Chapter 15
When Dean got back from his run, his beautiful girl was still sound asleep, her flame-colored hair spilling over the pillow, her shoulders and the tops of her breasts creamy and pale against the sheets.
He showered, brushed his teeth, and shaved, forcing his mind to run through game strategy.
When he emerged from the steam-filled bathroom, he didn’t turn on the light.
“Dean?” Meghan said softly.
He was glad she’d woken and strode to the bed. “Yes?” he said, bending down to kiss her.
She raised her head and pressed her mouth to his. “Mmm. You taste good.”
“Likewise,” he said, running a thumb over the sheet where a tight puckered nipple tented it.
“Do you have time to lie down? Or do you need to go right away?”
There wasn’t much that felt better than knowing she wanted him.
“You could probably convince me that I have some time,” he said.
As she stretched her upper body to get closer, those amazingly full tits emerged from under the linens. She closed her lovely hand around him and fed the tip of his cock into her mouth. He stroked her silky skin while she licked and sucked him to fully erect and aching.
He pulled back, popping out of her warm wet mouth.
She looked up at him, her eyes pretty and sweet without makeup. She licked her lips, her pink tongue an incredible temptation.
“I can get on my knees on the floor if you want.”
She was still looking to make up for the night before.
There was certainly a part of him ready to use her mood to his advantage.
Another part of him, north of his cock, wanted her to know she didn’t need to service him to make up for being vulnerable and overwhelmed when he pushed her into territory she wasn’t ready for.
“Lie back on the bed and spread your legs. I want you aching like I am when I finally make love to you.”
Her cheeks flushed that gorgeous pink he loved.
“You don’t have to,” she whispered.
“I know. It’s what I want,” he said, giving her ass a slap. “Do what you’re told.”
She moved immediately, which made his cock throb harder. Every small act of submission fed his hunger for her.
He moved between her legs, opened her with his thumbs and made her his breakfast. By the time he crawled up her body and pushed his cock inside her, her back was arched and her hands clutched the sheets.
“This is the perfect start to the day,” he murmured.
“Yes, definitely,” she whispered, sliding her arms up and gripping his shoulders.
“Give me a kiss,” he said, lowering his mouth.
She kissed him with all the passion redheads were famous for.
He fucked her slowly at first, sliding into the sweet wet depths of her pussy, savoring everything about having her beneath him. When she dug her nails into his back and started to raise her restless hips to meet him, he drove into her harder, making her feel his strength.
When she came, it pulled him over the edge too.
After, when she was holding him tight and kissing his neck, the sated lust gave way to other emotions.
Yes, he thought. The perfect way to start the day.
After having sex with Dean, Meghan stayed in bed a little longer, reveling in her happiness while Dean went to meet the team before the game. Everything felt back to normal, though she still had some regrets about the way she’d freaked out the night before.
She marveled at his calm and the way he maintained his routine in the face of so much pressure. Every game counted for so much. Any losses could be the difference between a championship season and an average one.
She was nervous for him and the team, which seemed a bit ridiculous given how recently she’d become a fan. But she cared about them now. She knew the best way to get through the morning was to work until game time.
She was organizing herself to head to a cafe when the door opened. She turned, smiling, expecting it to be Dean since housekeeping would’ve knocked.
It wasn’t Dean. Or a housekeeper with poor manners. It was a pretty dark-haired woman in a pink dress and towering heels. She pulled a Louis Vuitton rolling bag behind her.
“I’m sorry. I thought this was Dean Ulrich’s room.”
“It is,” Meghan said.
“Who are you?” the woman asked.
“I’m Meghan. Dean’s girlfriend.”
“I see. Well, I’m Rosalie. Dean’s wife.”
The room spun around her, and Meghan dropped onto the edge of the bed to keep herself from falling to the floor.
“I thought he was—he said…” Meghan struggled to remember. Had Dean actually said he was divorced? Or had he just implied it? Were he and his wife only separated? Or worse, was he actually still with her?
“Men can really be bastards,” Rosalie said, shaking her head.
