You ever heard of locking the door? I don’t say this. I simply ignore her quip and focus on her raw red eyes that make my heart clench.
“Have you been crying?” I ask attentively, taking a step toward her.
She sighs irritably as she flushes the toilet and closes the seat before walking over to the sink where she begins the process of washing her hands. “No, I’m fine,” she says with a tone that sounds anything but fine.
“Mia?” I step over to her until I’m standing behind her, staring at her reflection in the mirror where she purposely tries to avoid my eyes.
She sniffs, sucking her bottom lip into her mouth, a sign that tells me she’s upset but trying to hold the emotion back.
“I know when my wife’s been crying,” I state confidently, taking in her sad eyes. When seconds pass and only silence greets my ears, I gently whisper, “Baby, what is it?”
She visibly flinches at my words, and as she turns the faucet off, she looks up to the ceiling, breathing heavily. Her eyes flutter closed, her wet hands fiercely gripping hold of the sink.
“You.” There’s a hard edge to her voice, one that chips away at my heart.
“Me?”
“Yes, you,” she grits out, fuming.
Instead of stepping away from her obvious ire, I instinctively step closer.
She gives out a shuddery breath before laying into me good, glaring at me through the mirror. “I’ve waited two months for you to put your money where your mouth is, and as the days passed without a single word from you, I started to think that maybe your drunken vow to fight for me was just bullshit. When that realization sank in, I tried anything not to think of you and just focus on me. And you want to know something? It was working. I was pushing through the depression, finally feeling like me again, finally feeling like, maybe, I could get through the next days without having the constant reminder of what I’d lost. That was when I realized I didn’t need you. That my life didn’t revolve around you, that I could survive without you. I felt like I was slowly moving on with my life.
“Then, tonight, you unexpectedly turned up, and everything I’d felt went straight out of the goddamn window the instant I set eyes on your stupid, beautiful, perfect face.
“Two months, Tyler. Where the fuck have you been?”
She’s breathing heavily, and her eyes are filled with angry tears, but she doesn’t give me a chance to explain. “I want to hate you, slap you, hit you, anything that involves hurting you, but instead, all I want to do is…” She pauses, dragging her teeth over her bottom lip, her eyes filled with obvious turmoil before she lets them fall shut.
I move stealthily closer until my chest is pressed up against her back, both hands on her hips, unable to resist touching her in some way. Just feeling her between my fingertips is everything. She remains silent, her facial expression tormented.
“What do you want to do?” I breathe in her ear.
I don’t miss the way she shivers against me. Her eyes flutter back open, and her stare meets mine in the reflection of the mirror. As well as seeing anger, I see passion. Pure, hot, unadulterated passion.
“I want to slam my lips onto yours. I want to lose myself in your touch. I want you so much.” The words come out on a husky whisper.
My fingers grasp her hips, my cock turning rock fucking hard within an instant.
“You can do both—hate me and kiss me,” I urge, pushing my hips into her ass. “Take your anger out on me, on my lips, on my cock…”
A moan escapes her lips, and my fingers drift lower until they meet her bare thigh just below her dress.
“You can be as rough as you want.” I forcibly dig my fingers against her thigh, showing exactly how rough with my touch alone. “I want your wrath, baby. Give it to me.”
Her head falls back against my shoulder, and she gives out a whimpering little groan, arching her back, pushing her ass against my cock. My fingers drift under her dress, toward her panties, and I have to bite back my own moan as I trace the edge of lace, feeling the heat radiating from her pussy.
She’s breathless, her eyes burning into mine with an inferno heat mixed with a little anger. “I want to fuck you to death,” she threatens.
I chuckle against her ear as I gently bite her earlobe.
“It’d be a perfect way to die—buried in your pussy.” I rock my hips against her ass, driving home how much I want her, while my forefinger slips inside her panties, sliding over the slickness of her soaked folds.
God, she’s perfection.
Fucking wet perfection.
