Maybe Next Time (Vegas Nights, #1)

by Christina C. Jones

“And why the fuck would that be, Kensa, huh?” he asked, pushing away from where he’d perched against the counter to get in my face. “What privilege do you think you have with me?!” “I’m your—” Shit.

Gotcha

“Good morning, honey. Mr. Benoit sent me over, said you needed the fridge disinfected,”

Omfg

It was pure serendipity, and honestly… watching her pretty ass singing and dancing to the sultry vibe of that music, so fucking happy, not a care in the world… That was the moment I knew I was in love. Hopping on a flight for something small, nice hotels, gifts… I could write that off in my mind as just trying to impress her–shit I was just doing for continued access to her pussy. It wasn’t that, but I tried to convince myself it was, instead of the damn-nigga-you-caught-feelings alternative. But that feeling I had, in that moment–the thrill it brought me to see her so fucking joyful… Yeah. That was the moment.

“A huge risk,” she agreed, then looked past me, out the window, to the water. “But at the time… it felt so worth it.” I raised an eyebrow. “At the time. So… what… are you saying you don’t think it was worth it anymore?” “You tell me, Denver.” Her eyes connected with mine, glossy and distressed for reasons I didn’t understand. “Do you still feel like it was a good risk? Like I was worth it?” “I’ve never thought otherwise. Not even for a second.”

“Sorry for what?” “Sorry that… you can’t talk to me about this. Sorry that I made it that way. You should’ve been able to… pour yourself out about it–to cry, scream, whatever you needed to do. But you couldn’t,”

We’d been obsessed with each other, obsessed with the concept of us as a unit–I didn’t just love my husband, I loved being his wife. But it wasn’t enough. We needed something more–something deeper.

One thing was for sure though–I’d have to make it clear that I wasn’t making him watch me drown. I was… letting him.

“It was… it was never about feeling like I couldn’t talk to you,” I said, shifting positions and angling my head so I could meet his gaze. “Not in the way that you’re thinking, as if it was something you did. I didn’t… I didn’t feel like I deserved to put my burdens on you.” “We’re married, Kensa. Sharing the burden is… kinda the whole point.”

Now, he just wanted peace, quiet, and my pussy.

Grief was a raggedy bitch who lived for drama.

Maybe next time, it wouldn’t even scratch the surface.