HUSBAND: Guardian #2

by Blake, Remy

  Was she trying to tell me something? Was she sending me some cryptic message that she’s had enough and to prepare myself for the impending split?

  I rub a hand over my forehead. I’m tired. I’m tired of fighting with Ivy. All the disagreeing is exhausting.

  “Hey, man. What’s up?” Chris slides onto the open stool next to me. After Ivy left, I texted him and asked if he wanted to grab a few beers.

  “Not much. Just enjoying a cold one.” I raise my bottle to my lips and swallow a mouthful of the golden liquid. It doesn’t fix my problems with Ivy, but it doesn’t hurt either.

  “How’s work going?”

  “Eh, it’s the same shit, different day. But if everyone followed the laws, I wouldn’t have a job.” I glance his way. “What about you? Are you staying busy?”

  “Yeah, business has been thriving. I have a huge renovation about to begin. That should keep me busy for the next couple of months.”

  “That long?”

  “We’re basically doubling the size of the house, so yeah. With Murphy’s Law to deal with, it could run longer.”

  “If you need an extra set of hands on the weekend, let me know.”

  “Really? I might take you up on that. I figured you and Ivy would be busy making wedding plans by now.”

  I swallow the bitter taste his words stir up. “Nope, she doesn’t want to get married.”

  “Yet or ever?”

  “At this point, I’m not sure.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “I’ve been pushing her to set a date and she wants to graduate first.”

  “Graduation isn’t that far away, why don’t you just back off and give her some time?”

  “I really want to marry her.”

  “Just because she doesn’t want to do it right away doesn’t mean she’s not feeling the same as you. It seems like you’re just bulldozing her and trying to get your way.”

  I scowl. “Who asked you?”

  He laughs. “Hey, you chose the wrong woman if you want to get your way all the time. Ivy knows what she wants and she’s not going to let you walk all over her. If you thought being with her would be smooth sailing, then you’re in for a rude awakening.”

  “Please. When has anything with Ivy been easy? She’s been a ballbuster from day one.” I grin.

  “And you love that about her.”

  I nod. “I do. She’s headstrong and confident.”

  “Maybe you should back off her for a little while and see what happens,” he offers with a shrug. “Can’t hurt.”

  “It might,” I jest.

  “It won’t hurt as much as losing her would,” Chris states, making me ponder the brutal truth that lies in his statement.

  My chest tightens painfully at the thought of living without Ivy. I need to find a way to get things back to normal between us. And I need to do it soon.

  5

  Ivy

  It’s been two days and another forty eight hours of awkwardness. Thanks to my stubborn ass and my incessant need to have the last say, I think I’ve broken Brock.

  He’s walking around the house like I’ve kicked his puppy, and I’ve run out of options on what to do. Honesty has always been our thing. Maybe more my thing, but it’s never shaken us up like this.

  Nothing of what I said was a surprise or should’ve been a shock, but him questioning my love for him and making marriage synonymous with my feelings for him isn’t fair.

  They’re not mutually exclusive

  Well, at least not for me.

  I tiptoe my way up the stairs, home from another late night studying, only to find our bedroom door open and the bed empty.

  I drag my cell out of my back pocket, checking to see if Brock has left a message. With nothing on the screen, I open my messages and begin typing one out.

  The petty part of my brain doesn’t want to seem like she cares about where he is, but the logical part that acknowledges the safety concerns that accompany his job, can’t go to bed without knowing he’s okay.

  My fingers dance across the screen.

  Me: Hey. Where are you?”

  He doesn’t respond as quickly as usual and a rush of panic washes over me. I occupy myself by putting my book bag away, planning for tomorrow’s classes, and heading into the shower.

  It isn’t till I climb into bed that I hear my phone vibrate on the nightstand.

  Brock: Sorry. I’m just working late. A lot of paperwork to catch up on.

  I expel a loud breath and read between the lines. He’s avoiding coming home.

  “Fuck,” I shout into the empty room. I type another message, hoping the screen between us can somehow alleviate the tension.

  Me: Will you be home soon?

  Brock: Will you?

  Closing my eyes, I muster all the strength I have not to bite back and play into this vicious cycle of snark and avoidance. Instead I try the high road.

  Every part of me wants to resist giving him an apology, because no matter how sorry I am that he feels the way he does, it doesn’t change that I don’t want to get married right now.

  But I owe it to him to be vulnerable too. To expose my fears and concerns, just like he has, and not hide behind negotiable excuses.

  Me: I’m sorry.

  Brock: For what?

  Me: I love you, and I’m not going anywhere.

  Me: I know how patient you’ve been with me on this, and I wish it were easy for me to make it right. But I just need you to know that, no matter how hard we fight about it, because we will… I’m not going anywhere.

  I expect a response, but maybe it’s all a little too late.

  As I feel my eyelids begin to droop, I fall asleep knowing he isn’t going to budge about the urgency of the wedding.

  I expect the stalemate to continue for at least another week, so when I feel a large, warm, and naked body envelope mine, I’m convinced it’s a dream.

  But when I feel his soft lips move up and down the length of my neck, I succumb to the softness in his nature.

