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She remains silent, biting her lower lip and staring at me through her lashes. At my harsh stare, she blurts, “Aspen said she suspects that Dad’s accident wasn’t an accident.”
Fucking Aspen. I’m going to have a word with her about planting these seeds in Gwyneth’s head when we don’t even have concrete evidence.
I’m almost sure it was an accident. If there had been foul play, the detectives would’ve told me as much, or I would’ve sensed it myself.
“Since when are you and Aspen friends?”
“We’re not, but after she told me that, I saw that Dad found my mother on the day of the accident, so what if she’s the one behind it?”
“That’s a reach.”
“But what if it’s true?”
“That possibility is slim to none, especially since we’re not one hundred percent sure that the accident was premeditated. You need to stop this train of thought.”
“As long as the possibility is there, I won’t give up.”
“Gwyneth, you need to move on.”
“I will after I see this to the end. But here’s an idea: I’ll be able to move on faster if you help me.”
“Nice negotiating skills.”
“I learned from the best. You teach me a lot of things, husband.” Her voice turns breathy and she lets her notebook fall to the sofa as she inches toward me.
The strap of her oversized shirt falls off her creamy shoulder. She’s not wearing shorts today, just the shirt.
“Like what?” My voice is thick as my whole body tightens, responding to the bright look in her eyes and the way she keeps approaching me until her heat mingles with mine.
“Like how to be full.”
“Full?”
“Yeah, it’s a thing. I like being full.”
“What else do you like?”
“Being your slut.”
I grunt but it’s not only because of her words, but also because of the way she crawls on top of my lap, parting her legs until her shirt rides up her thighs.
My hand grips her tiny waist and she wiggles against my rock-hard dick. “So you’re my slut?”
“I am.”
“Only mine?”
“For now.”
My chest burns at that, and I hate the sensation so much that I dig my fingers into her side. She moans when I reach under her shirt and it’s met by my grunt when I grab her bare cunt.
“Were you ready for me, wife?”
“Maybe?”
I bunch a fistful of her shirt and lift it over her head. She’s braless, too, my bad girl.
Instead of pulling the piece of clothing over her arms, I lay her on the sofa and tie her wrists with the shirt that was covering her.