“Tyler,” she whispers before another moan slips from her mouth as my finger meets her protruding clit.
I begin to circle her pretty little bud, and her hips jerk at the impact, her chest rising and falling.
“God, I’ve missed this pussy. I’m thinking you should maybe take your frustration out on my mouth, my tongue, my face.” I graze her lobe with my teeth before tracing it with my tongue, causing her to shiver at my very touch.
“God, yes,” she replies with a sexy rasp to her voice, her heated eyes drifting shut, while she bites down on her bottom lip.
Fuck, I wish I were biting down on that lip.
My finger slowly drifts from her clit and toward the entrance of her pussy. I inch in just a little bit, enough for her to feel the pressure of my finger but not enough to truly satisfy her.
“Maybe you can squeeze my finger, clamp your pussy around me, take your anger out on my hand,” I goad as I slowly push my finger inside her until I’m knuckle deep. I grunt when the walls of her pussy squeeze my finger.
Fuck yeah.
Pulling out of her, I slowly reenter her but this time with two fingers. “Own my fingers, show them who’s boss, destroy them with your pussy,” I say with a low whisper.
She clenches her pussy around my fingers for a second time. The door handle suddenly rattles, and Mia immediately stiffens.
“It’s okay; the door’s locked,” I try to reassure her while slowly thrusting my fingers inside her.
She clamps my fingers even harder before forcing herself away from me, my hand being wrenched from her heat.
“God, what am I doing?” she murmurs, mostly to herself. She shakes her head while turning to me, the passion from her eyes long gone. Only anger emanates from her now. “You don’t get to touch me after two months of nothing from you!” she yells, tears welling in her eyes. Tears that crack my heart in two. “Sex isn’t going to fix us, Tyler!”
Not that we actually got to the sex part, I think to myself.
“What did you just say?” she snaps.
Shit, did I say that out loud?
An apology finds its way to the tip of my tongue, but I don’t have time to speak it as Mia interrupts me, “You know what? I can’t cope with this right now. It’s all too much.”
She goes to walk past me, toward the door, but I grip her wrist and pull her into me, determined not to let her walk away from me.
Not again.
At my mere touch, her body trembles, and I’m not sure if that’s from the anger radiating from her or if she’s turned on. Maybe it’s a bit of both.
“Mia,” I whisper, the word straining my throat. “Tell me how to fix this, to fix us.”
She draws her bottom lip into her mouth, a mixture of sadness, heartbreak, and irritation crossing her facial features, before she glances up to the ceiling, her tear-filled eyes glistening under the lights.
After a few long seconds, she looks back down, shaking her head. “I don’t know if there is a way to fix us.”
“Bullshit,” I blurt out, startling her.
“Bullshit?” she questions, her cheeks turning red with even more anger.
“Yes, bullshit. We might be a little broken, but we’re not unfixable. Our marriage is on the rocks, I know that, but don’t talk like you’ve already signed the fucking divorce papers.” My heart is racing in my chest, throbbing against my rib cage, as the fire begins to burn in my veins,
a mixture of anger and determination coming from my mouth in an almost growl.
I step toward her and simply gaze into her intense green-blue eyes that have gold flecks in the depths of them. My heart constricts at how beautiful she is. I’ve always known she’s too good for me, even before we got married, but the moment I put that ring on her finger, I made a vow to myself that I would never let her go, and I stand by the very same vow. The only way I’d ever let her go was if I was six feet under, and even then, I wouldn’t give her up without a fight.
Dead or alive, she’s mine.
Forever.
Unable to resist, I raise my hand to her face, gently caressing her flushed cheek, and she seems frozen to the spot, frozen by my touch.
“You’re my wife, I’m your husband, and we belong together.”
