Chapter 28 #2
He tilts his head, studying me.
“See you? Baby, I feel you. Every note you inspire, every line I write.” His hand drifts a little higher on my thigh.
“You’ve got no idea what you do to me.” I swallow hard. My pulse thunders in my ears. I’m too aware of him, of the warmth radiating from his body, of the lazy curl of his lips that makes my knees want to buckle.
“I shouldn’t—”
“Shouldn’t what?” His voice is low, teasing, almost a growl. “Baby, I’m telling you, you’re my muse.”
The words make me flush, and I can’t help the shiver that runs through me. His thumb traces lazy, invisible circles just under the edge of my sweater, close enough to tease, far enough to torture. I glance at him, lips parted, trying to steady my racing thoughts.
“You don’t mean it…you can’t—we—” I stop, the words tangling on my tongue as I try to collect my thoughts.
He leans closer, his forehead brushing mine, his voice a rough whisper.
“It’s okay, Dove. Say your piece.”
I need to. I need to say something, even if it comes out wrong. But what can I possibly say? Every thought feels silly.
“What we did. Last night was…”
“Marital bliss?” he teases, one brow quirking. My stomach somersaults.
“It…it was amazing. But it felt like sin.”
He grins, slow and wicked. “Everything you enjoy is almost always a sin, baby.”
“You make it sound like…sin doesn’t matter.”
“My Dove,” he says softly. “I’m sorry you feel that way. If you regret last night, then—”
“I’m not saying that.” The words rush out, desperate. “It feels like I should—but I don’t.”
I drop my gaze, biting my lip. I don’t know what else to say. Maybe I should just shut up. The last thing I want is to hurt him.
Trey turns away, lost in thought, and a lump rises in my throat. I must have said the wrong thing. I didn’t mean to.
“So, just to get this absolutely right,” he says after a moment, his voice rougher now. “One night with me, and you’re having some kind of existential crisis about sin? Shit…I should put that on my dating profile. One night with me may cause religious epiphanies.”
Dating profile? The words sting, even if he’s joking.
“Come on, Dove,” he says, catching my look. “Don’t you remember what we talked about last night? And get your mind out of the gutter…”
My cheeks flare hot. What we said. The memory rushes back, and the heat crawls up my neck, spreading to my ears.
Are you gonna be a good girl and cum all over my cock, baby?
“I said out of the gutter,” he laughs, though his tone softens.
“I meant what I said—if you and I are doing this, we’re all in.
I’m sorry if I upset or offend you sometimes.
I can’t always help it. Believe me, the shit that comes out of my mouth—and the stuff that doesn’t—it’s a lot.
It’s loud in here.” He taps the side of his head, offering a crooked smile.
Then, quieter, “Besides…when it’s you? Sin feels like salvation.”
The air between us tightens, heavy and electric. The tension hums, coiling tighter with every breath.
He winces. “Wait—that was corny as hell. Sorry for blaspheming. I can do better, hang on…”
His hand lingers on my thigh, warm and heavy, a contradiction that sends my pulse spiraling. I want to close the distance—to let the words dissolve into touch. His eyes hold mine, daring me to give in, daring me to lean into the fire he offers.
I fight it—for a heartbeat, maybe two—clinging to what’s left of my composure. But it’s already slipping.
His voice drops, gravel against silk. “If you’re my sin, Dove… then I’ll break every commandment just to taste you again.”
“You’re impossible,” I murmur, breathless.
“Yet you married me,” he says, smile tugging at his lips, eyes glittering.
I can’t look away. I don’t want to.
My fingers tangle in his hair, just grazing the back of his neck, and I catch the heat in his gaze. Every look, every smirk, every subtle movement of him is an invitation.
“You feel that?” he murmurs, voice low, barely more than a growl. “That pull? That tension?” I bite my lip, nodding slightly, heart hammering so fast it feels like it might escape my chest.
“Yes.”
“Good.” His thumb drags just under the edge of my sweater again, slow and teasing. “Because I’ve wanted this since last night. Every second you’ve been gone, I’ve wanted it again.”
I swallow, heat pooling deep in my stomach, every instinct screaming for more—more closeness, more of his attention, more of him. My pulse races with the delicious, maddening tension of it. His chest presses closer to mine, impossible to ignore.
“You’re crazy,” I whisper, voice trembling between awe and frustration.
“You’re irresistible,” he counters, leaning closer so his forehead rests lightly against mine. “Beautiful, brave, delicious…my muse.”
The word muse hits me like fire, and I shiver.
