Page 12

11

ASHER

M y wife is exhausted and lays in a little ball on the sofa when I finish working. She hasn’t had any other outbursts through the day and the house has been filled with the sound of her playing the piano.

She’s beautiful with her hands pushed under her cheek in the small amount of light from a lamp in the corner of the room, and she’s still only dressed in one of my t-shirts. I never want her to wear anything else.

Her lashes flutter as I lift her from the sofa, and she wakes with a fright. Wide eyes stare up at me and I soften my voice to keep her relaxed. “I’m taking you up, go back to sleep.”

She nods and smiles as her lashes droop. Cute as fuck. I’ve always loved the way she becomes a cuddler in sleep and it hasn’t changed now as she wraps her arms around my neck and whispers two words that have my heart ready to give out.

“Love you.”

Fuck, I never noticed how much I missed hearing Delilah say she loves me until this very moment. Each step I take is slow, hoping she says it again. She’d always say it after I fucked her in the same breathless, exhausted voice.

I’m torturing myself, replaying the last time I heard those words over and over again as I carry her up to our room. I can’t even let my desire for my own wife show because of the fear over what might happen. She could go fully crazy, forget, or worst of all, she could call out the wrong name.

If she called me my brother’s name while I was inside her, I’d lose every thread of composure I’ve managed to keep hold of.

Gently laying her on the bed, I pull the sheets halfway up, so they’re bunched at her waist just the way she likes before going into the bathroom. It would be pathetic as fuck to stroke one out while she sleeps on the other side of the door, so I hit the switch for the shower on the coldest setting.

My eyes close as I step under the spray and my lips twitch, fighting a laugh as our memories play on repeat. The first time I met Delilah, she became everything. She’d take half of my toys and switch our lunches in school so we each had the exact same thing and half of each other’s.

The bathroom door creaks, forcing me to open my eyes as she walks in with the same confidence she’s always had. It’s something that she was born with, and I’ve never seen her nervous. Not when we were seven and starting a new grade, or when we aged up into high school. Delilah has confidence and assuredness in her bones.

Her eyes remain fixed on me as she stands at the sink and brushes her teeth. The domesticity of the moment softens something inside of me in a way I didn’t think was possible. Those captivating eyes dip down as she pauses with her toothbrush in her mouth. A smirk lifts the side of her lips as she looks at my hard cock. I’m always hard in her presence, but I’ve managed to hide it on other occasions.

That’s not an option with the glass panel separating us. It’s not even steamed up with the tepid temperature of the water. Fuck, she’s beautiful and it doesn’t help my predicament.

Delilah is even stunning as she spits into the sink and rinses her mouth. That should be a crime in and of itself. There’s no reason why she’s still attractive doing mundane shit.

Turning to face me, she grabs the hem of the t-shirt covering her and drags it up her sinful body. Her knees have little scrapes on them, adding more ideas into my head of how I can add to them. That smirk doesn’t leave her lips as she walks towards me. The only thing I have to combat it is currently pouring over my head, so I grab her hips and pull her into the cold ass water.

“Asher! That’s freezing,” she squeals and turns, trying to get away from it, but it only serves the purpose of pushing her ass against my cock.

I tighten my arms around her and savor the feeling of her relaxed against me. It doesn’t help me, and my voice deepens. “Yeah, it’s what I have to put up with to be able to be around you.”

I’ve lost count of the amount of freezing cold showers I’ve had to take. There’s no chance I’m accepting the risk of Delilah catching me mid-stroke. That’s just embarrassing, and it would creep her out.

But she relaxes into me and looks up over her shoulder. Those huge eyes are right on me and her breathing shallows. Water droplets stick to her lashes, magnifying the crystal clear pools of her irises. She turns slowly, making sure that her hip fully brushes the length of my cock. Her panties are stuck to her skin from the water and her hard nipples call my attention.

She’d always go wild when I’d play with them. I spent years learning every point of her body and there has never been another woman on this planet who has a single second of my attention. Delilah owns everything—my first kiss, first fuck, first fucking everything, and me.

Her arms come up to wrap around my neck and I have to lower my head to make it easier on her. The cold water hits my nape, and she removes some of the iciness by flattening her hand over the skin as she speaks against my lips.

