Page 43

CHAPTER 42

NO SHIT, SHERLOCK

WILDER

T he smell of the pizza in the passenger seat has my mouth watering almost as much as the thought of all the things I’m gonna do to Cass when I get home.

Cricket and I talked the whole way to her grandparents’ house, so when I got in the truck to head home, it was finally just me and my thoughts. And my thoughts are many.

Mostly, I feel like a fucking asshole for leaving Cass holding the bag on such a busy week. I didn’t even consider it, just picked up an extra shift and worked. Worked my one job while she did ten. How I neglected to notice that she was overwhelmed was beyond me. She seemed fine when I saw her and we talked and texted. It was so unlike her not to tell me exactly what she needs or how she feels, I assumed she’d say something.

A secondary thought is that the Cass I used to know would have said something. There was almost never a moment with Cass when we were young when I didn’t know exactly how she felt. She knew what she wanted and what she didn’t, and when someone crossed a line with her, they knew. But this Cass has been cut off from the world, controlled for ten years. She’s put herself in a box, made herself fit into a space that wouldn’t accommodate that essential, most pure part of her. Davis took that away from her. Somehow, that dickface managed to steamroll past her boundaries. The same boundaries I unthinkingly breeched with the car suggestion.

Asshole .

I work out a few ways to take some of the pressure off Cass, like asking Shelby or Dad to take Cricket to practices and appointments when I’m working. Or maybe I could make some meals over the weekend to freeze so she can just reheat them. I bet I can figure out how to use a crockpot. Maybe I could even put something in before I leave for work so she doesn’t have to think about dinner. A maid would be nice too, just to take house cleaning off Cass’s plate completely.

I frown, wondering if I’m fixing things I shouldn’t again. But this fixing is all about taking care of Cricket, so it’s okay, right? With a sigh, I admit I don’t know for sure and make a note to ask Cass if all that’s okay before I go and accidentally make shit worse.

But I did this.

So I have to make it right.

Witnessing her cry like that fucked me up in ways I didn’t know were possible. The fact that those tears were because of a situation I selfishly strong-armed her into gutted me. Ruined me. She agreed to carry a responsibility I never should have asked of her, despite how grateful I am. I wouldn’t have Cricket if she hadn’t. I don’t know if I would have had Cass either, but my best guess is no.

That fucker Davis spoiled her with money and easy-going persuasion. I’ve tried to spoil her with respect and the love I have for her. But she’s paying a price just like she did with him.

It feels like it’s different.

I’m starting to wonder if it’s not.

The boundaries are about as clear as advanced math, and I’m too fucking dumb to figure them out. I hate that that’s another thing she has to do.

A sigh slides out of me, heavy and low. At least I can feed her body, soul, and pussy from the all-you-can-eat buffet I have to offer. I can take care of her in the simpler ways, like making sure she gets enough rest, which she definitely has not had enough of.

I’ll ask her what she wants. God, I hope she’ll let me help. It breaks my soul to see her like this. Everything about her feels heavy, like she’s weighted down and dragging herself through it all in the hopes she can lay down at the end.

It’s been coming on for weeks, I realize. Honestly, it might have started on day one of the whole ordeal, the flurry of new shit to deal with eating at her like a parasite. And with a new job that’s so demanding? Her dream job that she can’t devote herself to because she’s too busy dealing with my shit?

Fucking asshole.

I’ll make it up to her, I vow.

That is the thought that fuels me as I pull into the driveway and park, grabbing that hot pizza and heading inside with a little spring in my step.

“Honey, I’m home,” I call, kicking the door shut behind me.

She waves at me from the couch, smiling with teeth and everything. She looks softer, relaxed. It could be that she has on her troll clothes, as she lovingly calls them, or that her hair’s in that wild knot on top of her head. She has on one of my old tees from high school baseball I’m certain she wore once a long time ago with the number thirteen on the back. The sight of her in it does something unholy to my cock. When she stretches with her fists in the air and arches her back, I note that she’s braless, her breasts soft and jiggling a little, her nipples hard against the stretched fabric. The effect all that has on my cock is profane.

I take an extra second hanging up my keys and setting the pizza on the island to adjust my raging dick before wandering into the living room.

“How’d it go?” I ask, still standing. Mostly because the couch is covered in school shit.

“Really well. I finished the math sheets and I’m halfway through the spelling. I honestly did not think it was possible. Turns out I just needed a couple hours to myself.” She leans forward, tipping her chin with her lips puckered. I give her what she wants. “How was the drive?”

“Easy peasy. I heard about the entire plot of the Ramona Quinley series, feeling very well-read.”

She laughs. “Quimby. Her name is Ramona Quimby. Hey, wait!” she says, still laughing when I take the papers and shit in her lap and set them on the coffee table.

“And Beezus. Right?” I intercept her arms when she tries reaching around me to get to them.

“Yes, now gimme my stuff. I have to?—”

“Hang on, I need to talk to you.”

She softens. “Okay.”