My fingers drift from her cheek toward her lips, and I slowly yet purposely drag my fingers over the plump of her lips, the same fingers that were inside her minutes earlier. I gently pull my hand away, and I watch intently as her tongue instinctively flicks out to her lips. I know she can taste herself, and I find it erotic as hell. My cock also finds it sexy, and he begins to stir to life again, but I focus on my wife in front of me and our marriage that has a huge question mark over it.
She’s right; sex can’t fix us.
“I’m willing to fight. I’m going to fight,” I say with resolution, a promise to her. “But the only question you need to ask yourself is, are you going to fight with me or against me?”
Regardless of her choice, I’m going to win her back.
Mia
I don’t get a wink of sleep. My mind is too busy, going over and over everything that happened last night. I’m mentally kicking myself for being so weak around Tyler, for allowing his touch to affect me the way it did. The way it always does.
I couldn’t help it though. After even a single glance in his direction, the familiar racing in my heart came rushing back to me. I’d almost forgotten what the adrenaline felt like. He looked at me like he always does—in the all-consuming, mentally-undressing-me, you’re-the-love-of-my-life kind of way. I was surprised, shocked even, to see him, especially after going so long with no contact. Also, there was the fact that Alex had said he couldn’t make it, that a work thing had come up.
Lying bitch.
I tried to pretend that it didn’t hurt me—that he preferred to choose work over his friends, over me—but it killed me. I thought he’d truly given up on me, that his vow from two months ago, of fighting for me, was nothing but false words. It seems I couldn’t have been more wrong.
Two months. Two friggin’ months of no contact, of no…nothing.
Then, bam, he’s everywhere, with his eyes, his presence, and his fingers—fingers that masterfully worked me like he owned me.
Jesus, what the hell was I thinking? Letting him almost take me in that bathroom like nothing had ever happened.
Thank God someone interrupted us before things got out of control and I let him fuck me up against the sink because that can’t happen. I’ve gone through too much healing to let him tear my walls down again. He neglected me once before, at a point in my life when I needed him the most. So, who’s to say, if I let him back in, that he wouldn’t do it again?
But I don’t think I’ve ever been as turned on yet so pissed off in my entire life. It was a strange combination to feel. My veins burned with a fire filled with anger, but my panties were drenched, and my nipples tingled. I wanted nothing more than for him to fuck me until I literally saw stars. It’s the reason I allowed my hormones to override my anger for several minutes—or, more accurately, allowed my hormones to team up with my anger, creating an explosive effect.
Fortunately, I came to my senses and got the hell away from him but not before he grabbed me and asked me the question that’s been on a loop inside my head since last night.
“Are you going to fight with me or against me?”
Honestly, I don’t even know what I want anymore. I love him. I’m still in love with him, and I don’t think that will ever go away, but after everything I went through, everything I went through alone, I don’t know if love is enough for us anymore.
Or if it ever was.
However, even with my indecisiveness of what I want, I know I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him since I caught my first glimpse of him last night, looking as sexy as ever.
In fact, he seemed even sexier to me last night, especially with the obvious bulk of his muscles, the messy bed-head dark hair, and rugged scruff. He’s usually clean-shaven with his Abercrombie & Fitch baby-face looks, but last night, he was a GQ bad boy with a Jason Statham vibe going on.
It was hot, and his dirty mouth, speaking of all the filthy punishments he wanted me to do to him, was obviously the spiral down for me.
I’m rolling my eyes, just thinking about it.
God, he just worked me like a puppet, and I effortlessly unraveled at his mere touch, unable to resist him. It probably didn’t help that last night was the first time since after everything had happened that I felt any sign of arousal, and it didn’t come at me gradually either; it was full-on explosive. I wanted to do exactly what he was suggesting I do.
“Take your anger out on me, on my lips, on my cock…”
I wanted to hurt him but fuck him while I did it.
We’ve never been that ruthless with our lovemaking. Yes, we’ve been pretty adventurous, but I’ve never wanted to inflict pain on him, not in the way I wanted to last night.
I can still feel him though, filling me with his fingers—
Shit.
No.
