Page 21 of Clear Shot (Lauderdale Knights #9)

Hana

It takes us several hours to pack up what we can and take everything over to Johan’s place.

Their house seems no worse for wear, other than some damage to the landscaping, and they even have electricity.

They live far enough inland that flooding wasn’t an issue and things are almost normal in their neighborhood.

I’m a little embarrassed by my breakdown earlier, and I can’t imagine what Aiden must think.

He’s probably trying to figure out a way to leave town without having some awkward talk about our relationship, but at this point, I have to know where I stand.

I originally thought I would bring it up calmly and rationally, but my emotions had other plans.

I don’t have time to stress about it, though, because we have to get settled at Johan’s and then we spend the evening making dinner and discussing plans for the next few days.

Juliet is opening Cicero’s, her family’s Italian pizzeria, up to the public.

Anyone who needs a meal or something to drink can come in free of charge so Sloane and I volunteered to help.

Juliet’s mom and her husband are going to watch both Joanna and Anderson, so Claudia can help as well, and we’re all going to spend tomorrow doing what we can to feed people.

By the time we call it a day and I get into the shower, I’m exhausted.

The storm was scary but these feelings I’m starting to have for my husband are scarier.

I’ve always liked him but honestly didn’t think I could go from lust to something bordering genuine love in the blink of an eye, but here we are.

Well, just me.

I don’t harbor any illusions that he feels the same way.

He wants me physically, and he cares about me, but men aren’t wired like we are, so I don’t expect him to profess his undying devotion or anything.

That’s a given and I’m going to have to be okay with it.

I stand under the warm spray and let it sluice over me.

I’m mentally, emotionally, and physically exhausted—a trifecta of fatigue that tells me I’m going to sleep well tonight.

Movement behind me startles me, and I turn as Aiden joins me in the shower.

“Hey, beautiful.” Then his lips are on mine, his warm, strong body pressed close.

“Hi,” I murmur against his mouth.

“I’ve been thinking about doing this all day.” He slides his hands around to cup my ass, holding me tighter as he pillages my mouth with his tongue. Deep swirls and erotic pulls make my heart pound and the spot between my legs tighten with need.

His touch is gentle but possessive, exploring my body as he kisses me into oblivion. A moan escapes me, and I dig my fingers into his hair, kissing him back like I’ve never kissed anyone in my life.

Because no one who’s ever kissed me has been my husband—and I love the way it feels to know I belong to him. It may not be forever but it feels like it and that’s all that matters.

“I need you,” he growls.

“Yes.”

He turns me away from him and rests my hand flat against the wall. Then he lines up behind me and pushes into me with one firm thrust.

“Oh!” It’s beautiful and decadent and sensual, his cock sliding through my wet folds, up and in, over and over.

“That’s right, baby—take it all.” He snaps his hips forward until he bottoms out, and then he doesn’t move.

I’m beyond full, his thick erection spearing me expertly, and I feel him pulsing against my oversensitive walls.

“Aiden…” I moan again.

“You like this?” he asks, biting the side of my neck. “Having your husband’s cock deep in your pussy while I suck on your neck?”

“God, yes.” I’m essentially impaled on him, unable to do anything but lift to my toes and pray for balance.

“What else do you like, baby? Tell me your fantasies.”

I’m too blissed out to think straight and all I can do is wiggle, desperate for him to move.

“Not until you tell me what you want,” he says in a throaty whisper. “Tell me how to pleasure my wife.”

My wife.

Those two words alone are enough to make my nether regions flood with arousal.

“Your pussy just spasmed around me…” he murmurs. “What did I say that turns you on… oh … you like when I call you my wife. That the ticket to making your pussy drip for me?”

“Y-yes!” My fingers slide against the damp ceramic tile but Aiden holds me steady.

“That makes me hot too.” He pulls back to the tip and thrusts back in. “But everything about my sexy, gorgeous wife makes me hot. I used to jerk off thinking about you, Hana.”

The sound that escapes me is whiny, needy, but it doesn’t last because he’s gliding in and out steadily now, each stroke a little harder and deeper than the last.

“But now that I know my wife likes having her pussy filled with cock, I don’t need to jerk off anymore, do I, baby?”

“N-no—oh please, Aiden!” I surge back to meet each thrust and our bodies start slapping together rhythmically.

“Such a good girl, letting your husband fill up that pretty pussy with come—you ready?” He reaches around front and expertly finds my clit, teasing it lightly with the tip of his finger.

“Yes…ohhhh!” A soft cry escapes me as the orgasm building deep in my belly explodes out. My mouth opens in a silent scream as he pumps into me, hard and fast, until there’s nothing but this.

“Fuck, baby.” He’s leaning against me heavily, one arm around my waist.

It’s a good thing, too, because I’m not sure my legs could hold me up at this point.

