The Life You Stole

by Ann, Jewel E.

  My eyes narrowed. “Did she tell you that?”

  “Not in those exact words.” Lila’s nose wrinkled. “Just … show her how much you love her and need her. Okay.”

  I nodded slowly. “Yeah. I can do that.”

  Thanks to Lila … I could do that.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Evelyn

  I took a Lyft home, grateful that the next day was Saturday, Sophie was handling the store, and Ronin had the day off to take care of the kids if I had a hangover to nurse. It wasn’t that I was plastered, but it had been a long time since I’d had anything to drink. Being a responsible shop owner, a mom, and a wife to a man who no longer wanted to touch me didn’t leave time to enjoy a glass of wine or six.

  Then there was Graham—my owner. The warden of my life. The Grim Reaper.

  His confession.

  His threat.

  Him.

  I had better judgment than that. There was no way he was the same guy I met in college. Something happened to him, turning him into a villain, a rabid animal that needed to be put down. Only … he had me cornered at every turn, holding my best friend hostage. And Ronin? Well, I didn’t know what Graham might do to him.

  A little before midnight, I turned the key to the door and slipped inside, closing it behind me and wobbling a bit to get my shoes off without falling into anything. I ambled to the sink and filled a glass with water, gulping down copious amounts along with a packet of natural remedy stuff Tami gave me—some sort of electrolyte and liver cleansing concoction. She swore it would prevent a hangover. I hoped so.

  With my clumsy, inebriated version of tiptoeing, I made my way to the closet to grab some clean panties and a nightshirt. Feeling a need that hadn’t been met in a long time, I eased the closet door shut and opened a shoe box of a pair of ankle boots and retrieved my old pink friend, Madonna. She had batteries in her.

  Her.

  Yes, my vibrator was a her, and her name was Madonna. A true, trustworthy friend like Lila, not an actual dick like Graham. And sadly, Madonna was the only one there to meet my needs since my husband was unable to get and sustain an erection for me.

  Leaving my fitted gray and oil-stained tee on, I slid out of my skinny jeans and panties. From my other old ankle boot, I retrieved a bottle of lube, the warming kind that made me tingle. I concocted it myself in my lab, but I didn’t sell it at the shop.

  Dropping to the floor in the most uncoordinated fashion, I leaned against a stack of drawers, legs bent and spread wide. My heart raced, making a whooshing white nose in my ears, proof of how long it had been. The thought of tingling lube and Madonna had me very turned on. The wine might have helped too. I wasn’t really a Zinfandel person, but after the second glass, it tasted pretty damn good.

  With one hand, I applied some warming lube, rubbing tiny circles over my clit and my opening. I closed my eyes and imagined Ronin’s mouth down there. He was so good at that—definitely an expert in that department. After a minute or so, I flipped on my Madonna, only … she didn’t move.

  I opened my eyes and frowned at her under the dimly lit closet light where two of the three bulbs had burned out. Wiping my lubed hand on my already stained shirt, I removed Madonna’s batteries and put them back in, but she still didn’t work.

  “Just my luck,” I whispered.

  Fuck my life.

  Really, if sitting in a closet close to midnight and getting stood up by a vibrator wasn’t the lowest of lows, then I don’t know what could have beat it. Maybe my next move …

  “Fine, Madonna, we’ll go old school tonight,” I murmured, lubing her good and inching her into me while my eyes closed again. Not going to lie … I was tired. I really needed her to do some of the work, but I also needed to get off. So I worked my clit with one hand and Madonna with my other hand.

  Stupid, terrible thoughts warred in my mind, like Graham gloating about giving me orgasms with his mouth. I pinched my eyes shut tighter and willed those away. I had no intention of getting off on the Devil that night. Instead, I thought of my first night with Ronin, the nights by the fire, the times (pre-kids) in the kitchen.

