Page 80 of War

“I’m not jealous,” I lie as I guide her toward her car. I pluck her keys out of her hand and open the passenger door.

She’s silent, studying me as I lean over her and buckle her seat belt. It’s something Brooks does with Sara. I always found it absurd, but I get it now. My instincts kick in and my body takes over when it comes to her. And I’m not the least bit upset about it. “So if I told you I was wet right now, you wouldn’t be upset?” She grasps my wrist, her breaths coming faster.

Still hovering over her, I drink her in. Even beneath the whitesweater she threw over her leotard, the swell of her breasts taunts me. “Why would I be upset?”

She licks her lips again. “Because he made me wet.”

I nip at her bottom lip, biting down just hard enough to pull a whine from her. “Is that the story you’re going with, Vicious?” I pull back a smidge so I can see her completely. “Or are you ready to combust because you liked that I was watching you with him?”

“What if it’s both?” She whispers the admission, worrying her bottom lip as she watches me, like she’s concerned about how I’ll react.

I pull back and shut her door, then slowly round the hood of the SUV. When I climb into the driver’s seat, I put the gift I picked up for her on the center console between us. “Then I’d say I need to punish you to remind you of who you belong to.”

“I don’t belong to you,” she says, her fire returning and her chin lifted in challenge.

“State of Massachusetts would say otherwise.” I start the car and turn my attention to the road, knowing I need to get far away from this place before my jealousy really does take over and I bring her back into the dance studio to show her precisely who she belongs to right in front of her instructor and the million and one mirrors she teased me with during her class.

“I’m married to you. I don’tbelongto you.”

I reach for her hand as a peace offering. “Well, I belong to you, Vicious, so either way, you’re stuck with me.”

“For sixteen years,” she says softly.

“It’s humorous you think I’m ever letting you go,” I mutter, rolling my neck to ease the tension that forms whenever she reminds me of her damn timeline. With a glance her way, I lower my voice and grit out, “How about you show me just how wet you are?”

Ava sucks in a breath and whips her head in my direction. “Right here?”

“Yes. Spread those legs, dip your finger in, and show me.” When she still hesitates, I grip her thigh and pull it toward me.

She walked out of the studio without pants, just the leotard and her sweater. If I hadn’t been there, I can guarantee she’d have put them on.It’s freezing out, but the woman does stupid things to taunt me, and now that she’s taken it this far, I’m not letting her pull back.

“Come on, Vicious. Don’t get shy on me now. Tease me like we both know you want to. Torture me. Don’t shut down on me.” It’s a plea for so much more than just another intimate moment with her. These games we play are my salvation. They give me hope that the two of us can have more than just the stipulations we first agreed to. It’s in these moments that I feel most at ease. I like the pain. It means I can still feel. That I’m not as dead inside as I once was.

When we come to a light, I shift and study her. She’s got her lip caught between her teeth, and she’s watching me just as intently. Like she’s reading my every thought. Good. Let her figure it all out. I’m not hiding anything from her. I lick my lips and rev the engine, growing impatient. The instant the light turns green, I hit the gas, making the tires squeal and Ava’s head snap back against the headrest.

With a throaty laugh, she teases the edge of her leotard with a finger.

Cursing, I glance from her to the road.

“Pull that little strip of fabric over and show me how you glisten for me.”

“And Benoir,” she purrs.

“Fuck Benoir and his fake French name,” I growl as jealousy burns in my gut. “It kills me, hearing his name on your lips, baby. Makes me want to fill that mouth so you can never speak it again.”

Her throaty moan has me whipping my head in her direction again. I’m just in time to watch as she stuffs two fingers into her cunt.

“Oh, fuck. That’s my dirty wife. Yes, soak those fingers. Get ready to taste yourself.”

The desperate noises she makes as she fucks herself with her fingers has me swelling until my dick is threatening to split my zipper. I’m racing against the clock, trying to get us out of the city and to the back roads before I come in my pants, and I haven’t even touched her. Her whimpers, the wet sound her body makes as it suctions her fingers, her every sound ramp up my heart rate until my blood whooshes in my ears.

“Get the toy out of the bag next to you,” I beg her.

She’s too enthralled, too far gone, riding her fingers, knowing the torture she’s doling out, to obey.

I dip my hand into the bag and pull out the toy I’ve already removed from its box. When I flip the switch, her eyes fly open, and, chest heaving, she studies it.

“Come on, baby. Put this inside your tight cunt. Let me watch you ride my present.”

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