I can’t think about that.
Think about something else, anything else.
When I find it impossible to steer my thoughts into any other direction, I glance at the clock on the nightstand that reads 6:03 and do the only thing to help divert my attention. I get out of bed and clean my apartment from top to bottom.
I spend all morning cleaning an apartment that was already spotless, but I clean nevertheless, as it keeps my mind occupied from thoughts of him. That is, until a knock arrives at my door a few hours later, and when I answer it, I’m greeted with the sight of Tyler in running shorts and a T-shirt dripped in so much sweat that it doesn’t leave anything to the imagination.
I blink in surprise before my heart stops beating for a split second as I eye the small The Sweet Spot takeout box in his hands. The Sweet Spot is my favorite bakery, and they make these incredible chocolate-filled croissants that are to die for. I know without a doubt what’s inside that box—my favorite croissants—and I immediately frown. The frown then turns into a scowl as I watch his greedy eyes take in my attire—or lack thereof—with my short pajama bottoms and tee that shows off my midriff.
“What are you doing here?” is the first question from my tongue before I add, “No, scrap that. How the hell did you find out where I lived?”
He looks up from blatantly checking me out and gives me his signature grin, one that zones straight to my heart…and panties—if I were wearing any, that is.
Shit.
“I’m your husband. I know everything.” He winks before moving past me and inside my apartment.
In other words, Jo told him.
Shit, I’ve gotta stop telling her stuff.
I forgot that she’s always on Team Tyler, what with their sibling-like bond.
I gape at him as he invites himself into my new home. “Well, come in, why don’t you?” I sarcastically retort as I slam the door shut. I turn to face him, crossing my arms over my chest.
I watch Tyler’s eyes roam over my apartment, and within seconds, I grow increasingly impatient when he continues checking out the place.
“What are you doing here?” I snap a few seconds later.
He turns to me, and with a sincere smile on his lips, he extends the box toward me. However, I keep my arms folded.
Then, he says, “I’m here to talk.” His eyes turn down, and a flicker of re
gret takes over his face. “And to apologize for bombarding you last night.”
I grind my molars together, irritated. I glance down at the box, making no move to take it from him. “And you brought me croissants from my favorite bakery to, what? Butter me up with your plan to ‘fight’ for me?” I ask, doing actual quotation marks with my fingers, sarcasm dripping from the word.
He grins, finding my exasperation amusing. “Well, yeah. Is it working?”
I feel my blood pressure rising, my anger level matching, and when I glance at the box of delicious goodness, I realize I haven’t eaten breakfast yet. Feeling a little light-headed from the lack of food and sugar intake, I huff out in annoyance while snatching the box out of his hand before storming off toward the kitchen, leaving his laughter trailing behind me.
Without having to hear him, I feel his presence as he enters the kitchen. He approaches the breakfast bar, standing opposite me, and his grin pisses me off as I open the box. I tear a piece of the croissant and plop the heavenly goodness onto my tongue.
“Don’t read anything into this. I’m just really hungry,” I say while chewing. The sweet flavors that erupt inside my mouth have me clamping down the moans that would usually follow.
Damn, these are so good.
“Whatever you say, baby.”
My eyes flicker to him at his term of endearment, and my irritation just continues to rise, but I manage to tamp it down with a few more bites.
Once I’m halfway through the croissant, Tyler speaks, but it’s with words I’m not expecting, “I’ve missed you.”
“Tyler,” I warn, desperately not wanting to hear that.
Yet it’s all I want to hear.
“I’m just speaking the truth.”
There’s no denying he is, but he can’t just start off with words that could easily unravel me like last night, words that shake my world on its axis.
“No. Those words are out of bounds. How about we talk about how, up until last night, I hadn’t heard from you in two months?”
If he wants to talk, I’m throwing him right into the deep end.
He’s pensive for a minute, deep in thought, and I keep munching on my food while I wait for him to speak.
Till Forever Page 4