I squat in front of her and take one of her hands. “Cass, I want to tell you again how sorry I am. I can’t stop thinking about it, and how to make it right. But to make it right, I have to fix things. I don’t know where the lines are—I don’t want to roll over some boundary you have by accident, especially if you can’t tell me I did it. So I have some questions.”

She lays her hand over mine, thumbing my wedding band. “Alright.”

“Okay. First—can I fix things that involve Cricket? I want to see about having Dad help out with her practices and games and stuff. He did it for me and Shelbs our whole lives, so he’s a true professional.”

She chuckles. “That would be really helpful. Yes, you can fix things that involve Cricket.”

Relief triggers a sigh, and the twist in my chest eases a little. “Good. Okay. Second—I have a couple ideas for gray areas. Like, if I get a maid to come weekly. Or figure out dinner when I’m not here. Is that okay?”

Cass is moved and sad and apologetic, but she only squeezes my hand and says, “I’d like that.”

More relief, and I’m almost there. “Alright. Third—if I have a hunch that you need something you don’t know you need, can I boss you around under the assumption that you’ll tell me if it’s not the time?”

When she laughs, I feel so much better than I did when I left a few hours ago. “Yes. You can boss me around, and I’ll tell you to cut it out if I need to.”

“Thank you,” I say as I stand, then smirk down at her. “Eat or bath?”

She looks confused, her frown comical and eyes narrowed. “Homework.”

“Homework is done tonight. You just said you did a ton. You had a shit garbage week. All you’ve done is bullshit for everybody else. So, which one? Eat or bath?”

Her mouth quirks, and I suspect she’s trying to figure out A) if I’m going to let it go on my own, and B) if she really wants me to.

The answer to both is no, and I watch her lips tilt in a smirk. “Bath.”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” I say, bending to pick her up off the couch. “The naked option is always my favorite.” She’s giggling and pretending to protest and squiggling to get away. I wonder if she knows that makes it worse. I have a suspicion she does.

After a second, her arms circle my neck, and she’s beaming up at me. I shoot her a little smile as we enter the bathroom.

“I like this smile on you.”

“I know you didn’t just tell me to smile more.”

It’s my turn to laugh. “No, it just tears me up to see you cry.”

She goes all sweetly big-eyed as I put her down in front of the clawfoot tub, stealing a little kiss.

“Now take your clothes off.”

I turn on the water and plug the drain, then turn to sit on the edge of the tub where I can watch her. My timing is impeccable—her pants are already in a pile at her feet, my tee in her hands. She pulls it over her head, revealing lacy pink panties, the curve of her hips, the swell of her breasts, her pale nipples pebbled.

Her cheeks are flushed when she smiles at me, and I take a moment to appreciate her as she approaches. She reaches for my shoulder, nudging my crossed ankles so I’ll make space for her. When my thighs are parted, she settles between them and leans into me.

My hands trail the curves of her waist. “I’m sorry I was a dick earlier.”

“You weren’t a dick. You were just trying to help.”

Down her hips, back to her ass where I linger, taking pleasure in the feel of her backside in my hands.

“I don’t ever want to do that to you,” I admit. “I never want to make you feel like he did.”

“I know,” she answers softly, her arms hanging on my shoulders and eyes on my lips. Then they meet my eyes. “Which is why it would be impossible. You listen. And you care. And you apologize when you’re an idiot.” When I smile sheepishly, she flashes a smile that stops my heart for a beat.

“Promise you’ll tell me if I cross a line. I’m afraid I won’t know, that I’ll push you somehow, accidentally?—”

She quiets me with a kiss, a slow, aching thing.

When she leans back, it’s with a smile. “I promise.”

Satisfied, I twist to check the water’s temperature. It’s maybe a quarter full, but the water’s steaming.

“Except when we’re naked,” she amends, and I give her a look. “Then you can do whatever the fuck you want.”

I shake my head, looking her up and down. “No boundaries?” she shakes her head, and my cock strains against the prison of my jeans. “No rules?” Another shake of her head. “You sure you want to promise that?”

She juts out her chin so our lips are almost touching, her words brushing my mouth. “There’s only one person who can tell me what to do, and it’s you, when we’re naked.” She tugs at my shirt, but I chuckle and grab her wrist, stroking the soft skin inside.

“Nope, this bath is just for you.”

Her lip pops out in a mighty pout. “Well, I don’t want the bath then if you’re not in it with me.”

We spend a second locked in a staring contest. Ultimately, I break it, rolling my eyes.

“Fine,” I say, standing. I step out of the way and behind her a bit, facing the tub where I kick off my boots and reach behind me to pull off my shirt. She’s watching, her chest and neck and cheeks flushed, bottom lip in her mouth. I have an idea, and find myself smiling while I pull off my socks.

“Check the water,” I tell her, undoing my belt and jeans. “Make sure it’s not too hot.”

Cass turns, and I step toward her. The tub is so deep, she has to really bend over to test the water, which is exactly what I was hoping for when I suggested it.

