. . .”
“Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’m not stopping until you come.” I lick my tongue up the smooth curve of her neck, catching her mouth in a hectic kiss, the pace of my thrusts picking up naturally, out of necessity. I can’t stop,
she feels so motherfucking good, and now the doorknob is rattling, along with the hinges, both of us rasping each other’s names, moaning as the friction does its job, making her sex quicken, cinch up tight, tighter, tightest. “Tell me you need me,” I demand in between frenzied kisses of her mouth. “Tell me, Britta.”
“I need you,” she says on a rushing exhale.
“For more than this. For everything.”
She looks me in the eye, and my heart tumbles down the side of a mountain. “I do,” she whispers. “I need you for everything.”
“I need you too. For everything.”
Our mouths collide. Take. “You’ve got me,” she says quietly, but I hear her.
I hear her, and my entire chest, my heart and soul, they know she means it. “You’ve got me too. I’m not going anywhere.”
And it’s like hope has imbued me with another reserve of willpower, because I manage to hold back another few seconds, grinding my cock deep inside her and speaking nasty against her ear. “Knowing I’m fucking my wife makes me so stiff, Britta. You do that.” My middle finger slides down between the cheeks of her ass and jiggles that pucker. “A husband has to earn his wife’s come, huh? Do I earn it?”
“Yes! ” she screams, her hips writhing between me and the door, before they go still and trembles rock her, all the way to her sweet knees digging into my hips. “Sumner. God!”
A storm tears through me, whipping through my muscles, my gut, my head. I’m caught up in it, and I barely register the movements of my body, I’m just blindly humping her into the door, my finger fully inside that back entrance now, my teeth buried in her neck, hinges protesting, liquid fire leaving some deep well inside me, the utter relief and pain of the orgasm making me moan and shake, using Britta as an anchor. Holding on to her and giving her everything inside me, physical and emotional, and my wife holds me through it all.
We hold each other, shaken, our mouths seeking each other for long comedown kisses that brand themselves on my chest.
She said she needs me.
She meant it. We fought her insecurities and won. We’re going to make it as a couple.
In that moment, nothing can go wrong.
Chapter Ten
BRITTA
I’m in Sumner’s kitchen the next morning, having breakfast with his family, when his phone rings. It’s weird, the way everyone stops what they’re doing. His sister ceases turning over the bacon; his mom pauses in the act of pouring orange juice. It’s as though everyone senses that there is something about this 9:00 a.m. phone call that requires everyone’s attention. And I’m not sure why, but my heart starts to pound dully, palms dampening.
“Hello?” Sumner turns slightly to observe the sudden stillness of the kitchen with a raised eyebrow. “Yeah, hey, coach. What’s up?”
The oil sizzling in the pan might as well be a foghorn blaring over a silent ocean.
“You’re serious?” His chest dips, his free fingers plowing through his hair. “They’re really bringing me up. That’s—”
Everyone moves at once, chairs scraping across the floor, arms lifted in victory. Sumner’s mother yelps and does a little dance by the stove.
It’s happening.
Sumner finally got the call. He’s going pro. Or at least to the developmental league, which would put him right at the precipice. This is it.
Pride bursts in my rib cage like a beer left in the freezer too long. Hot pressure pushes in behind my eyes, and I cover my mouth, locking gazes with him across the celebration in the kitchen. I’m so happy for him, I don’t think I could speak if I wanted to, so I just nod. I nod and let the tears roll down my cheeks and soak into the sleeves of my Bandits sweatshirt . . .
But the smile on his face is beginning to wane.
A trench forms between his eyes, the muscles working in his throat.
“AHL. The development team . . . ,” he says hollowly. “In Anaheim?”
One word. That’s all it takes to change the atmosphere in the kitchen.
Every head turns in my direction, but I’m only vaguely aware of the sudden scrutiny, because there’s an engine humming in my ears, my stomach tying up into knots. My legs feel like jelly, I couldn’t stand on them if I tried, and all I can do is sit here.