Chapter 3
Dexter
“I don’t know about this,” she calls from her bedroom across the hallway.
We’re heading to the Mavericks’ annual holiday party tonight. Sabrina is stressed about our first public appearance as a married couple. Before I can offer reassurance, her frustrated groan fills the hallway.
“Oh, Dex,” she says in worry, “are you sure you want me to come?”
Unfortunately, my body interprets the innocent question in an entirely different context.
And by different I mean sexy as fuck because making her come is what I think about most nights.
I steal a glance at my bed. There hasn’t been a minute since she’s moved in that I didn’t imagine Sabrina on those sheets.
But I have to remind myself of the real reason for her question. She’s insecure about being in public as a couple. For Sabrina, our marriage is a ruse and a favor to her. Expressing my attraction openly right now might scare her off. And what if she feels, like, obligated to return my advances?
The thought kills my erection quicker than jumping in icy water.
“It’ll be fine,” I say, trying to seem nonchalant. Instead, I sound grumpy and unconvincing.
“I’m sorry you have to lie to your teammates in order to help me,” Sabrina says.
I grab my suit jacket on my way to console her. “Don’t be sorry. I—”
What I am is speechless.
She’s waiting under her doorway, hair flowing and makeup flawless. Sabrina’s dress is dark red and glistens when it catches the light, the bodice fitted to deepen her cleavage. I allow myself a brief glimpse at her rounded hips and shapely legs.
When my wife steps forward and I get a whiff of her perfume, the aroma stirs my blood.
My wife.
“I’ve never seen that dress before,” I declare stupidly, struggling to keep my eyes away from the bodice.
“You think it’s fancy enough?” Sabrina’s hands are tightly closed, her elbows locked straight. It’s a pose of nervousness. I yearn to lift her hands to my face and run my lips along her knuckles.
“The dress is perfect,” I mutter.
You’re perfect, I want to say.
Instead, I take her tight fists and invite them to unwind. Entwining our fingers, I tuck one hand into the crook of my elbow.
“What are you doing?” Her voice is hoarse, sounding as parched as I feel.
“If you’re worried about convincing everyone, we should work on, you know . . .” I lose my train of thought when she flutters her impossibly thick lashes.
“On looking like newlyweds,” she completes my sentence. Her nervousness gives way to a generous smile. In typical Sabrina fashion, the challenge is accepted.
“Well? What would a newly married couple look like?” I ask playfully.
A blush blooms on her cheeks. I resist the urge to hold her face in my hands, like I did during our elopement.
I hadn’t planned on French kissing Sabrina in the courthouse. Now I’ll never get over how well she molded against my body and how delicious she tasted. A forbidden thought slams into me—at least one more time, I need to taste her, kiss her, sweep my tongue into her tempting mouth.
“We stay close and look honeymooney, I guess.” She shrugs. The movement shifts her bodice, the light quiver of her breasts daring me to look. I refuse to ogle.
“Honeymooney? I think I can manage that,” I say, facing away from her but keeping our arms linked.
When we arrive at the hotel, we cross the elegant lobby hand in hand.
A realization hits me: I’ve never been this excited for a holiday party.
Walking into the ballroom with Sabrina as my wife—my wife—is like no other experience I’ve ever had. There’s a mix of pride and possessiveness that sits on my chest, not like a burden, but like a medal.
We’re immediately flooded with congratulations.
Everyone from the general manager to our equipment staff to my teammates and all their dates crowd into our space.
There are introductions and pleasantries to get through, especially since I’m the team captain.
My teammates share a lot about their lives with me.
I’m sure there’s some lingering confusion about me leaving one weekend and coming back married.
No one in the organization saw my announcement coming.
Sabrina and I agreed to keep the “convenience” part of the marriage a secret from everyone except her parents.
The festive evening morphs into a hodgepodge of food, chatter, and music. Sabrina and I don’t drink, though. It’s an unspoken alliance. The asshole who crashed into her was intoxicated. I’ll never drive a car after even one drink if it reminds her of that night.
Everything blends together except for one person who stands out above all. I’m hyperaware of Sabrina. Her tinkling laugh and delicate aroma. What she says and how she feels.
I’ve never touched her this much.
We’ve always hugged in greeting and occasionally sat close together during a scary movie. Every summer, we take one vacation together and book separate rooms. We aren’t strangers to physical contact, but it’s always been casual and platonic.
Everything has changed.
There’s nothing casual about how I wrap my arm around her waist and pull her against me every chance I get.
