Chapter 14

M y eyes pop open for a split second before closing again. Yawning, I snuggle back against the pillow, deciding I’m not ready to wake up yet. Especially when this bed feels so comfortable.

A hand moves against my side, pulling me closer, and my eyes fly open. When I crane my neck to look at Kolt, he’s staring up at the ceiling in deep thought. I admire his handsome face for a moment before gazing at his tattoos. Something I can never get enough of, it seems. And every memory from last night rushes through my brain.

Though I was angry that he had kept the truth hidden about his doctor’s visit and that he’d felt the need to sabotage our marriage because of it, I wasn’t upset about his results. How could I be when I knew he wasn’t the only one keeping us from getting pregnant?

Still, I was so unbelievably hurt that he’d lied about something so big. Maybe that makes me a hypocrite because I have endometriosis and haven’t told him yet. But in my eyes, it’s different. I haven’t told him the truth about me because we weren’t together when I got my diagnosis and had surgery. Had we been together when I found out, he would have been the first person I told the news to.

I might have been wounded by the revelation, but eventually, I collapsed against him and let him carry me into the cabin. Because as hurt as I was to learn the truth … it was clear Kolt was tortured over it. He had carried that secret, solo, for so long. So, while I am upset with him for keeping me in the dark and even madder that he pushed me away, just thinking about how much agony he must have dragged around all this time kills me, making me not want to make things any worse for him.

In his own very fucked-up way, everything Kolt did, he did for me. Even if it wasn’t the correct call, I really do believe he thought he was doing right by me, his wife.

Once we came inside, we put on dry, warm clothes. We didn’t have sex. We didn’t talk much either. We just lay together next to the fire, even though the power never went out. I cradled my head against his side and just … let it be. For once in my life, I let it be.

And he didn’t try to save either of us from the pain. Instead, we basked in it together. Understood that there really were no words to fix this.

My eyes drink in his beauty. The man is a heavily tattooed, walking model campaign. He’s always had this broken look in his eyes that hurts my heart. The kind of pain that can only come from enduring a childhood of hell. Kolt has never been one to talk about the past too much, but from what he has told me and the things I already knew from seeing it firsthand, I’m proud of him for just waking up and getting out of bed each day. Some people would let their past shape their entire lives … not him.

There were times in our marriage when I watched the pain melt away, leaving lightness behind. But then, other times, it overtook all of him.

I think back to the conversation his mother and I had on our graduation night. A conversation I’ve never told Kolt about, but because of the guilt that constantly fills my soul, I know I need to. Between the secret promise I made to his mom and the truth about my diagnosis, all I do is hide things, it seems. And when it comes to his mother, I failed her. And in failing her, I failed him too.

How do I have any right to be mad at him for keeping his doctor’s visit a secret when I, myself, also have so much I need to tell him? He’s not the only one stopping us from having babies, and I need to tell him that too.

It really does feel like every odd is stacked against us. I’m beginning to fear that maybe kids of our own might not be part of our future.

As if he feels my stare, he glances down at me. “Morning,” he says, his voice gruffer than usual as he pulls me closer to his body and glances out the window. “Looks like the storm passed.”

“Mmhmm,” I murmur against his ribs, breathing him in and wishing I could freeze this moment. “I can’t believe we didn’t lose power.” I turn and prop my head up on his stomach and deeply consider kissing his rock-hard abs, but choose not to. “It’s supposed to be warmer today. We should go for a walk on the trail along the lake. Your doctor said walking during the recovery process is super important. And then when we get back, let’s do some of those strengthening exercises.”

“I feel like a run would be better,” he grumbles. “Every ounce of endurance I’ve worked up to is going to be gone after taking so many weeks off from my real training.” I can hear the concern in his voice.

I know he’s worried about the rest of the season, and I think he has every right to be. But right now, he just needs to follow the doctor’s rules.

“Tell you what. Since the doctor said light running was fine, why don’t we run for a bit and then walk for a bit? That way, I won’t die—because we both know I hate running—but you still get to feel like Mr. I Can Run Now.” I grin. “Deal?”

His eyes narrow, but the corner of his mouth turns up the tiniest bit. “Not so sure about Mr. I Can Run Now, babe. We’re going to look like Mr. Stanley.”

