Epilogue

EPILOGUE

Scout

Five Years Later

My eyes are trained on the television screen, on which my husband is playing in game two of the World Series. The voices of the commentators fill the dark hotel room. The only other sound is my measured breathing, in and out. In and out. Cash’s face comes up on the screen and I make an eager noise, my knees pressing together, my wrists pulling on the bonds that attach me to the bed. I writhe my naked body in the sheets, imagining what he’ll do to me when the game is over. When he returns.

After Cash was drafted, I left school to go on the road with him. Of course, there were a lot of objections from my brother and parents, but there was no other solution. We can’t be away from each other. Even now, as I watch his jaw grind on the screen, I know he’s thinking of me. I know he’s counting the minutes until we’re together again. To the untrained observer, that wild flame dancing in his eyes would look like competitive spirit, but I know better. He’s on the verge of madness from not being able to touch and smell me.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” I whisper, arching my back in the Egyptian cotton sheets, the cool air causing my nipples to stiffen, the flesh between my legs growing wet in anticipation. Ninth inning.

One more out and Cash can leave. Honestly, he’s done more than enough on the field today to earn them the win. He’s a future hall of famer, my husband. He’s driven and talented and there isn’t a pitcher in the league that wants to face him from the mound. I get keyed up watching him play—and he knows it. It’s one of the reasons I’m tied to this bed right now.

The other reason is simple. I’m his. He does what he needs to do with me to stay sane. And that includes bringing me on the road, keeping me hidden away in various luxurious hotel rooms, tied up, waiting for him to come home and ransack my body.

The pitcher on our team throws the final out and my breath immediately begins to grow thin, my breasts heaving up and down in the television light. I’m an addict for my husband and it has been six hours since he was inside of me. I’m aching and growing more delirious with need by the second. On the screen, I watch Cash leave the field. He’s the first one off. He won’t stick around to do press or listen to post-game talks with the coach. He won’t even shower. He’ll grab his things and drive back to me, his withdrawals equally as bad as mine.

These accommodations were part of his contract when he signed with his current team. We’re a package deal, me and Cash. I travel with him to every city, though we travel separate from the rest of the team, because he can’t stand his teammates looking at me. Nor can he keep his hands off me long enough to take a flight. We learned that the hard way the first time I traveled with the team on their private plane and Cash took me up against the bathroom door, my moans carrying all the way to the cockpit.

I slither my body in the expensive sheets, enjoying the pain of the bonds around my wrists, picturing Cash as he’ll appear in the doorway, sweaty, still wearing his uniform, his erection curving the front of his white pants. I can’t wait for the season to be over so we can spend some time at home. I’ll garden and read and walk on the beach—and Cash will watch me do all of those things. He’s always watching.

My head turns to the left so I can smile for the camera, preening and stretching out to tempt him, knowing Cash is watching me on the screen of his phone.

Is our behavior sick? Is our addiction to one another healthy?

A lot of people would say no.

And we’d agree with them. It’s why we decided against having children. Before we were even married, Cash admitted he liked the idea of getting me pregnant, but he hated the idea of me having to remain home with a baby while he went on the road. Having to share me. Not being able to have access to me at the drop of a hat. I didn’t want any of those things, either. I only need him. Wolfishly. Therefore, our family will always remain at two and I couldn’t be happier with that decision. It’s the responsible one, considering who we are.

How we…engage. Like animals.

I lie in the stillness and count my breaths, needing Cash to come put me out of my misery. It’s agony without the weight of him pressing me down, anchoring me. Without his body on mine, I feel insubstantial, like I could float up through the ceiling and out to the sky.

He’s getting close to the hotel.

I can feel him.

I begin to tremor, a light sheen of perspiration forming on my skin, even though the room is air conditioned. My stomach muscles contract and release, my nipples tingling like they’re being brushed by a feather. I can already feel his breath on my belly, the nape of my neck, in my ear. I can already feel him consuming me, so by the time his key card dips into the slot of the hotel room door, I’m whimpering in excitement.

And I know as soon as his cleats sink into the carpet that I’m in for a rough evening.

His relief that I am there, safe, is clear, but there is a hard glint in his eyes.

“What’s wrong?” I whisper.

