Thirty-Two
Aspen
“Jeez! He’s good at this,” I think as I wake in the night to Kaiden’s talented tongue flicking over my aching clit.
Seems like my sexy husband is trying to make up for lost time.
Not that I’m complaining.
My back arches off the mattress as pleasure spirals through me, my fingers tangling in the sheets.
In the dim moonlight filtering through the curtains, I can barely make out Kaiden’s dark head between my thighs, but I feel every skilled stroke of his tongue, every teasing kiss, every deliberate suck that has me climbing toward the edge again.
“You’re awake,” he murmurs against my sensitive flesh, and the vibration sends sparks shooting up my spine.
“Hard not to be when you’re - oh God…” The words dissolve into a moan as he seals his lips around my clit and suckles.
He chuckles, the bastard, clearly pleased with himself. And why wouldn’t he be? This is nothing like our fumbling teenage encounters. Those were eager and enthusiastic but ultimately clumsy. This? This is a man who’s learned exactly how to take a woman apart with his mouth.
The thought crashes through my pleasure-fogged brain like ice water. Where did he learn this? Who taught him?
His fingers slide inside me, curling in just the right spot, and I lose the thread of my thoughts as my body clenches around him. But even as pleasure builds, questions linger at the edges of my consciousness,
“Kaiden,” I gasp, tugging at his hair as my climax crashes into me. I tip over, and immediately he’s there, his thick length plunging into my yielding softness in a way I know will have me feeling him for days.
Digging my heels into his glutes, I match him thrust for thrust, willfully dragging him over the edge with me.
As I drift back down, my previous thoughts intrude into my lingering bliss, tainting the moment and refusing to be ignored.
I lay there beneath him, our bodies still connected, and despite my best efforts, jealousy is a vicious mistress, and I can’t stop the words from tumbling out. “How many?”
Kaiden stills, his breathing ragged against my neck. “What?”
He sounds genuinely confused as he raises his head to look at me, a question in his eyes.
“Women.” I force myself to meet his eyes even though part of me doesn’t want to know. “How many were there? Because your, umm… skills have sure as hell improved since we were last together.”
He pulls back slightly, apprehension flickering across his features. His jaw tightens. “Do you really want to know?”
“Yes.” My voice comes out sharper than I intend. “I do,” I reply before I can think better of it.
He withdraws completely, and I immediately feel the loss of him. The cool air hits my overheated skin as he rolls onto his back beside me, one arm thrown over his eyes. The silence stretches between us, heavy with things I’m not sure I want to hear.
“One,” he finally says, his voice flat. “There’s only been one other.”
One!? Really? Only one?
My mind is reeling, and I really don’t know if that particular figure makes it better or worse. My thoughts immediately begin spinning out of control as I try to make sense of his response.
Honestly, I was expecting him to say dozens. More. Or tell me there were so many he’s lost count. Random hookups that I could rationalize away because I would know they meant nothing.
But one. Singular…
That has an altogether different connotation. One that implies something deeper. Someone who meant something to him. One woman who knew him. One woman he came back to.
One woman who may have gotten to enjoy my husband for longer than I ever did.
One woman who was not me.
I turn my head to look at him, studying the hard line of his jaw, the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. Jealousy burns through my veins like a tidal force of vile poison, irrational and consuming.
Do I have any right to feel this way? He is my husband after all, and despite not knowing if he’d ever return, I’ve stayed faithful to him.
Admittedly, more through lack of opportunity and interest than true fidelity. Still, there’s nothing logical about the way I feel right now.
“Who was she?” The question comes out strangled, my throat tight with an emotion I have no right to feel but can’t seem to shake.
Kaiden doesn’t move, doesn’t drop his arm from his eyes. “Don’t do this to yourself, Aspen,” he implores, his voice thick with unease.
“I want to know,” I say stubbornly, even though I know it will hurt.
Maybe because of that.
Sitting up, so he knows I won’t back down, I pull the sheet around myself. The fabric feels inadequate, like it can’t possibly shield me from what I’m about to hear.
Kaiden moves his arm from over his face and sighs. “Her name is Kitty. She works for La Cosa Nostra.”
Present tense.
Everything inside me stills. I think it’s a reflex action to defend against the sensation that all the fragile parts of me are set to shatter. Like if I can remain motionless enough, they might not fragment.
The word echoes in my head on repeat. Is. Not was. Is.
She’s still there. Still in his life. Still in the place where he lives and works.
“How long?” The question scrapes out of my throat with the consistency of gravel.
Kaiden sits up, running a hand through his hair, a gesture I recognize as one he makes when he’s uncomfortable. When he doesn’t want to answer but knows he has to.
“It’s not like that with us,” he starts, and he was right. I’m not sure I want to hear this, after all. But I insisted, and I can’t exactly un-ask the question now, so I’ll just have to tough it out and pretend like it doesn’t bother me.
“She’s just a hook-up. Someone I visit to scratch an itch.”
“Are you… friends?” I don’t know why I ask that. Maybe because sometimes, friendship can be more intimate than sex. Maybe because the idea of him having someone to confide in, to share his day with, to laugh with, feels like more of a betrayal than physical release.
“I… yes,” he admits, and my heart drops like a stone.
Of course they’re friends. They work together. See each other regularly. Share the same world of secrets and shadows that I’ve never been part of. That I’ve actively avoided.
“How long has this been going on?” I ask again, needing specifics. “When did it start?”
Kaiden flinches. It’s slight and might have gone unnoticed if I hadn’t been watching him so closely. He shakes his head. “That’s enough, Aspen. Nothing productive can come of this line of questioning. It won’t help us move forward.”
He’s quick to shut me down, and that just makes me more suspicious. What isn’t he telling me? Are they still together?
As if he can sense my thoughts, he’s equally quick to allay my burgeoning fears.
“All you need to know is that she’s never meant what you do to me.”
Is that an odd way to phrase things?
“We were never a couple. We were never in a relationship. It was sex; nothing more.”
Sex and friendship, I think, although I don’t say it. It would reveal too much vulnerability, and I’m already feeling fragile enough.
But regardless of his assertions, it feels like there’s more to their relationship than Kaiden is admitting.
I make a mental note to find out why that is.