by Daniels, J.
“Whoever did that needs to lose their fuckin’ job. I hope you complained.” I pull my shirt off, strip down to my boxers, and toss my clothes on the end of the bed before climbing in beside her. “Let me see it.” I wrap my fingers around her wrist.
Tessa straightens her arm across my lap. “It looks worse than it feels,” she says.
I rub my thumb along the edges of the bruise.
It’s roughly four inches long, spreading out in the crease of her elbow and then down toward her wrist, following the path of the vein. The center of the mark so dark it appears purple.
A bruise like this would stand out on anyone, but on Tessa’s fair skin, it looks fucking terrible. I picture her getting stuck over and over again, holding still through the pain, not making a sound but wanting to. I imagine Tessa biting back tears.
Anger waters my mouth. I press my lips to the mark, gently kissing her. “I don’t like this. You look like you got beat up.”
“I better get used to it.”
I lift my head and look directly into her face. “What the fuck does that mean?”
“I have to get my blood drawn a lot as we go through this,” she explains, rubbing the inside of her elbow when I release her wrist. “I’ll be going back in a couple weeks.”
“So, go somewhere else.”
“That’s the only lab that takes our insurance. If I go anywhere else, I’ll have to pay like, two hundred bucks every time.”
“I’ll fuckin’ pay it, I don’t give a fuck. Don’t let them touch you again.”
Tessa narrows her eyes at me, a smirk lifting half of her mouth as she presses her fingertip between my furrowed brows. “You look ready for murder, Officer Evans.”
I jerk back. “I’m serious. Don’t go back there.”
“I won’t let that woman anywhere near me again. I’ll wait for someone else next time.” She kisses my shoulder. “Okay?”
Instead of answering her, I press my mouth to her hair. That’s all I need to give her. My body language speaks for itself. It always has.
I’m not as tense as I was at the beginning of this discussion. Even though I hate the idea of Tessa going back to that lab, I feel better knowing she’ll make sure that woman stays the fuck away from her. Tessa’s giving me a guarantee. I won’t need to worry about this because it’s her. My wife can hold her own. There’s no fucking doubt about that. I wouldn’t need to step in even if she couldn’t promise me this.
“I embarrassed myself today,” she says, leaning back. “Like hard-core embarrassed.”
“Doin’ what? What happened?”
“There was this pregnant girl at the hospital and I like, zoned in on the stomach while we were in the elevator together.” A soft giggle escapes her. She rolls her eyes at herself. “I was legit staring at her and it totally freaked her out. She called me a weirdo.”
I laugh under my breath. “Surprised I didn’t get a call about you gettin’ in some fight.”
“I’d never hit a pregnant woman. Or a minor. She was young as shit.” Tessa’s shoulder jerks. “Besides, I felt bad. I apologized and bought her a muffin at the coffee bar. She didn’t have enough money.”
I stare at her, fighting a smile.
“What?”
“It always shocks me when you’re nice.”
“Shut up!” she laughs. “I’m very nice when people deserve it. And if they don’t, I’m not mean to them. I’m not really anything. I’ll never be like Mia and hand out smiles to everyone—that shit ain’t free—but hey, if I’m in the wrong about something then yes, I will absolutely buy you a muffin and apologize for being a weirdo. It’s the least I can do.”
My brow lifts. “That’s the criteria for you bein’ nice to people?”
“It is.”
“Then I gotta ask . . . you plannin’ on payin’ up anytime soon? I’m owed a fuck-ton of muffins.”
“What?” Her eyes widen with amusement. “Says who?”
“Says me. You’re in the wrong about shit involving us all the time.”
“Yeah, right. I’m going to need examples. Let’s hear them.”
“What about that table?”
“What about it?”
“Said it was too big. I take you on it once and you’re eye-fuckin’ that thing every time you step into the kitchen now.”
“That proves nothing . . .”
“It proves you were wrong—that table’s perfect for us and you know it.”