He rips off his baseball cap and tosses it aside, leaving his hair in sweaty disarray, then he approaches the bed while unfastening his pants, that thick, generous part of him already forming a hard ridge, as I knew it would. “The reporters outside the stadium were asking about you again.” He plants a knee on the bed, his eyes devouring me, starting at my toes and ending at the crown of my head. “Where is your wife, Mr. Jenner? Is it true you make her watch the game from the hotel?” He shoves my thighs apart, groaning and fondling himself, spitting once, twice on my sex. “Why don’t you allow her to attend the games?”

I bite my lip and begin to tremble when he takes out his big, meaty shaft, my toes digging into the mattress with glee over the way it sticks straight out, a messy shine of precome decorating the bulbous tip. “Don’t listen to them. Don’t worry about them,” I manage, my voice sounding funny. Breathless. I’m always winded in his presence. “They don’t understand.”

“No…” He skims his palm up my inner thigh, kneading my wet center for a moment and making me gasp, before his touch continues up my ribcage, higher, five fingers wrapping around my throat and cutting off my air. “They don’t understand that when you attract attention with your beautiful face and body, a dark part of me wants to kill you, do they?” He climbs on top of me, adding his second hand to my throat. “They don’t get it. You’re safer tied up to my bed at the hotel. Safe from other cocks. Safe from your own husband.”

I start to struggle, because black is creeping into the edges of my vision and he loosens his double grip, allows me to gasp, to fill my lungs before he flattens me completely with his body, baring his teeth against my lips. I taste blood and I love it. I feel his violence and I want it to wreck me, leave me in tatters.

“Nothing matters but this,” I whisper, wrapping my legs around his hips. “There’s no one but us. It’s all noise out there. It’s all fake. We’re the only thing that’s real.” I rub my inner thighs up and down his ribcage, slowly, tilting my hips up to give him access to my drenched pussy. “They wish they could feel an ounce of what we feel every single day.”

“You feel lust for me, angel. You love me.” He rakes his open mouth over mine, side to side, his expression agonized. “You don’t want to choke me and bruise me for simply existing. For daring to conquer my every waking thought. To make me feel like a prisoner inside my own body. You fuck me up so bad, I can’t think or see or do…anything.” In one quick movement, he reaches down and shoves himself inside of me, throwing his head back and groaning like a mating beast. “It’s no wonder when you’ve got such a tight, young cunt, is it? Fuck!” He thrusts for a full minute, his drives aggressive, frantic, his muscular body flexing in the muted light. “I can feel it pulsing around my cock every second of the day. I can see your green eyes looking up at me, trusting me not to crush you, not to punish you for being alive.”

He begins pounding me, shaking the bed, my cries of delight filling the hotel room.

All I can do is lie there and take it, my wrists tugging on the bonds, my eyes full of tears that eventually overflow and track down my temples. He fucks me until my voice is hoarse, snarling in my ear about the pain I cause him, the misery, the beauty I provide, the color I bring to his world, how he wants to spank me until I can’t walk.

“Do it, Daddy,” I say, pouting, opening my thighs as wide as I can, being rewarded with violence pumps of his lower body, his sharp spit on my tits. “Punish me. They don’t understand. They’ll never understand. Mark me everywhere. I love it. I love you.”

“Goddammit, angel,” he breathes, a shudder wracking his chest. “I love you, too. Forever. For fucking ever. I love you more every single second. It’s breaking me. I love you.”

“You hate me a little, too.” I clutch my sex around him, making his eyes bulge, the cords stand out on his throat, a raw, tortured sound leaving his mouth. “Show me.”

My husband unleashes his lust and love and fury on me, fastening his mouth over mine and sucking up all my oxygen while his hard length rifles in and out of me, his show of primal aggression making me orgasm in seconds, the pleasure stealing my breath even further, unconsciousness starting to threaten from a distance, then growing closer…close…

And as Cash slants his mouth over mine in another grinding kiss, without allowing me to breathe first, I wonder if this will be the time his obsession takes over and he finally kills me.

I don’t care.

I know that he’ll find me in whatever afterlife awaits us.

He’d find me anywhere.

Just before I black out, he breaks the kiss and I gasp wildly, replenishing my lungs, his twisted, lovesick expression the final thing I see before I’m flipped over and taken from behind with my cheek pressed to the mattress, wrists crisscrossed and straining in their bonds, his chants of my name and cracks of his palm against my flesh filling my ears.

THE END