Dean didn’t realize until after the game ended that Meghan hadn’t made it to the stadium.
He texted her, but got no response and then saw on his airline app that the flight reservations had been updated.
Meghan had paid a fee to fly home on an earlier flight.
By the time the game had ended she was thirty minutes from landing.
He couldn’t believe she’d flown home alone. The night before she’d been emotional, but in the morning she’d been the one to pull him into bed when he got back from his run. There had been no signs when he’d made love to her that she was still upset.
He would’ve thought there’d been an emergency that called her back, but he couldn’t think of a reason that she wouldn’t at least have sent him a text to let him know.
He flew home with the team, but left the airport immediately after collecting his bags.
By the time he got to her house, it was very late. Hazy light came from the windows. She may have fallen asleep with them on or she might be awake. Either way, he had to see her.
He knocked, loud enough to be heard in the bedroom, but without banging.
Just a persistent rhythm on the wood until she finally opened the door.
Her eyes were red and puffy, her face tear-streaked, her expression one of pain and sorrow.
Something terrible had happened. A death?
Someone close to her? Why hadn’t she turned to him?
His hand moved of its own accord. He wanted her in his arms where she belonged. He wanted to comfort and protect her, to take over whatever needed to be done.
She backed away from his hand before it touched her. “I don’t want to see you. Ever again,” she whispered.
He stared at her, a feeling of dread closing around him. What had happened? He hadn’t hurt her. He hadn’t lied to her or betrayed her.
“What’s going on?”
She tried to close the door, but he put a hand up and stopped its movement.
“Tell me what happened.”
“I met your wife.”
He stared at her blankly for a moment, uncomprehending. “My ex-wife? Rosalie? She doesn’t live in Louisiana.”
“She was there. To meet you. I guess you got your weekends mixed up.”
His muscles tightened. His jaw clenched. “Whatever you’re thinking, it’s wrong.”
“You have a wife.”
“I had a wife,” he said. “I’m divorced.”
“She said she’s your wife. That you’re separated, but still sleeping together. That you’re on-again off-again, but still talking nearly every day.”
“That’s not the way it is. We’re divorced.”
“She knew where you were. The city. The hotel. Separated isn’t divorced. Talking every day isn’t even really separated.”
His mind scrambled, reaching for proof. “Here, wait,” he said, yanking his phone out. He had an image of the divorce decree. He’d needed it while filling out benefits paperwork. He scrolled through the gallery until he found it. He opened the image and held the phone to her.
“Look.”
She looked so sad, so weary.
“Meghan, look,” he said firmly.
She finally took the phone and enlarged the image.
“I do text with her sometimes, but it’s to give her advice. When we were married, I took care of things…our finances, the house, contractors, whatever. She asks for advice and information, and I give it to her.”
“Have you slept with her since the divorce?”
He hesitated, knowing she would take it the wrong way. “Yes, but not because we’re still involved. They were one-night stands a few times when I was in town or on the road.”
“One-night stands? You can’t have a one-night stand with your ex-wife, especially more than once. That’s an ongoing relationship.”
“No, it’s not. She knew the score. I made sure of it. We don’t have a future together. We’re not involved. It was just sex.”
She stared past him. “It’s never just sex with an ex. With someone you’re still talking to and texting with. You’re involved. You didn’t tell me about her. You didn’t tell her about me.”
“I wouldn’t tell her about us. I don’t confide in her.”
“Because you want to keep your options open.”
“Absolutely not. I didn’t tell her because it’s none of her business. I don’t ask her who she’s seeing. Look at the messages on my phone. I don’t flirt with her or try to maintain a close relationship. Read them. You’ll see.”
“I don’t want to read. I wanted you—I wanted you to be free. So I could have you to myself. I can’t go through it again,” she said, backing away.
He caught her arm, but she jerked it free.
“You’re not done with her. Even if you don’t understand that, I do. So does she. Please leave. I just want to get through this, so I can get over it.”
“I’m not with her. Sex with her was just easier.
She knows what I want. One-night stands with strangers don’t do anything for me.
