30. Tyler
THIRTY
TYLER
“What exactly are we looking for?” Aiden asks as he holds a vibrator at eye level and turns it one way, then the other, inspecting it.
Sara takes it out of his hand and puts it back. “Not a lipstick vibrator, that’s for sure.” She eyes me, one brow arched to confirm.
I offer her a nod. Definitely not a lipstick vibrator.
Why am I willingly walking around a sex toy store with Aiden and Daniel and Sara?
It’s Brooks’s fault. I should know by now that he shares everything with Sara, and she can’t let anything go.
Worried that the dance instructor might be a real threat, I turned to my best friend for his opinion and advice.
Somehow that turned into Sara dragging us to this store, demanding I find a gift for Ava that would ensure she’s thinking about me only.
“What type of toy do you think would mimic the sensation of a piercing?” Daniel ponders aloud.
Sara’s lips curl into a teasing grin. “Nothing, you sweet playboy, you. Nothing I’ve ever played with can compare to Brooks’s glitter dick.”
Brooks lets out a heavy sigh.
“You should be proud,” Aiden mutters. “If Lennox said I was better than any of her toys, I’d be proud.”
Hall whirls on him. “She hasn’t told you that?”
Immediately, Aiden is on his phone and calling his wife.
As he disappears down an aisle, he tells Lennox she owes him for not complimenting his dick enough.
Only seconds later, he’s apologizing for being in a sex store without her, and then he’s returning to us with his phone held out.
“Sar, Lex says I have to give you the phone. I’m in trouble, and now you get to pick out toys, and I have to pay for them as my punishment. ”
Sara cackles and taps the speaker button on the phone. “Do you want to punish punish him, or do you want fun things for you as his punishment?”
“I want you to get the biggest vibrating dick you can find so I can use it in his?—”
Brooks hits the mute button, silencing Lennox’s words. “Please god, don’t talk about what you do to my brother, Lennox.”
Sara glares at him. “You’re such a prude.”
“Why am I here again?” I mutter, walking away from the shit show that is my group of friends.
Daniel follows after me. “Because you want to satisfy your wife so she doesn’t flirt with the dancer. Calliope says if you’re worried your man is cheating, then he probably is. Go with your instinct.”
I blink. Then I blink again. “My man?”
Daniel scoffs. “You know what I mean. Here, let me pull up the article. She has a whole thing on trusting your instincts. Girl is fucking brilliant.” He’s already got his phone out, which means he’ll be distracted for a bit.
The minute the kid starts reading his sweet Callie’s words—his description, not mine—we lose him.
I clap him on the back and squeeze. “I’m not actually worried about him.”
It’s the truth. Though our marriage started as nothing but a contract, I know Ava will always remain true to her word.
She’d never be unfaithful. And I’m happy she’s dancing again.
Watching her dance that first day changed me, all the way down to my DNA.
It made me see her in a way I’d never seen anyone else. And I’m aching to see it again.
As that thought occurs to me, a plan forms in my head. Quickly, I circle the store, buy what I know my wife will enjoy, and head for the door.
“Where you going?” Sara yells as she holds up an oversized dildo that has Aiden shaking in his literal boots.
“To play with my wife.”
“Thatta boy,” she hollers as I head out into the cold Boston day. “Give her that sparkly D!”
Me: I’m in Boston. Be home soon. Where are you?
Wifey: At the dance studio. I’ll be done here in an hour or so. Let me know where you want to go to talk, and I’ll meet you there.
Me: I’ve got the address. I’ll pick you up.
Wifey: Tyler Warren, you better not intimidate my dance instructor.
Me: I wouldn’t dream of it.
My wife loves to taunt me. It took a little time to find the right room, but when I did, all my effort was rewarded.
Ava is stretching on a barre, her long leg extended against it, her back rounded in a way that highlights the curves of her ass and hips.
Her smooth, pale skin is covered by a long-sleeve black leotard and absolutely nothing else.
Maybe it’s the contrast between the black fabric covering her arms and her bare legs, but today, the look is even hotter.
When she spots my reflection, I have to bite my fist to hide my smile.
I’m still in the suit I donned for traveling, and my hair is a mess—I’ll blame it on the agitation that ate at me while I was searching for her—but we look exquisite together.
Just like we did that first day. Me fully clothed and prowling toward her like a predator, her my innocent prey.
