Page 45

blind, deaf, and dumb

Christian

She blanches of all color, takes my wine glass, and downs a healthy gulp.

“Uh… Well, something, um, just settled in my gut, and I knew. That’s all.” Her index fingers scratch at her thumbnails the whole time she speaks. It’s a tell. One I’ve never mentioned. Her thumbs reveal a whole story. And this one says she’s lying.

“Princess?”

“Yeah.”

“Probably best not to lie to me when we’re talking about trust. Don’t you think?”

She freezes in place, holding her breath. When her shoulders sag and she looks away, I know she’s working through how to tell me something I won’t like. Thank God, I can read her like a book. I’d hate it if she were a good liar.

I lift a hand and use a finger to turn her chin to me. “You can tell me anything.”

She bites her lip, releasing it only when the words come tumbling out. “You were surprised yesterday. You seemed genuinely confused.”

“Yeah. So?”

“So…” She shuts her eyes and rushes on, “That means you were seeing it for the first time.”

“Right. And?” The penny drops. What the fuck? My face must morph because she looks stricken when I call for her. “Princess?”

“Yeah, Honey?”

“Why wouldn’t I have been seeing it for the first time?”

“Uh. Well, if you’d been there before.” Her eyes are darting, and her face is mottling from the merlot that she grabs another glug of before finding her thumbnails to pick at.

“When would I have been there before?” I’m holding onto my temper because I can see the puzzle she laid out for me. Like her photography, it’s not what’s there, it’s what’s missing. It’s what she’s not saying.

“Then.”

“When, Ayla?”

“When this happened.” The whispered admission is mirrored with a flick of her finger toward her temple.

I breathe deeply, getting my anger in check and failing. I finish the glass of wine in one go, refilling it, skipping the aerator entirely on the nearly full stem.

I sit in that awful silence, drinking the next glass, stewing on what she’s said.

“I, uh?—”

“Don’t.” It’s a command, and she knows it. She better not finish that thought.

I get up, put my plate in the dishwasher, and throw the now empty wine bottle in the trash with enough force, the sound of it shattering echoes off the walls.

Ayla flinches and curls tighter into a protective ball on the bar stool.

“Are you afraid?”

She bows up, chin rising loud and proud, and blurts, “No.”

“But you were?”

Her eyes drop to her hands, and she stills her body before taking a deep breath. “I couldn’t know.”

“You couldn’t know what? That I didn’t try to kill you?

Are you seriously sitting there telling me that you figured out yesterday that all my worry, my grief, my lost sleep, my panic and guilt wasn’t an act?

It’s been months. Months! And you lived here wondering if I failed in an attempt to kill you? ”

And fuck if my wife doesn’t surprise me.

She stands, lifts her chin, and flips a long middle finger at me.

“Don’t you dare act wounded, Christian. You didn’t wake up blind, deaf, and dumb, maybe not literally, but whatever.

I woke up to a life I did not know, people I’d never met, with no clue how I got here.

I couldn’t figure out who to trust, where I was safe, and how to fight my way back to me.

Fuck you for not assuming that I was smart enough to suspect everyone or shrewd enough not to trust the info blindly. ”

I open my mouth.

“Oh, no you don’t. Liam told me I could trust you, and I trust Liam, so I gave you the benefit of the doubt.”

“How was that the benefit of the doubt?” My voice is too loud and belies my anger.

“Oh, I don’t know. Let’s see. I fucking lived here, didn’t I? I slept next to a stranger who, I repeat, I did not know. Unconscious, vulnerable. I didn’t move out. I didn’t expect you to walk on eggshells. How was it not the benefit of the doubt? Did you not risk the very same thing?”

“How do you figure?”

“Why would you assume I wasn’t a danger to you?”

My shoulders sag and the breath leaves me from my toes in an exhale.

Setting both my hands on the island, I lean in and give her my undivided attention.

My voice is calm when I quietly reply, “Because, Princess, I know you. I’m not writing off your temper or your follow-through.

I’ve caught the sharp edge of your tongue before and surely will again.

But your heart isn’t that of a psychopath. ”

“I—”

I cut her off. “It never dawned on me that you might hurt me.” I stare at my wedding ring.

“When we stood before our families to pledge our lives to each other, I knew exactly who I was choosing. You’re smart, funny, and kind.

You’re also quick to anger, slow to forgive, and an act-first, think-second kind of woman.

I knew that too. You’re only a danger to me if you are to yourself. I’ll survive anything but losing you.”