And I hadn’t met anyone that I wanted for more.
Until you. The times I slept with Rosalie were months before I met you.
I don’t love her. You’re the one I’m in love with. ”
“Don’t—please don’t.”
“If she made it seem like we’re still together, it was out of jealousy or to suit her own purposes.
Maybe she thinks she can manipulate things to get you out of the way, but it won’t work.
I’m not going to reconcile with her. She betrayed me, and it changed everything.
She’s not who I wanted her to be. I don’t love her.
I don’t even like her. She doesn’t love me either.
She just wants her life to be easier again, now that she and the person she was with have broken up. ”
“So you know the status of her relationship?”
“She tried to talk to me about it. Wanted to tell me she’d made mistakes. I told her I didn’t need to hear it. What she does in her personal life doesn’t matter to me.”
“Then why are you still in contact? Why were you still sleeping with her?” she yelled. It was the first strong emotion, the first bit of fire, she’d given him. It was so much better than the broken look she’d had a few minutes before.
“I was just helping her out with advice.”
“She’s using that to keep a connection with you. How would you feel if I were turning to an ex-boyfriend every week for help and advice and occasionally sleeping with him? If I told him where I’d be and kept in constant contact?”
The thought filled him with cold jealously. He didn’t want her turning to anyone but him. He wouldn’t want anyone she’d been intimate with hanging around, trying to undermine their relationship.
“I’ll cut ties with Rosalie,” he said.
She looked up at him.
“I’ll take care of it. Give me a couple of days. I’ll make sure she has any information she might need, and that’ll be the end of it. I don’t need to talk to her. I’ll tell her.”
“She won’t give up.”
“I will make her give up.”
She looked unsure. “People say they’ll end things, but they don’t. Not until they’re ready. They lie. They keep going back to what they want.”
“I don’t want her. It’s been over for a long time. I swear.”
“I don’t want promises. Just go. Stop talking to her and see how that feels. If you find yourself missing her and taking her texts and calls when you didn’t intend to, you’ll know how you really feel. Then don’t come looking for me. Just get back together with her and leave me alone.”
“When I have things settled, I’ll call. It won’t be more than a couple of days.”
She didn’t look at him. She didn’t believe him. She’d been hurt before.
Dean couldn’t imagine anyone choosing someone else over Meghan, but some idiot had, and he’d obviously put her through hell doing it.
Dean would’ve been pissed at the asshole and a part of him was.
But another part of him was grateful because if everything before him hadn’t come to an end, she would’ve been with the wrong man.
And he would’ve still been waiting to find her.
“I’m not like the others,” he said.
She didn’t make eye contact, and it took everything he had to not reach for her. He wanted to touch her and to hold her more than he’d ever wanted anything. She belonged with him and to him. When something hurt her, she was supposed to reach for him, the way she had when she’d gotten sick.
“No one matters more to me than you. I’ll prove it, and it won’t be a hardship.” He took a step back, not really wanting to leave, but knowing he had to. “Let me do one more thing.”
“No hug or kiss. I can’t let you touch me. I just can’t,” she said, her hands shaking.
He clenched his fists.
“Text me your personal email address. I want to blind copy you on the emails I send her.”
She looked around, struggling to decide.
“Transparency will help. You’ll see how things stand where my feelings are concerned.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to give you whatever you need to feel certain.”
“Let me think. I’m not sure I want to read anything you send to someone else. I don’t want to be in the middle things. If it doesn’t end…”
“It’s already over. It was over before I met you,” he said. He would repeat himself a thousand times if that’s what it took.
“I’m tired,” she said softly.
“I know. I’m sorry you were hurt and that you flew home alone. I will make it up to you.”
“You will, huh? Do I get to punish you?” she said, her voice a little brittle.
“If that’s what you want.”
She looked at him, trying to gauge if he was serious, he guessed. He nodded.
She finally shook her head. “It wouldn’t work. I’m not strong enough to overpower you and to make you feel the way I feel when you do things to me.”
“You have power over me, Meghan. It’s just not physical.”