21. Brady
Brady
I knew she’d succumb. I also knew it would be incredible.
But fuck me that was the most mind-blowing sex I’ve ever had.
I know it was for her too. The way she came on my cock, her pussy so goddamn tight. I know without a doubt she’s never had a cock like mine.
After the best fuck of my life, I go to my room to collect myself. Put on pants, splash cold water on my face. I opt against taking a shower. I love my wife’s scent on me.
I leave my bedroom door open, just in case. I know it’s wishful thinking. And yet, when I get out of the bathroom, Cora’s standing in my room. My heart rate increases at the sight of her.
Her long hair is damp, the smooth chocolate of it now black wavy tendrils. She’s wearing nothing but an oversized dark blue T-shirt as she studies my favorite painting on the wall. It’s a Teskey seascape of the Irish coast. The rugged blues match the loose shirt above my wife’s bare, shapely legs.
It takes me a moment to realize she’s wearing my shirt. An undershirt, really. She must’ve picked it up from the kitchen floor.
“I can get you a clean shirt, you know.” I stride over to my closet.
I’ve got no shirt on, only black sweatpants. The way she turns to track my body across the room makes me proud. All those hours in the gym have been worth it.
“That would defeat the point,” she says.
She presses her nose into the fabric of my shirt and breathes deep, emitting that little moan of hers. The sight of her enjoying my scent drives me wild. I give up on the closet and stride over to her.
Cora yelps in surprise when I pick her up, gripping her by her perfect ass. She clings to my bare torso, and I carry her to bed. When I throw her down onto it, she looks up at me with greedy expectation.
This time, I’m able to take my time with her. She comes twice on my tongue, then I fuck her with my cock. Like a good girl, she begs for it. As I push myself inside her, she wraps her legs around my waist. Like she can’t get enough of me.
“I knew you would beg for my cock,” I tell her. Her pussy grips me tighter in response. Seconds later, she moans for me to come inside her again.
This time, I tell her not to clean up. She agrees, but then heads for the bathroom anyway, leaving the door open. I take a moment to catch my breath.
But if she’s directly defying me again, I’d like to know about it.
I follow her to the bathroom and lean in the doorway. She’s bent over the counter, her face close to the mirror. She’s put my T-shirt back on, which is a great look for her. She’s also got my come leaking down the inside of her leg, which is even better.
I see her grimace in the mirror. She appears to be inspecting her eyes. Must be an eye doctor thing. Check your eyes before you go to bed.
The realization slams into my gut. She’s checking her pupils for dilation. Concussion protocol. That fucking bastard of Seven’s must’ve hit her in the head.
All because I failed to protect her.
I walk away. I get the penlight from its utility drawer and take a deep breath. When I return to Cora, she’s still trying to get a good look at her pupils. But you can’t examine your own eyes.
I go to her and touch her shoulder, gently turning her around. She’s confused at first. Then I show her the penlight, and she nods in understanding. Good. My throat is too thick for me to speak right now.
I hold her pointed chin between my thumb and forefinger. She looks up at me with trust.
Trust I don’t deserve.
The heaviness of guilt slogs through me as I click the light on. Both her pupils respond, and they’re both the same size. But I don’t allow myself to feel relief. I click off the penlight and hold it up between us. Her eyes follow it correctly as I move it back and forth, farther, closer.
When I drop the light to my side, her eyes focus on me. This close, the dark blue rings around her irises look so deep I could drown in them. I want to.
“All good,” I say. But it’s not all good. I try to swallow, but my throat’s too dry. “Sleep in your own bed tonight,” I tell her. I need to spend the night alone and miserable. It’s what I deserve for failing her.
Cora’s reddened lips fall open in shock, but she recovers quickly. With an offended glare, she clenches her jaw shut, turns on her heel, and marches out of my room.
* * *
“Did you sleep well?” I ask casually over the breakfast table. I spent half the night wracked with guilt, then got a fucking grip. Guilt is a weakness. I let my wife get hurt, but I’ll never let that happen again. Lesson learned. Moving on.
Don’t get soft on me, Brady.
I’m back to being my uncaring self, asking Cora insolent questions just to get a rise out of her. It’s working, because she’s narrowed her ice-blue eyes at me.
“No,” she says. “As a matter of fact, I did not.”
“Funny. I thought women usually slept well after the best fuck of their lives.”
She snorts at me. But instead of issuing a sharp retort, she starts peeling her banana.
“Fucks plural, I should say.”
“Are you that desperate for me to compliment your stamina?” She brings the banana to her mouth, but only parts her lips the slightest bit. With her eyes locked on mine, she pushes the banana into her mouth, forcing her own pouty lips wider.
