57. Like a Barnacle

57

LIKE A BARNACLE

Asher

I need to get her alone, fast. Grabbing her hand, I take two steps before stopping. “Where’s the dog? You usually bring her. Is she at home?” Home. The place I want Maeve and Ruby to stay with me. Forever.

“She’s with Eleanor. She and Holmes are becoming dog friends.”

That’s adorable on too many levels, but I have one mission right now—get Maeve naked and in bed. “Can we swing by and get her, then go? Because I need to show you just how much I’ve missed the woman I love.”

She laughs, rising on her tiptoes and giving me a quick, firm kiss. “You horn dog.”

“Pot, kettle.”

She grins proudly, tugging at my hand. “Let’s go.”

Before we can head down the corridor to the executive suite, Eleanor appears, walking toward us with a dog leash in each hand. Her Maltipoo mix leads the way, with Ruby Rooster scurrying alongside her. I can’t help but smile, amazed. “The owner of the team is dog-sitting our dog,” I say, still wrapping my head around how this is my life, especially after where I was just yesterday morning.

“Dog people,” Maeve says with a shrug.

Eleanor hands off Ruby, who immediately showers Maeve with kisses, favoring her even though I’ve been out of town. But, yeah, I get it.

“You two seem happy to see each other,” Eleanor says, clearly pleased. “I guess you’ve been following those love lessons.”

“We have,” Maeve says, her tone warm.

“Every single lesson,” I agree, squeezing her hand.

“Oh good,” Eleanor says, beaming.

With Ruby Rooster back with us, we head out. On the way, I pull Maeve in for another kiss. When I break it, I whisper, “I have one question.”

Maeve’s cheeks are red, her tits are bouncing, and her hair is a wild mess, but she answers me with a breathless, “I can take another one.”

“How many, Maeve?” I ask sternly, gripping her hips hard and stilling my pace for a beat. “The question was how many orgasms can you take?”

“Four, sir,” she says, then smiles wickedly. “So give me my fourth.”

“Such a good wife,” I say, calling for battery-operated backup in the form of the Finger Puppet, sliding it over her clit until she cries out in beautiful, filthy bliss as she comes on me. Again .

This time, I don’t hold back. This time, I fuck her and fill her. And this time, after I come so fucking hard inside my wife, I pull her close, cup her cheeks, and say, “I love you. That’s why it’s so good with us. Because I love you.”

Her sigh is dreamy, content. “Because we love each other.”

I hold her close, but in a way that feels new. I’ve stopped hiding who I really am. The vulnerable parts, the messy parts, the unfinished parts. And she’s still here, loving me right back.

Later, after we’re lying under the covers with Ruby curled up on top, I run my fingers through Maeve’s hair, one of my favorite things to do.

“So, you really love me?” she asks.

“Have you seen my walls?”

“What do you mean?”

“The peaches, the wildflowers, the artwork you made over the years. I think all along, before we even got married, I was just…making a home for you,” I admit, even if it makes me sound like a besotted fool.

She looks at me with so much love and affection, I wonder how I ever doubted this could be. But that’s the thing—you don’t see it when you’re in the thick of it. I need to get comfortable with the unknown, because getting to the other side is worth it.

“I really like being here,” she says, snuggling closer. “It’s funny though. I don’t think we’ve gone on many dates. We mostly stay in.”

“Yeah, we do.” And I’m more than okay with that.

“It just feels like home,” she murmurs, before hopping out of bed. “And I got something for you.”

I prop myself up on one elbow. “You did?”

“Well, I made it. Earlier today.” She rustles through her purse and pulls out a small mirror decorated with ruby-red rhinestones. In the center is a sketch of a couple kissing, with the words Just love me .

“Don’t drop it,” she warns with mock seriousness as she hands it over. “It’s got ruby rhinestones. Basically, it’s priceless.”

And it is priceless to me. I run my fingers over it, tracing the words. Finally, I’m free to just love her, which is all she wants. “I will. I promise.” I set the mirror down on the nightstand, then pull her back into bed and kiss her softly before turning serious. “Maeve, I’m not going to change overnight. Are you okay with that?”

“Very okay,” she says.

“You sure?”

“I’m positive. Besides, I liked you before I fell in love with you. And I like you even more now. Don’t worry—I’m like a barnacle. You can’t get rid of me.”

I laugh, holding her tighter. I’d never thought it could be this easy—but then I suppose that’s the joy of falling in love with your best friend. “Good, because I won’t.”

I’m not going to say I sleep through the night. I’m not cured. I haven’t even seen the therapist yet. But I sleep better than I have in a long time. I only wake once, and I resist the urge to go downstairs and flip open my laptop. Maybe it’s because I don’t have anything to look up right now. Or maybe this is the start of a new, healthier habit. Either way, it feels good.

When I wake up for good around seven—late for me—my phone is already buzzing. It’s a message from Everly saying, Call me .

Every muscle tightens. Instinctively, I check social media, and it doesn’t take long to find the problem.

The woman who bid on me at the auction and lost has posted about us. “Pay it forward, indeed—their marriage is fake.”