It’s as if we’re tethered, reaching out to each other instinctively.
Sabrina leans her body against me. Her shoulder is satin under my calloused fingers.
Those breasts, which I refuse to gawk at, feel incredible against my chest when we dance.
She’s sweet and affectionate and “honeymooney” like we talked about. When she casts me a look with eyes half mast, the spread of long lashes fluttering, my heart skips. She looks so turned on. Or is it me projecting my own lust?
And when her breathing is uneven as she nestles her nose near my neck, it’s easy to believe she isn’t unaffected by our closeness. Sabrina is displaying a very convincing performance of a honeymooner, I’ll give her that.
I, on the other hand, am the farthest thing from pretending to be turned on. I turn my hips away from her, because my wife cannot know I’ve been hard for her all night.
“So, what’s the deal?” Gordon asks when we join a small group.
Sabrina needed to rest her feet. Since there was only one chair available at the closest table, I’ve nestled her over my knees.
I reach over to remove her heels. She moans “yes” and my cock perks up. Down, boy.
“You didn’t even tell me you were dating.” It’s Logan, who I’ve known the longest of all my teammates. He’s met Sabrina the most since she’s occasionally been my plus-one through the years. He’s smiling, but I hear the confusion.
His wife, Beatrice, reaches for Sabrina’s hand and gives it a friendly pat.
“We are thrilled to have you as part of the Mavericks family now, Sabrina. Let’s sit together next time you’re at a game. No rush, though. I know how busy newlyweds can get.”
“You definitely kept me busy,” Logan says to his wife. I glance at them cuddling like they’re newlyweds.
Logan gets teased about Beatrice whenever we’re out of town because he won’t shut up about her. I get it, for once. Missing your wife so much that you find every excuse to talk about her makes perfect sense.
“Thank you, I’d love that,” Sabrina says graciously. “Dex’s family will visit for the holidays. We’re all going to the game on the twenty-third. I’ll look for you at the family suite.”
“Absolutely. Can’t wait to meet them, too,” Beatrice says before leaning forward. Her voice is softer, directed only at me and Sabrina.
“I’ve always told Logan there’s something between the two of you.” She winks.
Sabrina’s body stiffens. I pull her to me, loving the way her fleshy outer thigh feels against my palm.
“Long-distance dating can be difficult,” Sabrina utters vaguely, her discomfort about lying taking its toll.
Before she can respond to the next casual inquiry with a full confession, I offer an explanation.
“It’s not easy to date long-distance,” I agree with her. “But after the car accident, I realized that every day we aren’t together is a wasted day. Nothing is guaranteed.”
I pause, enjoying Sabrina’s puzzled expression. One of her brows is arched much higher than the other. We didn’t plan this explanation, yet there’s no stopping me now. Words spill out with no filter.
“Why wait to get married when I already know she’s the love of my life?” I state clearly, never once looking away from Sabrina’s shocked face.
Beatrice’s smile widens, and I give a casual wink to my wife, like this isn’t the first time I’ve declared to the world that this woman on my lap is the love of my life.
Sabrina’s mouth remains open in shock, but no sound comes out. I get an alluring whiff of the chocolate mousse she had for dessert. Sweet and rich and tempting. Looking away from her parted lips proves impossible.
“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” people around us demand.
Others join the rowdy chant.
“What do you say, Baby Brie?” I whisper for her ears only. “Should we give the people what they want?”
As if anyone could want the kiss more than I do.
Her curved lips and a slight nod grant permission.
I do what I’ve been eager to repeat since the first taste. My lips crush hers.
Sabrina melts immediately, wrapping her arms around my neck as her hips wiggle over my thighs. My one hand cradles her neck and the other supports her spine when I tilt her backward. Our tongues tangle as my heart gallops out of my chest. I lose myself in our kiss.
She squeezes my shoulder just as I register the hoots of our enthusiastic audience. When we separate, dazed lust thickens the air between us.
“Are you OK?” I graze the tender scar behind her ear.
“Yes,” she answers with a shudder.
“How’s your back?”
“My back is great. I’m not fragile,” Sabrina rasps, sounding as dazed and breathless as I feel. Her cheeks are tinged red. When my hand unclamps her hair and brushes against her neck, her temperature is feverish.
She looks away before grabbing a bottle of sparkling water. I quell my disappointment that she’s done with the show once everyone’s attention is elsewhere.
“You’re precious to me,” I blurt in all sincerity.
It isn’t the first unplanned declaration I’ve made tonight. For everyone’s sake, I hope it’s the last.