Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-One

The hot spray of the shower raining down on me the next morning, I stared at Dax in utter confusion. He had a way of taking me off-guard. I wasn’t even sure he always did it on purpose. He just wasn’t a person whose actions or responses you could perfectly predict.

Take the current situation, for instance.

So far, he’d surprised me three times in the space of fifteen minutes. It had all started when he’d abruptly entered the shower stall. We never showered together. It wasn’t, like, an iron-clad rule. We just didn’t do it. But this morning, he’d joined me with the nonchalance of someone for whom this was a regular thing.

Not that he’d cozied up to me or anything. It wasn’t necessary—the stall was spacious, and the shower head was large. But we’d stood close as we’d separately soaped our bodies down and washed our own hair.

I hadn’t felt anything remotely close to casual. How could I? He might have kept his hands to himself, but the look in his eyes? It was feral. Indecent. Covetous. Like that of a starving predator on the hunt; one that was close to taking down its prey. The force and weight of his attention was so potent and palpable that I felt touched.

And yeah, I was damp. More, my hormones were in full-swing and my nerve-endings were all abuzz.

I’d thought maybe he was here for some shower sex—I could totally get behind that. But once he’d rinsed himself off, he’d backed away. That was surprise number two.

Disappointment had unfurled in the pit of my stomach. He hadn’t left the stall as I’d thought he intended to, though. Nope. He’d casually taken a seat on the shower bench—his legs spread, his cock hard, his posture all alpha—and then settled in to watch me finish showering. And so we’d arrived at surprise number three.

My hands pausing in the act of smoothing conditioner into my hair, I flicked my head slightly to the side. “You’re seriously just going to sit there and watch?”

One muscular shoulder fluidly rose and fell. “Why not?”

“Well … you don’t normally do that.” And it made me feel off-balance. Self-conscious. Even a little awkward—I was sure it was apparent in my body language.

A brow inched up. “You wear my rings, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“You’re mine, aren’t you?”

Caught off-guard by the M word, I hesitated for a moment. “Yes.”

“Then why would you feel uncomfortable? You know you’re safe with me. So keep going. I want to watch.” That smooth, coaxing tone was a lure. A snare. An oath of plentiful, sexual rewards.

Who didn’t want sexual rewards?

I willingly let the compelling note that was buried in his voice pull me down the rabbit hole. That easily, I felt my hesitance and awkwardness drain away. I naturally fell into that mental space where safety and arousal merged.

His eyes went hooded, burning with approval. “That’s a good girl. Let everything else go.”

I carried on applying my conditioner, my skin hot from not only the water and steamy air but the way he lazily drifted his gaze over me, blatant avarice aflame there. Being the focus of it made me feel … captured. Trapped. Bare. Robbed of my every defense.

My pulse lost its rhythm. My mouth went dry. My nipples started to throb.

More, anticipation crawled over and through me, filling every last crevice. The atmosphere in the stall went from thick and warm to oppressively electric.

As I rinsed the conditioner from my hair, my attention fell on his cock—so thick and hard. I wanted it. Wanted it filling me, taking me, possessing me. Wanted the friction, the fire, and the bliss that would follow.

God, the sexual tension was almost painful.

“Get over here,” he said, his voice dropping, thickening, taking on that mesmerizing quality my body never failed to respond to.

My pulse promptly did a hop, skip, and a jump. I padded along the shower mat as I moved to stand between his legs, the tang of excitement sitting on my tongue.

He brushed his knuckles over one puckered nipple. “You get to choose this morning. Do you want to ride me, or do you want to get fucked?”

Both, really. But I’d ridden him in bed last night. And right now, wound tight with need, what I most craved was the sexual roughness in him that often left him balanced on the edge of violence. “I want to get fucked.”

He curled his tongue around a taut bud and sucked hard, wrenching a gasp out of me. “It’ll be hard and fast,” he warned.

“Sounds good.” I loved quickies.

