Chapter 26
Fact or Fiction?
I’m sleeping with my wife.
Luke
A dinging sound stirs me from my sleep, and I find myself blinking through the darkness of my bedroom while the moonlight
streaming in through the blinds helps me get my bearings. I turn to glance at the clock and see that it’s after midnight,
and then I know exactly what woke me.
You’d think I’d be used to the sound of that oven timer after living with Roe for the past several weeks. But I still hear
it nearly every night.
Most nights I just roll over and fall back asleep, but tonight, I feel the urge to check on her, just to make sure she’s okay.
I crawl out of bed and adjust myself before padding barefoot down the hall in nothing but a loose pair of shorts. The warm
yellow light pours down the hall from the kitchen, illuminating my path, and as I round the corner, my eyes land on a sight
that has become all too familiar.
My wife.
Making sourdough at midnight.
Sounds like a country song.
I smile and cross my arms to lean on the wall and watch her for a moment, taking in every inch of flesh exposed between her
baggy T-shirt and slouchy socks. Her legs are thick and muscular, tiny dimples dotting the backs of her thighs as she bends
over to peek in the oven. Her hair is up high in a messy bun and her eyes appear dark with circles under them.
I know she loves making bread, but I hate seeing her like this. She’s unsettled and tired, and dancing around the kitchen because she can’t seem to let herself relax. It’s like she needs someone in her life to give her permission to just . . . take a breath.
She pulls a large pan out of the oven and turns on her heel to set it on the cooling rack. It’s been a few days since I jerked
off into her underwear and I’ve been giving her space for fear of me opening my big mouth to confess the awful thing I did.
We’ve still had our sunset dinners together and chatted about work and wedding plans. So, I think on the surface, we seem
fine. But underneath, I’m craving her like a drug.
I want to touch her and hold her again. I want to feel the warmth of her body against mine like I did that night on the couch.
The night when she finally was able to fall asleep.
“Oh my God,” Roe squeals as she catches sight of me. She pulls her earbuds out and presses a hand to her chest. “You scared
the shit out of me, Luke.”
“Sorry,” I reply, ruffling my hair self-consciously and flexing my stomach because . . . well . . . just because. “I was just
enjoying the show.”
She rolls her eyes, her gaze dropping down my chest in a nervous sort of way before she refocuses on the bread. “I just finished
this loaf, so I’m done now. Sorry if I woke you.”
I tilt my head and watch her carefully before saying exactly what’s on my mind. “Why don’t you sleep with me tonight?”
Her eyes snap to mine, wide and hollow with fatigue. “What?”
I inhale a deep breath and move closer, splaying my hands on the island as I stare at her. “Sleep with me, Roe.”
“Luke . . . we don’t . . .” Her cheeks flush as her eyes skate down my body again. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say my
wife is checking me out. Have at it, babe. I’m all yours.
“Just sleep,” I clarify, and swear I see a flicker of disappointment cast over her face, but I shake it off because I’m a man on a mission. “You haven’t slept well since the night you crashed with me on the sofa, and I have a theory that you could sleep better with me.”
Her throat shifts as she swallows nervously, her fingers tapping lightly on the crusty slice she made along the top. “Wouldn’t
that be weird?”
“It’s not weird for two people who are married to sleep together.”
She peers up at me with a soft, tender look and I have the sudden urge to walk over and kiss her. Not in a dirty, all-consuming
sexual way. I just want to feel that tenderness that she shows me from time to time. Taste it on my lips and commit it to
memory.
It reminds me how tactile my dad was with my mom. He’d often walk up to her and kiss her forehead. She’d lean into him and
seemed to love when he touched her. And that’s what I want. I want those lazy touches just as much as I want everything else
that comes with marriage.
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” she murmurs, looking down.
Rolling my eyes, I stride over to the oven and shut it off before moving to stand behind my friend. I grip her by the waist,
and she wiggles slightly as I begin to march her out of the kitchen and down the hall. “Just please listen to me for once.
I think we should try this.”
She groans but submits to my will, likely because she’s too tired to fight with me. I watch affectionately from the hallway
as she brushes her teeth at the bathroom sink and when she’s done, she grips the door and pierces me with a glare. “Are you
going to watch me pee too?”
I huff out a laugh and step back. “I’ll be waiting in my bed for you.”
Her cheeks flush and with an amused smirk, I head to my room, giving myself a mental pep talk to keep my dirty thoughts in check. We cannot have a repeat of the couch. You seemingly got out of that situation without getting caught so let’s keep your panty-loving
cock to yourself this time.
I look up when I hear the bathroom door open and see Addison standing in my doorway, leaning up against the frame. Her foot
slides up her calf and she’s wringing her fingers nervously.
“Get your ass in here, wife,” I command, flipping the covers back.
She rolls her eyes in the dark and then bounds into my bed, purposefully bumping her ass on me, as she settles into the little
spoon position. I wrap my arm around her and am surprised when she grabs my hand and clutches it to her chest.