Her eyes are wide. Her cheeks are flushed. “I could’ve, you know.”

I fight the smirk on my lips. “Are you standing here, honestly telling me that you could’ve taken me out? I got your point, baby. I get that you were scared but pushed through. I understand that you did the best you could. But are you really going there?”

She shrugs.

“You’re never boring. Our life has been nuts over the last six months, that’s a fact. But I’ll never be bored.” I stare to the heavens, letting my heart rate settle and my frustration leave me entirely. “Come here, Ayla.”

She crosses her arms over her chest and digs her heels in.

“I want to apologize properly, and I can’t do that without you agreeing.”

She tilts her head, as if considering my words before rounding the island, stopping just out of arm’s reach.

I tug her into my body, wrapping my arms around her, holding her close.

I kiss her head and speak quietly to her.

“I’m sorry, Princess. I’m sorry you were scared.

I’m sorry I didn’t recognize your fear or find a way to allay it.

I’m sorry you spent months on edge waiting for the other shoe to drop.

I’m sorry we fought when you told me the truth.

You’ve always been stronger than me at this relationship stuff.

You’re vulnerable and brave, and it puts me to shame.

I wasn’t lying when I said you’re the best part of every day.

Even when me being hot-headed and short-tempered and you being fiery and obstinate collide like they did tonight. ”

And like we always have after we fight, I take her hand while I keep one hand loose around her back and we sway back and forth as I sing Ray LaMontagne’s You are the Best Thing and we dance.

“I’m sorry too,” she mumbles into my chest.

“For what?”

Her stunning face glares up at me.

“Stop baiting me. You know what for. Accept the apology.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I kiss her forehead. “I’d really like to get back to the practice part of our conversation.”

Those eyes turn up to me, feigning anger, but actually filled with laughter. “Is it always about sex with you?”

“Trying to keep my wife satisfied. And, Princess, you should know, our sex life is about me trying to keep up with you. You get a bit… insatiable.”

The blush that stains her cheeks is so similar to the one before she comes that I begin to harden behind my zipper.

Ayla

He dances, he apologizes, and he makes our sex life about keeping up with me .

Christian Barone is too good to be true.

“I’ve always loved this song.”

His steps falter before he’s back in the rhythm of our dance, humming the melody into my hair. His arms around me are warm and firm. A month ago, I would’ve felt smothered. Today, I’d call it cocooned.

He dips me, right here in the kitchen and kisses the hollow of my throat. When he lifts me, it’s sensuous and slow and erotic as hell.

“I need to taste you.” His words are guttural and quiet and rumble through me like sexual tendrils.

“Well—” I slip from his arms, turning my back to him but looking over my shoulder in a shameless taunt. “If you insist…” And I run for the bedroom.

I swear the man allows me to get ahead, but by the time I get to the bed, he’s wrapped me up and folded me over the mattress, yanking my leggings to my ankles and pinning me wide from behind.

He sinks to his knees behind me and devours every bit of exposed flesh, even those I’ve never experienced before.

Fuck me. That’s— “Oh my God.” The moan that tears from me might as well come from my toes. I fist my fingers in the comforter and dig in to hold on for dear life.

The heat that burns in my core engorges my clit.

The building spiral twists and loops deep in my belly.

The moment of tension begs for release from the pressure while desperate to be stoked even higher.

My knees shake. My belly quivers. And my pussy explodes. I pulse and pulse and pulse, straining to squeeze my thighs together for relief. Instead, his mouth returns and he hums that same song as he sucks even harder.

I nearly black out with pleasure.

My husband kisses my lower back before palming both ass cheeks and thrusting into me in one long stroke. I never even heard the zipper or felt the nudge at my entrance. Maybe I did black out.

I greet him stroke for stroke until my arms give out and my legs collapse beneath me. It’s tighter without that control and I can only take.

“Christian,” I call.

“Yes, Princess,” he grits as he thrusts.

“Take what you need.” They’re the last words I get out, since pleasure overwhelms me to the point I can’t speak. I can only feel.

He’s stoking a fire that will char from the inside out.

The sizzle and burn will do me in.

The pyre is lit, and I’m consumed.

He must be too. He places another kiss to the small of my back as he pulls out, his cum sliding from me as my insides still pulse with aftershocks. “Perfection.” If he says more, I have no clue.

Just like this morning, he cleans me up. He murmurs something as he tucks me under the covers. And just like this morning, I pass out after.

I could get used to this.