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For the ones who thought they could fix him. This one has a happy ending.
“For those ninety days, you’re my wife.”
“Obviously.”
“No. I mean, m...
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“That’s too bad. You should have made sure you were in a position to get engaged first.”
wouldn’t let a man touch her for a hundred times that. If I could help it, no other man will ever touch her again.
“You’ve never been nostalgic in your life. It was always forward movement with you. Always what was next week, next year, next century. Now, suddenly, you like long walks down memory lane?”
The average person would probably be terrified of her temper, but I love seeing it flare again. Anger means she’s still invested enough to feel something for me. Apathy is the real danger. Right now, I still have a shot to fix this. It might be one deep down in the bowels of hell, with rapidly dropping temperatures and the smell of snow, but I’ll take it.
“One last thing…” I call after her, and she pauses but doesn’t turn around to look at me. “I just want to be clear. When I say I want my bed back, I mean with you in it.”
Like any good family, it’s one of those things where if I want to talk shit about him—that’s one thing, but I’ll go down swinging against anyone else who has a bad word to say.
“Use whatever fancy French names you want for him, sugar. It’s still Hazel Stockton, the last I checked.”
“Last night. But tomorrow night, and the night after that, and the night after that… she’ll forget you even had a name when that engagement ring you got her is sitting on the edge of the sink, and her legs are wrapped around me.”
“You think you’re coming in? You have a hell of a lot more groveling to do. You can’t just fix a few things around the place and think I’m going to get on my back for you.”
“I prefer you riding me anyway.”
“Just don’t think you’re going to wear me down. You left. And you’ll leave again. I know you. I learned my lesson, and I know better this time,” she mumbles, her head already on the pillow, her eyes heavy.
I pause at the doorway, holding there for a long moment and bracing myself against it for what I’m gonna say next. “Haze… I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was… finding my parents like that…” I’m searching for the right words and failing. “It tore a hole in me. I was terrified it was going to happen again, and I wouldn’t be able to stop it. That it would be you next time.”
“Always leaving. Him leaving. You leaving. Why does everyone always leave me…” she mumbles, and I can tell she’s half-asleep from the way her words fade.
“I’m not leaving anymore, sugar. Not unless you make me.” I kiss her forehead and make sure she’s well tucked in, looking back at her one last time before I close the door. She deserves so much better than anyone’s ever given her, and I’ll do whatever it takes to make it up to her.
“I’ve never seen anyone love each other the way you and Ramsey did. The way that boy loved you enough to tell Bo and the rest of your brothers to go to hell. The way you took care of him through everything…”
“I’m just saying, I know how much it hurt you when he left.”
No one cheated. No one lied. The tragedies just mounted up so high we were hurting too much to see past them, and when push came to shove, he wanted to run, and I wanted to stay. He needed to start over fresh, and I couldn’t imagine leaving the only thing I ever knew.
“Ask me to fuck you.”
“You keep telling me you’re not the girl I remember, and I believe you. I think you’re smarter, cleverer than you’ve ever been. So when you climb up here, pleading with me, and spreading these gorgeous thighs over my lap, I want you to remember that I’ve only just got out of prison after months of nothing but my hand and memories of how perfect my wife felt with her tight cunt gripping my cock and pleading for more of me. Ask yourself if that’s wise.”
“You’re married, remember?”
“Am I?”
“Because if I was, I’m pretty sure she’d remember how good I can be to her. How well I take care of her. All the ways I could put us both out of our misery.”
“Ramsey…”
“Just ask.”
“Then don’t do this to us again until you can.”
“Get out of your head.”
“I can’t.”
“You can. You’re thinking too much. Worrying too much. Just grind that sw...
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“Fuck… You should see yourself. So pretty when you let go like this. What fuckin’ dreams are made of.”
“Mine,” he growls. “Every single inch for the next two months. You fuck with me like this again, I’ll make you pay for it. When he calls back, you can tell Daddy you have a husband you’re busy worshiping now.”
He feels so fucking good. Like mine. Like home.
“I don’t belong to you.”
“You might not, but this body remembers exactly who owns it.”
“Fuck you, Ramsey.”
“I intend to. Over and over again until I break you back in, and you remember who ...
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“I own you. Your house. Your name. Your body.” Each word is a punctuated thrust. “And every single time, you’ve come wishing it was me when you fucked him.”
“Fuck me. Look at you covered in me. Just like you should be.”
“I’m gonna get my money’s worth and fill every single fucking part of this gorgeous body. Every fucking day. Until you’re so fucking broken for me, you can’t even fathom coming without me.”
I’m fucked—in every possible way—because I hate my husband to my core, but I’m also addicted to everything he gives me. One little taste won’t be enough to last me as long as I’ll need it to in a life without him.
“What am I doing?”
“More of this. Giving me the orgasm I deserve, and then taking a long shower before you come to bed.”
“I can do that,” I agree, because I might not have my girl back, but she’s willing to play, and that’s the first step.
“Because I hate you with the fire of a thousand fucking suns! I hate how you sweep in and turn everything upside down. How you make me rethink every choice I ever made. How you just walk in and take whatever you want whenever you want and damn the consequences. You’re trying to ruin everything.”
“Not everything. Just you.”
“Sugar, when it comes to you, I remember every single thing. Like you were branded on my soul.”
“Sugar…” I warn but she only works me over harder, eager to have me coming for her. “You’re so fucking merciless. Let me come on your pretty lips. If you won’t let me kiss them, at least let me paint them. Please.”
