Page 45 of My Wife

“Or hurt anyone else, either,” adds Clay in a sing-song voice.

FIFTEEN

MINE

That seals it for me. Maybe, later, I’ll look back and think this whole night was a fucking nightmare and that’s all it was. A bad dream. How many times have I dreamed of Clay coming back like this? Well. No. Not like this, and that’s exactly why it’s a bad dream.

But Clay’s right. Chase hurt me. He never said he was sorry. I don’t realize how much that’s fucked me up until right this very second. He never took ownership, and as a defense attorney, he’s spend his fledgling career helping other people evade justice.

This time, I want a little myself.

I can pretend I’m doing this to show mercy. I can act squeamish, cover my eyes with my fingers, tell Clay that I can’t… but the truth of the matter is, as I lower the knife to Chase’s throat and slash, it’s a lot easier to kill a man than it should be.

I don’t even have a moment to reflect on it. With his guts all over the grass, my slice might’ve killed him, but it was really just the permission Chase Whitmore needed to let go. Whoever gutted him—and it has to be Clay, no matter what he said, because I can’t believe it could beTommy—is responsible for this death. I just freed him.

And that’s enough to show me a side of Clay I’ve always known existed.

He’s opened his jeans. The zipper is down, the button wide open. While I finished poor Chase off, Clay reached his hand inside of his pants and pulled out his monstrous erection. Holy fuck. It seems even bigger than when he had me choking on it earlier.

He works it expertly, a plea in his voice as he calls out my name. “Cyn. Ineedyou.”

I meet his gaze. His murderous expression has melted away to one of lust. Of want. Ofdesperation.

And I’m pretty sure I know why.

Chase is dead. I killed him, and now Clay has his cock out, stroking himself, watching me with a look that says, if I don’t give him what he wants, he might die for real this time.

I like my lips, then hand the knife back to him. He takes it with his left hand, still stroking roughly with his right.

“I need you,” he says again, more forceful this time. “I need all of you. I need you to be mine.”

And I want this night to be over and for it all to have made some kind of sense. “What’s in it for me?”

He laughs. “Oh, baby. I’ll show you. I know you, Cyn. I know you better than you know yourself. I’m going to tug off your sweater again and you’re going to let me.”

He’s a liar, but he’s not wrong. “You’ll have to let go of either your knife or your cock to do that,” I dare.

“My dick, then. But that’s only because I’ll need my knife in a second. And my dick? Well, baby, we both know that’s yours. Give me a second and I’ll make sure to give it to you.”

My pulse jumps. I try to keep my own expression neutral, but when it comes to Clay… I can’t help myself. I’ve never been able to.

The only time our stare is broken is when he uses one hand to tug my sweater up and over his head.

His cock is still out, but he’s ignoring it in favor of ogling my chest.

Just to be a tease, I arch my back, giving him better access to them.

“Did you miss me?” Clay breathes out. Then, because I tempted him, he lifts the knife he’s still holding. Using the bloody blade, he slices the front of my bra open. Brushing the cut cups out of his way with the back of his hand, the bra hangs by my pits as my bare tits are revealed to him. He squeezes one, and I clamp my thighs together as he purrs, “Did you touch yourself and think of me?”

I give him a look that says: Wouldn’t you like to know?

“When you letTommy climb on top and fuck you, did you see my face?”

That’s it. I let him have his fun. Covering my chest with my hands, I give him my cheek.

“Clay, stop this. You were dead. Obviously you’re not. It doesn’t matter. You moved on.”

“No, Cyn.You did.”

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