Chapter 23

The envelope shakesin my trembling hands. Throwing it straight in the trash is the sensible thing to do, but curiosity wins against self-preservation.

Swiping my finger through the gap in the envelope, I wince as the paper slices my finger. “Fuck.” I shove the tip in my mouth.

That’s got to be an omen, right? A cut and spilled blood, all from what feels like a card stamped by Westhaven Penitentiary, seems like a giant setup.

“All okay?”

Jumping at Bentley’s voice, I stare at him wide-eyed, finger still in my mouth. I hum around my finger before murmuring, “Paper cut.”

“What from?” He steps farther into our bedroom and drops his laptop on the bed.

I didn’t hear him come home, I was so focused on this damn envelope—which, shamefully, I’d planned to hide from him. In my defense, the last two weeks since leaving my folks’ place have been a roller coaster.

There have been severe highs and lows, specifically with Bentley’s pain levels.

Not realizing my husband could be so majorly stubborn is completely on me. He refuses to stay at home, insisting on attending classes. I get it; he’s worried about falling behind. But this is after his department agreed to give him extensions and additional support should he need it.

Which he obviously hasn’t taken, as he’s more stubborn than a mule with its hooves superglued to the ground.

That I haven’t told him about the phone calls already sits heavily in my gut, but since I didn’t accept Trevin’s three attempted calls, there’s nothing much to say. The truth is, it’s unnecessary worry. It’s a no-brainer that if Bentley’s upset, his head’s going to hurt.

Plus, he keeps feeling dizzy.

And that’s something he’s trying unsuccessfully to play down.

But as I’m standing in front of him, Bentley’s gaze narrowing by the second and drifting down to the envelope, it’s time to fess up.

“It’s from Trevin.”

Intensity blazes in his eyes as he snaps his attention to the envelope. “Have you opened it yet?”

I shake my head. “Just about to. I think the bastard rigged it to give me a paper cut.” My snort is all forced amusement.

“You want me to do it?”

My shoulders sag a little, and like always, he reminds me how amazing he is. “Best not in case there’s anthrax or something in here.” I’m only half joking.

With twitching lips, Bentley moves to my side, wrapping an arm around my waist. “In that case, I think it’s best we go down together.”

I feel more centered, and my hands no longer shake as I open the envelope. It’s definitely a card.

I tug it out, turning it over. The front of the card displays a cartoon bride and groom, but my gaze can’t focus enough to roll my eyes. Instead, they’re fixated on the words that fill me with dread: Congratulations on your wedding.

With a deep breath, I glance at Bentley, his reassuring presence grounding me.

My heart pounds louder as I carefully unfold the card. Inside, the message is short, but its implications weigh heavily on me.

I missed the big day. Don’t worry. I’ll catch up with you soon to give you my congratulations in person and deliver a proper gift.

A wave of nausea hits me, and I clutch the card tighter, as if trying to ward off the unsettling feeling it brings. What does he mean by “catch up”? Is he planning something? My mind races with questions, the uncertainty gnawing at me.

Turning to Bentley, I swallow hard. His steady gaze meets mine, but I’m feeling anything but in control.

“Is that a threat?” I hate the wobble in my voice. That I’m fucking scared shitless seems like just another way Trevin’s got a complete hold over me. “It’s a threat, right?”

“Hey.” Bentley takes the card from my hand and throws it to the floor. Then he’s in front of me, forcing me to make eye contact. “Fuck Trevin. When he’s released, whenever that may be, he can’t cross the state line, and if he does, we’ll celebrate, as it means he’ll have broken parole and be sent back to prison.” He cups my jaw, caressing my cheek with his thumb. “You know this, yeah?”

I do. Rationally, I know he’s right.

“What did Matt say about power?”

The mention of my therapist helps me draw in a jagged breath. Bentley’s question pierces through the tumult in my mind, bringing me back to the tools I’ve been given to navigate moments like these.

