Page 91 of High Water

“Okay.” It’s a reluctant agreement, but an agreement all the same.

“But for tonight, I want you to go to your room and work on homework.”

“But—” she starts to protest.

“No buts. You were still sassy as hell tonight. So if you want to go to this movie, you’d better be on your best behavior this week. That means getting a head start on the homework I know you have.” I level her with a sharp look.

“Fine.” She huffs and starts to get up without taking her plate.

“Your plate and your glass.” Bishop reminds her before I can, and she does as he instructs. “I’ll be in later to see if you need any help with the math we were working on.”

Fallon puts her things in the kitchen and goes to her room, shutting the door behind her. I do the same, retreating to our bedroom instead. I need a minute myself because my stomach is doing little flips, and my heart has picked up its pace. I’m not sure if I’m still coming down from the adrenaline of the fight or if I’m crushing on my own damn husband.

THIRTY-SEVEN

Bishop

I close my eyes, silently hoping that I can apologize for this fuckup. I’m sure she’s going to tell me that I overstepped the line, and I’m not ready to make big calls like that in our parenting of Fallon. I’m also guessing the motorcycle is going to feature heavily in all the reasons I can’t be trusted to be a dad.

I just remember what it’s like to be the outsider. The kid who the others make fun of because you’re not as “in” as the rest of them. Even after I started living with the Stocktons and had the protection of that name at my back, there was always an underlying current of disdain. I hate the idea of Fallon going through something similar.

But I need to take Aspen’s lead if this is going to work. I promised her I would. I let my knuckles rap lightly on the door, waiting until she calls me in to open it.

She’s moving around the room like a flash, gathering a towel and clothes. Presumably, she’s getting ready to take a shower, seeing as she’s already shed the cardigan she was wearing.

“Aspen?”

“Yes?” she asks, not bothering to look at me as she heads to the bathroom.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make a mess of things.”

She whirls around on me, her eyes raking over me before she reaches past me to lock the door. I raise a brow in question, but she still doesn’t respond. Her hand goes to my chest instead, turning me and making me walk backward until the backs of my knees hit the chair in the corner of the room.

“Sit,” she orders, and I follow it because whatever lecture I’m about to get, I might need the support. The look in her eyes is wild, and with the way they run over me again, I’m almost worried for my own safety.

At least until her hands go to her blouse and she starts unbuttoning it, her fingers flying over the buttons before she has it open and lets it slide off her arms and onto the carpet. Her hands move to her skirt, slipping the button there free and then opening the zipper in one quick motion. It hits the ground next. Suddenly, my wife is standing in front of me in nothing but a set of matching dark wine-colored underwear that has my mouth watering.

“If this is some sort of torture, I’m afraid I’m enjoying it.” I look up to meet her eyes, and a smirk is already playing on her lips. Her bra snaps free, and she lets it fall to one shoulder and then off her arm, dangling for a moment before it joins her clothes on the floor. Her breasts sway with the movement, and her peach nipples pearl up from the cold air in the room.

Before I can fully appreciate them, she turns around, dragging her panties down her thighs and making a show of bending over in front of me. I have to grip the arms of the chair to keep from reaching out and touching her, especially when she flashes a view of her pretty little cunt looking wet as fuck for me. A view that’s snatched away from me far too soon when she stands and turns around again. She flicks on the TV, turning on a random channel and turning up the volume.

“Jones, do you want to give me some kind of hint about what’s going on here?” I ask nervously, wondering if I’m getting one last act of mercy before I die.

She snatches the panties she pulled from the drawer off the bed and stuffs them into my mouth as she climbs into my lap, and her lips meet my ear. If I wasn’t already hard as hell, I would be now, seeing her naked and spread over me like the goddess she is.

“That whole thing out there, standing up for me and finding a compromise and keeping your cool the whole time? That was one of the sexiest things you’ve ever done. So all I can think about right now is how much I want to suck you off.” Her hands work my belt free as she whispers her thoughts to me, but she pauses just as she reaches for my dick, glancing back over her shoulder at the door. “But you have to be quiet. Think you can do that for me?” Her eyes meet mine with sincerity, and I nod enthusiastically, closing my eyes as she palms me through the fabric. “Good. The quieter you stay, the longer I go.”

She slides off my lap, hitting her knees and freeing my cock a moment later. I open my eyes again to take in the view, and fuck me. I don’t deserve my wife. She’s the most perfect fucking thing I’ve ever seen. Every curve, every mischievous little smile, and each and every touch. She’s better than I could have wished for if I were given the chance.

I try so hard to stay silent as her hand passes over me, but when she takes a tentative taste, swirling her tongue over the tip, I groan. Her brow arches in warning, and I’m luckily muted by the panties she had the forethought to stuff into my mouth.

“I need this, so don’t ruin it by being too loud,” she warns one last time before she wraps her lips around my cock and starts sucking in earnest.

It takes everything in me not to fucking curse and bellow out her name. My fingers dig into the arms of the chair, and I have to count backwards to keep myself rooted in place. I’m not prepared for her or the way she takes me, like she still remembers every detail of the way I liked her mouth on me.

Her right hand works over me in a steady rhythm while her left gently cups my balls. She’s massaging them like I’m her own personal stress reliever, and her tongue teases the tip of my dick, taking me a little deeper each pass until I bump the back of her throat. I watch her bright-green eyes concentrate on the task, and her pretty pink lips get ruddier with the effort of sucking me, and before I know it, she has me hanging on the edge.

I reach out for her, carefully cupping the back of her head and pulling her hair gently to try and give her space before I come. A younger version of her preferred a towel to her throat, and I need the chance to grab one. But she’s too lost in the act to realize what I’m asking for, and I have to tear the panties out of my mouth to get her attention.