“Okay, fine. I owe you one muffin.” She holds up a finger. “One, Luke. I’m not convinced you deserve more.” She turns to grab her tea and takes a sip.
“What about the day we met?”
She holds the mug away from her lips and glances over at me. “What about it?”
“You brushed me off, remember? Acting like we weren’t ever gonna happen, and you couldn’t have been more wrong about that. We were always meant for this.” I watch her throat work with a swallow.
“I was playing hard to get,” she argues, setting her mug on the nightstand and then turning to face me again. “I knew what we were meant for.” Her voice softens to the sweetest tone. She smiles at me. “I drove past there today.”
“Where?”
“Todd Lakes, where we first met. We should go back there together sometime.”
I picture where the Ruxton PD fundraiser was held nearly four years ago. The pavilions surrounded by open fields of wildflowers and the lake that seems to stretch on for miles. It’s really fucking pretty there, and now, hearing Tessa mention it, I want to go back. I want to be there with her again. And I could tell her I’m going to make that happen and give her what she’s asking me for, or I could keep those plans to myself.
I decide on the latter and change subjects, keeping her from getting that information out of me. I don’t get to surprise my wife enough. I know she’ll like this.
“I really like muffins.”
I’m shit at changing subjects. Typically, I’ll blurt out the first thought that pops into my head. This was no exception.
Tessa stares at me after I speak, half of her mouth lifting into a smile as her body quakes with laughter. “You’re really cute sometimes, you know that?”
“So are you.”
“Oh, I was really cute today, you should’ve seen me.”
She shakes her head at herself, and I think she’s talking about her earlier interaction with the pregnant girl until Tessa stands from the bed and walks over to the stack of decorative pillows against the wall, the ones she throws up on the bed and we never fucking use, meaning they have no actual purpose.
She grabs one, keeping her back to me as she elaborates. “I know this is weird, but I don’t think I’m the only woman who has ever done this.”
Tessa spins around then, her hands splaying across the misshapen bulge of her T-shirt. She’s stuffed the pillow under it.
My brows hit my hairline.
“I walked around like this the rest of the day after I got home. I just,” she peers down at herself. “I wanted to pretend a little. I don’t know. I can’t believe I’m showing you this . . .”
She sounds embarrassed now and maybe a little regretful. I don’t want that. I don’t want Tessa wishing she never would’ve shared this with me, which is where I think she’s headed if she isn’t already there. And yeah, maybe this is a little weird, like she said, but it’s also really fucking sweet.
“Come here,” I say, drawing her head up.
Her cheeks are flushed now, rose red, and concealing her freckles. “I feel dumb,” she mumbles, slowly moving closer.
“Get the fuck up here and show me.”
She smiles a little and flips me off as she plants her knee on the bed.
Laughter rumbles inside my chest.
Climbing on, Tessa keeps our gazes locked, but she looks like she wants to turn away. It wouldn’t matter how hard I’d beg for this, that discomfort isn’t leaving her.
I never see my wife unsure about anything involving her b
ody, but right now, that’s all I’m seeing.
She’s embarrassed. She doesn’t want to show me this up close, which is what I’m asking for. She’s worried about what I’ll think, what I’ll say to her and what I’ll keep to myself. Honest words that could wound.
She’s worried for nothing.
Taking my guidance, Tessa straddles my waist and eases herself down into my lap. Her hands seeking anchor on my shoulders. The pillow wedged between us.
We stare at each other.
“This is weird,” she whispers.
I slide my hands off her hips and form them around the pillow. “Have you done this before?” I ask, peering into her face.
“Not with a pillow. I’ve pushed my gut out and pretended that way. It’s more realistic, but I can’t hold it very long.” She places her hands on top of mine. “This I can do for hours. I did do it for hours. I did it until I worried you would catch me. It’s like I want you to know all of my little secrets and at the same time, I don’t. I can think this is weird, but if you thought it was . . .” her voice trails off. Her bottom lip gets caught between her teeth.
