Chapter 28
TWENTY-EIGHT
Bishop
I’m still awake, flipping through the TV and my phone, wondering if she’s asleep in her room or if, like me, she’s lying awake with no chance of sleep in sight.
I even contemplated going down to the casino or the bar, but then I’d have to explain why I wasn’t spending my entire night in bed with my wife.
I’m still mid-thought on alternative options when there’s a quick rap of knuckles against the door that separates our rooms.
Am I so tired that I’m hallucinating?
“Bishop? Are you awake?” It’s definitely Aspen’s voice, and if this is a dream, at least I get to see her for a little while longer.
When I open the door, she’s there in the flesh, still in her dress, carrying a full glass of whiskey in her hand as she waltzes in.
But this Aspen is a different one from the one I said goodnight to over an hour ago.
I can tell from the sway of her hips and the look in her eyes that I’m in for trouble.
The amber liquid sloshes up the side, nearly cresting the rim as she dodges around me and deeper into the room.
There’s a robe hooked over her arm and a piece of paper in the same hand.
She doesn’t say a word at first; she turns to me as her eyes flick over my body in assessment before she holds up one of the letters from the stack I gifted her.
“We need to talk about this. But first…” She turns back to me, tossing the black robe onto the bed and taking another sip of her drink before she sets it on the desk. “First, I need help getting out of this dress.”
I stare at her speechless for a long moment before she looks back at me over her shoulder and raises a brow. She must see the question written on my face because she makes a sharp noise at the back of her throat and shakes her head.
“Not like that. I just can’t reach the zipper.”
“Oh.” I let out a breath. I’m not sure if I’m disappointed or relieved. I know this Aspen, and any wrong move with her in this mood will get you eviscerated.
I step forward and gently brush her hair off her shoulders.
She’s taken it down from the loose updo she had it in earlier, and it’s falling down her back in cascading waves of dark chocolate, little highlights of a deep-red cherry color glimmering in the low light of the lamp.
My fingers go for the zipper, and I have to let out a slow breath as I pull to keep my hands steady.
When I reach the bottom, she shrugs out of the shoulders and lets the bodice drop before shimmying free of the skirt and stepping out of it.
It’s then that I notice her bare feet on the carpet; her pedicure matches her manicure in a shade of red so dark it’s almost black.
It’s her favorite. Understandably so. It sets off her bright-green eyes, the same as emeralds.
The neatness of her nails only distracts me so long, though, before the matching set of lace panties and bra draws my eyes back up.
Fuck me. She picked the red.
“Don’t look at me while I’m getting dressed. It’s rude,” she scolds me, her lashes fluttering as she gives me another cutting look over her shoulder.
But I take one last look at the lace that lines the curve of her cheek before I tear my eyes away.
It’s worth it to have her rip me to shreds to get a final look of something I’ve craved for more than a decade.
But it disappears quickly behind the black silk robe as she aggressively knots and bows the sash at her waist and snatches her whiskey back up off the desk before sitting on it.
“Sit,” she demands, using the tips of her toes to push the chair back in my direction, and gesturing toward it with her glass.
I follow her orders. I don’t dare cross her until she gets to the bottom of whatever she has planned. She waves the letter in my face and then brings it up to her own, pulling it close and holding it far as she feigns attempting to read my chicken-scratch handwriting.
“This is going to be hard to read in the low light. It’s like a funeral home in here. I know surrendering your freedom today was hard, but I don’t know that you have to be quite so dramatic.”
“I think you’re projecting,” I answer before I can stop myself. It’s the wrong thing to say because her eyes go wide, and she takes another swallow before the glass lands back on the desk with a thud. In response, she begins to read the note aloud.
“I still have a bottle of your lotion. I’m sure I shouldn’t admit that.
But it keeps me close to you. I can close my eyes and pretend like you’re there with me.
I can feel your hands on me again, and I’m transported out of this place and back into our world.
Just the two of us and the quiet of the night. I just wish I could be there again.”