I want to lean into him, let him see, let him know, but he keeps me on the knife-edge of anticipation—the thrill of almost. My fingers tighten in his hair, nails grazing lightly, and I catch his sharp inhale.
Then his phone buzzes against the stool beside him.
He glances down, eyes flicking over the screen.
A faint smile curves his lips. Without a word, he sets it back down.
He stands slowly, stretching just enough to make me catch my breath, and takes my hand.
His other hand grabs the guitar, carefully setting it aside.
He finishes his cigarette, flicking the ash into the tray with casual precision.
“Come on,” he says, voice low, teasing. He leans down and flicks my nose lightly with a finger. “Chace has a wedding present arriving in a few hours and we need to get breakfast. What do you fancy?” he murmurs, that smirk tugging at his lips. “Or…I could just eat you.”
Heat rushes through me, spine arching slightly at the promise in his words.
Less than ten minutes later, socks and shoes on, my husband is leading me down a narrow flight of concrete stairs that open into an underground parking lot, which he cutely calls his garage.
“Okay, babies…” he says, voice echoing off the walls as motion lights flicker on above us, one by one. “I found you a mommy!”
The lights hum to life, revealing a row of cars that look like they belong in a movie—sleek, shining beasts lined up in polished perfection.
There’s a black one that looks like it could outrun the rapture, a silver one that gleams like moonlight when the spotlight hits it, and a motorbike that looks far more dangerous than anything with wheels should.
I don’t know what any of them are called, but I know one thing—they’re expensive. Really, really expensive.
“Wow,” I breathe, the word slipping out before I can stop it. “You own these?”
He grins, proud and boyish. “They’re the band’s, mostly. Perks of being a bunch of idiots who made too much money too fast.” He starts walking toward the far side, where a matte black monster waits under a low strip of light.
“But this—”
Then he stops. Completely. “This might be a little out of left field, but…you’re not on the pill or anything, right?”
I stop, blinking at him. “The pill?”
“Birth control.”
“Trey…”
“Sorry if I’m overstepping. Just…you know.”
Heat crawls up my neck. My husband looks bashful.
“I’m not,” I admit softly. “My father…he wouldn’t allow me to take anything like that. No pill. No birth control at all.”
“Oh, fuck, Dove.” His grin vanishes, face paling under the fluorescent glow. “We need a chemist. Wait—no pills at all? Not even Tylenol or aspirin?”
I stare. “What?”
“Do you even know if you had your childhood vaccinations?”
I shrug, cheeks burning hotter.
“Okay,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair, “step one. Get you a doctor. And, uh…you never played doctor and nurses, either, right?”
I just watch him, confused.
He squints. “Wait, you do know what a doctor is, right?”
I snort and nod.
“Okay, cool. Not a cave girl for a wife or anything…”
He spins toward the workbench, keys in hand. “First thing—morning-after pill. Right now. You’ve got my swimmers in you, and if they’re anything like me…” He glances back, grimacing. “Yeah. Let’s not take any chances.”
A laugh slips out of me, soft and unguarded—part relief, part amusement at the sudden shift in his tone, and part… him. The genuine concern written on his face is almost enough to make my chest ache.
“It’s a shame…I was warming to the idea of carrying your progeny.”
He freezes, completely still, pinned by my words.
Trey pales further. Maybe I shouldn’t have joked.
“I mean…if it’s against your religion…” he says, lips pulled into a contemplative scowl.
My brain sputters. “My father’s,” I state. “Not mine.”
His gaze flicks to my stomach, lingering just enough to make me feel exposed.
“Nice,” he says finally, recovering. “Okay, let’s get my baby girl some good, tasty drugs. Get you rattling like a gumball machine.”
“You do know, Trey,” I say dryly, “I wasn’t planning on tying you down with kids, right?”
“Hey.” His tone softens. “This isn’t about that. I just—” He rakes a hand through his hair again, the cap slipping. “You’ve only just been set free. Even if you’re technically shackled to me, you should feel free. Make up for lost time. Have fun. Make mistakes. Live.”
Something shifts in my chest, tender and terrifying.
I reach out, brushing my fingers against his arm.
But what if I already have everything I ever wanted?
“I…I know.” I say,
Trey exhales, tension bleeding out with the breath. Then, like flipping a switch, that crooked grin returns, low and teasing.
“Still getting the pill, though. Can’t have my runaway nun getting morning sickness in the studio all over my sensitive equipment.” I laugh, rolling my eyes as he opens the SUV door for me.
“You’re ridiculous.”
“Yeah,” he says, leaning close, voice dropping to that sinful tone that still makes my pulse trip. “But you love it.”
I do. I really do.