Page 17 of Splintered Security (Aspen & Evergreen #2)

oral olympics

Ren

I collapse on the bed, throwing my arm over my eyes as she licks my cock, collecting every drop of cum.

“I’ve died and gone to blow job heaven.”

“I’m glad it was good for you.”

“Good?” I release the arm over my eyes and lean up to her.

She licks her lips, and my dick twitches.

Down boy. “Good. That wasn’t good. That was the best I’ve ever had.

Now I can live the rest of my life knowing that the Oral Olympics gold medal winner is my wife.

No one else gets to judge though. And there are no other contestants.

But the games won’t be held every four years.

You’d hate to not win again. You should probably keep training.

I don’t mind being judge and coach. If I must, I must. You know, so you don’t lose the title. That would be a travesty.”

“You said orgasms make you hungry, but I think they make you chatty too.”

“That wasn’t just an orgasm. That was the big bang in my body and exploding inside my dick. That was?—”

She kisses me silent, but laughs too much to finish. Her eyes dance, and her face softens. “I’m glad you liked it. I did too. And I don’t mind training for the Oral Olympics. I’m partial to the judge.”

I grab the back of her head and pull her back to my mouth. “Likewise.” I kiss her quickly. “Now, unless you plan to train all day—which as judge and coach, I wouldn’t argue with—I suggest we clean up and get some food.”

“Waffles?”

I laugh. “That’s random, but okay.” I lean over, give her ass a playful slap, and get up to start the shower.

When I return, she’s still on the bed, curled up, having pulled the covers over her body.

“Well?”

Her eyebrows pull together. “Well, what?”

I extend a hand. “Shall we?”

We shower. I fight not to be hard the whole time, but Anni, wet in the shower, moving around me, her hands roving her body, is a thing. So is her washing her hair. Her teardrop-shaped breasts lift as she massages in shampoo, and fuck if they don’t bounce a little.

I use a soapy fingertip and circle a nipple, tracing its shape. Her intake of breath can be heard over the water. She does the same with the ridges of my abs. This isn’t innocent, but it isn’t meant to lead anywhere. It’s simple exploration. Exploration that my dick wants in on too .

I turn around to break the tension, and rinse my front, and forget for a moment my mangled back that is now eye level with the woman behind me.

Childhood scars from lashes my stepfather administered before my mom caught on.

Shrapnel and a bullet wound from my time in the Army.

The bomb debris from last week only adds to the mix.

A palm lands on my shoulder blade and another on my hip before lips kiss the center of my spine. It is heaven and hell all in one moment.

Scars and healing.

Brutality and wholeness.

Mottled flesh kissed by sunshine.

It’s when her forehead drops to my back and both arms wrap around me that I feel the most exposed.

I set a hand over hers at my belly until I feel her lift her face. Turning in the circle of her arms, I hold her eyes in silent communication. I don’t know what I mean to say. I don’t know what she hears, but words are unnecessary since they are less than this moment.

I kiss her mouth. Slowly. Tentatively. This is neither lust nor passion. It’s connection and affection and feels more like a gift though I don’t know who the receiver or the giver is.

I lift a hand to her jaw and wrap the other around her lower back, pulling her into me, my erect cock trapped between us. My tongue wars with hers, tangles with hers, caresses hers. She gives and she takes.

When I pull away, I kiss her forehead and, without a word, step out of the shower for her to finish. I set out a towel for her as I grab my own and force my mind away from the naked woman in my shower to go make waffles.

Anni

I find Ren in the kitchen with the waffle iron out, a bowl of batter beside it and some fresh fruit on a plate at the bar.

“I didn’t think I was in the shower long enough after you left for you to do all this.”

“If we were camping, it would matter, but long, slow showers here are fine.”

“I haven’t been camping in forever.” I pop a blueberry in my mouth and grab the orange wedge that was underneath it.

“After all of this, if you want to go, we can.” His voice is curious, not commanding like it usually is. It borders on tentative.

“I’d be down for that. Where are you thinking?”

“Since we’ve only been considering it for four seconds or so, I don’t have any place in mind. We can pick a few places and decide from there. That work?”

I smile. “I’d like that.” I finger the wet hair at my shoulder. “But I need to figure out what to do about my job, since I can’t do mine with the commute right now.”

“Give them notice. ”

“But I need a job.”

“Find one here. Or don’t. We’ll manage.”

I want to mutter under my breath “We’ll manage” back to him, but I don’t. He’s serious. When did Ren, who grew up like Aug and I did, get to a place of we’ll manage . That’s a radical shift in mindset.

He must see the look on my face, because he goes on.

“I’m not rich, not by a long stretch, but I do fine.

I don’t live to keep up with the Joneses and I don’t take really long showers.

” He winks at me. “We can afford for you not to have a job for a while. We could afford it longer, but I kind of dig the shower scene with you. If that’s to continue”—his eyes rake over my body—“we may need to consider adjusting the budget to accommodate.”

My cheeks flush. The heat could fill the room with the waves coming off me.

“We’ll figure it out.” He says it with finality as he pours batter over the grid in the iron plates.

“Okay, Ren.”

His eyes heat, but I don’t make too much of it.

I make drinks while he makes beautiful, thick waffles that are so perfect, they annoy me. Light and airy on the inside, crunchy and golden on the outside.

“Ugh.”

“What? It isn’t good?” He takes in his plate and spears a bite with his fork. When he puts it in his mouth, he looks at me curiously. “Seems fine. What’s wrong? ”

I roll my eyes. “Of course, they’re fine. They’re more than fine. Everything you make is delicious. It’s annoying.”

His eyebrows rise on his olive forehead, and his eyes crinkle in amusement. “You’re annoyed I can cook?” His chest rises and falls with laughter. “What happened in the shower?”

“Shut up.” I smack his chest.

“Make me.”

Before I can make good on his demand, he silences me. He taps a finger into his syrup, smears it on my bottom lip, and proceeds to lick it off, holding my eyes the whole time. It’s slow and erotic and very, very effective.

“Eat your waffle, baby. They’re not good cold.”

I obey. The man is a master in the kitchen and, as it turns out, even better in the bedroom. And we haven’t even had sex yet. I don’t let my brain snag on why that is.

I don’t ask about what he did when he left in the middle of the night or where he went.

I eat my perfect waffle and the delicious fresh fruit he chopped. I sip my coffee and enjoy the company of my husband and my happy buzz, wondering how long this could last.