He slowly stood, staring down at me. In a bold and unrushed move, he curved his hand around my throat. There was nothing easy or tentative about his grip. It was firm. Dominant. Entitled.

And my entire being all but melted.

He licked and nibbled at one corner of my mouth as his free hand palmed my pussy. “Are you wet?”

I parted my lips to reply that—“Fuck,” I burst out ashe jammed two fingers inside me.

“Hmm, you are. Good.” His mouth captured mine, and his tongue sank inside. As usual, that mouth of his swept me away. The kiss was a study in sensuality and tightly interwoven with greed and dominance and intent.

My body’s response was instant. It heated, buzzed, charged up—just like the air itself.

I kissed him back, my heart pounding, a shudder of excitement tingling its way up my spine. He didn’t move his fingers, he just kept them where they were even as my pussy squeezed and spasmed around them.

My stomach became a well of activity—fluttering and twisting and flipping. All kinds of inner bells and whistles and fireworks were going off. Feel-good chemicals were dumped in my blood and made my head swim.

He drew back from the kiss, releasing my throat and withdrawing his fingers from my pussy. The shimmer of need in his eyes brightened, intensified, glittered as I sensed his “soft and sensual” energy beginning to give way …

And then it was gone.

He roughly turned us both and backed me into the cold tiled wall. Palms tightly grabbed my ass and lifted me like I weighed nothing.

Looping my legs around him, I gripped his nape with one hand and bunched his hair in the other. My heart beat with an impatient anticipation that made my breathing go to shit.

Dax nudged the broad head of his cock inside me, his lips skimming over my ear. “I’d heard that being a woman’s first can make a man very possessive. Turns out it’s true.” He slammed me down on his cock, the shock of his possession stealing the air from my lungs, making my overstretched walls burn and pulse.

Dear Lord.

“Never liked seeing you with anyone else. And now”—he began to withdraw his cock—“now no other man will ever have you.” He rode me hard, his pace fast and frenzied, his shaft grazing my clit with each thrust.

I tightened my hold on the tufts of his hair, letting out breathy little moans against the lips pressed to mine. The feel of his dick slicing through me over and over, shoving against my tight inner muscles, forcing itself deep … Nothing beat it. Nothing.

A wicked tension sat low in my belly, gathering in force, sharpening in intensity, building with every heavy, upward punch of his hips. Oh, and then my orgasm was looming over me. My moans coming quicker and louder, I scraped my nails over the back of his neck.

Fingertips digging into the flesh of my butt, he started fucking me harder. “Make us both come.”

I slipped a hand between us and zeroed in on my clit—tugging, rolling, flicking. His mouth took mine with a growl. No, ravaged it. The kiss was wild, bruising, fevered. And the roiling ball of tension inside me surged up and ruptured.

Choirs of angels sang as a dazzling white-hot pleasure powered through me, saturating every inch of my being. I screamed into his mouth, my pussy rippling and clenching the cock that started ferally jackhammering into me. His dick swelled and throbbed as he pitilessly shoved it deep one last time and exploded.

My eyes drifting shut, I did my best to calm my ragged breathing as my release gradually subsided. “We should really get your dick insured,” I slurred, tipping my head back against the tiled wall. “You know, just in case.”

“In case, what?” he asked, a smile in his voice.

I shrugged. “I don’t know. Just in case.”

He nuzzled my throat, his lips curved. “Right.”

Once we were done in the shower, he stepped out and grabbed two towels. He handed one to me, wrapped another around his waist, and then disappeared. I patted my body dry, slipped on a robe, and then blow dried my hair.

Humming, I headed straight to the closet and eyed my selection of clothes, debating what to wear. I glanced to my left as Dax strolled inside. He was already dressed, his magnificent body clad in a navy-blue polo shirt and dark-gray trousers. Even in golfing attire, he looked hot as hades—especially since his short-sleeved shirt flashed his muscular arms.

He planted his feet. “Do you have plans for next Saturday?”

I pursed my lips as I flicked through my mental calendar. “I’ll be working. There’s a birthday party scheduled for that day.”

