27. A Big Complication

27

A BIG COMPLICATION

Asher

It’s weird pulling up to her apartment now. Weird because I want to walk her upstairs. Weird because I want to take her home. Weird, too, because we’re lying.

I’m supposed to be driving her to our home. Not her little apartment.

Since there are no parking spots out front, I pull down a tiny side street, past a park that’s closed at night, then cut the engine.

But I don’t make a move to go. I should. “I think we pulled it off,” I say.

“Thanks to me! For a while there I thought you were tanking us with your swan comment,” she says.

I’m still impressed. “How did you pull that off?”

“YouTube, honey ,” she says, using a term of endearment. I don’t mind it at all.

“Very impressive, honey . Too bad Eleanor didn’t see us. She didn’t even see that photo I posted the other day with the bridge behind us,” I point out.

“If a hockey player posts a kissing photo online and no one sees it, did the kiss even exist?” she asks, going all faux philosophical.

“Good question,” I say.

“How do you know?”

Well, that’s an opening if I ever spotted one. I lift a hand and run it down her hair. She trembles as I touch her, and that drives me on. That, and the feel of her soft strands—god, I fucking love her hair. I drop a kiss to her forehead, lingering there.

It’s innocent as far as kisses go. But I don’t feel innocent when I touch her. I feel…powerless to resist her. “No one can see us now,” I murmur, pulling back and gesturing to the tinted windows in my car.

Her breath hitches. “No one saw us in the hotel room either,” she points out, like she’s taking stock of the kisses that weren’t for show. That weren’t for the public or for performance.

The kisses just for us. I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. I really shouldn’t do this. We have a no-touching rule and I’m definitely breaking it right now. But I think of those napkin fans that looked like swans to me. The way she pulled that off. Her dress. Her . Just her. “Good thing no one saw us in the hotel room when you had that screaming orgasm.”

“And you still haven’t dry-humped me in return. Shame,” she says, adding an eye roll, like she’s making light of it.

My dick isn’t thinking light of it though. My dick likes that idea too much. But is she hinting at something? Or is that only wishful thinking on my part? I glance around. We’re in my car, parked on a street, at night. But then again, no one can see inside.

I’m this close to saying Tell me what you want, and I’ll give it to you.

But the thing is—I don’t think she entirely knows what she wants from me. So I cup her cheek and draw her close, but somehow find the will to stop before our lips touch again. “You said this was complicated,” I murmur.

“I did. It is,” she says, but her lips move closer to mine.

She’s millimeters from me now, and the scent of her skin and the softness of her mouth is going to my head. “It’s very complicated,” I say.

Then, before I risk another kiss, she slides a hand up my thigh. I groan. Her fingers walk closer. “A very big complication,” she whispers, then her palm covers my hard-on.

She cups my dick through my clothes, and this should not feel so fucking good. It should not feel like a fucking revelation. My chest should not be burning, my stomach should not be tightening, and my brain should not be short-circuiting.

She’s just stroking my hard-on, for fuck’s sake. Yet it feels too damn good. I hiss a breath through my teeth, knowing, knowing , I should stop this. We’re friends. We’re fake married. We’ve got more than a month of this show.

But Maeve’s hand on my dick is the best kind of complication I’ve felt in ages. So I crush my lips to hers and kiss her deeply while she strokes my hard-on through my pants. My brain pops and my chest heats. Everything in me is amped up, the volume turned high. My head goes hazy, and I’m going to come so fucking hard when I get home tonight. It’ll be a wonder if I make it through the door without unzipping my pants .

Because…this is too good.

She kisses me back more deeply, her tongue stroking mine while her talented hand that made a napkin into a swan-fan, or a fan-swan cups my dick. Then she squeezes it—hard, firm, purposefully.

I grunt out a carnal yes, maybe a swear word, I don’t even know. My mind is on fire. Maeve squeezes my cock again, then breaks the kiss, murmuring, “Or maybe it’s not so complicated?”

She lifts a questioning brow, her eyes gleaming in the soft glow of the streetlamps.

“Maybe not,” I rasp out because I can’t really think straight right now. Not with her hand rubbing up and down. I’m in the driver’s seat, my cock heavy in my pants and my best friend watching me with avid, curious eyes.

Watching and stroking. Turning me inside out with a lust that takes me hostage. My whole body is crackling. My cock is throbbing, and I’m so damn aroused I can feel a bead of pre-come forming at the tip. I grit my teeth and breathe out hard like I can hold back this desire banging at the gate.

She tilts her head, her eyes entranced, her lips curving up. The awareness of how into this she is sends my temperature shooting higher, making me somehow even harder. Then she licks her lips and whispers, “Can I?”

I don’t have the willpower to turn her down. I don’t even know what she’s asking, and I don’t care. My dick is jumping up and down for joy, saying yes, fuck yes before my mouth does. But I say it. Oh hell, I say it with my whole entire chest. “Yes.”

Helping her along, I unzip my pants, and two seconds later, my wife dips an eager hand inside, covering the fabric of my boxer briefs. I shudder an embarrassing amount. That feels so good.

But it’s the look on her face that sends me into overdrive. My mind short-circuits as her lips part in filthy glee. “ Asher ,” she whispers reverently as she palms my cock through the cotton.

One word. My name. But it’s the sultry way it slides past those pretty lips.

My dick shouts it’s go time . My whole body jumps. Pleasure grips me. Everywhere. I lean my head back, gritting my teeth, trying to fight off the punishing wave of lust that slams into me. But it’s no use.

I’m helpless.

My vision blurs. My brain goes offline.

That’s all it takes. Two seconds later, I’m grunting, grabbing her hand, spilling into my CheekyBeasts, cursing up a storm. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

The aftershocks don’t stop. They pop in every damn cell. I feel drunk in the best of ways. Hazy, happy, wild, thrilled.

When I open my eyes, reality hits. I can’t believe I came in my pants. But I can’t believe the wicked smile on my wife’s face either. She’s too damn pleased. “Happy one-week anniversary, hubby. I guess we’re even now.”

It takes me a beat, and then I say, “Tomorrow’s our anniversary. We were married after midnight,” I point out.

“Details,” she says, then smirks again at my lap. “I’d let you walk me to the door but looks like you have some other details to deal with.”

I wave her off. “Don’t be so cocky.”

“Oh, I’m going to be cocky. I’m going to be so very cocky.” She tilts her head to the side, that grin never leaving. “ Also, thanks to your flamingos or whatever they are today, we still didn’t break our no-touching rule.”

“Shame. Such a shame.”

With a playful glint in her eyes that near about kills me, she opens the car door, then tosses a sexy-as-fuck look my way. “Goodnight…Quick-Draw Asher.”

“You’re mean,” I growl.

“And you like it.”

And…she’s right.

But I’m right about something too. I knew it was our one-week anniversary. “Maeve, there’s a gift in the back seat for you. Take it and wear it to my game on Monday night.”