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“Ray and I had been dating since we were twelve. It seemed like the next step.” My throat gets tight, and I close my eyes. “You know the worst thing?”
“What?”
“After. All I could think wasthank GodI found out before I got pregnant. That if it had been even a week later, it might have been too late. That we might have been bound together not just through our families and our company, but by a baby.”
I shake my head. “Now. I think about children, and it’s like this weight on my chest keeping me from taking a full breath. I can’t imagine ever trusting someone enough again to risk that kind of bond. And I hate that I feel that way. That he took something from me so much bigger than just him.”
“I hate that fucking guy. I’m sorry, Stormy.”
Me too.
We’re quiet for a minute, and Liam groans. “I kind of killed the mood with that one. And I don’t want us going to bed with Ray’s shit hanging over us. Not after how good we slept last night.”
“Okay?” But I’m not sure what he thinks will change it.
Then, “So… What are you wearing?”
I cough out a laugh. “What?”
I can practically feel Liam’s smile from across the miles. “You’re my wife. Totally reasonable question.”
“Umm.”
How is this the guy everyone says is so very serious?
“Tell me. You’re wearing my T-shirt, right? Missing the fuck out of your fake-slash-legal-husband… soon-to-be without benefits.”
“Ha! Please.”
I open the camera and, holding it above me, snap a quick pic and send without bothering to look. “There. Check your messages.”
There’s a beat of silence. And then a wholly different groan pours through the line sounding like liquid sex and so completely at odds with the messy-haired sweatshirt picture I just sent, I have to ask, “What the heck?”
“Stormy.Jesus.” I can actually hear him swallow. “Is thatbeard burn?”
I fumble the phone trying to reopen the picture. And when I do?
“Okay,thatwas an accident!”
20
Liam
Don’t look at it again.
That’s what I’ve been telling myself since Saturday night when my wife innocently sent me a photo so hot it nearly set my phone on fire.
It wasn’t just those big blue eyes staring up at me with her dark waves spilling over her pillow. Though that would have been enough considering the last time I saw her like that, she was naked, and I was inside her, never wanting to leave.
It wasn’t that she was wearing the Slayers Hockey hoodie I got for her. Though the previously dormant caveman stalking around in my chest gets off on seeing my number across her chest in no small way.
It wasn’t even that when she lifted the phone overhead to take the picture, she didn’t notice the hoodie had crept up, showing off a generous slice of pale skin from the top of her thigh. A slice I liked having my mouth on very much.
No. What set my phone on fire was all that coupled with the scant lace of panties in the same light blue as her eyes and so thin I could practically see the shadowy slice of heaven I’d feasted on the night before. And PS, yeah, that was beard burn on her inner thigh.
Fuck. Me.
I’d had my hand down my joggers, gripping my painfully hard cock in a heartbeat, totally on board with the dirty long-distance playtime. But then she squeaked out the wholeaccidentbusiness… and, hell, I’d nearly ground my molars to dust prying my fingers loose.