“He said….” My voice wavers, but I cling to his words like a lifeline. “He said that Trevin doesn’t have power over me. That I have all the control, and I always have the option to take his power away.” I repeat the mantra like a prayer, trying to anchor myself in the truth of those words. “He said that I’m the one in charge of my life, not Trevin.”

Bentley’s grip on my face softens, his expression filled with a mix of concern and determination. “That’s right. You’re in control, always. And we’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe.”

I lean into his touch, finding solace in his unwavering support.

Do I find it ironic that Bentley’s protecting me from Trevin, even though I’ve always promised to protect him from the man who hurt me so badly? Yeah, a little, but I’m pretty sure that’s how this whole marriage thing works.

Despite the lingering unease sparked by Trevin’s message, I take comfort in the reminder that I’m not powerless—that with Bentley by my side, I can face anything. Even Trevin.

“Do you think we need to take this to the cops?” Caution strains his tone.

“And say what, Trevin sent us a card to celebrate our marriage?” I keep the bite out of my words. I’m not pissed at him.

The reality is that when I chose not to tell the whole truth to the police, it made everything complicated. Sure, I’m still a victim of assault, but the story behind how and why makes it impossible to follow through with any complaints without retracting my story.

That’s the last thing I wish or am willing to do.

Hell, I haven’t even been contacted by the prison or parole board or whoever it is who contacts victims about the parole hearing. It confirms the story I told the police and that they don’t believe Trevin is a threat to me. My injuries were caused by me “being in the way,” and I was “not the focus of his malicious attack,” or however the police and courts chose to word it.

Remaining silent, Bentley tugs me into his arms. His wrist is no longer wrapped, and I’m assuming he’s having a good day, since he hasn’t shown signs of being in pain. I hug him back, taking comfort in the heat of his solid body.

“If you keep burrowing your nose into me like that, I’m going to think you’re finally ready to get in my pants.”

I smirk at his teasing tone, appreciating that he’s giving us a moment to think about something else. However, it doesn’t stop me from being serious when I ask, “And what number has your pain been today?”

A deep huff from Bentley teases my hair.

His lack of immediate answer tells me that while he may be okay this second, that hasn’t been the case all day. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“Whoever put you in control of my orgasms sucks.” There’s zero heat in his complaint, especially as he knows the likelihood that the strain of coming is going to bring on an intense headache.

He’s right about it sucking, though.

Saying that…

“No one said I can’t have an orgasm sucked out of me… you know, if you go really slow and use a lot of wrist action.”

Bentley stills in my arms before angling to look at me with heat in his gaze. I swallow hard as his hand immediately palms my cock.

“Fuck.” A guttural moan follows. “No, I can wait.”

That’s what I have to say, right, being a supportive husband and all that?

I think it’s the lack of conviction in my voice that has him snorting. “You want me to stop?”

“If you stop, I think I might die of blue balls.”

He licks up my neck as he unbuttons my jeans and pulls down the zipper. “We wouldn’t want that,” he mumbles as he presses open-mouthed kisses against me.

I should stop this. Me coming is going to make him impossibly hard. If I even side-eye his cock while he’s so horny, he’s likely to blow untouched.

When his warm hand eases into my boxers, wrapping around my cock, my knees go weak. “Fuck, we should stop.”

He’s jacking me off in earnest now. “We can if that’s what you really want.” The thumb against the head of my dick smooths out the precum. “Jesus.”

Yeah, my thoughts exactly.

“I need to look.”

I don’t stop him as he angles away and tugs down my jeans, then kneels. Sure, I have a healthy amount of precum, but I haven’t jacked off, not once, which means I haven’t come since the morning of Bentley’s injuries.

The precum that’s leaking from my slit is so much more than normal. Hell, there’s enough there that he could scoop it up, lather his own dick, and take me to pound town.

“Nngh…,” I grunt, liking that thought far too much. That he’s teasing my cock like it’s a specimen worth examining, which it totally is, may also have something to do with the involuntary thrusting of my hips.

“F-Fuck,” I stutter. Okay, so involuntary is code for me fucking his grip.