“Is there any way your team could manage without you?”

“If necessary.” The event was nothing huge. The family had wanted their daughter’s sixteenth birthday party to be relatively low-key. I tipped my head to the side. “Why?”

“There’s a business dinner I need to attend. I’d like you to come with me.”

I blinked. “You would?”

“I’ve been invited to bring a guest. It’s not common for attendees to take a plus-one to a business dinner, but it’s not rare either. Naturally, people take their significant other on such occasions if they have one.”

“So, it wouldn’t be a date? That’s a shame,” I teased. “Watching you attempt to be romantic would likely be entertaining.”

His brows inched up in mild affront. “You don’t think I could be romantic?”

“If you truly wanted to be—like really, really wanted to be—sure.” The guy could probably do anything he set his mind to. “But let’s face it, that scenario will never occur, will it?”

“No,” he readily admitted. “You’re sure your team manage without you?”

“Yeah, it’s not a huge event.” They would be fine with it, having worked events without me before on multiple occasions. “Tell me more about the dinner.”

“It’s mostly a networking event, though on a much smaller scale. Ourselves included, the guestlist will only amount to sixteen people.”

It would likely be dull and boring, but it might also benefit Sapphire Glade for me to be introduced to more professionals in his “world,” so I’d get something out of it. “It’s kind of sad that a lot of the activities you indulge in are basically corporate. Like today, for example. You and your dad are going golfing with business associates to discuss potential deals.”

“And you, on the other hand, are still catching a movie with Alicia, yes?”

“Yes. Aside from our mom, who sadly can’t go with us, Alicia’s the only person who’ll watch horror flicks with me.”

“My brothers, Jag, and Maverick are coming later—there’s live boxing we want to watch, and it’s my turn to play host.” He eyed me strangely, as if waiting for me to complain about him spending quality time with “the boys.”

“Cool. Alicia and I may stop off at a bar and have a few drinks before coming home, but I won’t be back super late.” There was a minute shift in his expression—I couldn’t read the emotion there. “What?”

“I have another request.”

“What is it?”

He slowly closed the short distance between us with deliberate steps, making my belly go all fluttery. A gleam of something in his mismatched eyes, he locked them with mine, holding my attention captive. “I want you to let me choose what you wear today.”

Everything in me did a double-take. “What? Why?”

“I just do,” he replied, his expression giving nothing away.

I stared at him, sheer surprise leaving me at a loss for words. Some women might have inwardly balked at even the thought of agreeing. But I found a weird kind of empowerment in overriding societal expectations. And, in my opinion, I was far too old to worry about what other people would think—especially with regards to something they’d never even learn about me.

What mostly stopped me from being inclined to respond with a hell no was that he generally asked very little of me outside of sex. It was as if he didn’t wish to want anything from me—it was all part of his instinct to hold himself apart from me, I supposed. So to have him not only invested in what I wore but wanting to choose it felt good rather than weird.

There was something else as well. “I’m intrigued as to what you’d choose.”

“There’s only one way to find out.”

“You won’t otherwise tell me?”

“No.” One corner of his mouth did a slight upward tilt—he knew I didn’t like to have my curiosity go unsatisfied.

“Will it be something uncomfortable?”

“No.”

“Will it be something I already own?”

“Yes.”

“Will it be appropriate for the occasion and weather?”

Dax sighed. “You’re overthinking this. Don’t. It’s a simple request. You are free to say no. But if you agree to it,” he added, pitching his voice low, “it would please me.”

I pinched my bottom lip, struggling to understand his motivations. If it was in the context of BDSM, where Tops often liked to dress their subs, I’d get it. Or if it was a case of two people in a solid relationship who enjoyed exploring their identities together, I’d understand. But this … yeah, I was just stumped.

I didn’t have a problem with allowing him to pick my outfit. He wasn’t asking for anything bizarre. And it wasn’t like I was signing a contract in blood. I could always change my mind if I wasn’t happy with his selection. I’d simply like some clarification on what had spurred him to make the request. But I could see from his expression that I wasn’t going to get it.