  I turn in his arms and rest my palm on his cheek. “You’re home.”

  “The only place I want to be.”

  I press my mouth to his. “I love you.”

  “I know you do, baby.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say, my voice thick with emotion.

  “Shhh.” He kisses me again. “Do you remember the first night we slept together?”

  “It’s not something I’m likely to forget.”

  Careful fingers trace the outline of my mouth as he speaks. “Remember, it was you and me, and everything on the other side of that door didn’t matter.” Using his strength, he rolls me onto my back and aligns his body perfectly on mine. “We can do this. During the day you can fight me till you lose your breath, but at night.” He presses his pelvis into mine, his erection grinding against me. “It’s only you and me. My lips, my hands, and your body at my mercy.”

  My breath hitches at his delicious confession, my hips bucking against him, desperate for friction. “I need you inside me, Brock.”

  My plea reels him in hook, line, and sinker, our mouths fusing together like magnets. Refusing to break for even the slightest bit of air, I widen my legs, aching for the connection.

  The head of his cock glides up and down my wet pussy before sliding inside.

  “Fuck, I’ve missed you,” he groans. “I’m not going to last.”

  “Please,” I beg, wanting to feel nothing more than the high of an orgasm.

  Hard thrusts rock my body, Brock determined to leave his mark––to stay true to his word and remind me it really is just me and him.

  Now, and always.

  Long and deep, every stroke ensures my body is a live wire ready to explode.

  “Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop,” I cry out breathlessly.

  “Never,” he growls.

  Quick and passionate, we fuck furiously. We fuck through the hurt. We fuck through the confusion. We fuck right through the finish line–pa
st the solutions we don’t have and right into a world where nothing but this moment exists.

  Labored breaths fill the room as reality settles in.

  “We’ll get through this,” I promise in a panic. “We will.”

  Brock turns his head to the closed door. “You and me, baby. You and me.”

  * * *

  With a spring in my step, I leave the house early, kissing a sleeping Brock and heading out to school. When I arrive on campus, I’m determined to find the solution to all our problems. Standing in front of the student services building, I offer up a silent prayer to the god I’ve never believed in and hope he sometimes makes an exception and listens to the sinners of the world.

  Pulling the glass door open, I walk to the reception desk and wait for the middle aged woman to look up at me.

  “Oh, sorry, love, I didn’t see you there.” She pushes her glasses up her nose. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

  “Yes. Actually, I was looking for someone who could help me discuss summer school.”

  Grabbing a clipboard and a booklet of papers from one of the piles surrounding her, she places a pen on the top and hands it to me. “Fill this form out with all the necessary details and we’ll organize a meeting with the head of the department as soon as possible.”

  Taking the forms, I give her a sweet smile.

  Sitting down on one of the empty chairs, I furiously scribble down all the necessary information. Eager, I rush back to the front desk and place it in front of the receptionist.

  “Finished.”

  “Wonderful, dear. You will receive an email to your student account with the outcome of your application.”

  “Thank you.”

  Giddy and triumphant, I float through the rest of my day. It’s still early in the semester, closer to spring break than the end of the school year, but it can never hurt to get ahead. If I can finish college sooner than anticipated, maybe I can give Brock his dream wedding.

  6

  Brock

  I spent most of today cleaning the house and getting ready for tonight. Ivy had to work at a local cafe from ten to five. Whenever she has a Saturday shift, she always comes home exhausted. So, I was prepared when she walked through the door.

  “Hey, baby.” I catch hold of her hand, staring down into her tired eyes.

  “Hi.” She sighs.

  “I have a surprise for you. Come with me.” I lead her to our master bathroom where a steaming bubble bath awaits. Her favorite lavender candles are ablaze around the room and soft, soothing music plays.

  “Oh, Brock,” she gasps. “I can’t believe you did this.” She throws her arms around me, and I hold her close, my large hands rubbing up and down her spine.

  “I know how hard you work and I wanted you to have some time to relax.”

  “You’re so sweet.” Somehow I resist the urge to remind her that’s another reason she should marry me. But that would backfire on me by ruining the night. Now is not the time to press her. Tonight’s about having a romantic evening together and showing her how much I love her. The rest can wait for another day.

  Gripping the hem of her shirt, I raise it over her head. Pausing to stare at her tits wrapped in blue lace, my breath stutters from my lips. She’s breathtaking. No matter how much time we’ve been together, every time I undress her, it’s like the first time. In the three years we’ve been together, her curves have developed even more. She’s like a sultry pinup model with her voluptuous shape and bedroom eyes.

  Pulling her closer to me, I unhook her bra and watch as the sexy garment falls to the tile. She shivers as I strip off every article of her clothing, and it’s not because she’s cold. It’s the incredible connection we have. Our attraction is so powerful, it’s similar to a magnetic force. It almost feels tangible, and I’m as affected by it as Ivy is.

  Holding her hand, I assist as she steps over the high edge of the claw foot tub and watch enraptured as she lowers until every inch of her from the neck down is covered by a thick layer of bubbles. She sighs with pleasure, laying her head back against the tile wall and closing her eyes.

