CHAPTER 25
Samia
I’m in stealth mode again, sneaking out of the apartment the following morning, long before Kian awakens. It’s a silly rebellion, but one I take anyway.
He looked otherworldly, sprawled in our bed with only the sheet twisted around his waist, leaving his sculpted torso on display for my greedy eyes, and I couldn’t take the temptation of not touching him as my body wanted to.
A warm sensation starts in my stomach and gradually spreads, landing in one spot. A place that should be entirely isolated to the power of him.
I can’t help but want to surrender to Kian’s embrace and let him take care of all my worries. In my mind, the war is never-ending and brutal.
But the battle is proving to be incredibly challenging.
All my heart craves is the comfort of Kian. Can I forgive him and move on? Everything is too intense to wrap my brain around.
I want to fuck my husband badly.
I want to climb on his face and suffocate him while I die of pleasure.
I want to own his cock, to know it’s mine.
And if I look at Kian, I know I’ll sink. He’s too merciless and gorgeous. My weakness in skin and bones form.
I’m unsure how he did it, but there’s a new letter inside my laptop case when I open it at my secluded coffee shop table, once I’ve ordered English scones and a latte.
When did he do that? He didn’t have access to it yesterday. And last night, he brought me out of a deep sleep twice more to give me orgasms.
Was it in between rounds of finger fucking?
Shifty husband. But I’m eager to see what romantic words he says today.
As groveling love letters go, this one is a doozy.
My spectacular wife.
If you leave the house without wearing your bracelet once more, I swear I will spank your ass until you scream, and then I’ll jack off over my handprint to remind you of who you belong to.
The bracelet is for your safety, so I don’t tear the world apart searching for you.
You’re the only important thing I treasure.
Losing you would end me.
For the sake of my sanity, please wear it.
Do you remember your sweet sixteen birthday party? You wore an innocent lemon-colored dress, and your bouncy curls cascaded over your shoulders. I was a self-involved idiot who only wanted to joyride, and I resented my parents for making me go to a dumb party with them. That thought changed when I discovered it was your party and saw you in that dress, Samia. You looked so sweet, but it was more. You were painfully shy and tried to hide it, but I saw how awkward you felt having everyone’s attention on you. You looked like you wanted to blend into the wall, and all I could think of was how I could hide you and keep you.
It was the first possessive thought I’d ever had over a person. I remember my eyes followed you everywhere that day, and when I could finally leave, I stole a car and raced around Coney Island to feel the high I usually got from speeding. Still, nothing has ever matched what I felt seeing you in your little lemon dress that day.
There’s love.
And then there’s what I feel for you.
Some days, my dreamgirl, it’s like it might burst my skin open because it’s so big.
Will you let me love you again?
Can you forgive my unscrupulous way of putting us together?
Be my cranky wife again.
My heart and cock miss you.
Wear yellow for me, and watch how your feral husband falls under your spell again.
Your infatuated man.
Kian.
I can’t ever claim Kian doesn’t put his feelings out there.
They’re practically saturating the air around me as I try to regulate my pulse against the racing blood through my veins. Is this the same high he once felt speeding stolen cars around the streets?
He had it right about my birthday party. I’d fought my mom about having one because I knew she’d go overboard and invite hundreds. She epitomizes a social butterfly; I inherited her looks, but I’ve always been more of my father’s daughter. We hate crowds and being social. I wish now I had the same memories of Kian from that day.
But other times connected us.
I wonder if he knows I once went to one of his street races with my friends, Raene, Sage, and Thatcher, and how thrilling I felt watching Kian handle a sports car as if man and metal were part of the same body.
There’s little concentration left for my work after reading his letter. I’m like a fizzling firecracker, unable to contain the feelings inside my skin. After leaving a tip for the server, I pack up and walk a few blocks to our building.
Suddenly, a spring appears in my step, and a lightness fills my torso, which hasn’t been there in days. Once home, I drop my things in the hallway, and though Kian is here somewhere because I sense him, I head directly to our room and into the double walk-in closet, shucking my casual clothes. I wish I still owned the yellow dress he wrote about, but my tastes are different now.
Besides, my hips have filled out from my sixteen-year-old body.
Fortunately, I have many others to choose from, and I slide my hand along the color-coded clothes rack until I find something similar.
