Page 18 of Open Secrets (Infidelity #5)

Lyle — Present

“So, you never wanted this.” My voice comes out hoarse, like glass scraping my throat.

She shrugs. A tiny, careless shrug that lands harder than a thrown brick.

“Don’t do that.” I shove off the bed and drop into the chair by the window, needing space, needing air. My hand drags down my face. “Don’t shrug it off like it’s nothing.”

The silence presses in, loud as artillery. I stare at the blinds, at the bar of light cutting the carpet. “I mean — I get why the whole Sascha mess happened. But…” My jaw locks. Words grind like gears. “How the hell did it end with us opening our marriage?”

Maria folds into herself on the bed, chin on her knees. “I told you to quit. Or else. You chose else.”

The sentence sits like a flat, cold thing between us. I rake my hand through my hair, tugging at the roots until my scalp burns. “I thought you were gonna ask for a divorce,” I say. “I thought I was doing what you wanted—so you’d stay.”

I wish that was the only reason.

I wish I hadn’t also suggested it because I was curious. Because I got tired of the empty bed.

Her eyes are hollow, stripped of fight.

“I didn’t lie,” I push on, my voice rough. “Being away was hard—lonely. There were times I wondered. Times I thought about it. But once it was allowed… once we opened the door, it just became—”

“…unwanted.” She spits it out quiet and clean.

I nod. It’s all there — short, blunt. The chair creaks as I lean forward, head between my hands. My chest is a hollow I can’t fill. I thought I was helping our relationship, not ruining it.

“How do we come back from this?” The question cracks in my mouth.

She gets up slow, robe pulling with her. She doesn’t stand over me. She kneels on the floor in front of me, and her hands find my jaw like they always do — warm, steady. No theatrical gestures, just steadiness.

I stop breathing without meaning to.

Her eyes catch mine, wet but fixed. She leans in and kisses me — a light touch at first, only lips.

When she pulls away her forehead rests against mine.

“I love you,” she says. “Talking about this, dragging it out — it convinced me. I do love you. I love our life.” Her thumbs brush my cheeks, light, like she’s afraid I’ll look away. “I’m just so lonely, Lyle.”

She breaks. The words come out like splinters. “My dad is dying and he won’t speak to me. Your parents won’t stop trying to.”

Tears paint her face. She keeps talking because the dam is gone: Anna, blame, choices, the way she stepped into fights she didn’t have to, how she carried damn near everything. “I’m so tired of carrying it alone,” she says, and it hits me like someone turned a fist inside my chest.

I slide down beside her. I put my hands over hers until the shaking slows. “Then don’t,” I say. “Not anymore. Don’t carry it alone.”

Her eyes search mine. “What do you mean?”

My throat works. The words come out raw. “I’m going to do what I should’ve done three years ago. I’m quitting.”

She looks at me like I’m an idiot first, then like I’m insane. “Quit — the Army?”

“Yes.” It feels like both a knife and a release. “Maria, I’m quitting the Army.”

She blinks, the breath leaving her. “But you love it.”

I laugh, a sound that doesn't belong in me. “I love you more.”

Her mouth opens and closes, and for once she’s quiet.

I move because silence can become a cliff if you stare at it.

I lean in before I can think better of it; my hands find her face and she grabs the back of my shirt, pulling me in like a tether.

She kisses me hard — not tender, not careful — like somebody taking back what was loaned.

I realize then, the way you realize what’s been staring you in the face: she’s been waiting. She’s been waiting for this to be only ours again.

My hands go to her hair. I pull her closer until I can feel the bones at the base of her skull. The kiss breaks and becomes a different thing. No slow buildup — something hungry and immediate. I taste salt and fear and the old hunger that hasn’t died between us.

“I need you,” I tell her. Not clever. Not romantic. Just the fact.

She nods and fumbles at my shirt. I strip the robe from her shoulders. She’s mine in the simplest sense — not rented, not borrowed, not shared. Mine.

We don’t reach the bed. The floor is hard and unforgiving but I don’t care. I shove the chair back with my foot — the thud against the wall a satisfying sound as I lower her down, my hands on her hips, feeling her naked skin.

“I’m not sharing you anymore,” I say, low, and I kiss down her stomach, pausing to caress every inch.

Her back arches when my mouth hits her mound. Maria trembles under me like a live wire. We have a healthy sex life but lately it’s felt more like walking a tightwire than making love. The thought of other men touching my wife, makes me pause.