I’m completely spineless, my body reeling from pleasure so intense I nearly blacked out.

Aiden is breathing hard, lips against my ear.

“You okay?” he asks after a moment. “Can you stand?”

“I don’t think so,” I admit with a laugh.

“That’s okay.”

Before I realize what he’s doing, he scoops me up in his arms and then sinks onto the shower bench with me on his lap. “We can just sit like this until you get your legs back under you.”

I nestle against his chest. “That was amazing,” I whisper.

“It was pretty damn great,” he agrees.

“It’s like you already know everything I like.”

“Not yet. But I will.”

I smile, because I have no doubt of that.

Is it weird to tell your husband that this is the best sex of your life?

Maybe.

Or maybe I’m just nervous about showing him too much vulnerability.

“Let me know when you’re ready and we can finish cleaning up.”

“I think I’m good,” I say, reluctantly getting to my feet.

“Quick shower and then bed,” he says, reaching for the soap.

I have to agree because as wonderful as what we just shared was, I really am tired. And I know he is too. We’ve been going nonstop since yesterday morning and he has to play hockey in two days. He needs his rest more than I do and I’m not so selfish that I’ll keep him from getting what he needs.

It takes us about ten minutes to finish showering, brush our teeth and change into clean pajamas.

“Now.” Aiden pulls me into his arms. “Let’s talk.”

Oh.

That catches me off-guard.

I assumed we would sleep.

But my husband continually surprises me.

“We’re tired,” I say softly. “And you need rest. You have to play and?—”

“I can’t sustain this schedule long-term, but under the current circumstances, I’ll be fine. Tomorrow night I’ll sleep early and get ready for travel. Tonight, I need to focus on you.”

What does that even mean?

Our situation was complex long before we added a marriage certificate to the mix.

“What are you thinking?” he asks. “For real—right now, what was in your head? Tell me the truth.”

“I was thinking that our situation was complicated from the day we met. The attraction that was there. Concern about me being your teammate’s sister. How badly we wanted to sleep together but deciding, ultimately, that friendship was better.”

“Right.” He pauses. “And?”

“And now we’re married. If you break it down—it’s nothing but a piece of paper. I signed a prenup so technically, we could part ways tomorrow with very little fanfare.”

“But?”

“But I don’t want to,” I whisper.

“Because of your visa.”

“No.”

His arms tighten and he brushes his lips across my forehead. “Tell me what you do want.”

“I don’t think that’s fair.”

“Tell me anyway.”

“I want this to be real,” I say in a tiny voice. “I want you to wake up every day glad that you married me. I want to hold your hand in private, not just in public.”

“Okay.”

There’s a weird silence as I try to read between the lines.

What is he trying to say?

In this context, the word “okay” could mean a lot of different things.

“Okay?”

“Okay. Yes. I want those things too.”

“But…” Now comes the hard part. “There are things… major things… we don’t agree on.”

“Kids.”

“Yes.”

“You want them.”

“Very much.” I pause. “Not now! Not for at least a few years. I want to work on my career, travel, maybe go back to school… and now that we’re talking about staying together, take time to fall in love with my husband. All of those things are true.”

“I’ve been thinking about that stuff too.

” He shifts a little onto his side so he can look into my eyes.

“My genetics are fucked up, Hana. I mean, addiction, alcoholism, abuse, mental health. I know we’ve touched on my depression but it’s not a little thing—without medication, I can barely function.

Even with the meds, some days are hard. I’ve had to go through years of therapy to learn coping mechanisms for when the dark days come. ”

“Those things don’t scare me,” I whisper, pushing his dark hair out of his eyes.

“For us, as a couple, no, they’re not that scary.

I’m pretty high functioning on meds and I’m aware when my moods turn dark.

I don’t get violent or anything—mostly I just shut down.

It takes a day or two to snap out of it, but I can manage it.

It’s the idea of passing all that shit down to my children that scares me.

And then, what if my depression impacts the kids too.

Like, they see how messed up I am sometimes, that I’m not engaged or I’m grumpy or whatever.

I don’t know how good of a dad I’ll be. Those are the reasons I got the vasectomy at twenty-four.

I don’t want my bloodline to continue. Not with me. ”

I sigh softly because I understand where he’s coming from but it frustrates me.

“I understand that. Truly. But depression isn’t necessarily hereditary, is it?”

“In the research I’ve done, it’s about fifty percent based on genetics and the rest is a crap shoot. But those are pretty high odds if we’re talking about my future kids.”

“So you don’t want them. Ever. For any reason.”

He shakes his head. “No. But…” He takes a breath. “If it’s important to you, I would consider adoption. Fostering. Maybe even a sperm donor if you wanted kids that are genetically yours.”

“Oh.” I wasn’t expecting options, and I’m suddenly overcome with emotion.

But in a good way.

He’s willing to compromise.

He really wants to make this work—as much as I do.