I frown for a second, thinking back to the old man who lived on my parents’ street and who ran daily. Well, he didn’t run. He’d jog—sort of. He’d jog at a light pace for, like, eight steps and then walk. All while talking to himself, though no one was quite sure what he was saying.

“Well, yeah. But I don’t plan to talk to myself, so …”

“And hopefully, we don’t look like we shit ourselves, like he did,” he utters. “I’m already feeling like a loser, you know. Don’t need to pile on.”

He tickles my side lightly, and I squeal.

“Don’t be mean to Mr. Stanley! He gave me fifty bucks when I graduated,” I scold him. “He was lonely. And sad. And liked to talk to himself!”

“If he’d stopped going on walking jogs around the neighborhood, looking like he shit his pants, he might not have been so lonely.” He shrugs before he winks. “Also, that’s nice he gave you fifty and all. Seeing as he gave me a hundred.”

My mouth hangs open, and I sit up. “What? Are you serious? That dude has known me my entire life! How did he give you—the kid who’d moved onto our street during our junior year of high school—more money than me?”

“Guess because I used to weed-whack and leaf-blow his driveway,” he says, raising a brow. “Maybe if you had learned how to start either of those little machines, you could have earned yourself a hundo too.”

“Anything with a small gas tank that could potentially blow me up scares me,” I deadpan. “You can keep your hundred bucks.”

His hand hooks around my leg playfully, and he tugs me on top of him so that I’m straddling his waist before he starts tickling me. “Look at that though. The bad boy from the wrong side of the tracks was favored over the sweet girl who volunteered at the old folks’ home on the weekends. Who would have thought it?”

“You jerk! He probably just thought if you made it big, you’d recall that hundred dollars and send him a bonus.”

Then, I remember, last year, Mr. Stanley’s health was failing fast, and he suddenly got put in this elaborate assisted living place in Florida—a place that is known around the nation to have a huge wait list, yet he got right in within weeks.

When I look down at my husband, it all clicks, and I stop flailing around.

“Stop tickling me!” I bark out.

Finally, he does, and my body stills.

“You got him into that place in Florida, didn’t you?” I think out loud, keeping my voice low, even though I’m not sure why because there’s no one else here. “I’ve never understood how he got in there, especially since he has no family and has always lived a pretty modest life.” My hand settles on his chest, and I feel his heart beating quickly against my palm. “It was you, wasn’t it? You paid for him to be able to move in there.”

His eyes stay on me, his expression growing stoic for a few seconds before he angles his face slightly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Buttercup,” he muses, taking my hands in his and lacing our fingers together.

Kolt is known in hockey nation as being the grumpy defenseman who only talks to the media when he absolutely has to. In most footage or photos taken of him, he wears the same unimpressed expression. But people don’t know that since he first made it to the NHL, he’s secretly donated to numerous causes, and he helps out whenever he can.

I mean, four Christmases ago, this man anonymously donated thousands upon thousands of dollars’ worth of gifts to the homeless shelter in downtown Portland. The year after, he put on a hat and sunglasses and went to every angel tree in Southern Maine, took all the names off of each one, and fulfilled the wishes written on the tags, plus added something extra.

He’s got so much good inside of him, yet he never wants to be praised for any of it.

“Whatcha thinking about, Princess P?” he drawls lowly.

“Nothing,” I whisper, looking down at him and debating on jumping his bones right now.

I want him so badly that between my legs physically throbs. Blood pumps through me, stopping at my core, creating a rippling effect throughout my entire body. I swallow hard, knowing that he’ll probably just pull the same thing he did last night when I was in the hot tub and he told me we had to talk and not hide behind sex.

It’s not his fingers or even his tongue I’m longing for right now. It’s his huge cock, thrusting inside of me and making me feel whole again. I want his hands on my body. And I want his lips on mine. I want to fall apart together, over and over again.

His eyes darken, twinkling with need, as if he can hear my every thought, and I rub myself against him subtly, but enough to feel his cock twitch.

“Kolt.” My voice is throaty, and I grind myself more against his hardening length.

Something about feeling how much I turn him on … it drives me wild. Because even after being together for so long, I still do it for him.