I grit my teeth at having my own words from so many years ago read back to me. I sound obsessed. I was. But unfortunately, I still am. Hearing it so blatantly in my own voice when she speaks the words makes me shift in my seat when her eyes turn on me and narrow.
“Yes?”
“Where is it?” she demands.
Oh. Fuck.
I feel the color start to drain from my face.
“Where is what?” I feign ignorance, buying myself time, like I’m confused. I’m not though. The same habit I picked up so many years ago was renewed a few weeks ago when I was in her room, confronting her about our past.
“You know exactly what, thief.” She holds her hand out, and I close my eyes, leaning back over the side of the chair to my bag on the floor.
I extract the palm-sized lotion bottle from the outer pocket.
The one that I stole from her room the night I confronted her weeks ago and hand it to her.
“I couldn’t find this anywhere. I knew I had it when I got out of the shower that night.
I was putting it on, and then suddenly, poof.
It was nowhere to be found. Then I read this and think, no, he couldn’t.
He wouldn’t. But guess what went missing from the first night you were in my room?
” She points it at me, and then her brow lifts. “Did you use it?”
“I—” I don’t have words. But I can’t let her get the better of me. I clear my throat. “Whatever was necessary under the circumstances.”
“Is that how we’re playing things now? I guess it is the theme of this marriage.” Her eyes lift to the ceiling in contemplation as she repeats my words. “Whatever is necessary under the circumstances.” A smirk forms on her lips, and her eyes return to me. “In that case, unbutton your shirt.”
I’ve shed the suit jacket, but I’m still in the dress slacks and button-down shirt I wore for the ceremony and dinner.
I was just contemplating taking them off and getting in the shower.
Calling it a night and letting myself be tortured by the fact that my wife was on the other side of the wall.
But then she found me instead, and I have a feeling she has a whole other kind of torture in mind.
She gives me a more pointed look before I finally reach for the top button and start to undo them slowly, carefully pulling each pearlescent disk from its home.
Her eyes follow my hands, falling from each level down to the next as the shirt starts to gape wider, exposing my skin.
I pull it from its tucked position when I get to my belt and then continue my work.
She sips her whiskey slowly, letting it play over her tongue before she swallows it down as the last button slips free.
Her legs, crossed at the ankles, swing gently back and forth underneath her.
I sweep my shirt to the side. Whatever she wants from me, it’s hers anyway. Her eyes drift over my exposed skin, studying the scars and the lines of the tattoos there for a long pause before she nods down at my belt.
“The belt goes too.” She leans back onto her palms as she gives me an expectant look, and my fingers work the leather out of the loops and unclasp the metal buckle. I lift my hips and pull the belt free, tossing it onto the bed next to her dress.
“You gonna tell me where this is headed, Jones?”
“Jones…” She repeats the nickname I’ve used on her for decades, like she’s still pondering if she’s going to let me get away with calling her that.
She grabs the lotion again and rolls it in her palm before looking down at me.
“An excavation—of sorts, where you do all the hard work, and I get to analyze the results.”
“Do I get a reward for all this hard work?”
My words earn me a flick of her lashes and pursed lips. But the hard look in her eyes softens, and she uncrosses her legs, slowly spreading them in front of me and exposing acres of creamy skin that I want to run my tongue over in the process.
“Tell you what. You make me wet enough watching you that I soak through these panties, I’ll let you have a taste. But you have to earn it first.”
“Fuck,” I curse under my breath. I was already turned on, but hearing that offer gets me hard as hell. I have to reach down and readjust myself from the way I’m straining against the zipper.
“Let me see. I want to know if it lives up to memory or not.”
“You really know how to set the fucking stakes. You know that?” I ask her as I go for the button on my pants.
“And you only like things when they’re difficult.
So I’m just making sure you get what you bargained for with those vows.
” She turns the bottle of lotion between her palms as she talks, her eyes following the descent of the zipper.
“Now let me see.” She rolls her bottom lip between her teeth, her eyes bright with an eagerness that sends a flood of warm awareness down my spine.