Heart racing, I nuzzle into her, breathing in her scent. “You smell like sourdough,” I whisper in a deep, sexy voice.
She vibrates with silent laughter under my arm. “You smell like . . .” She pauses and pulls my hand to her cheek. “Like Luke.”
My brows lift. “And what does that smell like?”
She inhales deeply, wriggling her ass on my cock in a way that feels so fucking good it hurts. “I don’t know . . .” Her voice
trails off. “Comfy.”
Comfy.
I smell comfy.
It’s not exactly the sexiest of smells, but I can hear the smile on her lips, so I’ll take it.
“Feeling sleepy yet?”
“You’re comfy but not that comfy, Fletcher.”
I laugh and give her a playful squeeze. “You want me to tell you a bedtime story?”
“Sure.”
I groan as I wrack my brain for a good story. Something light and playful, but still relaxing. “How about I tell you the story about the first time we met?”
She turns her head, frowning over her shoulder at me. “I was there. I already know that story.”
“But do you know that day is why your dad hates me?” I ask her profile and see her lips part.
“What are you talking about?” she chirps and rolls over in my arms. I lean back, my stomach flexed as she drapes herself over
my chest like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
And I hate how normal it does feel.
I smile and slice my hand into my hair, pushing the strands off my forehead. “Well . . . your dad sort of . . . caught me
checking you out.”
“Shut up!” She pokes my chest, and I laugh, rubbing at the painful spot.
“In my defense, I didn’t know you were his daughter. My dad always picked up our orders. It was literally my first time at
Monroe Lumber. I didn’t know anyone there.”
“Yeah . . . okay, so what happened with you and my dad?” She props her chin on my chest and looks up at me with wide, excited
eyes.
“You were helping these guys who were major assholes, and you ended up dumping the lumber on their truck causing all sorts
of damage. It was a whole scene that I had front row seats to from outside the building center.”
“I remember those fuckers,” Addison drawls, rolling her eyes. “My dad was pissed at me over that because it caused our insurance
rates to go up.”
“Well . . . you did dump wood on their truck.”
“Those fuckers deserved it!” she snaps back, fiery as ever.
I smile and shake my head. “Anyways, this guy walks up beside me and starts watching the spectacle with me. I just assumed it was another customer, right?”
“But it was my dad.” Addison winces knowingly.
“Sure was. Which means when I said to him, ‘If I’d known someone who looked like that worked here, I would have offered to
pick up my dad’s orders years ago,’ it did not go over well.”
“Oh my God.” Addison covers her face with her hands. “What did he do?”
“He looked me dead in the eye and smiled. I smiled back because I thought this was some random guy agreeing with me. And through
his shit-eating grin he said without hesitation, ‘If you ever talk about my daughter like that again, I will cut off your
balls, hang them from the ceiling fan in my office and hold your body up to the fan so your own nuts can smack you in the
face over and over and over again until they can knock some sense in you.’”
Addison’s face falls in confusion, which isn’t dissimilar to my own reaction at the time. It’s just such a weirdly specific
threat that evoked some very unpleasant imagery. I wasn’t sure exactly how to take it. It didn’t sound good, I know that.
And the weird twinkle in his eye made me think he was the type of man who would actually do it.
“But . . . you still asked me to hang out.” Addison frowns up at me.
I shrug. “I don’t scare easy.”
She bites her lip and looks down, her fingers moving over my pec as she shakes her head back and forth. “All this time, I
thought you were one of the good ones, Luke Fletcher.”
“Babe, I’m only human. And in my defense, I’d never seen a woman operate a forklift. I was turned-the-fuck-on.”
She bursts out laughing, the sound something I could die happy listening to. “So, does this mean you . . . liked me? All this time, I thought you didn’t see me like that. Just as a friend.”
I stare down at her, pressing my hand over where hers sits on my chest. She has to feel my heart racing right now. She has
to know this has always felt deeper than friendship between us. Right?
My smile falls when I reply, “I saw you as someone I wasn’t willing to lose, and with who I was back then, if I would have
taken you to bed, I would have definitely lost you.”
The lines between her brows deepen as she gazes up at me. “And who are you now?”
I inhale deeply and brush a piece of hair out of her face, fighting the urge to cup her cheek. “I’m your husband.”
Her eyes glitter in the moonlight and the need I have to tell her that I’m in love with her is so strong, I can feel it on
the tip of my tongue.
But I made a promise to myself. It has to be her that makes the first move. And if that means sleeping beside her every night
and just sleeping until our wedding night . . . that’s exactly what I’ll do.
She’s worth being patient for.
I lean forward and brush my lips over her forehead. “Get some sleep, wife.”
She sighs and nuzzles into my chest, tucking herself under my chin like she’s the absolute perfect fit. Because she is . . .
even if she still doesn’t see that yet.