Did I want to please him? Yes. I saw no need to deny it to myself; I didn’t perceive it as a weakness. What was weak about wanting someone to feel good? And I’d gotten the impression that not a whole lot of people had ever been truly interested in making Dax feel “good,” which was far too sad. He was used to others instead judging him, misreading him, condemning him, lying about him, or trying to change him.

Consenting to his request might not be considered normal by many, but there was nothing truly conventional about my marriage to Dax. We weren’t going to ever have the connection and rapport that most couples did, so there was little sense in worrying about whether we behaved as they did.

I waved at my rail of clothing, stepped back, and crossed my arms over my chest. “Okay, have at it.”

A hint of satisfaction blotted his eyes, and then he turned to my selection. Hangers clanged and fabric rustled as he casually scanned it. There was nothing indecisive about Dax—he made quick, efficient decisions in all aspects of his life. And that apparently included when it came to matters of my clothing, because he didn’t hem, haw, or dawdle.

He picked out my lemon belted shirt dress that featured a slight thigh split—a solid choice, in my opinion. He didn’t stop there. Nope. He selected my lacy, lemon lingerie and also my white high heels that had a strip of yellow.

As he spread the items on my bed—with the exception of my shoes, which he placed on the floor—I hummed. “Who knew a fashionista lived within you?”

The touch of exasperation in his gaze only made me smile.

“And you’re not going to tell me why it ‘pleases’ you that I’d agree to this?” Because it was killing me that I couldn’t figure it out.

He must have sensed it, because his lips twitched into a taunting smile. “No.”

Asshole.

“What do you want for breakfast this morning?” he asked. “I’ll order it now while you dress.”

“Hmm, biscuits and gravy will go down nicely.”

With a crisp nod, he disappeared.

I shed my robe, slipped on my outfit, gathered my hair into a high ponytail, and then dabbed on some makeup. Done, I left the room, smiling as the doorbell rang. The food had arrived. Awesome timing.

I descended the stairs, more than ready to—

“Sheriff,” Dax greeted, stood near the open front door, his broad build blocking my view.

My step faltered. Sheriff?

“Dax,” rumbled another voice. Lowe. “I was hoping I could have a few minutes of your time.”

It was a declaration of intent, not a request. But there was an almost imperceptible note of discomfort there. Well, who’d be at ease with making demands of Dax?

I strolled down the hallway as Dax ever so slowly stepped aside, allowing the other male to enter. Podgy with a jowly face and closed-off eyes, Lowe strode inside at a nonchalant, unhurried pace. But the tense set of his compact shoulders betrayed his nervousness.

He wasn’t alone, but the cop with him—a cute dark-skinned guy who gave Dax a curt nod—didn’t cross the threshold. To me, it seemed like a This has nothing to do with me gesture. Which meant Lowe wasn’t here “on business.”

His flat stare landed on me. Hardened. Soured. Well, it would seem that he regarded me with the same distaste as his niece and great-nephew. And I couldn’t say I cared.

He quickly blanked his expression and turned to Dax. “Nice place you got here.” An idle, empty remark.

“I have plans, so you’ll need to make this quick,” Dax told him, his voice calm but firm. “Leave out the small talk and tell me why you’re here.”

“All right.” Lowe notched up his chin. “Where were you yesterday between the hours of five and seven?”

“Here,” Dax lied, no hint of deception in his tone, expression, or posture. “Why?”

Lowe squinted. “Is there anybody who can verify that?”

“Me.” I sidled up to Dax. “I’m Addison Mercier, his wife.” Did I feel bad about lying to a cop? Not in this case, no. I would have done it for Dax either way.

“Why the interest in my whereabouts, Lowe?”

“Blaise Buchanan.” The sheriff tossed out the name, a challenge in his eyes.

Dax responded with a slight shrug. “What about him?”

“He received a solid beating yesterday.” Lowe rested his hands on his gun belt. “His mother believes you had something to do with it.”