Fuck me, it’s a good tactic. As was her choosing to wear my T-shirt this morning, with no visible shorts beneath.
Pretending that all the blood in my brain isn’t rushing to my cock right now, I lean back in my chair and lace my fingers behind my head.
I watch her delicate throat bob as she swallows.
“No compliments necessary,” I say. “I know my stamina’s impressive.”
“Men fail to realize that stamina doesn’t mean anything if it only lasts for one night. One night’s easy. If you truly want to be impressive, it’s the morning after that counts.”
She pushes the banana between her lips again, her eyes flashing with challenge. I reach over, yank the fruit from her mouth, and hurl it across the room. Challenge accepted.
I clear the breakfast table with a sweep of my arm. Plates crash to the floor, and the sound sparks something in Cora. She’s ready for me, hunger in her expression as I pull my T-shirt off her and toss it aside. I throw her onto the table the way I threw her onto the bed.
She cries out in pain.
Not the good kind.
I stop immediately.
“Fuck, what’s wrong?” I bend down, trying to examine her pupils again.
My blood goes cold. Cora’s eyes are shut tight, tears of pain leaking down the sides of her face.
“It’s nothing,” she whispers, clearly in agony.
“Liar. Tell me what’s wrong. That’s an order.”
Her eyes snap open, and she glares up at me. Although she doesn’t choose direct defiance this time, she doesn’t tell me what’s wrong.
She shows me.
My wife rolls onto her side, and I spit out every fucking curse I can think of. There’s a giant bruise on her back, mottled purple and horrific-looking. How the fuck did I miss that last night?
I think back. So that’s why she put my shirt on in the first place, to conceal the bruise in the middle of her back. It’s right on her spine, and I’m indescribably grateful the attack didn’t paralyze her. I feel awful and sick for how I worsened her pain. That I caused it in the first place.
Guilt is a weakness, I remind myself. Cora’s injury is that Vanleusen man’s doing, not mine.
That fucking bastard will suffer. As will Seven himself. I ought to sever his spine for what he did.
First, I need to take care of my wife.
Palms shaking with rage, I gather a towel full of ice from the kitchen. When I return to Cora, she’s standing at the window. She’s got my dark blue shirt back on as she looks down at the sidewalk where she was injured.
I want nothing more than to go straight to the pub’s basement. To torture that fuck until he passes out from the pain. But I can’t leave her now.
I stand behind my wife and hold the ice to her back.
I take a deep inhale to steady myself. I can’t tell if she’s wearing perfume, but her scent is complex, as multifaceted as she is.
It’s not quite floral, it’s deeper and darker.
A garden at midnight. It doesn’t fit with the morning light streaming down on us.
But it fits with the darkness that I know is inside her.
“Are you familiar with West Park’s industrial district?” Cora looks at me over her shoulder, and it takes me a second longer than it should to respond.
“Should I be?”
“I think Seven has a warehouse there. For cocaine at least but possibly other product as well.” She says it so casually. Now I’m seriously nonplussed.
“And you know this… how?” I can’t help sounding skeptical.
“I had lunch with Seven’s ex-girlfriend yesterday. Alcohol can be as useful as breaking fingers when it comes to getting information.”
“Seven’s ex?” I frown. “Oh, the hot blonde you were with all afternoon.”
My wife gives me a look.
“Finn’s words,” I say, and Cora rolls her eyes.
“So you’re not jealous?” she asks.
“Jealous? Should I be?”
“No.” She pats my arm condescendingly. “What Serena and I had was purely physical, and it was ages ago.”
“You and…” I blink rapidly as a video of my wife with a hot blonde plays in my mind. Cora on a red silk bed, the big-titted blonde crawling toward her, the two of them making out and fondling each other’s breasts.
Yes, I am jealous of that. Jealous I wasn’t there. I clear my throat and adjust my pants. Then Cora’s pouty lips slide into a sly grin. The sexy little liar.
“So what do you think?” she asks.
“That sounds really hot.” This earns me another eye roll.
“About the potential warehouse. Should we go check it out?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Excuse me?” She turns to fully face me and crosses her arms. I let the dripping ice pack fall to my side.
“Cora, you were severely injured in an attack from Seven last night. I’m not letting you put yourself in more danger by going to check out his warehouse.”
“It’s a bruise,” she says. “It’ll heal. It looks way worse than it is.” She sounds like me after every fight I’ve ever been in.
I admire her for it.
That, and the fact that she’s dug up potentially promising information.
Though she’s trying to play it cool, I can tell she’s excited about it.
She’s keeping it hidden in that puzzle box of hers, but I want to set that excitement free, see for myself what forms it can take.
My mind flashes again to Cora spread naked, hot and panting.
“I have an idea,” I say.