“So, don’t put up with it then.”

There’s an inch of space between our lips, but I freeze. I can’t breach the gap. The thought of having her again, fully, isn’t enough to battle the fear of being called another man’s name. When I remain still, she closes the gap and I slowly move back, fighting the urge to deepen it.

Without even realizing, she repeats the same words she said to me at twelve years old.

“It’s only a kiss. What harm could it do?”

Her lips part, and I don’t want to risk hearing the names of her many lovers, so I shut her the fuck up by grabbing her neck and slamming mine over them. She can’t meet my urgency, not after holding myself back every damn night while she rubs up against me or watching her beauty shine in every light. I can’t even escape her in my own head because Delilah is everything.

Picking her up by the back of her thighs, I push her against the glass. She gasps into my mouth and her hand maps my upper body. Gasps turn to moans vibrating through her and she locks her ankles together at my ass to pull me forward.

I have enough sense to move back despite the pain it causes. Her downcast eyes and reddened cheeks make it even more visceral as she mumbles, “Sorry, I?—”

“You’re my wife and I want to fuck you. Trust me that this is literally harder on me than you, but you haven’t adjusted to your meds yet.”

The sadness leaves in favor of anger and she pushes against my shoulder as she hisses, “I am not fucking crazy. Stop acting like I am.”

She’s adorable, getting all pissed and glaring up at me.

“Okay, you’re not crazy,” I agree. “But every time your meds are adjusted, they fuck with your head. What happens when you wake up and regret this? Or when you think it was someone else and that you?—”

I cut myself off and look away from her. Delilah doesn’t understand this shit. She’s only working on the information she thinks is true. Everything else exists in my mind while she seeks out the answers from me. In her head, she’s innocent. In reality, she’s fucked around on me more times than I can count because she enjoys the game of playing with people. I know it’s for the attention and that it feeds that neglected part of her that her parents created. She never means for it to get to the point where someone craves her presence or wants her for more than that moment, but then it’s too late and her parents fucked her up to the point that she can’t admit that she’s found herself in a precarious situation. Instead of asking for help or running away, Delilah will grit her teeth and bear the consequences. Each time she forgets that she doesn’t need an external source of attention when I’m here and ready to give her everything she needs. I know that she’ll come back to me, that it will always be the two of us, and I can’t let her go. She’s too deep, too entwined with everything that I am.

She gently traces my jawline with the tip of her finger and slowly turns my face to her as she asks, “That I what?”

Unpeeling her legs from around me, I shut off the water and get the fuck out. I wrap a towel around my waist, ignoring her stare drilling into my back.

There’s no way for me to tell my wife everything, or to even explain this shit in a way that doesn’t ruin everything. I need the normal moments, the ones where I can just hold her, or kiss her cheek, or see her smile while she’s doing something totally random. Without those moments, I will be the one who is driven insane. Without her, I’ll crumble.

Delilah has been the only motivating factor of my life since I was seventeen years old. Without her there I wouldn’t know who I am. Fuck that—even before then, before the fire and the shit, she was my every thought.

But the stubborn woman follows me out of the bathroom and refuses to allow the conversation to drop.

“Tell me, please,” she asks softly.

Her footsteps are directly behind me as I walk into the closet, and she grabs a towel to squeeze the excess water out of her hair.

“Asher, you said we have to talk. That’s what married couples do, and I think this situation calls for more communication, not less.”

I turn, unable to keep my emotions back and my voice raises. “What the fuck do you want me to say? Do you want me to tell you how you call me another man’s name when you forget? Or that there’s a chance that you’re going to fuck me, then wake up and sob because you think you’ve been raped?”

Her eyes widen and her fingers loosen around the towel. It leaves her head tilted to the side like she’s frozen in time. Tears line up on her lashes, but they don’t fall.

“Have I done that to you?” she asks with her bottom lip wobbling.

The sight of her pain chokes me, but my anger is still there, and I let it all blow away with my answer. “Accused me of raping you? Yeah, you fucking have.”

I’ve given her too many truths. It’s all fucked, and I can’t claw back the words as understanding falls over her. She gives me a curt nod, swallowing around a lump in her throat, then walks out of the room.