“Did Blaise accuse him?” I asked.

“No,” the sheriff reluctantly told me before resettling his gaze on Dax. “In fact, he was adamant that you had nothing to do with it. But he refuses to name who’s responsible.”

I folded my arms. “So, basically, you came here to appease your niece as opposed to actually question a viable suspect?”

Lowe’s eyes narrowed once more. “Where such violent incidences occur, Dax is always a viable suspect. And I’d say he has motive, since there was an incident between you and Blaise yesterday.”

“I don’t know if I’d call it an ‘incident.’ He made some smart remarks to show off in front of his friends,” I said, deliberately playing it down. “You know how teenagers can get. You also know how your niece can get. And since I know there can be nothing at all to link Dax to what happened because, as I said, he was here with me, all you’re doing is allowing her to waste your time.”

A slight flush stained his cheeks, but he didn’t deny it. Couldn’t. He was here to placate his niece—we all knew it.

“Any other questions?” Dax asked, drawing the sheriff’s attention back to him. “Or are we done here?”

Lowe pressed his lips tight together. “I may have more questions at a later date. For now, we’re done. But whoever put their hands on Blaise should reconsider doing it again.” He stiffly walked out, shrugging past his fellow cop. The guy gave Dax a brief raise of his eyebrows and then trailed after Lowe.

“I figured there was a slight chance he’d question you,” I said to Dax as he closed the door. “It seemed a no-brainer that Felicity would tell him little tales. I mean, she’s … What? Why are you looking at me weird?”

“You lied to him,” Dax commented. “You didn’t twist the truth. Didn’t simply omit details. You flat-out lied.”

Offended that he seemed so damn surprised, I frowned. “Of course I did. You think I wouldn’t give you an alibi?”

His silence said it all.

Feeling my mouth tighten, I propped my hands on my hips. “Look, we might not have gotten married for conventional reasons, but you’re still my husband. You have my loyalty. All the way. I will always stand by you, no matter what. Get used to it.”

His direct stare flickered with so many emotions—all were there and gone in milliseconds, leaving me with no idea what he was thinking or feeling.

He delved a hand into my hair and fisted—not too tight, but tight enough to get my attention. “It’s dangerous to make that kind of promise to a man like me.” The words were soft. Quiet. Grave.

I swallowed, my hands slipping down to my sides. “I don’t know what that means.”

“It means I’ll hold you to it,” he warned. “Even when I’ve done something I know you won’t condone—and there’ll be plenty of things I’ll do that most people won’t condone—I’ll still hold you to it.”

“And so you should. I gave you my word.” I held up my hand and wiggled my ring finger slightly. “Haven’t I always stuck to it before?”

“Yes, you have. But lying to a cop for me is one thing. You don’t like or respect Lowe. Could you lie to your sisters, friends, parents? Lie to the people you love for me?”

“Yes.” I could say that with all certainty. “I already have. I mean, they were lies of omission to be exact. Like yesterday, when I was telling Sabrina and my sisters about what Blaise did. They guessed that you would personally deal with him—I didn’t confirm it. But had they outright asked if you would handle him, I’d have said no.”

They would have known I was lying, of course. But they would also have understood. They knew me; knew I would protect him.

Dax’s grip on my hair tightened to the point that my scalp prickled—and yeah, ow. He drew in a breath through his nose. “Hearing you pledge such loyalty to me, I have to wonder if you have any idea who you married. You say you see the wolf, but I’m not sure you really know what I’m actually capable of. I suppose it’s moot, though. You made your choice. It’s too late for you to go back on it now. I wouldn’t let you if you tried. You’re mine. I made you mine. You wear proof of it on your finger.” He paused, his eyes blazing. “And you always fucking will.”

∞∞∞

It was past ten that evening when I returned home. The muffled sounds of rumbly voices and deep male laughter greeted me as I entered. I tracked the sounds to the living room. The lighting was dim, and most of said light came from the glare of the widescreen TV. That didn’t obstruct my view, though. I swept my gaze across the large space and … damn.

