Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
VALERIE
FYNN IS DEFINITELY mad. He’s not happy with me at all. I don't like it, but I'm not sure what he was expecting. I all but tricked him into this whole situation, so I figured he would be happy to be rid of it.
And of me.
So, as difficult as it was, I packed all my things up, determined to sneak out when Helena and Nicholas weren’t looking. It wasn't that I was trying to be sly. I'm not sure I could handle having to say goodbye to them. Having to face the fact that they won't be a part of my life.
I open my mouth, intending to offer an explanation, but Fynn holds one hand up between us, cutting me off. "No." He shakes his head. "No talking."
"But—"
"Valerie." He says my name so sharply it makes me jump. "I said, no talking."
I feel a little sick. I've worked so hard my whole life to make others see and appreciate me, and now someone finally has, and I fucked it all up from the very beginning.
I feel like Fynn and I could've had something real, but I'll never know, because I fucked it all up from the start. Now Fynn will go on his merry little way none the worse for wear, and I'm going to have to figure out where to go from here.
Without him.
I don't even notice I'm crying again until the first tear drops from my face, the feel of it falling free sending one hand to swipe at the track of wetness it left across my cheek.
Fynn turns at my movement, his expression falling. He drops his work bag to the floor and comes to stand in front of me, pushing my hands away before wiping my tears. "Don't cry, Darling."
The gentle way he's touching me makes everything worse, and my silent cry turns into a jolting sob. "I can't help it."
One wide palm comes to cradle the back of my head as he pulls me against him, pressing my wet face into the crisp cotton of his pressed shirt. "I know. It's been an eventful day."
I cry harder at the understanding in his voice. At how sweet and loving he’s continuing to be even though our deal is done.
I'm still bawling like a baby when the elevator doors open, and Fynn tucks me under his arm before collecting both our bags, stacking his on mine before rolling them to his car. He shoves them into the trunk, deposits me in the passenger’s seat, and takes his place behind the wheel before pulling out into the sunlight.
Of course he would be kind enough to take me home. The problem is I don't really have a home. I have a tiny little room in my friend's apartment. At least now I can use my bank cards without worrying they’ll lead my father and Warren right to Sweet Side, but even the thought of being able to get a place of my own and a new car doesn't make me feel better.
I don't want a place of my own. I don't give a shit about a new car. The only thing I want is the man sitting beside me and I'm too upset to even enjoy the last few minutes I have with him.
I'm not a crier. I haven't cried like this in years. Not since I realized no one gave a shit about my tears anyway. All they did was upset my parents further, so I learned how to swallow them down.
But right now I can't.
I'm starting to hiccup when we take a turn we shouldn't. I stare out the window as Fynn pulls into his parking garage instead of continuing on to Crystal's apartment. My diaphragm is cramping, making my breaths loud and shuddering, and greatly inhibiting my ability to get words out.
"What —"
That's all I manage to say before Fynn is out of the car again, coming around to collect me. He all but lifts me out, leaving our bags in the trunk before going to the elevator. My hiccups and gasping breaths echo in the quiet as we ride up. Now that I've had a few seconds to think on it, he's probably brought me here to collect the rest of my things since I didn’t take everything to his mother's.
I follow him down the same hall where I carried those gigantic flowers what feels like forever ago, and the last of my tears dry up. I'd been so brave that day. So determined. Unwilling to settle for less than what I had to have.
And it worked. I got what I wanted.
I'm still that same woman. The one who drove a rental car from Minneapolis to the Gulf Coast of Florida wearing twenty pounds of satin and lace. The one who finally took charge of her life even though it put her in danger. The one who stopped caring if she disappointed her parents, because they never cared if they disappointed her.
I was ready to fight then and I’m ready to fight now.
I manage a deep breath as I follow Fynn inside his condo, lifting my chin and straightening my spine even though I know I look like an absolute mess. I cross my arms, digging in my heels, ready to plead my case the same way I did the first time I came here. "I don't want this to be the end of us."
Fynn doesn't even look my way, just drops his car keys into the little dish where he keeps them. "Good, because it's not."
