Page 70 of The Devious Husband

There’s so much she doesn’t know, so much she’ll never know. “I do want to be here,” I tell her, my voice soft, my words springing forth without conscious thought.

“Right,” she says, studying me for a moment before she turns and reaches over, switching off the lights.

I lie back, taking comfort in the feeling of her shoulder pressing against mine, the sound of her steady breathing, and the sweet scent of her shampoo. Sierra shifts away a little, clearly trying to find a way to get comfortable without touching me, and I desperately wish things hadn’t changed between us.

“Come here,” I tell her, wrapping my arm around her and pulling her half on top of me, the way she always used to sleep. She gasps when I move a little, until her head lies on my chest, and fuck if it isn’t the biggest thrill to have her so close again.

“Is this… is this okay?” she whispers.

I hum and wrap my hand around her waist, my heart skipping a beat when I realize her t-shirt has ridden up. “It’s a small bed, Sierra. Let’s just sleep the way we always do.” She shifts a little more, moving a little closer, and I bite down on my lip when she throws her leg over me, the way she used to. I notice the exact moment the realizes that I’m rock hard, and she becomes impossibly still, but she doesn’t move her leg away. I hesitate for a split second, before grabbing her thigh and holding her the way I’ve been dreaming of, before my nightmares took over.

She squirms just a little, her nose brushing against my throat, and I draw a shaky breath. “This t-shirt,” I murmur, sliding my hand further up her back, underneath it. “Whose is it?” It’s an odd thing to be upset about, given our circumstances, but her wearing my t-shirts has always been our thing, and the thought of her wearing another man’s t-shirt while she’s lying in my arms hurts more than I expected — even if it is one of her brothers’s.

I expected her to throw some snark my way or refuse to answer, but she merely sighs. “It’s Dion’s.”

“The fabric feels rough. You should take it off,” I say without thinking, and I instantly berate myself for my inability to just keep my goddamn mouth shut and my jealousy at bay. Just as I’m sure she’s chosen to ignore my words, she pushes against my chest and kneels, before grabbing my hand and placing it on the hem of Dion’s t-shirt. She looks at me, and there is no way in hell I could possibly ignore the quiet plea in her eyes, the hope.

She bites down on her lip when I sit up, our eyes locking as I push the fabric up. Sierra raises her arms for me, and my breath hitches when I pull her t-shirt over her head, my eyes roaming over her perfect body. My wife looks at me with so much vulnerability in her eyes, and it’s too much for me to take, too much to resist.

I groan as I thread my hand into her hair and grab her, covering her body with mine as I push her down. She gasps in the moments before my lips meet hers, and then she’s kissing me back, one of her hands wrapping into my hair while the other roams over my back.

“God, Sierra,” I groan, moving my lips to her neck, unable to hold back. She moans when I suck down on her sensitive skin, marking her as mine. It’s juvenile, but I can’t fucking help myself as I move down to her breast and do it all over again, leaving clear evidence of tonight.

“Missed this,” she breathes when I suck down on her nipple, her spine arching as he pushes against my mouth harder. I’m impatient, desperate, and she lifts her hips for me eagerly when I reach for her panties, needing them off.

“Tell me this is still mine,” I whisper as I move back on top of her and reach between us, my fingers trailing over her pussy.

“Always,” she moans, and I reward her by teasing her clit, loving how quickly she got wet, how she’s soaking my hand. She moves her hips against my hand, her movements tinged with desperation, and it drives me completely fucking wild. I get her close, and then I pull away, earning myself the neediest little whimper.

I push down my boxers in a rush, and her head falls back when I drag my cock against her pussy, the feel of her nearly undoing me. “Yes,” she urges, and my lips find hers as I push in a fraction, only to pull out again, dragging my cock over her clit in the process. I continue to tease her like that, pushing slightly deeper in every time, and within minutes I’ve got her panting, her muscles flexing around my throbbing cock. “Please,” she begs. “Please.”

I groan and kiss her as I increase the pace, pushing against her clit harder, taking her deeper, until her breathing begins to accelerate, and her legs begin to tremble. “That’s it, baby,” I whisper against her mouth, not letting up. “Come for your husband, Kitten.”

She moans loudly as I push her over the edge. “Xavier,” she begs, and I fuck her with hard, deep strokes, my control slipping as her bed slams against the wall, over and over again, her name on my lips when I come deep, deep inside her. “Fuck,” I groan, lightheaded as I collapse on top of her, my body coated in sweat.

She wraps her arms around me and holds me tightly, and I press my lips against her neck, my heart still racing. We lie together like that for longer than I’d intended, not a single part of me ready to let her go.

“Xavier?” she says eventually, her voice sounding sleepy. “Is it true that you asked my grandmother for my hand in marriage?”

I take a deep, steadying breath as I contemplate my answer, before settling on the truth. “Yes.”

“Do you regret it?”

Sixty-One

Sierra

I stare at my computer screen, unable to focus on anything but my memories of last weekend. Xavier never answered my question when I asked him if he regretted marrying me, but he way he touched me renewed the hope I’d lost, and my heart begins to race as I reach for the silk scarf around my neck.

My face had been beet red by the time we sat down for breakfast with Grams, my thighs bruised and my pussy sore from the countless time we did it, his intensity unmatched. It was like he was scared he’d never get to touch me again, like he knew he shouldn’t be indulging, and it made one thing very clear to me. He still loves me. I’d begun to wonder if maybe I was just misunderstanding why he was distancing himself from me, and maybe he’d simply started to fall out of love with me, but that night we spent together proved me wrong.

Grandma took one look at us and smirked, her eyes lighting up in a way they hadn’t in months. She thanked us for staying over and told me it was a relief to see how happy we were together, and I’d wondered what she saw that I didn’t, because I’d started to forget what it felt like to truly be happy. I’d grown tired of being the only one that still wanted to make this marriage work, of waiting for him to put me above his fears.

I sigh as I reach for my phone and click on my text messages. I haven’t spoken to him since last weekend, and every text message I sent went unanswered, every call ignored, and God, it hurts. I almost wish he hadn’t kissed me that night, hadn’t touched me, so I wouldn’t have gotten my hopes up only to find that nothing has changed.

Where do we go from here? I thought that I’d just have to be patient, that he needed to heal both his body and mind after what happened. I knew it triggered him, that it reminded him of losing Valeria, and I genuinely thought all he needed was time, but I’m not sure how much more my heart can take.

“Mrs. Kingston?”

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