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I wish that were the case.
There are whispers in the city, a new player in town, a ghost.
Storm wouldn’t normally bring me in about this kind of thing seeing as I’m just the doctor. I patch up their men when they get themselves shot and do house calls when they’re being overprotective cavemen.
But seeing as Storm knows bits and pieces about Isla and how she came to be my wife, he wanted me to know the small pieces of the puzzle they’ve been able to collect are connected to Spade.
There’s only one reason that asshole would be expanding his network into Chicago, and that’s to keep an eye on the woman he thinks should belong to him.
But she’s mine, and if I have it my way, he’ll never touch a hair on her perfect head.
I stand over the bed and watch her sleep. The gentle rise and fall of her shoulder, the small smile playing on her lips, the small moans she lets out every so often.
She better be dreaming about me, because the alternative might get someone very dead.
When I can finally bring myself to be more than a few feet from her, I move into the bathroom and shower, washing the night from my skin as if it will remove the new problems that have found themselves on our doorstep.
But there’s not a soap on earth that can wash away a stain of the earth like Mason Spade.
Once I’m satisfied I’m clean, I dry myself and slip back into the bedroom.
Isla is still curled up in the middle of the bed, wearing the Henley I’ve officially given her to sleep in because every time she puts on any other kind of pajamas, I strip her and replace them with my own clothing.
I crawl in behind her and pull her body into mine, desperate to feel her warmth against me.
The faint scent of whiskey touches my nose, and I know she’s in a deep sleep from the liquor she consumed.
An idea has my lips tipping up in a smile that has no place on my face right now. But she always seems to be able to bring me happiness, even when she’s asleep.
I run my hands over her body, relishing in the feel of her softness beneath my palms. She’s so fucking perfect. Every inch of her was made to be mine, and I’ll be damned before I let anyone take her from me.
Carefully, I slip one hand up the front of her shirt, finding her hardened nipples and tweaking them softly. The other hand moves south until I find her bare cunt.
Fuck.
I demanded she stop wearing panties to bed, but she usually forgets, and I get great joy from punishing her.
Slowly, I move my fingers through her wet folds and swallow the groan that climbs up the back of my throat. Yeah, my girl is dreaming about me. Her pussy is soaking, as if she knew I was going to come home and fuck her.
I slip a finger inside her and her hips gently move in her sleep, giving me better access to her pretty pussy. Jesus, this girl is perfection.
Her ass presses back against my hard cock, and a whimper fills the room. Even in her dreams she needs me buried inside her, and what kind of husband would I be if I denied her?
I push a second finger inside her, scissoring them to make sure I won’t hurt her when I push my cock inside her.
When I can’t stand another second of not being buried in her, I pull my fingers free and slip them into my mouth, sucking her juices from them. She tastes so fucking sweet. If I could bear to hold off fucking her, I’d wake her up with my tongue, but that would have to wait for another day.
I press my head against her entrance and slowly thrust forward, feeding her a few inches at a time until I’m fully seated inside her. The feeling of her cunt wrapped around me is almost enough to snap my control, but I refuse to ruin this moment. I need her too fucking badly.
I tug her back into me, nestling her back to my front while holding myself deep. I could sleep like this. Buried inside her, as close as two people can possibly be, and maybe I would if it weren’t for the pent-up need that built in me in the hours I was away from her.
I have no idea how I used to breathe before she came into my life, because now every time she’s in another room my skin feels like it’s crawling.
Slowly, I begin thrusting in and out of her, holding her close all the while. It takes all my strength to keep it gentle, trying to keep her from waking until she’s ready to fall over into her release.
Am I fucked up for doing this while she sleeps? Absolutely.
But is that going to stop me? No. Not in a million years.
