Page 68 of What About Us
I pull my braid through my fingers, something I do when I’m nervous. “I dropped the towels and ran like hell.”
Wren nods slightly. “When did this happen?”
“Like, twenty minutes ago,” I say, dropping my braid and wringing my hands in my lap.
My phone vibrates and I pull it out, flipping it over to check the screen. It’s an incoming text from Hudson, and I chuck the phone down on the couch like it’s poisonous. “Shit. He’s texting me. He’s already called three times since I left the house.”
“What’s he saying?” Ginger asks.
“I can’t look.” I pick up the phone and shove it at Wren. “You look.”
She makes an exasperated noise, but takes my phone, flipping it over. “It's not like he can see you.”
“I have my read receipts on, though. He’ll know that I know that he knows that I read it.” It’s stupid, but now that I’ve given a voice to my desires—even if only in my head—I can think of little else.
Wren tosses me a dry look. “And he’ll still think you read it even ifIopen it.”
“Just open it!” Ginger hollers.
Wren clicks into the message and reads it.
“What does it say?” I bite my lip.
She turns the phone toward me, and I lean over like it might be a snake ready to strike.
Huddy:Hey, will you call me please? We should talk.
“Uh-uh. No way. I amnotcalling him,” I say, pushing Wren’s hand and the phone away.
“Calling who?” Hank asks, drying his hair on a towel as he comes striding out of the bathroom.
Chapter 22
Hudson
One hour, three phonecalls, and two texts to Finnley later, I’m trying to wrap my head around what happened. When I looked up and saw her standing there, eyes trained on my body as I jerked off to the fantasy of her riding my face, I almost thought I was imagining her. Kind of like some fucked-up, lust-clouded fever dream.
But the little whimper that hit my ears as I came had me snapping back to reality. I stood there with my dick in my hand, watching her watch me, and my cum painted like an erotic Jackson Pollock on the shower door.
I should’ve been embarrassed; I should’ve covered myself. But the look on her face had me feeling bold, especially knowing she’d been watching me, and probably for longer than I realized. The flush on her cheeks and the rise and fall of those perfect tits of hers—her nipples puckered against the white of her sports bra. It all had a sick kind of male pride swelling in my chest, and my softening cock jerked back to life.
She’d chucked the towels she was holding and run like a bat out of hell, but not before knocking into the doorjamb on her way out. Then, shepromptly slammed my bedroom door, and I was left calling after her as I climbed out of the shower and quickly dried off.
In flannel pajama pants, my hair still dripping, and feet and chest bare, I made it downstairs, when I heard the slam of her car door inside the garage and the engine firing to life. I crossed back through the living room and opened the front door just in time to see the back end of the Volvo pulling down the road and away from the townhouse.
Now, I’m dressed, pacing the living room, and waiting for Hutch to come back and pick me up, so I can grab my truck and go to the bar to talk to Trevor. After we finished working for the day, Hutch had followed me over to the tire shop, since I’d picked up a nail in one of my tires in the last couple of days. When we arrived, there was a long line. I left the truck, and Hutch had dropped me off at home so I could shower.
I’d planned to stop at the market and pick up stuff to make dinner, but after that private, little peep show, I’d be lucky if Finn would ever be able to look me in the eye again. Hell, I might avoid her, too, had the situation been reversed and she’d actually caught me listening to her with her vibrator the other night.
Except for one thing: she didn’t look horrified at walking in on me. Maybe a little embarrassed about being caught watching, but every inch of her looked turned on and strung tight. That pillowy bottom lip of hers was tucked between her teeth, and her eyes were hooded and sort of glossy.
After I got back from picking up Paige last night, the three of us had dinner together, and then Finn and I fell asleep on the couch, snuggled up and watching a movie like we usually do. I woke up around midnight, but I couldn’t stand the thought of going to bed alone, not after the afternoon we’d spent together. Not after our wedding and that kiss, and especially not after having her so close all night. So, I’d pulled her against me and breathed her in while she slept peacefully.
She shocked the hell out of me when she asked about a name change. Lots of people keep their maiden names after marriage. But it meant everything to me that she wanted to take my last name, and it killed me that I couldn’t let the full extent of that show. Something unlocked in my chest in that moment, and I knew there was no going back. In that moment, she was my wife. Whether in name or in reality, it was the truth yesterday and it’s the truth today. She was mine the second we said, “I do,” and there is no changing my mind about that.
We’ve been dancing around this spark between us for weeks. Actually, it’s more like years. It fizzled out a little when we were apart or in relationships, but me moving in with her and spending time with her every night is like gasoline on that spark. Every laugh, every brush of her hand on my skin has me wanting more until I feel like I’ll lose my mind. I’m half hard around her all the time, and I can’t stop thinking about how it would feel to have her writhing underneath me, stuffed full of my cock, and screaming my name.
I’ve tried to extinguish it, tried to tamp it down with friendship and jokes, but my attempts are halfhearted at best. Her marrying me lit something in my gut I can’t explain. I have this all-encompassing need to consume her. I feel like we’re one small gesture away from going up in flames. And I’m finding I don’t give a damn. I want it. I need it. I needher. I’m obsessed.