“Lyle,” she breathes, her fingers digging into my hair.

I glance up — her eyes are on me, wide with confusion, half pleading. I give her a quick grin, then lower my mouth and drag my tongue over her, slow and deliberate. The second I hit her clit, Maria’s back bows hard. Her thighs snap shut on my head by reflex.

I shove one hand between them, prying her open, while my other arm locks around her hip to keep her pinned.

I go to work. My tongue circles, pressing into every edge and crease of her clit. Then I hum from deep in my chest, letting the vibration roll through her.

It works. It always worked.

Her hands claw everywhere — yanking at my hair, scraping the carpet, grabbing anything within reach. She’s losing control, and I love watching it happen. I glance up just in time to see her bite down on the back of her hand to keep from screaming.

A growl rips out of me. That pisses me off more than it should. She’s holding her noises back from me.

I freeze. My tongue stops dead on her clit. I don’t move, don’t pull away — just stop.

Her head snaps up. “Why?” she gasps, almost angry, almost begging.

“Because,” I say, voice rough. “You hold back the sounds, I stop.”

Her eyes flash. “The neighbours, Lyle!” she hisses, exasperated.

I raise my eyebrows, unmoved.

“Not this time,” I tell her, pressing her hips back down. “Not today.”

Her eyes narrow like she wants to fight me on it, but I don’t give her the chance. I pin her thighs wide, my shoulders holding her open, and I bury my mouth back against her.

This time I don’t tease. I flatten my tongue against her clit and grind it in circles, rough and steady, while my fingers slide inside her — two at once, knuckles deep. I curl them hard and feel the walls of her pussy squeeze around them.

Maria gasps so loud it echoes off the walls. Good. No hiding this time.

Her hands fist in my hair, yanking so hard my scalp burns, but I don’t stop. My jaw aches with the pressure of holding her down, my shoulders strain against her kicking legs, but I keep her where I want her.

I suck her clit into my mouth, tongue lashing over it, and the taste floods me — sharp, salty, wet. I hum again, harder, and her whole body jerks like I just shocked her.

Her moans start raw and guttural, building into higher sounds, desperate and loud. The kind of sounds that make my cock throb against the floor, leaking inside my shorts. Every noise she makes shoots through me like a live current, winding me tighter.

“Fuck—Lyle!” she cries, her head thrashing side to side. “I can’t—oh God—”

“Yes you can,” I snarl against her, my lips dragging over her clit as my fingers piston inside her. “You’re going to. Right here. Loud.”

Her hips buck so hard I nearly lose rhythm, but I slam my forearm across her stomach, holding her down while I keep working her. She’s grinding into my face now, riding it, chasing it.

“Lyle—fuck—” She screams it this time, high and broken.

That’s it. That’s what I wanted.

Her thighs clamp around my head as her whole body locks up. I feel her cunt squeeze tight around my fingers, pulsing hard, wet heat gushing into my palm. She convulses under me, crying out without restraint, her voice ragged and wild.

I keep going until she’s shaking too much to breathe, until her nails tear at the carpet for purchase. Only then do I ease up, dragging my tongue slowly over her swollen clit, tasting every drop.

When I finally look up, she’s wrecked. Hair plastered to her forehead, chest heaving, face flushed deep red. Her arm’s thrown over her eyes like she can’t stand to meet mine.

I crawl up her body, pinning her wrists to the floor so she can’t hide. I kiss her, shoving my tongue into her mouth so she can taste herself on me.

“You don’t hide from me,” I growl against her lips. “Not your sounds. Not your face. Nothing.”

She stares at me, panting, lips trembling. Then she nods once, sharp. “Okay.”

Her hand snakes down between us, wrapping around my cock through my shorts. I hiss, the shock of it hitting hard. The friction of the fabric nearly makes me lose it right there.

“Then fuck me,” Maria whispers, voice raw and torn open. “Now.”

I shove my shorts down, finally freeing myself. My cock’s so hard it hurts, swollen and slick at the tip from how long I’ve been grinding against the carpet. She grips me, stroking me once, and my whole body jerks again.

Then she pulls me to her, guiding me where she’s wet and open.

The second I push in, everything else blanks.

Hot. Tight. Wet. The kind of grip that makes my eyes slam shut for half a beat. Her cunt clamps around me like she’s never taken me before, like eighteen years haven’t already written me into her body.

Every damn time it’s like this. Like the first time in the back seat of my old Ford, fumbling with buttons, her legs shaking, me scared I’d come too fast to even make it count. My hands were clumsy, her laugh was nervous, and I still thought I’d never feel anything better.

