Page 83 of A Chance for Us
I lean forward, wanting her mouth, wanting her, and we collide. I no longer hold the back of the tub, and I have her face in my grasp. I kiss her deeply, letting our tongues slide together as we both gasp. If all I’m allowed to do is this, then I’m going to make it the best kiss she’s ever had. I play with her, retreating when she tries to go forward and overpowering her when she relents. I nip at her lip, pulling it between my teeth and then kissing it. Over and over, we do this dance, all while her hand pumps my cock.
“I need you,” I tell her.
She moves her lips to my ear. “Sit up on the edge. I need something more.”
“Sweetheart, not like this.”
“Like what?”
“Where some asshole might be looking at you, seeing how fucking perfect you are, how beautiful you look without any clothes on.”
While I know we have privacy, there’s no way I want anyone else to watch this.
Maren stands, water sliding down her beautiful body. “No one will see.” She moves over to the buttons and turns off the lights in the hot tub. It’s completely dark as her finger slides down my chest. “Sit up on the ledge and let me suck your dick.”
I do as she asks, and as she takes me deep in her throat, I decide that married life isn’t bad at all.
Twenty-One
MAREN
Tonight is our last night. First thing in the morning, we head back to Willow Creek Valley and then I drive back to Virginia Beach. It’s been an amazing and much needed few days of relaxation. We’ve laughed, watched movies, had more sex than two humans probably should, and honestly, I’m insanely happy.
Oliver is . . . well, I like him. I like him a lot. I am falling so hard for him, and I don’t know what to do about it.
I know the rules, and it’s fine because I want the same thing he does—nothing. Only I want him and that’s crazy.
Since keeping him isn’t an option, I refuse to think about it and resolve myself to the plan I started with.
Denial of all feelings.
I smooth my hands over my black dress, shifting it into place. My hair falls in beach waves that brush the middle of my back, and my makeup looks soft but alluring. I look good, if I do say so myself.
I sit on the bed, slipping my heels on and buckling the clasp on the ankle. Stella and Devney may be assholes for the lack of sleeping attire, but they did a good job with these shoes.
I pick up my phone to send Devney a quick text.
Me: I’m still mad about the repack, but thanks for the heels.
Devney: That was Stella. I almost cried when I saw her shoe collection. There were literally hundreds of pairs all neatly aligned. It was magical. I’m jealous you two are the same size.
I laugh as I imagine Devney drooling over rows of shoes.
Me: Sounds fun.
Devney: It was. How are things with Oliver?
I know she’s over him and he’s over her, but it’s . . . odd. I’m not sure what is off limits to talk about or if it’s fair to Oliver. I’ll stick to vague and friendly.
Me: We’re having a great time. It was much needed for us both.
The three dots appear, dancing on my messages, but then stop. Then start. Then stop again before a text appears.
Devney: Is this . . . odd for you?
Me: Yes.
Devney: I am not upset. I want you to know that. Sean and I talked a lot about this, and I’m truly happy for you both. I honestly wish you guys would give it a real shot.
