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His lips are on mine again, and I’m kissing my husband back like I’m starving for him.
Tongue and all.
14
Lennox
The car ride is mostly silent besides the low hum of French rap music. Apparently, our driver, Colton, has very specific taste. It’s been thirty minutes, inching through bumper-to-bumper traffic on the highway, and his entire playlist is what sounds like French club bangers. Colton’s onto something. This playlist is my newest obsession.
I bob my head along to the beat and roll my shoulders when the melody of the bridge drops. “What is this?” I call out to the front seat.
Colton smiles through the rearview mirror. “You like it?”
“I do.” I glance at Dex right next to me, who is wearing a satisfied expression with his eyes locked on me. I don’t think he’s enjoying the music. It seems like he’s enjoying me smiling.
“This is GIMS,” Colton replies. “One of the best. You should see some of these French rappers live. Mind-blowing. Way more passionate than American rap. The concerts are an artistic experience.” He cranks up the volume.
Dex weaves his fingers between mine and squeezes. “We could go, you know.”
I raise my eyebrows. “To France?”
Dex nods. “I owe you a honeymoon. How about Paris?”
So this is the life Dex has been so hush-hush about. Jet-setting to Paris like it’s no big deal. “That sounds nice one day.”
I run my thumb over the back of his hand. How quickly everything can change. One kiss later and suddenly Dex is mine. The moment is so satisfying. I’m sad it’s fleeting. It’s like I was desperately craving a piece of chocolate for as long as I can remember, and now it’s melting on my tongue. I want to freeze this moment, not let it slip away. Then again, what’s the worry? I have a feeling I’ll crave him until my dying day.
Dex unbuckles, leaning in close so he can speak right into my ear. “Not ‘one day.’ Right now, if you want. I can have the jet here in a couple hours.”
“What would we even do? We don’t speak French.”
“Actually, I do,” Dex says nonchalantly. “Well, exaggeration.Juste un petit peu,” he says with a perfect-sounding French accent. “Enough for us to maneuver around on our own. Then again, we could book a nice room with a view and never leave the bed.”
I squint one eye. “How much more am I going to learn about you tonight, Dex?”
He checks to ensure Colton’s eyes are on the road, then smooth as silk, he pulls my hand slowly up his thigh, then drapes it over his crotch. “Hopefully a few more things. So, what do you think?”
“Six inches, give or take.” I squeeze his bulge and reply with a sly smile.
He levels his stare as his jaw tenses. I can’t tell if he’s trying not to laugh or if he’s honestly offended. Since when is six inches a bad thing? “I meant about Paris, Lennox.”
I chuckle. “Oh.Um…Paris sounds incredible, but not tonight. I just want to crawl under the covers and sleep next to you. Are you a cuddler?”
He kisses my temple sweetly. “With you? Yes.”
I’m busy swooning and trilling my fingers against the outline of his cock when Dex pulls out his phone and starts typing away. I don’t know who he’s messaging past midnight, but if that’s a CEO’s schedule, he’s going to be sorely disappointed to learn I need eight hours of sleep each night. I have no intention of becoming a slave to an inbox—email or text. But my mental tantrum is cut short when my phone pings loudly from my purse.
Dex flashes me a satisfied smirk. “I believe you got a message, Mrs. Hessler.”
Mrs. Hessler.Why does that give me goose bumps in an eerie way? Is it the “Mrs.” or the “Hessler” part that’s more uncomfortable? Because one make-out session doesn’t make this real, does it? I have feelings for my friend. And I married him. But does that make thisa real marriage?We have quite a bit to sort out.
Dex’s eyes are on me as I fish out my phone. His text is simple.
Dex
Six inches? Not even close. You’re going to pay for that, wife.
Me