by Amy Daws
“Even hot wax?” I tease, gazing down at my masterpiece.
When he doesn’t respond, I look up to see his eyes completely hooded. “If you could see what I’m seeing, you would understand.”
With a pleased smile, I throw one leg over his groin and position his tip between my folds. In one swift move, I pour more wax on his chest and sink down onto him, pulling him inside me completely.
“Jesus Christ, Tre,” Gareth moans, clearly on sensory overload. His eyes are pinched together in pain as I sit completely still on his cock, allowing my body to stretch and adjust to his girth.
“How do you feel now?” I ask, switching hands with the candle.
“Like I want to fuck you until you scream.” His stern eyes open to me.
“But I’m in charge,” I warn.
He swallows slowly and looks almost forlorn as he nods. “You’re in charge.”
“And tonight you tried to take that from me,” I state, making slow, small circles with my hips and trying not to get too carried away yet.
“It was for your own good,” he husks, fisting the sheets in his hands.
“I decide what’s good for me, Gareth,” I reply, then drip more wax on him.
He groans in pain and pleasure—a heady mix of confusing emotions.
“I make my own life decisions,” I add firmly.
He sighs heavily. “I’m sorry.”
His apology is surprising. I thought he’d fight me on this more. I thought I’d get to continue torturing him, and punishing him, and making him remember what we’re about. Instead, he’s submitting. He’s apologising, and it is really freaking sexy.
I blow out the candle and stretch over Gareth’s body to set it on the nightstand. My hair and breasts brush against his face, and his hands reach up and caress my back.
I pull back and smack his chest. “I didn’t say you can touch me.”
His lips form a thin line. “I’m sorry, Treacle.”
“Good,” I reply and sit upright on his cock. I press my hands to his chest and rake my nails through the wax coating on his trimmed chest hair. It’s messy, and flaky, and animalistic, and I find myself grinding down on him even harder. “Now, let me remind you why we do this.”
It took nearly an hour to scrape all the dried wax off of Gareth’s body, and it’s almost ten o’clock before we’re showered and back in his bed. Both still naked per my command, and both still gloriously satisfied. I watch Gareth’s muscled back as he stretches to flick off the bedside light.
He lies on his back next to me as I turn on my side to face him. “Did you like the wax?”
I can see his profile nodding in the darkness. “I like pretty much everything you do. Especially if you’re really into it.”
“Yeah?” I purse my lips to prevent the excited butterflies from escaping.
He nods and props a hand behind his head so his face is tilting down toward mine. “Although, I have the most fun when you mess up, which means that sex with you is always bloody fantastic.”
I can’t help the Cheshire Cat grin that spreads across my face. “That is so crazy to hear.”
“Why?” he asks, eyeing me with a frown. “Didn’t you have great sex with your ex? I mean, you married him. It couldn’t have been that bad, right?”
I’m grateful for the darkness because he can’t see the guilty look flashing over my face. “It was never like this,” I reply, giving only a smidge away. “It was pretty basic. Traditional. Maybe if I had tried something different, it would have saved our marriage.”
Silence stretches between us. I think Gareth is looking at me, but it’s too dark to know for sure. His voice is soft when he asks, “Do you wish you would have saved your marriage?”
I frown at the thought. A few months ago, I might have said yes because not having Sophia every other week was killing me slowly. The dark days weren’t worth leaving a loveless marriage. My response is different now, though. I have found a life outside of Sophia and I’m learning to appreciate it.
“No, I think divorce was meant to be for us. I married him for all the wrong reasons.”
“What do you mean?”
I exhale at his heavy question. I can’t exactly tell him I got pregnant. And even though that was a large part of why we got married, it wasn’t the only reason. “I was young when I met Callum. Fresh out of college and a bit of a dreamer. My friends and I were talking about opening up our own boutique, but it seemed impossible to actually accomplish. I didn’t really grow up watching dreams come true.”
