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My eyes follow the path of my thumb as it slides along her bottom lip. “When I come home tonight, I hope you’re rested because I’m going to want more of what we did last night and this morning,” I murmur.
“More?” she breathes.
I chuckle. “Yeah, hummingbird, more of everything.”
Leaning forward, I touch my lips to hers. She lets out a sigh, then moves her body closer to mine. I wrap my arms around her back. I don’t want to leave. I’ve never felt this way before, never truly embraced a woman this way.
I like it.
Probably too much.
I have to leave her, at least for the day. I need to breathe. I’m fucking obsessed with my wife. It’s not healthy, it’s not smart, and it is certainly not fucking safe—for either of us.
CLAIRE
The hot waterwashes over my body, and I try not to touch myself, but I fail. All I can do is think about Coleman. About his hands, his tongue, his dick inside of me. I want all of him all over all of me.
Consuming me.
Over and over again.
I can’t stop thinking about it, and his scent is all around me, turning me on. I’ve never felt this way before, not about anything. It’s more than an obsession. I’ve been obsessed—with a book hero, with a new food or drink—but not like this.
This is bigger. I don’t even know what the word could be for that—beyond obsessed is all I have.
My fingers slip between my thighs, and I whimper as they swirl my clit. I know how to make myself come. I was a virgin, but that didn’t mean I didn’t touch myself. I could come in just a minute or two, but when I close my eyes, my head gently thuds against the wall of the shower.
Rolling my hips, I let out a muffled whimper. I know there is a man somewhere in this condo, so I try not to be too loud, but I also need to find my release. I am a ball of sexual energy in a way where I’m not quite sure how I’m going to make it in this life if I feel this way every day.
Jerking my hips, I gasp, my eyes opening wide. I dip my chin and look down at my fingers working between my legs. Sinking my teeth into my bottom lip, I breathe through my nostrils. They no doubt flare widely as I pant right before I come. It starts deep inside my belly and shifts throughout my whole body.
When I’m finished, I let out a heavy sigh but feel unsatisfied. I feel empty. I want Coleman to fill me, to stretch me, to hurt me.
Quickly, I finish my shower, then dress and head out of the bedroom. I put on some clothes that Parker made me buy and wonder for the millionth time where all my things are that I had sent to Dallas ahead of time.
When I walk into the living room, I’m not surprised to find a man who looks a lot like my husband sitting on the sofa. He lifts his head from his phone, his gaze finding mine, then his lips curve up into a friendly smile.
I remember him from the other night when my parents were… taken out, for lack of better words. He was there, and he looked… upset, but I don’t know why. Now he’s here, and I should be grateful. I should be happy, but I don’t feel that way at all.
Instead, I feel nervous.
Where Coleman is closed off and doesn’t show me much, even when I really look, this man is open. His smile is wide, and it reaches his eyes, something that I find very interesting, considering neither Coleman nor his brothers show much expression, and neither does their father. This man shows a lot.
“I’m Junior,” he calls out, his gaze still holding mine.
“Claire,” I whisper.
He dips his chin. “I know. I was at your wedding, and I was there last night.”
Slowly, I sink down into the cushion of the chair that’s catty-corner to him. He turns to me slightly, his gaze searching mine for another long moment before he clears his throat.
“It was my brother, the body,” he rasps.
I open my mouth to tell him I’m sorry, then snap it closed because I’m not really sure of what I should say, and thankfully, my phone rings before I can sayanything. Looking down at the device that I have gripped in my hand, I’m surprised to see it’s my brother.
“Bryson?” I exhale after I slide my thumb along the screen and place it against my ear.
“What the fuck?” he snaps.