I glance down, mesmerized by the expression on his face.

“God, I wish you could fuck my throat.” He peers up at me from his knees with so much want in his eyes that I almost nod and tell him that’s the best idea ever.

Pulling in the last semblance of my control, I instead say, “Soon.”

The way he bites onto his bottom lip lets me know what he’s planning. I narrow my gaze at him. Or at least I try to. It’s hard—literally—to think of anything when he’s jacking me off and looking at me like I’m the hottest man he’s ever seen.

That and my balls draw tight, the tingling at the base of my spine shooting bolts of pleasure to every nerve in my body.

“Just a taste.” He opens his mouth, tongue out, lapping at my cock like my dick’s a lollipop.

“Oh, fuck… sweetheart… fuck….” Ecstasy slams into me with the speed of a flying arrow. It finds its purchase, and I explode, coming in thick spurts, each drop landing on his tongue.

A ripple and a shudder, and I stop thrusting. Bentley immediately latches on to the head of my cock, swirling his tongue, dipping it into my slit before lapping and swallowing with a dirty groan.

It’s all I can do to stand upright.

I’m blissed out, a complete blob of contented goo.

As he pulls away with a satisfied pop, I glance at him through half-lidded eyes. His lips are wet, eyes bright, and what I wouldn’t do to be able to return the favor.

I want that so desperately.

“I feel like I should be pissed off at you, but my orgasm is telling me I’m an asshole if I am.”

He chuckles, and I help him stand. The movement draws my attention to his tented jeans. I wince, imagining how much he must be throbbing. It looks painfully uncomfortable.

“I’ll feel shitty that you’re left with that as soon as the glow of you sucking my soul out fades.” Right now, I can’t pretend to feel too badly. I certainly don’t regret it.

He presses on his junk and shifts in clear discomfort.

“You know I’m taking no responsibility for this.” I’m full of shit as I lean in and lap at his mouth, knowing I’m not helping the situation. The taste of myself on his tongue shouldn’t be as hot as it is. It definitely shouldn’t be enough to get me hard again, but if I keep this up, that’s what’s going to happen.

I ease away, tracing the wrinkle from his forehead. It smooths out, his body relaxing.

“Two days with nothing higher than a three, and I promise to do anything you want, okay?”

And wasn’t that a fucking hilarious conversation to have with Lacey? It took some work to agree to a pain threshold of three, but it’s a much more realistic number than one.

“Fine, I know.” He steps away and picks up the card. “You want this?”

I hesitate. Maybe it could be useful for summoning demons or something. “I don’t know.”

Bobbing his head, Bentley shoves the card back in the envelope and tucks it away under a pile of books on the bookcase. “I’m going to take a cool shower.” He arches his brow, daring me to tease him.

I think better of it and shoot him a butter-wouldn’t-melt smile.

“Are you going to be okay?”

I don’t hesitate. “Yeah.”

Trevin has no real power over me. Gut-deep, I know it. The problem is, sometimes, my memories get in the way. That shit is hard to navigate and push aside.

“I will be,” I amend.

“Love you.” He backs away, heading to the shower, and unashamedly, I watch his delectable ass go.

Tonight,Bentley managed to watch the whole game courtside.

Did I show off a little? Damn straight I did.

One of the awesome things about playing at home is our crowd. With classes back in session, the seats are full. More than that, our fans are hella supportive.

More and more Pride flags and a whole array of rainbow paraphernalia litter the crowd. It’s only now, with the game finished and a win in our pockets, that I’m fully able to appreciate it.

Not that I’m naive to the fact that some of our fans wish we’d all stayed firmly in the closet, but as long as they don’t share their bigotry, I can let it slide.

Bentley heads my way, beaming at me.

This is now day three of pain levels below two. It’s one of the reasons I’m sure my shoes grew wings when we played. It’s been almost three weeks since his injuries, and he’s showing real signs of improvement.

It’s something we’re definitely going to celebrate, and I’m going to make good on my promise to do whatever he likes tonight.

