Page 60 of My Wife

Ah. There’smyClay. I had begun to wonder if the five years messed him up as much as it has me. A killer I can handle. But a man who doesn’t lose complete control the first time he thinks he doesn’t have my complete attention?

That would never work.

“You’re begging.” I take my time, turning so that we’re staring into each other’s eyes. “What happened to the masked killer who held a knife to my throat while I sucked his dick? The one who had to mark me with come, then fucked my ass next to Chase Whitmore because he knew Tommy never has?”

Clay has the decency to look a little ashamed at his actions.

“I was riding high on a cocktail of pent-up sexual aggression, bloodlust, and jealousy, ” he admits. “It’s a dangerous combination. Butyouwere never in any danger, Cyn. You aremy wife.”

I was. Am I still?

I guess we’ll see.

With a sigh, I ask, “Clay… why did you come here?”

“Because I knew I’d find you here. You have history.” He cradles the back of my head, tugging me close so that our foreheads are touching. “Wehave history.”

“That’s not what I meant,” I whisper.

“We told you why it had to be on Halo Island.”

Because this was the beginning—and the end.

I jerk out of his hold. He lets me, though his stare has turned unblinking.

He still doesn’t get it, does he?

“Why did you come back?” I ask, and when his expression hardens, I think he finally does. “Forget your stupid fucking plan. You disappeared, and I was finally —”

“Happy?” he supplies.

I shrug. If that’s what he wants to call it.

In the distance, I swear I hear more footsteps. The way Clay’s ears cock before he jumps to his feet, holding out his hand to help me up tells me that he heard it, too.

Before we’re interrupted, though, he runs his thumb along the height of my cheek. “You weren’t happy, Cyn. You were content.” His stroke becomes rougher, and I hate how he knows me so well.Content… that’s what I thought, too. “You missed me. Pretend if you want to. I know better. Youneedme.”

Maybe. Maybe not.

The footsteps are closer now. We wait. Clay drops his hand, hooking his thumb in his belt loop. My skin burns from where he touched me.

Jesus fucking Christ. What is taking Tommy so damn long?

I thought he’d be right behind Clay. If they’re partners like they want me to believe, wouldn’t Clay have grabbed Tommy by the shoulder, shaken him awake, then barked at him to get some damn pants on? He should’ve been seconds behind Clay, but it’s been nearly ten minutes that we’ve been alone.

That tells me that Claydidn’twant Tommy to follow.

And I cling to that as I walk toward Tommy. Clay lets me walk past him, then falls into step behind me.

“What are you two doing?” Tommy asks, just winded enough that I know he ran the entire way here once he realized that this was where we’d be. “If you wanted to go for a swim, you should’ve told me. I would’ve come.”

I get that now. It isn’t that one of these men is more dominant than the other, or that one is the mastermind, the other the follower. Both of them want one thing. Both will do whatever they have to to get that one thing. Nothing will stop them.

Except, you know, maybe thatone thinghas an opinion of her own.

From the moment I let the both of them use me, I realized that—despite their claims to both be obsessively,murderouslyin love with me—I would always be the goddamn chew toy being tugged between them.

Like Clay, he took the time to get dressed. Like Clay, he knew to find me here.

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