Part 17 (2/2)

The song breaks through my fierce, spinning storm of heat and desire.

Born to be...

My cell phone buzzes on the nightstand. Archer's ringtone. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to ignore it.

Dean's breath is hot on my neck, his chest is rubbing against my b.r.e.a.s.t.s, his thick c.o.c.k throbbing inside me... Oh, it's incredible, powerful and hot, I'm going to come so hard and feel him shoot deep inside me...

The phone keeps ringing, the stupid song a mind-numbing screech of nails on a chalkboard. I don't need to answer it. I trust Archer implicitly-Nicholas is safe, nothing is wrong...

No! Stop thinking about Archer and Nicholas.

I reach up to grab the headboard, focusing on Dean's burning gaze, the sweat trickling over his temple, the rigid set of his jaw as he f.u.c.ks me harder and faster...

Head out on the highway...

”s.h.i.+t.” I shove him away and grab for the phone.

Dean groans and rolls off me, the sudden loss of his weight leaving me feeling bereft and raw with guilt. I fumble to accept the call, shoving my damp hair away from my face.

”h.e.l.lo?” I gasp.

”Hey, Liv.”

”What?” I try to control my breathing, my racing pulse. ”Is everything... everything all right?”

”Yeah, fine. You sound weird.”

”I'm...” I press a hand to my throat and close my eyes. My heart hammers. ”I'm fine.”

”What does he want?” Dean growls, his chest heaving.

”Oh, s.h.i.+t,” Archer mutters. ”Uh, sorry, Liv.”

”Never mind.” I close my eyes, not sure if I want to laugh or cry. ”Why did you call?”

”Well, I ran into a friend at the park and told him about the chair thing-hope you don't mind-and he said he knows a guy who owns a used furniture store, if you want a contact for more chairs.”

A bubble of pained laughter rises in my chest. ”Sure. That would be great. Thanks.”

”Also, Nicholas just had spaghetti for dinner and asked for a chocolate ice cream, but I wanted to make sure it was okay with you first.”

”Yes, that's fine.”

”Okay, thanks. Sorry to have bothered you. Really.”

”Not as sorry as I am,” I mutter.

I throw the phone on the nightstand and turn back to Dean, but the air between us has cooled and cracked again, the sharp edge of reality blunting my urgency. I know there's no way we can get back to where we were now that chairs and chocolate ice cream have invaded my mind.

I flop onto the pillow, my body still aching with the ebbing tide of unfulfilled l.u.s.t. Dean shoves up from the bed, his skin slick with sweat and his erection still half-hard, and goes into the bathroom.

Now it's no longer an uncertainty. I definitely want to cry.

CHAPTER TWELVE.

DEAN.

Something has to change. And in ways that have nothing to do with another job, no matter how impressive. Yeah, I can secure funding for a medieval site. I'm prominent enough to be a frontrunner for an international, diplomatic position. I can write reports, collaborate with scientists, navigate bureaucracy and politics.

I can get s.h.i.+t done. So why the h.e.l.l haven't I figured out how to revive my relations.h.i.+p with my wife?

I unlock the front door, my muscles still burning and chest heaving from a morning run. The exercise did nothing to ease the frustration that, thanks to last night, now feels like a volcano on the verge of erupting.

I call out a h.e.l.lo to Liv and Nicholas as I pa.s.s the kitchen, then head straight for the bathroom. After stripping out of my clothes, I turn on the shower and step under the spray. I lower my head into the hot water and shut my eyes.

I get that Liv is trying. I love her wildly for it. Just thinking about her in that silky little gown, her gorgeous b.r.e.a.s.t.s pushed into pillowy cleavage, her hips and thighs all soft and round... f.u.c.k.

My d.i.c.k hardens. And though I'm sick of jerking off, I grab my shaft and stroke. Pressure builds in my groin. As usual, the images flash through my brain with no effort whatsoever-Liv spread out in front of me, her p.u.s.s.y open and glistening, her breath coming in short, little gasps.

”Oh, G.o.d, Dean... hurry, please...”

She's all ripe l.u.s.t and heat, her tight nipples begging to be sucked, her pale thighs tense with strain. My blood surges. I tighten my grip on my d.i.c.k and stroke faster, picturing myself sinking into my wife, her legs winding around my hips, her breath puffing against my neck. I can feel her closing around me, like wet, tight silk, gripping my c.o.c.k, pulling me into her...

”Would you like a piece of pie, sir?”

The image s.h.i.+fts, and then she's wearing a little pink waitress outfit with the b.u.t.tons unfastened low enough to reveal the curves of her t.i.ts. She turns and hikes the skirt up over her hips, showing me her perfect a.s.s as she bends over the counter and spreads her legs. She gives me a hot look over her shoulder, her eyes glazed with l.u.s.t, her long hair spilling over her back.

Without a word, I grab a fistful of her hair and position myself at her slit, driving into her so hard and fast she lets out a shriek of surprised pleasure. Urgency fills the air. Her a.s.s smacks against my stomach, the wet, slapping sound of f.u.c.king filling my ears as I plunge into her again and again... so hot, so f.u.c.king good...

”Ah!” A groan rumbles from my chest as I come, shooting all over my hand.

The shower spray beats onto my lowered head and neck as I catch my breath, l.u.s.t still throbbing in my veins because of course my G.o.dd.a.m.ned hand is no subst.i.tute for my wife.

I grab the soap and spread lather over my chest. I'll try again to get Liv to come away with me, though it probably still won't work out with her schedule. At least, her schedule has always been her excuse for declining. I suspect it's also because she's worried about being away from Nicholas, but she won't admit it.

Maybe I need to get on board with her fantasy thing, if it'll help her focus. But no way am I going to tell her about pie and a pink waitress outfit.

Even though she'd be insanely cute in one.

Hmm...

I shut off the water and grab a towel.

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