I just need a little time.
“I’ll be okay,” she assures me, although I catch the brief flash of pain in her eyes.
I’m about to probe but there’s a tap on her window and Chandler comes into view…holding what appears to be a pair of panties in his hand.
What. The. Hell?
“Gotta go,” Skylar squeaks before she disappears from my screen.
Dammit. I call her back, but she must have shut her phone off because it goes straight to voice mail.
Shaking my head, I get off the couch and go back upstairs.
Phoenix is still sound asleep when I come back so I crawl into bed beside him.
Placing my head on his chest, I trace the music notes over his heart.
But they’re no longer mine. Or his. They’re ours.
Because half my heart and soul belong to him.
The other halves are broken beyond repair.
But I don’t want to think about that right now.
I just want to listen to my husband’s heartbeat, feel his skin against mine, and inhale his scent into my system.
I thought letting him in again after he destroyed me meant I was weak, but perhaps it’s valor.
Because I have what it takes to rise from the ashes after I’ve been burned.
I shouldn’t wake him; he’s been running himself ragged taking care of me and I know he needs his rest, but I miss him.
And there’s no one on the planet who can make me forget about my pain like he can.
Hoping to rouse him, I slide my hand down his torso until I reach the waistband of his boxers.
When that doesn’t work, I slip my fingers beneath the elastic and pull him out.
He twitches, growing hard in my hand, but Phoenix doesn’t wake.
I scoot down until I’m hovering above his thickening cock. Opening my mouth, I lick around his head.
A low hungry groan leaves him, and his dick swells to its massive size, but his eyes don’t open.
How the hell is he sleeping through this? Have I lost my touch?
Nope. Screw that. Phoenix said it himself, I give great head.
Probably because I genuinely enjoy satisfying my partner.
Although my partner doesn’t seem very satisfied right now on account of being passed out cold.
Impatience billows through me and I wrap my hand around his base and suck him deeper, stroking him and my bruised ego in tandem.
I blatantly gag on him, giving it my all…and nada. Even though his body’s responding because I can taste the precum leaking from his tip and feel him jerking in my mouth. He’s trembling, for fuck’s sake.
Growing more frustrated, I increase my suction and quicken my pace. If he doesn’t wake up after this, I’m going to call 911.
“Fuck,” he groans, his hands gripping the sheets and his hips jerking upward. “I can’t take it anymore. This is goddamn torture. Please stop.”
Wow. Embarrassment courses through me as I unhinge my jaw and release him.
I didn’t think he’d mind waking up to a blow job, but boy was I wrong.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…” I feel like a total creeper. “I’m so sorry.”
He peers down at me. “Lennon?”
Was he expecting someone else?
Narrowing my eyes, I sit up. “Yes?”
Confusion spreads across his face as he takes me in. “You’re not drunk.”
“I’m not drunk,” I confirm, and now it makes a whole lot more sense.
But also…seriously? I’ve been drunk a handful of times in my whole entire life.
He scrubs a hand down his face. “Fuck. I thought…”
“That I was trying to give you drunk head again?”
He shrugs. “Yeah, but I figured if I didn’t wake up, I wouldn’t have to feel guilty for not stopping you and I could get off.”
A paragon of nobility my husband is not.
“That’s…” I scowl. “You made me feel like I lost my mojo. And then I felt like a creeper.”
“You didn’t lose your mojo, Groupie. Trust me.” Smirking, he gestures to his cock. “By all means, creep away.”
I will, but not without getting a little payback first.
Walking my fingers along his chest, I straddle him. “I’ll happily suck you off, but only if I hear you beg again.”
His mouth opens and closes in disbelief. “I did not beg.”
Oh, he most definitely did.
“I can’t take it anymore,” I repeat with a mock deep voice. “This is goddamn torture. Please stop.” Crinkling my nose, I flash him some teeth. “Sure sounds like begging to me, Mr. Walker.”