  Yes … yes …

  Those were the images that moved my hands faster, made my knees spread wider. I wasn’t ashamed of my needs as a woman. Humans were sexual creatures, even the ones dressed in robes, carrying crosses around their necks. If Ronin couldn’t give me what I needed, I’d capture it myself. It wasn’t the same. Madonna wasn’t Ronin no matter how hard I tried to make her mimic his rhythm, but six glasses of wine made her good enough.

  Good enough felt really damn great at that moment.

  “Need help?”

  I jumped and my eyes flew open.

  In one horrifying second, I sobered up.

  I yanked Madonna out of me and clawed for absolutely any item of clothing to cover myself and hide my pink friend—the nearest thing being Ronin’s dirty shirt. The bottle of lube tipped over onto the carpet beneath my legs as I hugged them to my chest beneath his shirt.

  All the blood in my body went to my head, filling my cheeks with fire and pushing beads of sweat out along my brow.

  So.

  Unbelievably.

  Embarrassing.

  Six years. In our six years together, Ronin had never seen me masturbate alone. He didn’t know I owned a vibrator. And I knew my selfish, drunken, late-night behavior had to make him feel like a failure.

  He squatted in front of me, wearing a pair of silk boxers, resting his forearms on his legs. The corner of his mouth twitched as I panted like I’d just finished running a race.

  What was I supposed to say?

  Sorry.

  Please forgive me.

  Can we agree to raise the kids without ever making eye contact again?

  “Can I get you new batteries? Three of my fingers? My mouth? My dick?”

  I coughed a bit, parched from so much heavy breathing, or maybe his words choked me as I attempted to digest each one.

  Did my eyes look as huge and dilated as they felt? Probably.

  “I’m so sorry …” I whispered, scrunching my face and biting my bottom lip really hard.

  His head cocked to the side as he squinted. “Sorry for what?”

  Why did he have to completely humiliate me?

  Making my point, he pulled his T-shirt from my legs, exposing Madonna and the lube. “You’re sorry about this?” He held up my dead vibrator. Poor Madonna.

  I nodded, keeping a full cringe glued to my face.

  “I have spare batteries in the garage.” He held it in front of his face, giving it a close inspection as if he hadn’t ever seen a vibrator before. And it’s possible Madonna was his first close encounter. That was something that hadn’t ever come up in conversation.

  I snatched it from his hand and grabbed the bottle of lube while trying with clumsy effort to stand. “Please just forget you saw this. I need a shower.”

  Ronin grabbed my naked hips as he dropped to his knees. Still, I couldn’t look him in the eye.

  “Evie …” he whispered. “I don’t want to forget what I just saw.”

  My face flushed all over again as I resigned myself to the fact that he wasn’t going to let me get away with a simple “forget about it.” I tried to keep my breath steady, tried to hide how his hands on my hips did things to me.

  The rough pads of his lumberjack fingers slid up the sides of my torso, taking my T-shirt with them.

  I dropped the vibrator and lube. “Roe …”

  “Shh …” He pulled my shirt over my head. “Look at me, Evie.”

  Embarrassment turned into pain. Weeks of loneliness and heartbreak over my husband … my friend … Lila … it all rushed to the surface, bleeding out with a single look at the one person I needed more than anyone else to feel me.

  “I’m the one who’s sorry, baby.” His mouth claimed mine, his tongue sliding against mine in slow, deep strokes as he removed my bra.

  My hands dove into his hair, hoping with the
deepest desperation that he would be able to take it all the way. I didn’t touch him there. I couldn’t bear the rejection, so I took the kiss. I took his hands on my body, caressing my skin, cupping my breasts, giving me pleasure. I took everything he offered without asking for anything in return.

  We kissed forever. The more we kissed, the more I feared it was as far as he could go. I willed myself to keep from crying, silently mourning that deepest intimacy.

  “Touch me, Evie.” He held my head as his lips moved from my mouth to my jaw, my ear, and down my neck.

  I kept my eyes closed, feeling intoxicated all over again, but it wasn’t the wine; it was all him. My fingertips traced the lines of his abs so slowly. Each muscle contracted beneath my touch. The instant I reached his waistband, I felt him almost breaking through the thin fabric.

