Page 11 of Sex, Lies, and Margarita Mixes

I set the rings on the nightstand and crawl over him. I straddle him, settling my knees on both sides of his hips. Leaning in slowly, I lift his hand and spin the ring on his finger.

His eyes are locked on me. My hips are moving, gently, teasingly.

His shorts get soaked from the desire leaking from my pussy lips as they cocoon his rigid length through the fabric.

He swallows. I bring his hand to my mouth and kiss the skin just above his ring before swirling my tongue along the digit and sucking it into my mouth.

My tongue on his ring finger mimics the movement of my hips on his straining cock.

I release it with a pop. “You never took this off… and you kept the originals.”

His eyes burn. “Yup.” His nostrils flare.

“Y ou’re mine, Chase West. You never stopped being mine.

” I settle his hand on my chest, over my heart.

His cock jumps as I continue to slowly grind against him.

My hand trails over his throat, lightly tapping the erratic pulse at the base of his neck.

He groans and his hips lift. I smile and drag my hands over the muscled arms covered with tattoos that drive me wild.

Leaning down, I flick his nipple with the tip of my tongue.

“Rox…” His eyes are locked on me.

I slide my hands down his chest and over the tight muscles of his abs.

He jerks and inhales quickly. His teeth are clenched, and his hands are curled into fists but still resting on my chest. I wrap my hand around his length and stroke him through the drenched material.

He bucks and I moan, “ No one else gets to taste you, touch you, ruin you like I do, Chase.” I stroke him again. He’s barely breathing.

I squeeze him. “ Say it ,” I gutturally demand.

His fingers dig into my thighs. “Baby, I’m yours.”

“Say it again.” I stroke him again.

“Roxy—”

I grind down again. Slow.

He pants.

“ Say it. ”

“I’m yours,” he growls. “Always.” He flips me, somehow getting his shorts off before my back hits the bed.

Grabbing my knees, he parts my legs and surges in.

He fucks me, hard, relentless. My ankles are on his shoulders.

I’m bouncing all over the bed, wailing as he jackhammers into me.

There is no sweetness. This is raw, primal.

It isn’t sex. It’s claiming. Conquering.

It’s war yet we’re both winning .

When we’re both ruined, quiet, and tangled in each other’s arms and legs, I kiss his ring finger again.

His Tungsten and silver band glints between our bodies and I whisper, “You can keep the ring.”

He pulls me closer. “Put yours back on, Roxy. I’m not going anywhere. Ever. I’m keeping you.”

The shower is pulsing. The water is hot.

Steam curls around the room like it’s trying to erase what just happened.

But it can’t. Because I still feel him. Inside me.

On me. In every heartbeat that stutters when I think about how he looked at me—like I was the only thing he’s ever wanted and told me he was mine.

When he told me he wanted me to put my ring back on because he was keeping me and wasn’t leaving… ever, the last of my walls crumbled.

He steps in behind me, close, but he doesn’t touch me. He just waits, letting the water bead on his chest and trail down the abs I’ve dreamed about, cried on, laughed against, licked, kissed, and come completely undone for.

I lean back, pressing my ass to his groin and my back to his chest. His hands are resting on my waist, anchoring me there. His mouth is at my neck. There’s no urgency, no need to race to the end for fear he’ll leave. It’s just him and me.

Familiar. Gentle. Steady.

He grabs the shampoo, pours some into his hands, and lathers it slowly. He washes my hair like he’s memorizing every inch of it. Like touching me isn’t about sex anymore, it’s about devotion.

I let him.

Closing my eyes, I tilt my head back and let him worship me without words.

And when I open them, he’s looking at me like he’s never seen anything he wants more.

“You okay?” he whispers.

I nod. “Are you?”

His mouth quirks. “I’m in a shower with my sexy-as-fuck wife, fully erect, and emotionally exposed. So, no. Not really but it’s worth it.”

I laugh. Not because it’s funny but because it’s real. Because he’s real.

He washes my back next. Then, my arms. And he reaches around me to cleanse my chest, taking the time to get every inch.

He cups my breasts in his hands, rubbing them, rolling the soap over my nipples and his hands trail down my sides before he washes my stomach.

I’m so aroused but I stand there, soaking in his delicious torment.

He kneels behind me to wash my legs. He takes his time to wash my ankles, my calves, my knees, and my thighs.

He kneads my ass, washing me and turning me on at the same time.

I rinse and his hands help to remove the soap.

I moan and press my palms against the shower wall, fearful that my knees will give out.

He kisses my hip, and I jerk as he delves his fingers through the curls covering my sex.

He takes his time. My legs part and he kisses my other hip while a finger slides inside of my soaked pussy.

“Lean forward, baby. Open up for me. Let me love you.” I do as he asks.

He inserts a second finger, and then, a third.

He’s fingering me and rolling my clit while he kisses and sucks my hips and ass cheeks.

His nose slides up my crack and I gasp. “Do you want me to, Rox?”

I do. I want him to.

I breathlessly say, “Yes, oh yes, Chase.” Using some of my natural lube from my pussy, he slowly begins circling my ass hole. I arch back and he chuckles as he inserts just the tip. He stops and I spasm around him. He kisses my cheek again.

“Easy baby… easy…” He moves it deeper, and I moan as I push back against his hand.

His other hand returns to my pussy, and he slowly starts to move them in tandom.

