Page 86 of Married to the Frenemy

“Yeah. Fine.” He forces a smile, but it only lasts a second before his expression falls once more.

Since he got home this afternoon, he’s seemed off. Distant. I didn’t bring it up during dinner, wanting to focus on spending time with Maggie before bed. But now that it’s just us, I can’t shake the feeling that something’s wrong.

While he’s been a bit more reserved since I received Oliver’s petition, tonight he seems even more distracted.

I don’t know what to think of this version of Beckham. I don’t like brooding, distant Beckham, not after being treated to fun and playful Beckham. Not to mention sexy and lascivious Beckham.

“Are you sure?” I move to my side of the bed and slide under the duvet.

Normally, the second I’m in the bed, he practically attacks me, unable to keep his hands off me.

Today, he barely even looks at me.

“You can talk to me. I am your wife, after all.” I waggle my brows, hoping to cut through the uneasy tension.

He turns his conflicted gaze to me and swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down.

When I see his morose expression, I cup his cheek, inching toward him. “You’re not still blaming yourself for all of this, are you? I told you. It’s not your fault. It has nothing to do with you.”

He briefly squeezes his eyes shut, as if my words physically wound him. Then he blows out a long sigh and wraps me in his embrace. “It’s just some stress at work.” He kisses the top of my head. “Nothing for you to worry about.”

I run my fingers along his chest, tracing the pattern of the phoenix’s wings spreading across his skin. Regardless of his assurances, I can’t help but think he’s not being honest with me.

“Are you sure that’s all it is?

He touches a finger to my chin, forcing my eyes to his. “I’m sure.”

“Well then…” I climb on top of him and straddle his waist. I pull my hair free from its tie, allowing it to fall down my shoulders in waves. “You know what they say is a great way to relieve stress, don’t you?”

“What’s that?” He grips my thighs as I grind against him, his erection springing to life.

I reach for the bottom of my tank top and yank it off in one swift motion. When his pupils flame as his eyes focus on my breasts, relief washes over me.

“Sex, Beckham.” I lower my mouth toward his. “I hear sex is a great stress reliever.”

His fingers tangle in my hair, gripping it possessively as he holds me in place, keeping my lips just out of reach. Hesitation flickers in his eyes, and I almost expect for him to turn me down. A first since we started sleeping together.

Then he flips me onto my back, moving his hands to cup my face. I brace for him to slam his lips against mine like he usually does.

But that’s not what happens.

Instead, his motions are slow and measured as he covers my mouth. There’s no rush. No desperate need to consume every inch of me. Instead, he takes his time, his tongue sensually caressing mine as his hands explore my body.

A part of me feels somewhat relieved when he finally brings our kiss to an end, not liking the emotions he’s able to bring out of me.

But when he returns to me after ridding himself of his shorts and kisses me even more sensually, it only makes it worse.

“So beautiful,” he murmurs, circling my nipple with his tongue as he slides his hand up my leg, slipping a finger into my panties.

When he rubs my clit, I’m powerless to resist, a slave to his touch. His kiss. His everything.

“I need you,” I beg, arching into him.

“And I need you, Haley.” He hooks his fingers into the waistband of my panties.

I lift my hips, and he slides the material down my legs, tossing them to the side before returning to me, his mouth so close, yet still too far away.

“Need you so damn much.”

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