Page 62 of Almost Rotten

She swirls her tongue around my tip, greedily sucking and swallowing jet after jet of cum. My vision goes dark as a ringing sounds off in the distance.

Such a good girl. Such a good fucking wife.

Seven.

Seven.

Seven.

It’s my favorite fucking number.

Chapter twenty-three

Tytus

It’s been years since I slept as well as I did last night. I wasn’t plagued by a single nightmare.

My internal clock, set to rise for morning skate, woke me, but I don’t have anywhere to be this morning. Being right here, with her in my arms, is my only priority.

She’s draped over me, our legs tangled beneath the covers, my cock perfectly aligned with the apex of her thighs. This close, each freckle is distinguishable, its own entity, unique in size and even shape, contrasting against her creamy skin. Her lips are parted slightly, warm breath tickling my bare chest as she exhales.

She’s so beautiful I hardly allow myself the chance to blink.

From now on, I’ll only allow myself to sleep over when I don’t have morning skate the next day. No commitment to the team or fear of Coach’s retribution could force me out of this bed right now.

My willpower doesn’t exist when she’s in my arms.

She may think I’m the demanding one, that I’m forcing us into existence, but she has all the power. Deep down, she knows it. Last night proved it. She just needs me to take charge and pave the way.

Slowly, I roll over and reach for my phone on the nightstand to check the time.

When I unlock the screen, the numbers don’t even register. All I see is the three missed calls and two text messages from Coach Connors.

Stomach lurching, I click open the messages and scan them.

In my panic, I must jostle Sawyer, because she stirs behind me.

She runs a hand over my abs, her forearm resting on my ribs. “What’s wrong?” she murmurs through a yawn.

I press her hand into my abdomen before she realizes how intimate her touch is and tries to pull away.

With my back still to her, I shake my head. “Nothing’s wrong. At least I don’t think it is. I just have to get to the rink. Coach wants to see me. Says it’s urgent.”

Fingertips smooth over my rib cage and up my pec, then hook over my shoulder, her chest pressed to my back and her breath warm on my neck. “Do you want me to go with you?”

I freeze, waiting for awareness to hit. Did she really just offer that? And how long will it take for her to renege?

It only takes two or three heartbeats before she stiffens and tries to pull her arm away, emitting a cute little huff as she does.

Grasping her wrist, I bring her hand to my mouth and place a kiss on the center of her palm. “No, baby,” I say, turning to face her, still holding tight. “You must be exhausted after last night. Stay in bed and sleep.”

Her cheeks flame, and she won’t meet my gaze.

A twinge of rejection shoots through me.

But her first instinct was to snuggle closer this morning. And she offered to go with me to the ice arena all on her own.

Progress.