  Relief washed along my body with a renewed urgency between us when my hand slid along his erection.

  He moaned, and his kiss became more demanding as he sucked and bit his way along my skin to my breasts. I let go … I let go of everything. We turned into the lovers we were that first night in his condo.

  Two frantic bodies incapable of getting close enough, moving together fast enough, penetrating deep enough … hard enough.

  His touch was rough, but so was mine. He marked me with his mouth sucking my neck and breasts and his bruising grip on my ass. I marked him with my teeth planted into his shoulder as I used him to muffle my cries when I orgasmed—also marking him with my nails along his back.

  I love you. And I will never belong to anyone but you.

  My body fell limp beneath the suffocating pressure of his naked torso collapsed onto mine. We were nothing but sweaty, breathless deadweight on the floor of the closet. And I didn’t want to ever move. I wanted that moment to last forever. I wanted to stay that connected to Ronin for the rest of my life.

  My fingers tickled the nape of his neck as the warm air from his mouth brushed along my shoulder.

  “Again,” I whispered.

  “Again,” he echoed, climbing off me and carrying me to the shower where we did it all over again.

  After we ran out of hot water, he wrapped me in a towel. I lifted onto my toes and kissed him slowly. The towel slipped from my body. “Again,” I whispered over his lips.

  “Again.” He grinned against my mouth before hoisting me up to his waist and carrying me to bed.

  We slowed it down.

  We whispered all the words except those three words that still hadn’t made an audible debut between us.

  We softened our hold on each other, leaving behind all the desperation, letting every kiss linger, letting every touch spread along our naked bodies and seep into our intertwined souls. And while we eventually reached the point of release, it wasn’t about that. It was about making amends, healing wounds, and tightening those invisible bonds that had always held us together.

  Ronin held me the rest of the night, and I said a silent prayer to God, imaginary or not, asking her to help us navigate the road ahead. It scared me. It scared me so very much.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Ronin

  I woke up at four in the morning. The ringing in my ears had returned, but I didn’t feel bad … yet. In fact, I felt pretty damn good with naked Evie’s naked backside spooned into me. Under normal circumstances, I would have been a kind husband and a patient lover, letting my wife sleep—after all, we’d only had two hours of sleep—but I didn’t know how long the feeling would last. And at that moment, a certain part of me wanted Evie very much.

  I wanted to fill my hands with her.

  I wanted to fill my mouth with her.

  I wanted to fill every void in my entire body with Evelyn.

  And then I wanted to fill her everywhere.

  Slipping out of bed, I locked the bedroom door—just in case. Then I grabbed my phone and wireless headphones, two scarves, a bandana, and that bottle of lube she had in the closet. I maneuvered her slowly and carefully, keeping her asleep until I was ready to wake her up.

  Standing naked at the end of the bed, I smiled, feeling a thrilling jolt through my veins, giving me a rush of life that I knew would disappear all too soon. The scarves restrained her hands. The bandana rested loosely around her neck, ready to be slipped into her mouth to keep her from screaming and waking up the kids. The headphones rested on her ears. My wife looked so fucking beautiful spread out on the bed, naked, and sleeping like an angel with her blond hair fanned out along the pillow. But it was time to wake my angel. Whether she would understand it or not, I needed her.

  I didn’t want to waste an ounce of life that Lila gave me.

  Pressing play on my phone, Evie’s blue eyes popped open and her arms jerked at the restraints as “One Track Mind” by Thirty Seconds to Mars flowed through the headphones. I pressed a finger to my mouth to keep her quiet as my other hand slid the bandana over her chin and into her mouth.

  She bit down on it. Eyes wide. Chest heaving with each exhilarating breath.

  I worked my way down her naked body, sucking her taut nipples and dipping my tongue into her navel as she writhed beneath my touch. A twisted, aching part of me needed to erase the memory of another woman in my arms. Although Evie knew nothing about that, I still needed to make it right in my own head.

  The seductive song played for her as I took my one-track mind between her legs. Her back shot off the bed into the most beautiful arch of flesh as I took her to the edge.