Gareth turns on his side to face me, his twinkling eyes smouldering on me when he asks, “How did you grow up?”
“We were broke,” I reply with a simple shrug of the shoulders. “Our dad took off when my sisters and I were little, so our mom raised us on her own. She worked two jobs only to still be a month behind on the bills. Even groceries were hard to afford. I remember she brought home chicken strips that were left in the fryer at the restaurant where she worked nights. She only got a couple at a time, so she froze them until we had enough for a meal. It wasn’t awful, but it wasn’t easy. Then I met Callum, and he was the opposite of poor. He was the epitome of wealth and responsibility. He was older than me, really established, really stable. I remember he always wore custom tailored suits. He had a good business, a good family. I met him at a bar, and he looked like he had it all together. I was still trying to figure out how I was going to pay my student loans once I got out of the grace period.”
I pause my retelling and think back to the child I was when I met Cal. I was a baby having a baby. Marrying him seemed like the only responsible decision.
Gareth continues watching me quietly, not feeling the need to fill the silence. Just instinctively knowing I need a moment.
Sighing heavily, I continue, “When he asked me to marry him, I saw myself being more responsible with someone like him. Less of a dreamer and more of a provider. I wanted stability. But we never really had that lustful attraction. We sort of skipped the fun stuff and went right to the grown-up stuff. Everything else was sort of forgotten about.”
“So you were attracted to his stability?” Gareth’s voice sounds disappointed, and I know what he’s thinking.
“I wasn’t a gold digger if that’s what you’re thinking—”
“That’s not what I’m thinking,” Gareth cuts me off, grabbing my arm urgently. “I’m just trying to figure out how a beautiful, strong woman like you could think she needed a man to make her feel stable.”
“I wasn’t strong back then,” I defend. “I was young, and weak, and scared. I wasn’t who I am when I’m with you. You bring it out in me.” I sit up on my elbows, propping my head in my hands and looking down at him. “Being with you like this is really helping me find a strength that I never gave myself the chance to find before. That’s why I got so mad earlier tonight when you were trying to interfere with my business. I should be able to figure those things out for myself.”
“I really was just trying to help,” he replies, his other hand coming out and playing with a damp strand of hair draped over my shoulder.
“I know, Gareth. I really do understand. And I’m not mad. I’m…grateful.” The word is hard to find, but it’s the right one for the moment. “You were just being a friend. I should have accepted that and not put you in the ex category.”
His eyes widen. “I don’t want to be anywhere near that wanker.”
This makes me giggle. “How do you know he’s a wanker?”
Gareth runs his thumb across my lower lip. “Because he didn’t see you the way I see you.”
My mouth falls open as tears prick the backs of my eyes. “How do you see me?” I ask, my voice thick with fear.
He sighs heavily like he’s been sitting on his answer for ages. “Like a fucking lioness. And any rightful king would be a fool not to bow to his queen.”
“OI! GARETH! I ASKED IF you want seconds?” Booker shouts, waving a plate of Vi’s famous Swedish pancakes in fron
t of me expectantly. “This is your last chance, or Tanner says he’s eating the rest.”
I shake him off, then scowl at Tanner as he forks all three and plops them onto his plate. When he reaches for the syrup, I can no longer bite my tongue. “Tanner, how can you eat like that right now?”
Tanner looks at me with wide, curious eyes. “What do you mean?”
“You’re in the middle of the season. Eating like that will have fans yelling, ‘who ate all the pies,’ at you, bro.” I glance around the table at Camden and Booker. They both nod knowingly.
It’s midseason. This is the point where we all usually hit our stride in the game. While we use Sundays as our cheat days because Vi’s cooking can’t be missed, Tanner is going above and beyond the small cheat.
Tanner rolls his eyes and stuffs a bite into his mouth while mumbling, “My game has never been better. I’m celebrating.”
I look over at Dad, who’s sitting at the head of the table with Rocky on his lap, cooing at her like she’s better than football.
