“It seems that Peterson might have a favorite horse in this race, and it isn't us,” he tells me, making my stomach drop.
“Are you fucking serious?”
“That’s what I heard, but...the front runner, well, let's just say the image they portray is not necessarily the image that matches the one behind closed doors.” He smirks.
I shake my head at that. “Isn't that true of everyone, though?”
“Maybe, but not quite in the same way as Morris. See, Morris has been married for fifteen years, but his wife has a boyfriend on the side, and so does Morris,” Graham answers with a savage smile.
“How the fuck do you even know this?”
“I make it my business to know everything about my competitors. Now, if the news were to break before Peterson made his announcement, he would be forced to rethink his stance as it wouldn't do well to have a media scandal surrounding the sale of the resort.”
“He's gay, Graham, not a terrorist,” I point out.
“I know that, and honestly, Peterson likely does too. It's not him being gay that’s the issue. It's living a lie the public will have a problem with. Peterson made such a spectacle of the family requirement portion of the contract that he has no choice but to enforce it. Peterson wanted the buyer to be a family unit, a rock-solid marriage with the potential of kids. He can't very well go through with the deal with Morris, or he will look like an ass, especially when other candidates do fit the criteria he set. Candidates who offered more money.” He reminds me we are, after all, the ones offering the most.
“I'm still not convinced. In this day and age, nobody cares about someone's sexual orientation. I don't think this will make Peterson rethink his choice, not if he has his heart set on Morris.”
“Yes, that might have been true, but the pictures I managed to get my hands on are pretty damning.”
“Jesus Christ, Graham, do I even want to know how you got your hands on these pictures?”
“No, probably not. I'm not talking about outing the guy to the media, before you get all bent out of shape.” He rolls his eyes at me, yet we both know if push comes to shove he would do that if it secured him the resort.
“I'm talking about showing them to Peterson and telling him they have been sent to us anonymously and that I am merely showing him as a heads up in case a copy ends up in the media.”
“He’ll know it's you behind it,” I point out the flaw in his plan.
“Don’t be stupid, Asher, the guy knows I’m the shit.”
I laugh at that. I can’t help it. Everyone knows Graham is a dick, but he really can schmooze with the best of them.
“Okay, fine. What do you need from me?” I ask, knowing he wouldn’t have come here if he didn’t already have a plan in motion.
“I need you to be seen out and about acting lovey-dovey with your wife. Isn’t that the reason you called the press yesterday, after all?” he says, shutting up when Skittle emerges from the bedroom in a long-sleeved cropped white t-shirt with a peacock feather printed on the front. The cropped material shows off her sexy toned stomach. Sitting low on her hips is a long black gypsy-style skirt that swishes around her ankles when she walks, and her favorite pair of black flip-flops are on her feet.
“And here is the lovely Laura now,” Graham calls, like the dickhead he is.
Linda just rolls her eyes, walking over to me and kissing my cheek, before greeting him.
“Asshat, the pleasure’s all yours as per usual,” she replies before winking at me to show me she’s all good.
“Think you can don some glad rags tonight?” Graham asks her, making her frown.
“Well, I was planning on washing my hair, but I could be persuaded.”
“There is a gala tonight that we need to attend. I’m asking if you'll be joining your husband.”
She looks up at me for confirmation, so I nod.
“What's the gala for?” she asks me, making me look over at Graham as it's the first I’m hearing of it too.
“Something to do with the arts, raising awareness about domestic violence or something.” He waves the question off like it's irrelevant, but I can see Linda’s eyes light up at that.
“It's important because the deal we are trying to push through hangs in the balance, and the man who holds all the power to decide who gets the winning bid will be there tonight,” Graham informs her, letting on how vital the gala is for us.
“Sure, sounds fun. Okay, maybe fun is pushing it, but if it's important to Asher, of course I’ll go,” she says, looking up at me. “Plus, I have just the dress.” She winks at me before moving around the counter, collecting the dirty dishes and scraping the food scraps into the trash.
“Perfect. Soraya and I will meet you both there at six, don’t be late. Now I have other business stuff to discuss. There is a venture that would be perfect and—”
Linda cuts him off. “And that’s my cue to leave.” She laughs, grabbing her bag and denim jacket from the hook beside the door. She pulls the door open and looks at me with a smile, “I love you, but I have zero interest in listening to you two talk shop.”
I freeze, making her look at me with a confused frown. I watch her replay her words over in her head and see the exact moment she realizes what she said as she freezes too for a moment before yelling, “Okay, bye,” and pulling the door closed quickly behind her.
I turn to face Graham, who looks as surprised as me.
“You are so fucked. Please tell me you've at least talked to her,” he implores.
“I was about to when you turned up. Nice timing, by the way. I’m going to talk to her. I just need to find the time—”
He cuts me off before I can finish. “My advice, Asher, find the fucking time.”
Twenty-Seven
Linda
Standing in front of the mirror, I suck in a deep b
reath and try to fortify myself against what Asher's reaction might be to my slip up.
I didn't mean to blurt out that I love him, but it doesn't make it any less true. As much as I ran so I wouldn't have to witness his reaction, I'm not willing to lie to him either and pretend I didn't mean it when I do.
I knew I was in love with my husband the night I said, “I do.” I know that's crazy, so much so I managed to convince myself it was nothing more than lust. But the truth is, the moment his lips touched mine for the first time, I was irrevocably changed.
Knowing was one thing. Being honest and admitting it to myself is much harder. It leaves me feeling vulnerable and exposed. Now, seeing the kind of man Asher is, my fear of being rejected once more seems unfounded. I'm just hoping against hope that he might feel the same way.
For most of the day, I manage to avoid the apartment, even going as far as to shop for groceries when I only went two days ago. I just want to put off talking to Asher for as long as possible, but with the gala tonight, I officially run out of time.
When I get home, I find a note on the counter telling me he has gone to the office and that we will talk when he gets back, buying me yet another small reprieve.
Now that it's almost time to leave and Asher’s still not here, I'm a nervous wreck worrying that I’ve ruined everything with my declaration.
I stare at myself in the dress that I fell in love with, twirling a little so I can see the splash of colors peek up from beneath.
I’ve twisted my hair up into a neat bun, with a couple of loose tendrils to frame my face. I’m second-guessing the style now, noticing how many of my tattoos are on display. I’m not ashamed of them, and Asher certainly doesn’t seem to have any complaints, but I worry that his business associates might not be as liberal thinking as he is.
Hoax Husband: A Hero Club Novel Page 14