Look, I had no actual interest in any guy other than Dax, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t appreciate coming home to the sight of five smolderingly gorgeous males lounging around my living room, did it?

Dax, Caelan, and Maverick were sprawled on the sofa while both Drey and Jag were chilling in an armchair. It was a whole lot of alpha and testosterone in one room. What a bounty of blessings.

And Dax had thought I might complain about returning home to find this little scene here?

Pfft.

As five sets of eyes flew to me, I smiled. “Evening, boys.” In response, I received hellos, nods, the raising of a beer bottle, and even a salute.

“How was the movie?” Dax asked me.

“I’m delighted to say it was jumpy as hell.” Alicia had become so freaked out she’d performed the sign of the cross at one point—she wasn’t even all that religious.

Jag frowned. “Why delighted?”

I lifted my shoulders. “What’s the point in watching a horror flick if it ain’t gonna give you the chills?”

“Nice dress,” Maverick remarked. “Dax, you really let her go out looking like that? It’s as if you want guys to hit on her.”

I would have addressed the whole “let her” part, since no one let me do anything. But I’d quickly come to learn that Maverick liked to bait people and then sit back and observe the show. “Stop trying to start shit.”

He grinned. “But I’m good at it.”

“I’ve noticed.” I glanced at the TV and felt my brow pinch. A superhot guy was being interviewed in a room with glass walls that overlooked a boxing ring. “I know his face from somewhere.”

“He lives in Redwater,” Caelan told me. “That’s Cole Delaney, the retired boxer who married—”

“Izzy McKenzie,” I finished with a mental snap of my fingers, thinking of a famous photographer who also happened to be the daughter of a celebrity couple. “I remember now.” I’d seen them together a few times.

Drey parted his lips to speak, but then a sound blared on the TV that made his attention zoom back to the screen. “Fight’s about to start.” That easily, all eyes left me.

Intending to grab a bottle of water, I headed for the kitchen. I only took three steps into the large room before I halted with a wince. “Oh, girl.”

The sound of footfalls behind me preceded Dax’s voice. “What is it?” Sidling up to me, he sighed. “Another crime scene, I see.”

“Don’t be dramatic.” I flapped a hand toward the sadly dead mouse. “This is a natural thing.”

“Natural?” he echoed, his brow creasing. “You call that natural?”

“Cats kill rodents. Probably have done since almost the beginning of time. It’s no biggie.”

“The mouse has no head.”

I nodded, swallowing. “I see that.”

He flicked up a brow. “It doesn’t bother you that your cat apparently chose to—”

“There’s no proof that Gypsy beheaded it, okay. Let’s not make assumptions. She could have found it this way.”

Sighing again, Dax grabbed the dustpan and brush from a cupboard. “Face it, Addison, there’s something very wrong with your pet.” He scooped up the tiny corpse and took it outside.

I wiped down the floor and then retrieved a bottle of water from the fridge just as he reentered the kitchen. “I’ll be in my office if you need me for anything.”

“Or you could join us in the living room,” he suggested. “You’ve done it before when we watched football and soccer.”

Because I’d wanted to make an effort to get to know the people closest to him. Also, listening to the boys rag on each other could be fun. But … “I don’t want to constantly horn in on your time with the guys.”

“It’s not ‘horning in’ when you’re being invited, is it?” He returned the dustpan and brush to the cupboard. “Well?”

“All right.” I placed the water back into the fridge, nabbed a beer instead, and then followed Dax into the living room. At his urging, I squeezed into the spot between him and the corner of the sofa.

Maverick frowned at me when I took a few nachos from the bowl on the coffee table. His gaze cut to Dax. “So what’s happening here is you have a wife who’s all class and beauty but will crack open a beer, not bitch about the shitload of junk food, and will watch live sports with you and your buds?”

“Yes,” Dax replied.

Maverick shook his head. “You’re a lucky fucker.”

Dax’s mouth curved into a self-satisfied grin that said, I know.

Well, so long as he knew.