Chapter 3 Mission Brief Wifey Retrieval Arc
KADE
Her voice is softer than before. Lower. Her guard’s down, at least a little, and my chest tightens.
I let it sink into me. Fuck, her voice. It’s not the careful, controlled tone she uses when she’s trying to keep people at a distance, nor is it the sharp edge she throws up when she’s uncomfortable.
This is the voice she used to use with me when it was late and we were alone and the rest of the world didn’t fucking matter.
Eight years. Eight fucking years since I heard her talk to me like this.
I’d forgotten what it felt like. Or maybe I just convinced myself I had.
Either way, I was wrong. It hits me the same way it always did, low in my gut, spreading out until I can feel it in my fingertips.
It makes me want to do stupid things, and I’ve been trying to bury the memory for eight years. But tonight I’m unearthing it all.
“You’re going to be my good girl,” I murmur, letting my voice dip the way I know she likes it.
She exhales, a sound that tells me she’s settling in, letting me guide her without resistance.
She likes to act like she’s in control, but in moments that matter, when it’s just her and a voice in the dark, she’s easy to lead. Always was.
“Close your eyes, baby doll. Let me paint a picture for you.” I simmer my voice to just above a whisper. “It’s late. You’re in bed, sheets soft against your skin. You should be sleeping, but you can’t. Not when you know I’m near. Not when you know what I’m going to do to you.”
Her breath hitches, so soft I barely catch it, but it’s there. Just like I did on the silk sheets in that Vegas hotel room, with her hair spread across the pillow like spun gold, those pink heels wrapped around me, spurring me on like she wanted everything I could give her and more.
“You feel my weight pressing you down. My hands in your hair, my mouth at your ear, whispering just for you.”
She makes a sound, barely audible, because it’s just for me. She’s falling, giving in to me, to this. If only she knew who was on the other end of this call.
“Tell me what you want, Amanda.”
She lets out a breathless laugh, all soft around the edges. “You’re the one telling the story.”
“I know. But I like hearing you say it.” My voice drops, rougher and hungrier than before.
She doesn’t answer right away. I let the silence stretch, let her fight it. I know how she works—she wants to resist just to prove she can, but it won’t last. It never does. She’s my same Amanda, still playing games, still making me work for it.
“You want me to say it?” Her own voice is lower and needy now.
“Yeah, baby doll. Say it.”
Another pause, heavier, tighter. Then—
“I want you to touch me.”
A groan hums at the back of my throat, deep and low, meant just for her. Christ, I’ve missed this.
“Where do you want me to touch you?” I ask, keeping my voice steady even though every part of me wants to break.
“Everywhere,” she finally exhales.
There it is. “Start with your hands, baby doll. Run them down your body for me.”
I hear her breath catch, and I know she’s doing it. Following my instructions like she used to.
“Good girl. Now tell me where you want my mouth.”
A breath. Then, softly: “My neck.”
Fuck. My cock throbs at the memory. The way she used to arch into me when I licked just below her ear, like she was made for it. For me.
“That spot just under your ear?” I ask, voice darker now. “The one that makes you melt? Touch it. Pretend it’s my mouth there. My tongue. Dragging slow.”
She makes the sound I’ve missed—half moan, half breathless ache.
“Slide that hand lower,” I order. “Trace where I’d go next. Over your collarbone. Between your tits. Play with them. Slowly. I want you gasping before I even get my mouth on you.”
“Chad,” she breathes, and I almost lose it. My jaw clenches. My name isn’t fucking Chad. But I can’t correct her. Not yet. Not until I have her completely. Not until she realizes it’s me making her fall apart.
“That’s it. Keep going, baby. Touch yourself the way I would. Don’t rush. Make it good.”
“How would you touch me?” she whispers.
“I’d tease,” I say, voice strained with restraint. “Slide my hands over every inch of you. Worship your body with my mouth, until you’re shaking. Until you’re dripping for me.”
A soft gasp.
“You touching yourself?”
“Yes,” she moans.
My cock twitches. My fist clenches.
“Good. Now, imagine my hands replacing yours. My mouth tasting you. Licking you open. Sucking that pretty clit until your thighs are trembling and you’re begging.”
She whimpers, hips clearly moving now. My girl’s needy. Wet. Close.
“Tell me what you want,” I rasp.
“More. Please, more.”
God, her voice. Her desperation.
“Then take it,” I growl. “Fuck yourself for me. Let me hear you fall apart.”
“Chad!” she cries again, right as she comes.
And it breaks me.
I press my forehead to the desk, panting. Furious. Turned on. Shattered.
She’s moaning his name, but it’s me she’s coming for. And one day soon, she’ll know. She’ll say the right name. And when she does? She’ll scream it.
For a moment, it’s like nothing has changed. Like she’s right here with me. Like she’s still mine.
She is still mine. Always will be.
Then, just as quickly, it’s gone.
She exhales, lets out a little laugh. “Okay, that was fun. Nice to meet you, Chad. Good night.”
I keep my voice even. “Sweet dreams, baby doll.”
The line clicks dead. I stare at my phone, grip too tight, breath coming too sharp. She’s already gone, slipping back into her life like nothing happened. Like I’m not still here, still reeling, still wanting.
I drop the phone onto the desk and lean back in my chair, exhaling the pent-up emotions from that call. Eight years of this shit. Eight years of watching from the shadows, of knowing exactly where she is every second of every day, of wanting to walk up to her door and tell her everything.
Tell her I’m sorry. Tell her I love her. Tell her I never wanted to leave.
But I can’t. Not yet.
I pull up my calendar. The mission brief stares back at me from two days out.
Two days, and this last mission will be done.
Then I’m out, free, living a normal life—whatever the hell that means.
Two more days of this bullshit, of lying, of watching her from a distance, of pretending I don’t want to burn down everything that keeps us apart.
Two days, and the last man who threatened her will be dead at my hands. Then I can finally tell her the truth about why I left. Then I get my wife back, and this time, I’m keeping her.
Forever.