And he sure as hell does it for me too.

His chin angles up as he grits his teeth. “I know what you want, Buttercup,” he rumbles. “But I’m not giving you my cock, baby. Not yet.”

“Why not?” I pout, rocking my hips slowly on his aching dick, salivating with need. “We deserve it, Kolt. After all we’ve been through … we owe it to ourselves.”

I know I sound like a drug addict, in need of my next fix. But, dammit, that’s what he does to me. Sometimes, I have no control over my actions when it comes to Kolt Kolburne.

His eyes move around my face, searching for something. And with every twitch of his cock, my pussy only grows greedier. His hands release from mine, and he clutches my hips. But not with need or force. Just … barely there.

“Kolt, it’s me,” I whine, sliding my hands down his chest and to his abdomen. “Your wife .”

His grip on the flesh of my waist grows firmer, and his fingertips dig into my skin.

“I want nothing more than to slide inside of you. Thrusting in and out, deeper and deeper, as your pussy coats my cock before I remind you of just how fucking hard I can make you come.” He pushes me back and forth against his length. “But I won’t fuck you, Paige. Not until I know you’re going to stay.”

“Kolt … we have so much to figure out before we can make that decision,” I hiss in frustration. “And being together—like, really together—can’t you see that it will only bring us closer?”

I don’t know what I expect from him after saying those words. But it’s not him smirking, narrowing his eyes.

“That pussy must be throbbing, baby. You’re so desperate for me to fuck you, aren’t you?” he coos.

I nod eagerly, completely unashamed. “Yes,” I croak out. “Please.”

“I forgot how much of a little slut you can be when it comes to my dick, baby.” He tsks me. “But I meant what I said. No dick for you until you make your mind up if you’re going to stay and be my wife.” Dragging his hand up my back, he tangles his fingers in my hair. “Oh, and, Paige? If you do decide to stay, I’m not fucking you in a random place.”

What the …

His grasp tightens. “I’m fucking you in our bed.”

That seems to get her attention. Not like I didn’t already have it. I mean, fuck, my wife is practically dry-humping my cock through my sweatpants. And it’s taking all of my fucking willpower not to give in, take my cock out, rip her clothes off, and shove it inside of her heat. Especially since I know she’s fucking soaking wet.

And, fuck, it would feel so good on my cock to have her pussy dragging me deeper.

No, I’m not fucking doing it. Not until she makes her mind up.

Besides, I meant what I said. When I do bury myself inside of her, it’s going to be in our bedroom. And it’s going to be so many times and in so many ways that our sheets will be fucking soaked.

“But while I might not be willing to fuck you, I never said I wouldn’t get you off.” I cock my head to the side. “Get up.”

All too eagerly, she scurries off the bed. She doesn’t even ask me any questions as she tears her sweatpants off, kicking them from her feet. When she attempts to grasp her panties, I stand up, wagging my finger at her.

“Nope. No need to take those off, princess. Not yet anyway.”

Her lip pokes out, but before she can pout too much, I grab her and spin her around. Bringing her ass up against my dick, I push it against her and lift her chin toward the mirror facing us.

“Do you feel how hard I am, Paige?” I growl into her ear, glaring at her reflection. “So, here’s what we’re going to do since you’re so fucking greedy to get off.” I graze my hand up her body, over her tits, and to her neck. “You’re going to be a good girl and suck my dick the way I like it. Trust me, I know that’s a reward for you because you almost come every single time my cock is in your mouth.” I kiss her neck for a second and bite down, watching her nipples harden even more through her shirt. “While you suck my dick, you’re going to ride the arm of the chair right there.” Still holding her neck, I move her gaze to look at the chair. “Because you’re such a good slut for me, you even get to watch yourself in the mirror.”

When I drop my hand from her neck, she starts to step back, no doubt rushing to the chair, but I grip the back of her hair lightly.

“Oh, and one more thing … you’d better not get off until my dick is exploding down your throat. Got it?”

She bites her bottom lip, nodding excitedly, and I smirk.

“Good girl. Once you take that first swallow … I know you well enough to know you’ll be soaking that fucking chair, baby.”

I release my hold on her hair, and on shaky legs, she takes a few steps to the chair before stopping and looking at me.

