Page 27 of A Method to His Madness

The flames are never going to extinguish around her, because she fans them simply by smiling. By shifting that gorgeous backside in her seat. Blinking. Breathing. Existing. Just when I think this obsession can’t run any deeper, another cavern opens up inside of me and a deeper kind of crazy floods in.

“Could I write for a little while when we get to your place?” she says, looking over at me, the new sparkle in her eyes nearly stealing my concentration. “I feel…inspired. Like I could design an entirely new fictional world.” Her laughter is totally unfettered. Musical and free. “Anything seems possible.”

“You don’t have to ask me for permission, angel,” I say, stopping at a red light. “If you want to write, write.”

I’m not prepared for Ashley to launch herself across the truck, wrapping her arms around my neck. “I’m so happy.”

Can she feel my heart going eight hundred miles an hour? I press a hard kiss to her temple, then her mouth. “This is how it’s going to stay,” I promise gruffly, winding our tongues together until there’s a polite tap of the horn behind us. “Just like this.”

She melts back into her seat, a furrow slowly forming between her brows. “How, Caleb? He’s going to be back tomorrow. I can’t just…stay with you, as much as I want that. He still holds the cards when it comes to my family. The farm.”

I keep my eyes on the road. “Do you trust me, Ash—”

“Yes,” she says, no hesitation.

“Thank you,” I say, reaching over to massage her upper thigh. “If he wants to take you away from me, he better bring a fucking army. It’s not happening.” I ride my hand higher and grip her cunt, allowing possessiveness to spread like wildfire inside of me. “He’ll never have you.” Red mists my vision. “And he’ll never have this.”

“No.” She opens her thighs to accommodate more of my hand. “Only you.”

I mold her pussy roughly. “Because you chose to give it to me.”

“Yes,” she whimpers.

One more squeeze, then I pat her mound gently. “Good girl.”

Ashley

The next day, I stand in front of the full-length mirror, and I barely recognize myself.

My eyes are no longer haunted, surrounded by anxious white lines.

My hair is down, wavy and a little messy, because Caleb can’t stop himself from kissing me every time we pass each other in the house or in the office. He sinks those skillful fingers into my hair and robs me of reason, my feet swept clean off the ground.

I’m wearing a flowing, strapless periwinkle dress with a smock top that hugs my breasts. I’m barefoot. My expression is clear and I have a sense of fulfilment that boggles the mind, considering it only took three days to achieve it.

What could I feel in a month?

A year?

One thing I know for sure is I’ll still love Caleb a year from now.

A millennium from now.

I’ll still trust him.

Which is why I turn now and walk through the house slowly, toward his office where my husband has freshly arrived. Only a moment ago, his truck pulled into the lane outside the office and he climbed out, spitting carelessly into the grass and scratched his crotch as I watched from Caleb’s bedroom window.

What a donkey.

Outside Caleb’s office now, I pause with my hand on the doorknob to examine what I’m feeling. Not fear. Not dread. Only…triumph.

With that, I push the door open and walk into the office like I own the place, stopping beside Caleb where he leans against his desk, spine straight and proud, watching Waylon without blinking, a muscle ticking in his cheek. I brush my knuckle against the outside of Caleb’s thigh, just to have a connection, becausenottouching him is impossible, and I look my tormentor—my family’s tormentor—right in the eye.

“Hello, Waylon.”

His gaze widens almost comically, taking in my transformation. He gawks at my unbound hair, the healthy color in my face, my permanently swollen mouth, my uncharacteristic attire, the skin I now refuse to hide, if only so Caleb can touch it.

“Ashley?” he sputters, his attention flying to Caleb. “I barely recognize you.”

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