She might be furious with me, but you wouldn’t know it right now.
I pull my cock free from my pants and stroke myself once for good measure.
I have no fucking clue what her memory is, or if I’m going to come anywhere close to living up to it.
For me, she’s every bit as perfect as she ever was.
Better, if I’m honest, because where she still had the hesitations and trappings of a college kid when I left, a sweet streak of naivete and self-consciousness that made her approachable even if she was untouchable, they’ve all but disappeared.
She’s stripped down to the studs now. Honest and raw.
Unblinking in the pursuit of what she wants and intimidating as fuck. I’m absolutely drunk on it.
“And?” I ask. That’s exactly how gone I am. Because what man asks for the woman who wants to rip his balls off to evaluate his dick. One who can’t think straight. Me.
“Exactly as I remember.”
“No complaints or criticisms?”
“Lots of them. But not on this.” She takes a sip of her whiskey and grins. “At least not until you try to make it fit.”
“I thought that was off the table.” I keep my inside thoughts to myself because she’s all but told me I’m bigger than her ex, and while I’d never admit it, I’m adding that to the list of reasons she’s better off with me.
“I’m stuck with you for three years. At least. That’s a long time. I imagine eventually you’ll wear me down. Maybe on our third wedding anniversary.”
“So you wanted to torture yourself by seeing what you’re missing?”
“No. I wanted to—” She pauses as a teasing grin plays at her lips.
She uncaps the lotion and leans over the edge of the desk, positioning the tip of the container over my dick and squeezing until she’s placed a thick line of it all the way down to the head. She clicks the cap shut, punctuating the silence as her eyes fall heavy on me.
“There. Now rub it in.” A raspy laugh tumbles out of her, amused at her own handiwork, as she presses her fingers to her lips and recomposes herself. Her lashes flutter, and her eyes return to mine with purpose—wicked and green. And now they’re all mine. “I want to see how you use it. Show me.”
Fucking hell. This woman asking me to perform for her is like being given an aptitude test with no time to study.
I haven’t practiced for anyone but myself in the shower for a long fucking time, and it’s been a lifetime since I’ve had her eyes on me.
It’s my dream and my nightmare tangled into one dangerous reality.
But I wrap my hand around my cock, anyway, letting my fingers slip slowly over the lotion she’s warmed in her palms.
I groan audibly at how good it feels, and inhale as her favorite scent surrounds me—a blend of clover and dew.
Like being out in a field just as the sun is breaking over the horizon.
The kind of experience you only get after a night so long it turns to morning.
It takes me back to a dozen moments like this with her.
The room’s quiet except for her soft breathing and my own heart pounding in my ears until the slick sound of the lotion over my skin begins to break it. She shifts on the table, adjusting her position and her view as my hand works over my cock.
It feels so fucking good already. So right.
I let out another muted groan as I sit back in the chair. Self-conscious of how loud I am in the quiet of the room.
“Don’t silence yourself. You want me wet, don’t you?”
“Fuck yes.”
“Then use your words.”
“Which words do you want?” I pause a moment. “How good it feels or what I’d do to you if you let me?”
“Oh, I read the things you want to do to me already.” She presses her lips together. If I’ve shocked her already, I might kill her with some of the others.
“Doubt it. You read one or two of the sweeter ones in the short time you were in there, I’d wager. The latter letters get pretty fucking depraved.”
“Something to look forward to then. Don’t spoil it.” Her eyes follow the slow stroke of my palm. “Just tell me how much you like touching yourself for me.”
“It’s the sweetest kind of torture having your eyes on me like this.
Reminds me of the way you used to watch me.
Only wish I had more of you. Your hands bringing me closer and closer with each pass.
Your mouth working me over. That perfect pussy that fits me just right, giving me everything I’ve ever wanted.
” I stroke myself with slow purpose. I have to be careful because I don’t want to come too soon.
I need her soaked. Ready and wanting. I’ll settle for a taste if it’s all she’s offering tonight, but I’m more than happy to make her come over and over again if she lets me.