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“Maybe even more.” I couldn’t imagine a need greater than what I felt. Having Bristol match my sex drive was perfection. “So you like being my wife, then? Last night you were mad at me about the whole marriage secret thing.”
She squeezed me again and pulled up my length from my root. “I wasn’t angry about being married to you. I was pissed about you keeping it a secret. Maybe, that’s why the sex was so good. It was mad sex.”
“Neither of us were mad—unless you mean in the crazy sense of the word.”
She huffed an amused sound through her nose. “Whatever. I suppose I can get over being annoyed at you if you keep sexing me up the way you do.”
I untied her robe and pushed it off her shoulders and down her arms. “You think so? Or will I need to keep groveling?”
“I’ve yet to see you grovel. Axel… I’ve never really hated you. I’ve been pretty angry at you. Deeply. Repeatedly. But…I don’t think it’s possible for me to really hate you.”
Fuck, I needed in her now, and I couldn’t do this here. I had something to say and I couldn’t—well, I wouldn’t, anyway—say it next to the toilet. Leaving the tiny bathroom, I carried her across the short hallway into our bedroom.
I placed her on the bed and climbed over her. “Marry me.” My lips brushed over hers. “I know it’s six years late. And we’ve been apart for so long…but marry me.”
Happiness shone from her eyes, and she nodded while a laugh spilled from her. “According to verified sources, we already are.”
“I want to marry you again, though. With both our families there. Our friends. With neither of us drunk. A ceremony with all the frills you’ve always dreamed about.”
Bristol tugged at my pants, yanking open the zipper before shoving them down. “All I’ve dreamed about isyou. Always you.” Her legs bracketed my hips.
My erection notched against her soft, wet, oh-so-hot folds, and I groaned from deep in my chest. “We’re not very good at foreplay,” I mumbled as my thoughts got fuzzy and everything was justfuck Bristol, fuck Bristol.
“Our whole life is foreplay,” she answered, lifting into me and taking my tip inside.
“Fuck, yeah, it is.”
This was the life. Our life. Anything else could be figured out later.
Twenty-Eight
Axel
On Monday morning, after dropping Bristol at the library, I was at loose ends. I’d worked out, though it suddenly seemed a little pointless—at least, the intense stuff, since I didn’t need to be elite-athlete level fit anymore.
Yesterday, we’d returned the embarrassing roller skate of a rental and gotten my truck out of storage, making me question why I hadn’t done it almost a week earlier when I’d first arrived. I kept my registration and plates up-to-date, so other then gassing it, the vehicle was good to go.
With my wife at work, I drove around for a little while and called my lawyer about the paperwork I’d gotten. Afterward, I called my driver, Floyd, about delivering my motorcoach, that I and not my uncle owned, up here to Cherish Cove. By the time I hung up, I found myself on the north side of town and near the industrial section of town, though most of the factories had shut down. One had clearly been regentrified and had sculptured landscaping around it. The others nearby were clearly under construction. A large sign out front announcedThe Wellston. Another smaller sign told passersby that brand new units were available.
So these were Bare Wellston’s brand new condos. On a whim, I pulled into the lot then parked in front of what looked like the front entrance. A doorman opened the door.
“Good morning. How can we help you this morning?”
Good question…
“I’m looking for Bare—I mean, Barrett—Wellston. Flip Anderson sent me.”
The man nodded. “Ah, yes, Mr. Anderson. He’s out at the moment, but Mr. Wellston is in his shop. If you go out the way you came in then head along the walkway toward the lake, you’ll come to the door to his garage that’s on the west side of the building.”
“Thank you.” I gave him a nod then headed that direction. As mentioned, Bare’s cycle shop was attached to the far side of the building. Through the glass in bay doors, I saw several jobs in progress. A guy I didn’t know worked on a custom job to a Harley in the far end of the garage. In the closest of the two workspaces were two Kawasaki motocross bikes with no one working on them at the moment.
I headed for the door markedCustomersand a bell jangled to signal my entrance.
“Can I help you?” a man called before he turned. I recognized him from when I’d met him when he’d hung out with Flip.
“Barrett, I’m—”
“Axel Pendleton,” he interrupted. “It’s good to see you. What brings you in?” he said, heading toward me while wiping his hands with a rag. He tossed it over onto a table. “I’d shake your hand, but I’m a little grimy.”