I've already got my mouth open, ready to lay out all my reasons, but his response has me stumbling over the words. "I... Wait... What?"
He finally turns to face me, looking ridiculously handsome in his work attire. Like usual, the top two buttons of his shirt are undone and the cuffs are rolled up, leaving a lot of visible skin to distract me. He waits for my eyes to find their way to his before explaining. "You made me many promises, wife. You promised to attend events with me. To be an adoring and loving wife for everyone to see."
"But Jessica admitted—"
"I don't care what she admitted." Fynn cuts me off. "Her involvement is no longer relevant. This is about what you promised, and what you promised was to show everyone in Sweet Side that I have a beautiful wife who is beyond smitten with me." His expression is deadly serious as he continues. "And, based on the population of Sweet Side, that could take years." Heat flares in his eyes as they trail down my body. "Possibly even decades." His wandering gaze finally comes back to my face. "It might even require us to have a couple children, just to be sure they're convinced."
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out, so I clamp it shut again.
But Fynn’s having no problem finding words. He tips his head at the barstool next to him. "Now come here so your husband can show you his appreciation for all the sacrifices you've made."
My feet don't move. They can't. I'm stunned, and still a little confused about what exactly he's trying to say. It almost sounds like—
"Valerie." His tone is a little sharper. More commanding. "Come. Here. "
The urge to please him—to make him happy—carries me forward, my sandaled feet quiet as they move across the hardwood. I stop in front of him, because I'm not really sure what comes next. "Are you saying—"
Fynn’s hands grip the hem of my T-shirt, dragging it up over my face before I can finish asking my question. When it’s cleared my head and is falling to the floor he reaches for my bra. "I'm saying I'm not finished with you, wife." He unhooks the clasp and drops it at my feet. "I don't know that I will ever be done with you."
His long fingers move to the button of my cutoffs, barely pausing as his eyes hold mine. "Are you done with me?"
I shake my head, not wanting to give him any reason to stop whatever it is he's planning to do.
His lips curve into a knowing smirk. "I thought not." He leans in, nipping my lower lip as he undoes the fly and pushes my shorts to the ground, sending panties and all to my ankles. Then he lifts me up onto the barstool, detangling the denim and cotton from my ankles before flipping off my sandals and dropping to his knees. He grips me by the backs of my thighs, bringing my ass to the edge of the seat, sending me tipping back against the cushioned back. Then he hooks my knees over his shoulders and his mouth is on me, hot and wet and demanding.
My head is spinning. I feel like I've got whiplash, going from thinking Fynn was done with me and that I’d have to convince him otherwise, to realizing he's not done with me at all.
Not even close .
I'm so shocked I can't stop staring at him—at what he's doing. That means I witness every flick of his tongue. Every purse of his lips. The glide of his fingers as they slick over my flesh before sinking into my body. If I wasn't seeing it with my own eyes, I’d worry it might stop happening. Or that it might not be real.
But the orgasm that barrels down on me in record time is absolutely real and happens way too fast. Fynn’s barely started before I'm coming, gripping the edge of the seat as my body shudders and my thighs clamp tight. I grip his dark hair, holding on as I rock against his mouth, the sucking pulse of his lips around my clit dragging the orgasm out until I physically can’t take anymore and my body gives out, refusing to do anything but breathe.
It’s likely I’d roll right out of the chair if he didn't continue holding me as he stands up, keeping me balanced as he undoes the front of his pants. I’m completely boneless, but my eyes follow his every move as he pulls the hard line of his cock out and slides it through the wetness between my legs. He notches against me but doesn't push inside. Instead his gaze meets mine, focused and intense. "Tell me your mine, wife."
"I'm yours." It's an easy admission to make. It's possibly been true since that very first night at the bar. When I discovered Fynn was not at all what I believed.
"That's right." He grips my face with one hand, forcing my eyes to stay on his as he continues. "You are mine now and you will be mine tomorrow." He surges forward, sinking into me in one quick thrust. The sudden fullness is startling, but feels so good I think my eyes roll back in my head.