My heart trips over when I think Kian is heading toward our room, but he goes by, and I exhale as I pull the thin cotton yellow dress over my hips and boobs. It’s a nothing special milkmaid type of dress. Something I’d wear if I were having brunch out with close friends. It’s comfortable and functional, but pretty because it tapers around the waist and chest and flows around my knees. I don’t bother with shoes when I’m home. What am I, a debutante? I prefer comfort over everything. So, I pad barefoot through the apartment, peeping around the alcove to see where Kian is.
He’s sitting at the long dining table, his head bent over something.
Is he writing me another letter?
My belly swoops and fills with volcanic heat.
God, I miss him like a part of me has been amputated.
But I’m about to get my limb back. The missing part of me.
Kian’s head lifts as soon as he senses me, and even from a distance, I see the change coming across his face. His jaw tightens, and his eyes flare as they scan over me sensually when he sees what I’m wearing.
Can he read the sign I’m giving him?
Though I’m a chaotic mess of emotions, my footsteps don’t falter as I walk over and hop up on the table before him. Surprise coats his features, but an arrogant eyebrow hikes on his brow as he watches me drag up the hem of my lemon dress and widen my legs. I rest my feet on Kian’s knees.
I can’t deny myself. He’s a drug I crave.
“Tell me you’re sorry again. And Kian? Make it count.”
I don’t want his words. And Kian knows it because he curses low. The sound is so low and dirty I feel it in my stomach.
“Fuck. My wife’s pretty pussy is on display for me. I’m an undeserving bastard.” His eyes are already zeroed between my legs, and what I see makes a rush of fresh, aroused wetness leak out of me. Kian’s hands move to my inner thighs, stroking reverently right up to the apex, but there’s nothing respectful about how he dips his head forward and latches his mouth onto my waiting pussy. He kisses me with an open mouth, all wet and eager, pushing into my lips to capture my clit with a fast sucking motion, and a thrill so hazardous blasts over my body. He’s enjoying making me moan and knowing that sends me into an orgasm faster than a fork of lightning.
My head spins, adrenaline surging.
I bite my lip hard, and I’m surprised I don’t taste blood. My body is electric, it’s pure hot-wired pleasure, and Kian devours me with lashing licks and sucks until I’m a shaking mess with my fingers embedded in his hair. When he makes no move to stop, his eating mouth is still going lavishly, like I’m his banquet. I push him away like he’s my toy. Maybe for right now, he is, and he looks at me with desire-pooled eyes as he licks me off his wet lips as I slide down from the table and straddle his lap.
The erection I find is so hard that I almost whimper with joy.
But Kian squeezes my hipbones as I try to wrestle his cock out of his sweatpants.
“No dick until you forgive me, Samia.” He mutters, sounding as pained as I feel, knowing I’m being denied what I want. My eyes fire as I snap my gaze up from where my hands are, half in and half out of his pants.
“How dare you refuse to give me this dick when I want it!” I rage. “You’re the villain here, Kian. You’re hard, you want to give it to me.”
“Baby.” He chuckles. “You know I have an insatiable appetite for you, and you can have this dick any time you need it, but you gotta forgive me and love me again.”
“I want it,” I whine, grinding on him with new tactics; he can’t resist me for long.
“I know you do.” he palms my ass tighter as I drive down on him, dry humping, the heat in his eyes blazes hotter. He must be suffering, too, because his cock is like a steel pipe between my legs. “And I want to give it to you. Fuck me, do I, baby. More than you know, I’m aching not being buried balls deep in my wife and hearing your begging cries. My beautiful, sweet wife who wears yellow to seduce me.”
“Then be seduced, dammit. I want to be fucked right now.”
If anything, Kian seems impressed with my declaration as he flashes me a smile.
We have so much ammunition against us in this relationship that it could easily blow us apart if someone doesn’t give. Kian’s shown he can admit when he’s wrong, even if I don’t honestly believe he thinks he’s wrong. Kian is arrogant, but for me, he can bend, ask for forgiveness, and be patient enough to write me love notes and allow me space to think.
Kian is Kian, and I’ve already decided what I can and can’t live with.
Adapting to his overzealous methods is something I can cope with. Being without him is not something I want to face in the future.
Now, it’s my turn to give a little.
It’s simple, really. When I let it all settle in my mind, sifting through the facts and sorting the feelings. I want to be with Kian.
Crazy, impulsively cunning Kian MacNamara.
For better or worse, he is my husband.
And he loves me. Maybe too much, but I can take it.