I hold her gaze as I lift the front of her shirt and remove the pillow. I drop it off the bed. “I would’ve done this if I would’ve caught you.” I stroke up her stomach, hands flat against her smooth, warm skin. My fingertips graze the underside of her breasts. “You looked sweet. That’s not a look you wear very often, babe. I would’ve been on you so fuckin’ fast.”
Tessa moans, arching her neck when my palms graze her nipples. “I’m not a sweet girl.”
“No, you are not.”
“How do I typically look?”
“Like you wanna get on my dick.”
I push her shirt up as I lean closer, capturing one perfect tit in my mouth. I suck on her nipple until my cheeks hollow and she’s panting, begging me to give attention to the other.
“Yeah, you’re spot on with that.” She scratches her nails along my scalp and jerks in my lap when I bite her flesh. “Thank you for not making me feel dumb or silly. For only letting me feel,” she gasps when I pinch her nipple. “L-Like this. I love you for that, Luke.” Her hand curls around my jaw.
She guides my face up to look at her, and as soon as I do, I see what she’s trying to show me—the change in her expression. The way her eyes swim with lust and grip me. The tease of her tongue along her full, bottom lip. I can practically hear her thoughts, every filthy promise she wants to give me.
“Do I look like I want to get on your dick now?” she asks in a smooth, velvety voice I feel like a touch wrapping around me. “Because I really, really do . . .”
I grip her waist and lean in, taking her mouth in a brutal kiss. “Get your shorts off.”
“Get your dick out and I will.”
We both smile, and Tessa laughs a little as I kiss along her jaw and down to her neck, my hands between us.
I reach into my boxers and squeeze my shaft, groaning.
“You fucking tease,” she says. “Fine.”
Tessa pushes against my shoulders until she’s standing above me.
I pull out my cock and pump my hand in slow, leisurely jerks, watching her undress.
She strips off her top, then wiggles her silk pajama bottoms down her legs. Her panties follow. She kicks them off the bed, and then it’s both of us lowering her down, down, down, my hand around the base of my cock until I can feel her soft, plump skin take me.
“Oh, God,” she gasps, fully seated, every inch of me inside of her. She digs her nails into my shoulders and begins to rock her hips. “Let me do this . . . I want to do this.”
“So fuckin’ do it then. Let’s go.”
Tessa grins at me, and it’s so fucking beautiful, I drop my head against the wood at my back and stop breathing.
And she knows, the second I do that, she fucking knows she has me.
Her head tilts down so she’s staring at me through those thick, dark lashes as she grinds in my lap, her lips parted so I can hear those low, throaty sounds she makes when I’m this deep. She looks like she wants to use me and throw me away after she’s done, and for some strange, twisted reason, I get off on that.
I grip her hips and watch her bounce.
I tell her how fucking hot she looks and how hard I’m going to come. I tell her to make me, to get me there. I moan and moan her name, knowing she loves it, and thrust my hips up off the bed when she tells me to fuck her.
She’s so wet and tight around me, every time, and I’m still shocked at how fucking good this is. Four years and it feels like the first time.
I can’t get enough. I know I never will.
How will it feel years from now? How could I possibly be into this woman any more than I already am?
I stare at her tattoo, the L on her hip she got years ago. It’s so fucking hot. I rub over it with my thumb, then I’m back to watching her tits jerk and sway when she starts moving faster. Chasing it.
“I love how you look at me,” she rasps, playing with herself. Two fingers between her legs. “Keep looking. Don’t stop.”
“Fuck.” My cock swells inside her. “God . . . I want you so fuckin’ bad.”
“I know.”
The smile in her voice lifts my gaze.
I jerk forward and capture her mouth when she closes her eyes and tells me she’s coming, and I make her work me. Hand on her hip, I grind my hot as fuck wife in my lap as pleasure ripples through her body, stealing her breath and the strength she needs to move. And then I’m grabbing her and flipping us so Tessa is on her back and I’m between her legs.
“Come inside me,” she moans, head dropping back on the pillow. “Oh, God . . .”