In and out of both of my holes while his tongue traces the curves of my ass and he peppers it with kisses.

I start shaking at the abundance of sensations.

The water is still beating down over us, and Chase is turning me into putty.

His thumb rolls against my clit as his fingers curl inside of my pussy and his other finger fucks my ass.

I move against him. He moans against the back of my thighs as my movements quicken. “Chase… baby… oh… Ohhhh… I can’t… Ohhhhhh… I need… Fuck… Oh fuck… I can’t.. Oh, God… Chase… I’m cumming… Ohhhhhhh, f…u…c…k…. Ohhhhhhh. ”

I fall apart.

I’m so spent after my orgasm, I slide to join him on the shower floor.

Pulling me into his arms, he smoothes the wet hair off of my face. I’m still spasming as he says, “You didn’t run this time, baby.”

“I can’t move. There’s no way I could run. Even if I wanted to.” I stare up at him. The man I love.

He chuckles but asks, “Did you want to?”

I swallow, “I thought about it.”

He exhales. “But you stayed.”

I mutter, “Yeah. I did.”

We both pauses and then, I whisper, “I was always waiting for you to stop loving me, Chase.”

He freezes. So do I because that… that wasn’t supposed to come out.

Not yet. Maybe not ever.

But… it’s the truth.

Ugly. Raw. Real.

I’ve spent our entire marriage loving him while waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting to fail. Waiting for him to see what a mess I am and realize he can leave.

He never has. He just keeps showing up. And I keep pushing him away and being terrified he’ll actually leave me when I tell him to.

He stands slowly, reaches down, and helps me up. My knees are still weak when he cradles my face. “You have never made loving you easy, Roxy.”

I nod, feeling the thickness in my throat. “I know.”

“But I have never once wanted to leave you. You push me, shove me, practically throw me off a fucking cliff, but I just dig my heels in and hold on.” He smiles.

Tears blur the edges of him as I cry, “But I always try to make you.”

“I know. I’m a stubborn mother fucker, baby.” He chuckles and kisses my cheek before trailing his lips to the corner of my mouth. My tears are mingling with the now cold water from the shower head as he says, “You were scared.”

“And you were patient.” I cry.

“Still am.” He says it matter of factly.

Turning off the shower, he wraps me in a thick, warm towel.

Pressing my forehead to his chest, I whisper the thing I’ve never said, not even on our wedding night.

“You’re home, Chase.”

He holds me tighter. “I’m glad.”

CHASE

Roxy walks in for breakfast like she owns the whole damn coastline.

Her hair is on top of her head. She’s in my t-shirt. She’s not wearing a damn bra. Her cutoffs are too short and show far too much of her legs. And she’s smiling smugly.

The ring on her finger catches the morning sun like a mic drop.

Sasha gasps.

Whitney stares.

Trent spills his green juice.

Miguel mutters, “Well, shit.”

Weston grins and nods like he’s personally responsible.

And Bree… well, Bree slow claps.

I just stand back and let her wreck the room. She’s not walking into this space like she’s announcing she’s once again showing the world she’s my wife. She’s walking in like it’s a declaration. And she holds my soul—and more often than not my dick—in one perfectly moisturized hand.

She grabs a croissant, sits down, takes a sip of coffee, and says, “If anyone needs a relationship coach, I’ve decided to retire from running and start wrecking people’s expectations of love instead.

My rates are high. My advice is questionable.

My husband comes with me.” Casually, like she’s ordering brunch.

Miguel chokes. Trent mumbles something about needing therapy after this retreat.

Sasha raises her cup and toasts her, “To second chances—and knowing when to stop pretending you’re not madly in love with your husband. I’m so damn good.”

Roxy clinks glasses with her. “Cheers, bitch.”

The rest of breakfast is a blur.

Mostly because I can’t stop watching the ring she slipped back on her finger last night move as she steals bites of my pancakes and gives me filthy eyes over her coffee.

At one point, she texts me from across the table.

Roxy

When is this shit wrapping up? Can we leave early and do things that make Bree cry again?

I text back.

Chase

Tomorrow. And only if you keep the ring on while you sit on my face.

She doesn’t respond. But when I look up, she’s biting her lip.

After breakfast, she drags me out onto the deck under the pretense of “helping her rearrange the patio cushions.”

There are no cushions on the patio.

Just Roxy. The ocean. And what I hope is a very bold plan.

Turning to me, she takes both of my hands in hers. She slides the ring off her finger and my eyes widen.

What the hell? Put that damn thing back on.

Holding it up between us, she slips it back on to her finger, very slowly. Very intentionally. Her eyes stay locked on mine the entire time. She says, “I choose you, Chase. I choose us .”

I swallow. Hard. My voice is not calm as I ask, “You’re choosing me ?”

She nods. Then, she smirks. “I also choose your abs. And that glorious dick.”

Alrighty then. I can handle that.

I smirk, “You better. This is the last dick that is ever going to fill any of your holes, babe.”

She snorts, but leans in. She kisses me. No crowd. No performance. Just her. Just me. Just a promise. Just us.

She breaks the kiss, “It’s not official until you give me an orgasm. We have to consummate it.”

I grin. “Is that right?”

Nodding, she glances over her shoulder. No one is around. She pulls me into the small alcove of the beach house that leads to the supply shed. “Uh huh. It’s a rule.”

I mutter, “You and your rules.” But I’m already peeling her shorts down.

I do as she asks.