“Are you ready to begin, mon chérie?”
At the sound of the masculine voice, we both startle.
Instantly, I spin, my eyes skewering the man talking to my darling wife in his fake French accent with his fake French name.
When he sees me, he straightens. “Can I help you? This is a private class, but you can browse the list of available classes in the front hallway.”
Before I can speak, Ava pipes up. “He was just leaving.”
“Oh, do you know him?” He assesses me now, eyeing me as if he stands a chance to earn Ava’s favor. Not that it matters. There’s no choice. She’s mine. Contract or not, it’s all in her glare. My wife is just as obsessed with our games as I am.
“Just my husband having a little temper tantrum,” she says to him, though she keeps her green eyes locked on me. “I told him I was busy for the afternoon, and he doesn’t know how to take no for an answer.”
“I don’t.” With a slow, devious grin, I take a step closer. My blood heats as her scent—vanilla and coconut—grows stronger.
“I didn’t realize she was married,” he says behind me. “You don’t wear a wedding band.”
I grasp her left hand and inspect it in an exaggerated manner.
The emerald I slid onto her finger is right where it should be.
I hold up her hand to him and ask whether he’s the type of man who goes after women who look as though they’re engaged.
“Alors tu es le genre d’homme qui s’en prend aux femmes fiancées? ”
He blinks at me, clearly not understanding a word of the language from the country he feigns relation to.
I demand an answer. “Réponds-moi, oui ou non?”
I can’t hold back the chuckle when the man nods aggressively. What a fucking idiot. But the man is right about one thing. My wife doesn’t have a wedding band. I’ll need to rectify that soon.
Focusing my attention back on her, I wrap my arm around her waist and pull her close, locking her hand between our bodies, and press my lips to the space where a band should be, marking her.
“Hello, Vicious,” I whisper.
“Hello, husband,” she says, lips quirking.
She spins her hand, but I tug it closer and kiss her wrist, my eyes on her the entire time. “Enjoy your dancing.”
“Enjoy the show,” she murmurs, knowing I’ll never leave her here. No, for the next hour, she’s going to torture me. Make me watch her sway those hips and smile at the man still watching us. And I’m going to love every minute of it.
“Are you proud of yourself?” I hold the door to the dance studio open for my wife.
“Actually, yes.” She brushes by me, her fingers sliding against my chest.
Fuck, this woman drives me mad.
I grab her hand and pull her back before she can get away. “Really?”
Ava presses both hands to my chest and looks up at me from beneath long lashes, her green eyes alight and her lips wet from rolling her tongue across them. “Yup. It’s ridiculous, I know, but I love seeing you all jealous over me.”
“I’m not jealous,” I lie as I guide her toward her car. I pluck her keys out of her hand and open the passenger door.
She’s silent, studying me as I lean over her and buckle her seat belt.
It’s something Brooks does with Sara. I always found it absurd, but I get it now.
My instincts kick in and my body takes over when it comes to her.
And I’m not the least bit upset about it.
“So if I told you I was wet right now, you wouldn’t be upset?
” She grasps my wrist, her breaths coming faster.
Still hovering over her, I drink her in. Even beneath the white sweater she threw over her leotard, the swell of her breasts taunts me. “Why would I be upset?”
She licks her lips again. “Because he made me wet.”
I nip at her bottom lip, biting down just hard enough to pull a whine from her. “Is that the story you’re going with, Vicious?” I pull back a smidge so I can see her completely. “Or are you ready to combust because you liked that I was watching you with him?”
“What if it’s both?” She whispers the admission, worrying her bottom lip as she watches me, like she’s concerned about how I’ll react.
I pull back and shut her door, then slowly round the hood of the SUV. When I climb into the driver’s seat, I put the gift I picked up for her on the center console between us. “Then I’d say I need to punish you to remind you of who you belong to.”
“I don’t belong to you,” she says, her fire returning and her chin lifted in challenge.
“State of Massachusetts would say otherwise.” I start the car and turn my attention to the road, knowing I need to get far away from this place before my jealousy really does take over and I bring her back into the dance studio to show her precisely who she belongs to right in front of her instructor and the million and one mirrors she teased me with during her class.
“I’m married to you. I don’t belong to you.”
I reach for her hand as a peace offering. “Well, I belong to you, Vicious, so either way, you’re stuck with me.”
“For sixteen years,” she says softly.