  “Enjoy your bath. I’m going to cook dinner.” Ivy nods. “There’s a present for you on the bed. When you’re ready, come out to the patio.”

  Her eyes snap open. “It’s not my birthday, you know,” she teases.

  “Can’t a guy want to do something special for his woman?”

  “I’m not complaining.” She scoops a handful of bubbles up in her hand. “This is amazing.”

  “There’s no hurry, so take your time.” With a final glance in Ivy’s direction, I step into our bedroom. Heading to the closet, I remove the large white box with the purple bow and place it on the bed. Continuing on to the kitchen, I start to prepare our dinner, first chopping vegetables for a salad. Ivy’s part rabbit, she loves raw vegetables, so we compromise with salad. But I always add extra vegetables for her that I won’t eat.

  Moving outside onto our back patio, I turn on the grill, adding the steaks and baked potatoes. I set the glass table and light a large white candle in the center for a little ambiance. Plugging in the strands of clear lights that I’ve strung above our patio, I step back and smile. I set up a speaker with my cell phone and play my most romantic playlist filled with some of the greats, from Elvis to Nat King Cole, Paul McCartney and Wings. Before Ivy, I had one giant playlist, and now I have several grouped together depending on the mood I’m going for. But the oldies list of romantic songs is the one I put on when I’m trying to set the right mood with Ivy. And by mood, I mean getting her worked up without even having to put my hands on her. Just hearing the songs we’ve made love to so many times gets her primed for me.

  Being in love with her has turned me into a romantic sap, but I’m definitely not complaining. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

  By the time Ivy comes outside, all the food has been added to the table and I’m seated. Bounding to my feet when I see her, I can barely believe my eyes. I’m like a cartoon character whose tongue rolls out like a long, red carpet. I may even be drooling.

  Ivy pauses, smiling in my direction as she confidently slinks forward. She knows what she does to me. Her high heeled sandals tap against the brick pavers with each step she takes. Placing a hand on her jutted hip, she poses. “You like?”

  “Like?” I question in a gravelly husk. Like doesn’t even begin to describe how stunning she looks in the red sundress I chose for her. The hem flares out playfully, falling to just above her knees, showing off her sexy legs. The waist nips in tightly, conforming to every inch of her upper body. The straps holding her dress up could unbutton with a simple flick of my wrist, and that’s one of the reasons I chose this particular style. When I spotted it hanging on the metal rack, I immediately had an image of the straps undone and the top portion falling down, revealing the perfection hidden beneath.

  Prowling forward, I walk a full circle around her, taking her in from all angles. “Ivy, you’re a fucking goddess. You steal my breath.” Raising her hand, I press my lips to the soft skin and straighten up to my full height. Even with her heels on, I tower over her. “May I escort you to your seat, mademoiselle?” I bend my arm, holding it out.

  “You may.” She stares up at me from under the fan of her thick, dark eyelashes with brazen eyes before placing her hand above the crook of my arm.

  We walk together to the table and I pull her chair out for her, sliding it in once she’s seated.

  “Brock, everything looks amazing. I can’t believe you did all this for me.” She waves her hand around, gesturing at the lights I’ve strung, the candle, and the meal.

  I take the chair to her right, at the end of the table. “I wish it weren’t so much of a surprise. I guess I’ve been lacking in the romance department lately.” I should be doing more to show her how much she means to me. Telling her is not enough.

  “I think we’ve both been guilty of this. It shouldn’t all be on you. Life gets busy and we’re caught up in the
day-to-day rat race.”

  I place my hand over hers. “I don’t want to ever take what we have for granted. I certainly don’t want you to feel unappreciated.”

  “Brock, I know how much you love me.”

  “I have to disagree with that. I don’t think it’s possible for you to fathom how much I love you. It even takes me by surprise.”

  “Don’t you think I feel just as strongly about you?”

  “No, but I’m okay with being the partner who loves more.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “In every relationship one person loves the other more.”

  “Where did you come up with this nonsense?”

  “I think I read it somewhere. But think about it. Is it so farfetched to think that love might not be evenly spread out between two people?”

  “If you read it online, it’s probably not true. And how does a person measure love? It’s an encompassing feeling. It’s not tangible, therefore it’s impossible to weigh. And I resent that you think I don’t love you as much as you love me.” She pokes my bicep with her index finger. “I was the one who pursued you first.”

  “Pursued? Is that what you call it?”

  She giggles. “Flirted then.”

  “I think you mean teased me mercilessly. I had blue balls from you.”

  “You deserved them for not giving in sooner.”

  “You were like a force of nature, baby. Once I was in, I was all in.”

  “I’m hoping you’ll be all in soon.” She wiggles her dark brows.

  “Don’t start with me. I want you to enjoy this meal before we have dessert.”

  “Okay.” She pouts prettily.

  I make a plate for her and pour a glass of wine. “Before we start, I’d like to make a toast.” I raise my glass. “To us, and a lifetime of love.”

  She stares lovingly at me before clinking her glass against mine. “To us, and a lifetime of love.”