I drop to my knees and fist the waist of her panties to yank them over her ass, already forgetting about them before they slide down her legs and hit the ground. Her gasp echoes on the tile, but I’ve already forgotten that too.’m mesmerized by the tremble of her ass when I squeeze it, when I slap it hard enough to leave a mark. I squeeze both cheeks, part them, salivating at the sight of the dusky, tight hole and the glistening flesh of her pussy beneath.

Cass is breathing heavy, gripping the edge of the tub. Steam licks at her face and breasts, the white tub reflecting light from above. She is luminous, radiant and dewy and panting. When she spreads her legs, my heartbeat thunders in my cock.

“Please,” she whimpers.

“Please what?” I drag my fingertips toward her pussy.

A groan. “Touch me.”

“I am.”

The impatient noise she makes only earns her a chuckle. My fingertips trace the creases on either side of her pussy, squeezing it between the V of my fingers.

“See?”

She bites her bottom lip and tries to glare back at me, but the look is too thick with want to do anything but make my cock ache.

“Say it, Cass.”

“Touch my pussy,” she breathes.

“Good girl,” I hum and trace the soft, wet cleft, imagining how she’ll feel on my cock.

Her hips rock against my finger, her groan rumbling somewhere deep in her throat.

“You are fucking soaked, Cass.”

“Well, you brought pizza,” she says with a lazy smirk. She arches her back, trying to get me to nudge her clit, but I won’t let her get to the tip of my finger. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” I dip my fingertip into her dripping pussy, my heart skipping painfully. “Did you fuck your hand last night and think about me? I did. I came so hard I thought I pulled a muscle.”

She hisses, chasing my finger with her cunt, and I laugh.

“Fucking greedy. What do you want? Gotta ask.”

“Mmm, my clit. Please,” she begs, her hips still seeking.

“That’s right.” I let her nuzzle her clit against the tip of my finger, the rest of it nestled between her pussy lips. Her torso rises, hands braced on the rim of the tub so she can nudge and grind her clit on me from behind.

When her pussy pulses against the length of my finger, I drag it down the line and let her go, despite her protests.

“Don’t you fucking move, wife ,” I command softly, my lips dragging across her ass cheek before biting her. She yelps, and when I stand, she shifts. I slap the flushed spot where I bit her, pleased when her ass cheeks ripple and bounce from the force.

She freezes, gulping steamy air while I turn off the water. Strands of her red hair are dark and plastered to her skin—I trace them down her neck, my gaze continuing to the valley of her back and the split of her ass. My cock is hard and heavy in my pumping fist, my jeans in heap.

“Cross your ankles.”

She does, bending over a little more, throwing a defiant look over her shoulder.

I stroke the curves of her hips, lower back, and ass, knowing she can’t stay like this much longer. But I have a feeling this isn’t going to take long.

“I fucking love when you do what you’re told.” I stroke her slick flesh with my crown, tracing the line until I’m coated in her. But I don’t slide into her like I want—first, I nestle my cock between her pussy lips, the head nudging her clit like my finger had.

She moans, hips bucking.

“Only when you’re naked.” I pump my hips, bumping and rubbing her clit again and again and again. “The rest of the time? I love that smart fucking mouth of yours.”

“Mmm, ah !”

I fuck her clit, savoring the sounds and the view. “Nobody in the world can tell you what to do, baby. Except me, in here .” At the word, I nudge my crown into the dip where I know that silky sheath waits for me.

“Only you,” she whispers. And with a groan, I thrust my hips, dragging her onto me.

When I’m as deep as I can get, I pause. The tingling tension climbing toward the tip of my cock, lost somewhere inside her. I notice her arms trembling and bend, the humid air curling around me. My lips meet her back, my arm threading under her to take some of her weight. The other slides over her thigh, to her clit where, fingers together and flat, I smooth and stroke and pat while I thrust and drive and fuck, savoring the feeling of my cock in her heat, the sight of her dripping wet in plumes of steam, the echo of skin clapping.

In seconds, her pussy clenches around me, her grip so tight, I can’t move. But my fingers on her clit don’t quit until her gasps are moans and her flesh lets me go enough that I can pump my hips. Her cunt is still milking me, drawing the sizzling orgasm forward, begging me to come.

When I do, it sears, tearing from me, pumping into her. Her pussy finally slows, having gotten what she wanted, and my cock finally spends its last inside her.

We’re both shaking now—I pull out and bring her up with me when I stand. She turns in my arms, reaching to pull me into a kiss that I could die inside of. One I can’t seem to break, even when I pick her up and carefully step into the tub, lowering us into the steaming water with a sigh.

When she’s lying between my thighs, her back to my chest and her fingers threaded with mine, I close my eyes and try to lock this moment in my mind to keep forever.

“Thank you,” she says quietly.

“For what?”

“For taking care of me.”

I shift so I can look at her, turning her chin so our eyes meet. “I just want you to be happy, Cass.”

I thumb the apple of her cheek when she smiles. “Good. Because I am.”