Don’t get me wrong. Rocky is a million times better than football. She’s pretty much everything in life. We’re all happily wrapped around her little finger. Regardless, Dad has spent most of our lives controlling our diets and fitness routines because of his obsession with football. He even pushed all of us to live with him well into our twenties because he said it was best for our careers.
Now, his star striker is stuffing his face with pancakes and syrup, and the man can’t look away from his granddaughter to interject. What is happening?
Vi leans over me to grab my plate off the table. “Are you all right, Gareth?”
“Of course I am. Why do you ask?” I stand up and take the dishes from her hand, noticing that Dad chooses now to look away from Rocky to pay attention to the outside world.
We haven’t spoken again about him asking me to move back to London. It was a ridiculous request. But the truth is, watching him on Sundays lately, I can see that something is definitely changing in him.
Vi follows me to the sink in the kitchen. “You seem like you’re in a mood again.”
“What do you mean again?” I frown at her.
“Well, a couple of months ago you were like this. Then you got better. Now you—”
“Kind of suck again,” Camden finishes, setting some plates on the counter next to Vi.
“I’m not in a mood,” I defend but know deep down that I’m completely in a mood.
Sloan is making me tense. Once again, she has pushed me off for another week. I get the occasional texts and phone calls, but I don’t understand her. She wants to see me every bloody night one week, then cuts me off dead for several days in a row the next week. It’s making me bloody mad.
I know this is casual, but it feels like she’s playing fucking games or something. It’s making me realise how very little I know about her. I don’t know where she lives or if she has flatmates. If she’s in a house or a flat. I know things about her upbringing, but nothing about her real life other than how she likes me to fuck her.
The first couple of weeks I loved the release sex with her gave me. Now that she’s spending the night more and more, I guess I feel entitled to a bit more.
“Here, your dad had to take a call,” Hayden says, handing Rocky off to me. I shift my grip to hold her against my chest as he adds, “Rocky brightens all my dark days.”
Vi smiles at Hayden affectionately, but Rocky diverts my attention back to her as she clasps her tiny fingers on my cheeks. “Garee,” she coos.
I swear to fucking Christ my heart stops.
“Did she just…” Tanner barks from the table, his chair scraping loudly against the marble floor as he shoots to a standing position.
“Was that?” Vi’s voice is high-pitched as she rushes over to where I stand stock-still, staring into Rocky’s beautiful blue eyes. “Did she just say your name?”
“I don’t know,” I reply, then look back at my perfect niece. “What did you say, Rocky?” I ask softly, not wanting to frighten her.
With a wide, toothless smile, she says it again. “Garee.” Then she slaps my cheeks happily.
I burst out laughing. “She’s saying my name!”
“This is utter bollocks!” Tanner bellows, stuffing the last bite of pancakes into his mouth. “I see her more than him by miles!”
“Garee,” Rocky coos again, then nearly kills me as she rests her head on my shoulder and gives me the most heart-melting hug I could ever imagine. She tucks into me like my shoulder was created just for this moment.
“Give her to me,” Tanner says, his arms outstretched as he walks toward me.
“Piss off,” I state, turning my back on him. “My niece and I are having a moment.”
Vi wraps her arms around the two of us and whispers, “Even Rocky knew you needed cheering up.”
DRAPED NAKED OVER GARETH ISN’T a bad way to fall asleep every night. We’ve spent another full week screwing like wild animals. I even got to try my hand at spanking him earlier tonight. I can’t believe the rush I got when I had him push me against a wall and fuck me.
Good God, how am I ever going to quit this arrangement when it only gets better and better? And it’s not about having control over him that gets me off. It’s the strength he displays in his submission. Anyone can yield from a position of weakness, but to truly surrender entirely of his own free will simply because he wants to…That is what’s so freaking sexy. He’s so unexpected but wonderfully perfect for where I’m at in my life. I can’t believe he’s mine.
