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Kyle lifts his hand, his finger sliding down my jaw before they move down the side of my throat and stop at my shoulder. “Good morning, wife.”
His words come out on a rumble, his voice thick and raspy with sleep, and probably a hangover. I let out a sigh, then lift my gaze to meet his. “Good morning, husband.”
He hums but doesn’t say anything immediately, his eyes searching my own. “I got too drunk last night,” he says. “I passed the fuck out.”
“You did,” I agree.
His lips curve up into a smile. “Yeah, I don’t remember anything. We didn’t… did we?”
He doesn’t remember.
“No, we didn’t do anything,” I lie.
We didn’t have sex, which isn’t a lie, but if he doesn’t remember the rest, I am not going to embarrass myself by giving him the details, either. He shifts forward, his lips touching the corner of mine.
“We’ll go home, spend the day just the two of us, after I’ve eaten,” he murmurs against the corner of my lips.
He reaches forward, curling his fingers around my breast before his thumb slides across my nipple. Arching my back, I close my eyes on an exhale.
“This reaction, is it real?” he asks.
I open my eyes and knit my brows together. “What do you mean?”
“Is this training, when I touch you and you breathe the way you do, or is it real?”
I could tell him that it’s training, but that would be a lie. Yes, I’ve had training in how to pull reactions from my body. How to imagine and almost create sensations inside of me, but not with him.
When it comes to Kyle, it’s all real.
“It’s real,” I whisper.
His lips touch mine. It’s a soft, sweet kiss—almost too sweet.
ITCH
Fucked up doesn’t even begin to describe what I did last night.
Not only did I hurt her feelings with what I said about her to my brothers, but then she sank to her knees, gave me the best blow job of my life, and I pretended like it didn’t fucking happen. I did that because I’m a goddamn asshole.
Rolling over, I throw my legs over the side of the bed and sit up. I feel her fingertips graze my back. I drop my head, bury it in my hands, and let out a groan. I love the way it feels when she touches me. I’m sure that makes me some kind of pussy, but I’ll never admit it, so nobody will know.
Standing, I stretch before I reach for my clothes. Pulling on my jeans, I grab my cut from the floor and slip it on, then zip and button my jeans. “You got something to wear?” I ask.
I don’t look behind me. She’s there, practically naked in the bed, and if I look, I’ll want to fuck her immediately. I hear her move around the bed, then catch a glimpse of her as she hurries past me and walks over to the dresser.
“Did you leave shit in here?”
Piper hums as she pulls on some clothes—shorts and a tank, no bra. Her uniform. Although I’ve bought quite a few outfits for her, she hasn’t worn them yet and still walks around in her hand-me-down cut-offs and braless tank.
“Just a few things. The new stuff I moved to the house a couple of days ago when we got the keys.”
Bending slightly, I pick up the white dress, holding the soft fabric in my hand and wishing I had been sober enough to enjoy taking it off her body. Turning to her, I extend my arms to hand her the garment.
“I don’t know what to do with this. The whole thing was silly,” she whispers.
“Silly?”
She nods her head. “I shouldn’t have demanded a wedding. A Justice of the Peace thing would have been fine. I just blurted it out when Legacy asked.”