And I was right. Even now, nearly three decades later, sliding inside her makes me feel that same stupid rush — like I’m a kid again, desperate and greedy, finally getting what I’d been dying for.

“Fuck,” I groan, forehead pressed to hers. “Every time, Maria. Every fucking time it feels brand new.”

She gasps, nails clawing down my back as I bottom out, buried to the hilt. Her walls flutter around me, squeezing, pulling me deeper when there’s nowhere left to go.

I grit my teeth, trying not to lose it. The heat, the pressure, the way her body moulds to mine — it’s too much. My cock throbs inside her, every pulse rubbing against slick walls that don’t want to let me go.

Her breath fans hot against my ear. “Then don’t hold back. Not tonight.”

I pull almost all the way out, her muscles dragging along me, then slam back into her, the slap of skin on skin loud in the room. She cries out, no neighbours in her mind now, no hesitation. Just raw sound.

And I keep moving, because this is ours. Always has been.

I pull back and slam into her again. The sound of it cracks through the room — wet, heavy, skin smacking skin. Her body jerks under me, a cry ripping out of her throat, and I feel her nails dig into my ass.

I set a rhythm. Long, deep thrusts at first, grinding all the way in until my balls slap her ass, then pulling out slow so she feels every inch. Her cunt grips me on the way out like it’s trying to keep me inside, and it makes my cock throb so hard I almost lose control.

“Jesus, Maria,” I growl, bracing my forearms beside her head. My shoulders burn holding myself up, my thighs strain with every drive forward, but I don’t stop. I can’t.

She’s soaking me, slick and hot, and the carpet burns my knees raw as I keep slamming into her.

Sweat drips off my forehead, splattering on her chest. My abs tighten with each thrust, every muscle in me working like I’m back on the training field, except this is the only mission that’s ever mattered.

Her legs hook around my waist, heels digging into my lower back, dragging me in deeper. The new angle makes her walls clamp down even harder, squeezing my cock like a fist. I groan into her neck, biting down just enough to hear her gasp.

I drive faster. Harder. The slap of our bodies fills the room, louder than her muffled moans, louder than my ragged breathing. My lungs burn, my cock swells, the base of my spine tightens until every nerve is lit up.

“Every time,” I grit out, pounding into her like I can’t stop. “Every fucking time feels like the first. Back of that car. You remember?”

Her head snaps back, eyes rolling as another cry tears out of her. “I remember,” she moans. “God, I remember—”

Her walls flutter again, pulling at me, milking me. I know she’s close. I can feel it in the way her body clenches, in the way her voice breaks.

I slam deeper, hips snapping with raw force, jaw clenched so tight my teeth hurt. The pressure builds sharp and fast — balls tight, cock swelling, every thrust harder to control.

I look down at her wrecked face, flushed and desperate, and I can’t stop the growl tearing out of my chest. “Come with me,” I demand. “Now.”

She’s screaming now, no hand over her mouth, no restraint — just raw, broken sounds that echo off the walls. Her pussy grips me so tight I can feel every twitch, every flutter, like she’s trying to drag me under with her.

“Lyle—fuck—I’m—” Her words snap off into a wail as she comes, her pussy clenching around my cock. I feel the gush of heat flood against me, her thighs shaking, her nails digging furrows into my shoulders.

That does it. The pressure that’s been clawing at my spine finally blows. My cock jerks inside her, thick pulses ripping through me. Cum floods out in hard, hot spurts, spilling deep into her while my hips keep driving, grinding her down into the carpet.

“Fuck—Maria—” The sound tears out of me, half growl, half groan. My body convulses, every nerve firing at once. My thighs lock, my stomach clenches, and I empty myself inside her until there’s nothing left but aftershocks.

I collapse on top of her, chest heaving, heart pounding like a jackhammer. Her skin is slick against mine, her breath hot and fast in my ear. Her cunt still flutters around me, squeezing me weakly with every aftershock, milking the last drops out of me.

We stay like that, tangled on the floor, sweat cooling on our skin, the room thick with the smell of sex. My cock still buried in her, softening slowly, her legs loose around my waist.

I press my forehead to hers, both of us gasping. “Every time,” I rasp. “Decades, Maria. And it still feels brand new.”

She laughs, shaky and wet, running her fingers through my damp hair. “I love you,” she whispers.

I grin against her lips, still out of breath. “I love you too.”