I sigh contentedly and lift my head to look up at him, the blue light from his closet pouring in, illuminating his smouldering features. We’re in bed early because Gareth has a game tomorrow. I learned quickly that he needs his sleep on Friday nights, but I can’t stop myself from asking a simple question.
“How did you get this?” I ask, propping myself up on his chest and running my finger down the ridge of his imperfect nose.
Before he answers, I stick my finger in his mouth and wordlessly will him to suck.
He sucks.
I smile.
“Football accident,” he replies after my finger retreats.
He watches me hungrily as I bring the digit to my mouth and suck off his spit. There’s not a thing I’m uncomfortable with around Gareth anymore. He’s turned me from an insecure, emotional wreck of a divorcée into a sex goddess who’s currently in love with life. “What happened?”
His Adam’s apple slides up and down his throat as he adds, “I took a boot to the face during my first season with Man U.”
“Ouch. Did it hurt?” I ask, propping my chin on my hands.
He shrugs. “Might have hurt if I hadn’t liked it so much.”
My brows lift. “You enjoy pain outside of the bedroom?”
He runs his hand slowly up my spine, his thick, rough fingers causing a riot of goosebumps to erupt all over my body.
“No,” he replies and splays his hand flat on my arm. “But I do enjoy hurting my dad.”
“How did your injury hurt your dad?”
“Because he couldn’t get to me. He couldn’t fuss over me, or help me, or be any part of the doctor appointments.”
“Why not?” I ask, frowning curiously.
“He refuses to return to Manchester.”
“Do you know why?”
Gareth shakes his head. “I’m sure it has something to do with my mum. Something he’ll never share because he’s a selfish sod.”
I eye him dubiously. “And you’re Mr. Sharer?”
His relaxed face hardens. “I’ve shared more with you than anyone in my life. I’m bloody well sharing right now, aren’t I?”
His tone has me narrowing my eyes. “I know how you are with other people. The press. You give them nothing.”
His body feels like stone beneath me. “I thought you don’t research me.”
“I don’t.”
“Then how do you know I don’t share anything with the press?�
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I pause, trying to decide if my reply will give too much away. “My…roommate tells me.”
“Roommate,” he repeats with a mean laugh. “That’s the first I’ve heard of that.” His tone is scathing, his relaxed mood completely vanished.
“What do you mean?” I ask, bracing myself for his response.
“I had no idea you have a fucking roommate because I know nothing about you, Sloan.”
It pisses me off that he called me Sloan. He knows I prefer Treacle when I’m here. I sit up, not giving a shit that my boobs are on full display. There’s nothing sexy about this moment right now. “I’ve shared a lot with you. I freaking shared my entire upbringing with you a couple weeks ago!”
He sits up with me, his eyes dark and angry. Scary even. “But what about your real life?”
“What do you mean?”
“What do you do when you disappear on me for a week?”
“I’m working!”
“Bullshit. You worked today. You’re working tomorrow. I know what your work looks like.”
“What are you insinuating?”
“That I know nothing about you, except for how you like to be fucked! Are you out fucking other guys like this? Asking them to bend over so you can whip them like a sadistic whore?”
I slap him. It wasn’t a conscious decision. It certainly wasn’t something I did to bring him pleasure. It was something I did to make him hurt as much as his words hurt me.
My palm tingles as his cheek erupts with the outline of my hand. “You think I’m a sadist?” I hate the trembling in my voice. I hate that I care what he thinks of me. This isn’t how we are supposed to be.
“I think there’s a reason we fuck the way we do and neither of us are truly owning up to it.”
“I don’t want to own up to it,” I reply, turning and throwing my feet off the side of the bed. “That isn’t what our arrangement is about. We have boundaries for a reason!”
“I get it, Sloan. We have a deal. You’re in control and I’m not.”
“Exactly!” I roar and stand up, turning my angry eyes on him. “I’m in control and you get the freedom to not think. It was a win-win here, Gareth. I thought we were both enjoying this.”