Bentley greets me with a giant hug. I sigh into his hold, loving the PDA, which I admittedly have become needy about—not that he complains.

Fuck, I love being out, being so publicly us.

“Amazing game, baby.” The words are whispered close to my ear before he presses his lips to mine in a swift kiss. “You all killed it.”

We did. “Thanks. I still can’t wait till you’re back on the court.” Not gonna lie, it’s been hard without him, even though Downey has done a decent job of slotting into his spot, and today, he was definitely on form.

I suspect knowing Bentley was attending had something to do with that.

But yeah, we played hard tonight and came away with the win, but Bentley brings a certain finesse to the court that Downey just doesn’t have. Next season, he’ll have his chance, but for now, Bentley’s already had a couple of sit-downs with the coaches.

His wrist is healing fast. The strength is almost at a hundred percent. It’s just the pesky headaches that need to disappear. At least now, I finally believe him that his dizziness has gone.

Leon grabs our attention as he bounds over. Like all of us, he studies Bentley’s face before hauling him into a hug. Huffing out a grunted laugh, my sexy-as-fuck husband, who is totally rocking my number tonight (much to the team’s amusement), hugs Leon.

“Man, it’s so great that you’re here.” Still flushed from the game, Leon’s eyes are bright. He’s totally riding the high of the win. “Tiller said you were going to start training again with us next week.”

My brows shoot high. “He did?”

A shifty expression appears on Bentley’s face. “Yeah.” He cards his fingers through his hair. “It was going to be a surprise,” he says, side-eyeing Leon.

“Shit.” Red races up Leon’s neck. “Fuck, was Tiller not meant to tell me that? Sorry, I didn’t know.”

“Didn’t know what?” Ty’s beefy arm wraps around Bentley. As he squeezes, he looks at us expectantly.

Sighing in defeat but still looking happy as a pig in mud, Bentley answers, “I’m back training next week.”

Ty’s grin is instant. “Hell yes. Best news ever, man. Are we celebrating tonight?”

Before Bentley or Leon can answer, I jump in. “Yes. Privately, in our bedroom. You’ll all need earplugs if you’re staying in.”

Damn, I love it when Bentley turns that shade of pink. It usually spreads all across his chest. It does mean his freckles disappear, which is a bummer but totally worth it.

“No shit?” Ty gives a nod of approval. “Another day under three?”

“Jesus.” Rubbing his hand over his face, Bentley shakes his head and huffs out a heavy breath. “What happened to good old-fashioned everyone keeping their shit to themselves?”

My snicker earns me the stink eye.

To be fair, I made the hardship of going without orgasms no great secret. Maybe a little too vocally at times. But seriously, having blue balls and being frustrated while our housemates were still getting some put me in a pissy mood.

While I got off once, which admittedly was epic, that was still just once in twenty-four days.

And yes, I have been counting.

“I’ll take that as a yes. Congrats, man.”

I high-five Ty, saying, “Thanks,” like somehow I’m totally responsible for Bentley’s progress.

Instead of calling me out, Bentley chuckles, but the heat in his gaze remains a steady burn. He is so going to blow in under two minutes. My plan is to do that as soon as possible. That way, we’ve got plenty of the evening left for him to come at least once more—maybe even a third time, depending on how he’s holding up.

From the way he’s staring at me and the intensity there, I suspect he’s got a good idea of what my plan is—even though I’ve said he can ask for whatever he wants.

“You coming to the locker room?” Ty asks.

I glance around to see the rest of the team are ready to move. “Yeah. I could do with talking to Coach.”

With a smile, I hold Bentley’s hand, luxuriating in the contact that I’m sure billions of people take for granted every day.

Once out of the public eye, we shoot the shit while getting undressed. A quick check of my phone, and I smile, seeing the notification from my dad. I send him a Thanks and head for a shower.

This is going to be the quickest shower known to man. Actually… if I jump in one of the private showers, I could totally do a bit of prep before I steal Bentley away.

Do I totally whistle on my walk over to the cubicle? Why, yes—yes, I do.