  Over … and … over … again.

  As soon as I released her restraints and the bandana from her mouth, she tore off the headphones and grabbed my face, kissing me harder than I had kissed her … possibly ever. Every time her tongue thrashed against mine, she moaned.

  A hungry.

  Needy.

  Starving moan.

  She shoved me onto my back and navigated down my body. I closed my eyes for a few seconds and let her take me to another world … one of her parallel universes where all I felt was pleasure.

  Her mouth wrapped around me.

  Her eyes peering up at me, making me feel like a king—not the man who needed to touch another woman before he could fuck his own wife.

  Before she took me to the finish line, I tugged her hair and sat up. She perched on her knees between my spread legs. I had never seen anything more beautiful than my Evie with mussed hair, on her knees naked for me, and her tongue making a slow swipe along her full lips. I reached for her bottle of lube and stared at it for a few seconds before shifting my gaze to her.

  She did the same thing, trapping the corner of her lower lip between her teeth for a breath before relinquishing a single nod.

  I died again. Who knew it could happen so many times in one life? I wasn’t sure if it was the Devil giving me permission to take any kind of pleasure in my wife’s body or if some higher power was giving me one last hurrah before taking my last breath.

  Either way, I didn’t question it. Instead, I smiled at Evie as she eased onto her hands and knees, looking over her shoulder at me.

  Screw the ringing in my ears.

  To hell with my cursed life.

  I embraced the “madness.”

  One. Track. Mind …

  Evelyn

  “Mommy!” Anya climbed into the bed.

  I peeled open my tired eyes, feeling a little disoriented, a lot sore everywhere, and utterly panicked about my current situation. As she hugged my neck, I took a quick inventory of everything.

  The bedding was neat like Ronin had made the bed with me still in it. I couldn’t remember putting my nightshirt back on, but it was there along with a pair of (thankfully dry) panties. No lube, scarves, or bandana in sight.

  “Good morning, sweetie.” I sighed, hugging her squirmy body.

  As quickly as she ran into the room and woke me up, she jumped off the bed and ran back out to the living room.

  Apparently, mission accomplished.

  Filling the doorway was my sexy as hell husband with his hands tuc
ked into the pockets of faded ripped jeans, a white wrinkled tee stretched across his broad torso, and a cocky grin hiding his secrets.

  “Good morning.” He stayed in the doorway, shoulder pressed to one side.

  I pushed myself up to a sitting position, cringing a bit.

  “Sore?”

  My gaze shot to his. I wish I could have seen a flicker of regret on his face … but I didn’t. If anything, he looked pretty proud of himself.

  I rubbed my wrists. They weren’t bruised or marked in any way, but they were a bit tender to touch. “Nope. I’m good.”

  I lied.

  Seriously … every part of my body had been thoroughly enjoyed by him before he left me for dead. Okay, maybe not dead, but I’m pretty sure at some point I just passed out from exhaustion.

  “You?” I tipped my chin up, feigning confidence and strength.

  He pulled the neck of his shirt to the side, exposing some impressive bite marks, but not nearly as impressive as the carved lines he showed me when he turned and lifted his shirt, revealing the marred skin on his back.

  “Not bad. Does it hurt?”

  He released his shirt and turned back toward me, grunting a tiny breath through his nose while maintaining his shit-eating grin. “No.”

  I nodded slowly, giving him a tightlipped smile.

  “I made waffles. You coming?”

  Standing sounded like a great idea, my backside was sore, but I sure wasn’t going to let Ronin know that. I eased out of bed, trying hard to keep a straight face. It was all fun and games until real life demanded things like … functioning body parts.

  When your husband goes weeks without getting an erection for you, holding you, kissing you … you don’t say no when things start working properly again. And that was why I couldn’t move. I didn’t say no. Not once.

  Not to anything.

  Part of it was my own desire, my own need to feel as close as possible to Ronin. The other part, that made me completely submissive, was the look on his face every time I gave him a nod, a yes, and did exactly what he wanted me to do.