I pump my hips and fuck her, hands gripping her body. I palm her breasts. I suck and lick them as my orgasm races through me, building low in my spine and spreading out.
“Ah, fuck. Fuck!” I bury my face in her neck and groan, shooting my load as Tessa rakes her nails up my back.
“Jesus Christ,” she gasps. Her legs shake in aftershock. “God, Luke . . .”
“Fuck, that was good.” I collapse beside her, tugging on her hip so she’ll roll to face me.
“It was amazing,” she says, touching my face. Her voice is breathless. “It always is though . . . every time. We can not fuck bad, it’s awesome.”
I kiss her sweet, smiling mouth.
Side by side, we share the same pillow. Legs tangled and bodies pressing close. My arm over her waist and hers bent up between us, her fingers lightly tracing patterns on my chest and lingering over the tattoo I have—the T I got for her after we’d only been seeing each other for a month.
Yeah, she fucked me up that fast. I’m surprised I waited a whole thirty days to get it.
We look at each other in silence, and then it’s only me looking at her when her eyes slip closed.
I stay like that for a while.
I watch her sleep like I’m studying how she does it. It’s something I do a lot and have done, ever since I got Tessa back after I messed up and left three years ago. I spent weeks without her next to me like this because of my own stupid-ass fault.
It doesn’t matter how much I do this, I can’t forget how miserable that time apart was for me and how fucked up it was for her. It’s a good reminder to have. Sometimes it takes almost losing someone completely before you realize how vital they are to your own survival.
Thirty minutes go by, maybe more before I’m slipping out of bed, staying quiet about it so I don’t wake her.
I grab my boxers and put them on, then I walk out of the room, searching for Max.
I check the bedroom across the hall first, finding that empty aside from the bed I used growing up and a few other pieces of my childhood furniture. I peer inside the bathroom next, noticing a dark shadow on the floor in front of the sink.
I swipe my hand along the wall and turn on the light.
Lowering to the floor, I sit with my back pressed to the cabinet and rest my hand on Max’s side,
breath holding until I feel his move through his body. My heartbeat pounds in my ears. I gently lift his head off the cold tile and rest it in my lap.
“I don’t want you to hurt, Max.” His black eyes open up at the sound of my voice. I pet his neck and face. “I’m gonna make sure you don’t, okay? I’ll take care of it. I promise.”
Max closes his eyes.
I know he won’t follow me if I get up, so I don’t move. I stay with him.
Tessa wakes me the next morning with her hand on my cheek.
The bathroom light is harsh against my eyes. It takes me a minute to see her clearly, to focus on the tears building and the ones already falling in slow streaks down her face, and when I do finally see them, I know the reason for them without her having to tell me. I know before I even look down.
I promised this wouldn’t hurt him. He did it so it wouldn’t hurt me.
WE HAVE A small funeral for Max that afternoon and bury him in the backyard.
Ben, Mia, and their two boys come over to be with us, wanting to offer their support. They were close with Max too. Especially my nephews. They loved playing with him. We take turns sharing favorite memories and funny stories. Nolan and Chase color pictures for Max and drop them in the grave.
It’s an emotional day.
There are tears, of course, but no one cries harder than Nolan. That kid wears his heart on his sleeve. He’s known Max his entire life, and seven years to him feels infinite and so much greater than any time the rest of us could’ve spent with that dog.
We have moments before Max. Years without him. Nolan doesn’t.
Death is hardest on children. Especially ones who have never experienced it. How can you understand never seeing someone again when you’re taught from an early age that goodbyes are only temporary?
Mommy will be back. You’ll see Daddy later. Your friend can come over tomorrow.
And now, it’s ‘I’m sorry. This is permanent.’ You’ll never see this person again.
What a fucking blow.
Luke says he’s grateful it happened this way. That it went down as Max’s choice and not ours, which would’ve been an impossible decision to make. And even though I agree with him, I walk through the house wishing it wouldn’t have happened. So does Luke. He can’t look at me and pretend he’s okay. This hurts. Max was our first kid.