Which doesn’t make him happy.
“Eyes on me, wife.” His hand grips tighter on my chin as he leans into me, balancing his weight on the palm gripping the seat of the stool. "No one is going to take you from me. Understand?" His next thrust punctuates the question, hips connecting hard enough to bounce me against the cushion. "No one."
He sounds angry again, but it doesn't seem to be directed at me. It also seems to be fueling each hard spear of his body into mine, so for the first time in my life, I'm not opposed to a little anger.
Fynn’s face is so close to mine our noses brush as he shoves into me again. "Say it, wife. Say no one will take you from me."
There's a raggedness to the demand that has every bit of me clenching tight, eager for the next flex of his solid frame that will bring his body flush against mine. But I don’t want it nearly as much as I want to say my next words. "No one will take me from you."
I've never been wanted. Certainly never had someone desperate to keep me, and it's a heady feeling. Made more affecting because I feel the same way.
And I want to offer my husband the same gift he's giving me.
So I grab Fynn’s hair, holding him as tight as he holds me. "What about you, husband? Are you mine as well?"
Fynn’s nostrils flare, his body continuing to pound into mine, each stroke harder than the one before it. "You possess every fucking inch of me, Val."
That was a good answer. Way sexier than the ones I offered, but a girl can only do so much when she's being fucked within an inch of her life.
The hard line of his dick jerks inside me as I grip his hair tighter, caught up in a storm of pleasure and need and perfection. "Say no one will take you from me."
The thought has red creeping in at the edge of my vision, threatening to turn me into the kind of woman who punches heiresses in the nose.
Again.
But then Fynn’s mouth curves into a little smile, the hand at my face sliding down my center until his thumb is teasing against my clit as he leans into my ear. "No one would dare. They all know I'm madly in love with my perfect wife."
I know I'm not perfect, but hearing him say I am sends me over the edge, clinging to him as he pushes into me one last time, hard and fast, bottoming out with a low growl as the heat of his release pulses inside me. The sensation is unexpectedly erotic and sets off another rush of pleasure that feels an awful lot like I just came again.
My ears are still ringing and my body still won’t cooperate when Fynn straightens, hooking one arm around my back before hefting me up off the chair, his cock still impaling me as he turns. I try to hold on to the best of my ability, but I don't have much left in me at this point. Between crying for nearly an hour before my attempt at leaving Helena’s penthouse, and the three orgasms her son just gave me, I’m having a hard time keeping my eyes open, let alone helping support my weight.
Luckily, Fynn’s hold on me is tight. Firm enough that I'm not worried even when he starts to shift from foot to foot as his pants fall down. He barely pauses to kick them to one side before continuing on. We’re about to turn into the hall when something catches my eye. "Wait." I point at the island, realizing I was so distracted when we first came in that I missed something.
Something big.
"Those flowers are new."
The arrangement sitting in the center of the counter is just as big and just as gorgeous as the one I carried across town, but instead of roses and peonies, this one is a collection of pink and white and almost green looking hydrangeas. The colors are bright and feminine, and gorgeous.
"Of course those are new flowers. The other ones were beginning to wilt." He continues walking, carrying me down the hall.
I peek at his face, trying to read his expression. "Do you always have flowers here?"
"Those aren’t my flowers, Darling. They're yours." Fynn enters his bedroom, reaching into the bathroom to drag a towel from the rack before crawling onto the bed, sliding the fluffy terry cloth under my ass before finally pulling his body from mine. “And if you want something different next week, all you have to do is call Arny.”
I give him a sleepy smile, the exhaustion I’ve been fighting for—hell, probably my whole life—catching up to me all at once. “You don’t have to get me flowers every week.”
Fynn stretches out beside me, tucking my body against his. “Considering you were about to walk out on me less than an hour ago, I’d say I need to do much more than get you flowers each week.”
“I thought—”
“Shh.” He pulls the blankets over us. “We have plenty of time to argue over how wrong your assumptions were, wife.” His long fingers slide through my hair, petting me with a gentle touch. “Now go to sleep.”