Page 97 of The Broken Vows

Celeste moans when I push her underwear aside to coat my fingers in her wetness, my movements slow and deliberate as I circle her clit, just the way she likes it. “Zane,” she pleads when I slide two fingers inside her, giving up on her charade.

“Yeah?” I murmur as I pump my fingers into her and curl them, making her gasp. “Which of the two would you like to proceed with?”

She looks at me, and fuck, I’m completely enchanted. Those flushed cheeks and those eyes of hers that are filled with broken promises… I fell for this once, and I can feel myself going down that same road all over again.

I lean in for a taste, my cock already throbbing and desperate for her. Celeste gasps when I circle her clit with my tongue just as I curl my fingers deep inside her, punishing her for tempting me over and over again. I lap at her, intent on driving her as crazy as she drives me.

“Please,” she whispers, and I pull my mouth off her to free my cock, entirely incapable of denying her anything. My wife makes the sexiest little sound when I pull my fingers away and rise to my feet. It’s not quite a whine, but it isn’t a moan either. It’s something right in between, and I’m fucking obsessed with it.

“Turn around.” She obeys immediately and spreads her legs for me on my desk, her gaze needy. “Tell me what you want,” I murmur as I push my cock right up to her entrance, loving the way she instantly wraps her legs around me in an attempt to get me closer.

“You.” Her gaze tells me it isn’t just my body she’s asking for. “I want you, Zane. I’ll always want you.”

I groan as I push into her slowly, completely enthralled as I watch my cock disappear into her tight, wet pussy. I grab her hips, and she moans so beautifully for me as I thrust into her fully. Every day, I try to resist my wife, and every day, we end up like this. If she isn’t seducing me at work, she does it by getting into our bed naked, knowing I have no hope of denying her anything. With every touch, she chips away at my resolve, and she knows it.

I pull her in for a kiss, needing her closer, and she moans against my mouth, driving me fucking wild. I kiss her slowly, and I fuck her the same way too, taking my time, punishing her for the way she continues to torment me, day after day.

“Zane,” she whispers, pulling away a little to look at me.

I draw a shaky breath and take her in, losing myself in her eyes, in this moment. “Don’t look at me like that,” I tell her, my voice soft.

“Like what?”

My gaze roams over her face, my heart beating wildly. I miss her, even when I’ve got her in my arms, and I’m not sure that feeling will ever go away. “Like you love me.”

Heartbreak flashes through her eyes, and she leans in. “But I do,” she whispers against my lips. “I do love you, Zane.”

ChapterEighty-Four

Zane

I walk into the kitchen to find my wife standing behind the stove in one of my t-shirts, and fuck, it hits me then. This is what I always wanted, but it doesn’t feel the way I thought it would. Part of what made us who we were as a couple was our unwavering faith in each other, and when we lost that, we lost each other. It always felt like it was us against the world, but for the past few years, it’s been us against each other.

The few good years we shared don’t outweigh the bad. They never erased the torment I caused her when we were kids, and they won’t erase the pain she inflicted in return. Our love will always be tainted, fractured beyond repair, but never eradicated, not fully.

Celeste looks up when I walk in, her eyes finding mine. She smiles, and my heart skips a beat. Damn it. I think I’ll always react to her this way, and it hurts. It kills me to know I’ll never be able to move on from her. I doubt I’ll ever love anyone the way I loved her — not even her.

“Morning,” she murmurs, her gaze roaming over my body and settling on the tattoo on my chest. More than once in recent days, I’ve found her staring at it, her expression pensive. “I’m making you breakfast. Which toppings would you like on your waffles?”

I study her, unsure whether I should just walk out of the kitchen. With nearly two more years left in our marriage, I can’t avoid her forever, but looking at her hurts too much these days. “Strawberries,” I murmur, wishing I could just ignore her.

She nods and turns back to the stove, her long hair cascading down her back. She’s beautiful, and she knows exactly what she’s doing to me, standing there in my clothes. The kitchen has, for some odd reason, always been the one place I can’t resist her in. Perhaps it’s because it’s my favorite room in the house, and she’s always been my favorite person.

Celeste has been relentless lately, in a way I can’t even get mad about. Other than entering my home office at will, she never crosses any boundaries. She isn’t trying to force me to forgive her, and she isn’t exactly pestering me either. She’s just always there, with that look in her eyes that tells me she’ll do anything to prove how sorry she is.

Every day, she walks into our office with either a new bouquet of flowers or a new plant, each with a hidden meaning. Peach-colored roses to show her love and sincerity, deep purple hyacinths to show her commitment and ask for forgiveness, pink bluebells to tell me she’ll always love me, and cream carnations to portray hopes of renewed love. I taught her the meaning of each and every one of them, and I’m surprised she still remembers it all.

Does she remember I once told her my mother used to do this for my father? Dad once told me that Mom found it nearly impossible to apologize when she was wrong, so she’d give him flowers she grew herself, showing her sincerity instead. The fact that Celeste is doing something similar is enough to get past my defenses, and she knows it.

I sigh and run a hand through my hair, my heart squeezing painfully at the sight of her. It isn’t just at the office she’s quietly but steadfastly showing me she’ll work for my forgiveness, no matter how long it takes. She’s relentless in our bed, too. Part of me wants to believe her when she turns to me at night, her touch conveying her desperation. When she kisses me, everything fades away, until there’s nothing but her and the way she still wants me. It never lasts, though. By the time the sun begins to shine through our windows, I’m reminded why we fell apart in the first place, and fear grips me tightly. This too, won’t last.

“Here you go,” she says, smiling so fucking sweetly as she hands me a plate with heart-shaped waffles, strawberries and maple syrup on top. I stare at it for a moment, my heart wrenching. Being with her shouldn’t hurt as much as it does, but fuck, despite the pain, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.

Her hand wraps around my arm, and I snap out of my daze as she pulls me toward the breakfast bar, her expression hopeful. Neither of us says a word as we have breakfast, yet the silence speaks volumes. I sigh as I drop my fork to my plate and move to get up the moment she’s done eating, but she grabs my hand and holds me in place. “Zane, didn’t we say we weren’t going to be unhappy anymore?”

I smile humorlessly as I turn back to face her. “But we both knew what that meant, didn’t we? It simply meant we were going to get through the remainder of our marriage without trying to hurt each other. It meant we’d try to make the best of a bad situation — no more, no less.” I take a step toward her and brush her hair out of her face. “Isn’t that what we’re doing, Celestial? There were no complaints on your lips when you begged me to fuck you harder last night, and we haven’t argued about work in weeks.”

Her gaze roams over my face, like she’s searching for a hint of something more. “Please,” she whispers. “Please tell me how to make things right.”

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