“Sit right on the arm and pretend it’s my dick, baby,” I command before pulling my sweatpants and briefs down.

As my thick, steely cock springs free, her eyes widen, and she drags in a breath loudly before climbing onto the arm of the chair.

“Be a good slut for your husband and open up wide,” I grit out, taking my cock in my hand and giving it a few pumps.

Already, her hips begin to thrust as she grinds her hot little pussy on the armrest with her mouth wide open, readily waiting for me to slide in. Taking a step forward, I use my hand to glide the tip into her mouth, keeping control and letting her suck the end.

“Show me why you deserve the whole thing,” I say evenly, feeling her swirl her tongue around, knowing she’s likely already tasting some pre-cum because I fucking love her mouth. “Show me again that you remember how I like my dick to be sucked.”

She takes a little more of me into her mouth, hollowing out her cheeks and flicking her tongue against my dick.

“That’s it,” I mutter. “Such a good slut for me, baby.”

With every bit of praise I give, she pulls me deeper and licks me harder. Every few seconds, I catch her peering out of the corner of her eye at the mirror, just to see herself sucking me off while she rides the chair, making her moan loudly against my cock.

I give her more, and her throat willingly takes me, inch by inch. As my hips thrust, pressing me deeper, she rides harder—and sucks harder too.

When she pulls back, letting me slide from her mouth, she works her tongue on my balls, giving them a lick and looking up at me.

“Fuuuck,” I groan.

I shift my gaze to the mirror, watching the side view of her licking my cock from the base up to my head. Then, she takes me deep, hitting the back of her throat and not even fucking gagging, and I look back down at her.

Her hips stop rolling. Wrapping her palm around the base, she sticks her tongue out and glides the tip along it while staring up at me.

“You think you’re in control here?” I whisper, and she shrugs, smiling before taking the tip into her mouth again. “That’s cute.”

I smirk before grabbing a fistful of her hair and driving my dick down her throat. This time, she does gag. And it feels fucking glorious when her throat closes around me for a moment.

The thing about being married for so long? I know exactly what she can take. And me fucking her throat is one of those things. If anything, it’ll only make her fuck the chair a little harder.

As I thrust between her plump lips, she rocks faster on the chair and moans on my cock, proving she’s coming right along with me. My balls draw up, and the area low in my groin begins to tingle. I’m so fucking torn between watching her swallow it all or covering her face in my cum. But she’s been such a good little wife for me, sucking my dick like an absolute pro; it would be inconsiderate to deprive her of something she loves so much—swallowing me down.

As that first drop of cum hits her throat, she starts to moan, sucking me off through her orgasm as her hips roll and bounce up and down on the arm of the chair.

I continue my hold of her hair as her movements become shaky, keeping my cock in her mouth until I’m completely spent.

With hooded eyes and a layer of sheer sweat covering her face, she pulls back, letting my length slide almost out of her mouth before stopping at the tip. Poking her tongue out, she keeps her eyes on me as she swirls it around my head before releasing my cock and licking her lips.

My heart races, and my body is still quivering from the amount of cum I just poured down my wife’s throat. I brush my thumb along her bottom lip.

“Stand up,” I command before stepping back and pulling my briefs and sweatpants on.

When she stands, I point toward her panties. “Give me your panties, Buttercup.”

For a moment, she frowns. But then she looks hopeful, like she’s thinking we might be headed for round two. When she peels them off, I hold my hand out, and she stares at my palm.

“What?” she whispers. “Why … do you—”

“Hand them over, or there won’t be orgasms of any kind until you make your decision.”

Quickly, she thrusts them into my hand, and I close my fingers around them.

“It’s like you poured water over them, baby,” I growl lowly. “That’s how fucking soaked they are.”

I hold them up for her to see once more before stuffing them into my pocket. “If you leave me again, at least this time, I’ll have these to come into instead of my hand.”

Her eyes widen, and her mouth hangs open.

I wink. “Go get ready for our walk, Buttercup. Time’s ticking.”

Unsteadily, she wobbles on shaky legs into the bathroom. I might not have fucked her or even touched her pussy, but that woman is fully fucking satisfied.

Nothing like it.