15. Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Fifteen
Pancakes, Croix + Complications
Aspen
Three months ago
My eyes aren’t open, but I can feel the morning light as it filters through my sheer curtains.
It casts a soft, golden glow over the tangled sheets.
I wake up with a smile so wide it actually hurts my cheeks.
My skin still feels sensitized, buzzing with the afterglow of a night that felt less like a first time and more like a homecoming.
I try to shift, reaching for the edge of the bed to find my bearings, but I’m pinned. Luca’s arm is a heavy, warm band of muscle across my waist, and his chest is a solid wall against my back. He’s massive, taking up three-quarters of my mattress and making me feel tiny in the best way possible.
I wouldn't call myself especially experienced when it comes to sex. I didn’t lose my virginity until my sophomore year of college, and since then, I’ve only had two other serious boyfriends.
I tried the one night stand thing twice and decided it wasn’t for me.
And since I haven't exactly had an adventurous track record, I have no idea how to describe this first time making love to my husband.
He keeps saying he wants to take things slow, but every time he gets near me, he reveals a side of himself that makes me feel like I married a sex demon.
But I like it.
I wiggle my hips, trying to slide out from under him, but he just grunts and pulls me tighter, burying his face in the crook of my neck.
“Luca,” I huff, half-laughing as his stubble tickles my skin. “I have to pee!”
“No,” he rumbles, his voice thick with sleep and that raspy British lilt.
“I’m serious! I have to pee!” I scream-whisper.
He lets out a low, vibrating laugh and finally loosens his grip just enough for me to scramble out of bed. I put on my grey T-shirt and practically bolt to the bathroom, catching my reflection in the mirror as I shut the door.
I look...worked over. In a good way. Since I went to sleep without my bonnet, my hair is a complete disaster.
My lips are swollen and bruised from his kisses, and a faint dusting of whisker burn marks my collarbone.
And maybe my inner thigh. I lean against the sink, my thoughts starting to spiral.
I’m married. I’m actually, legally married to a man I barely know, yet I know exactly how he tastes and how he rasps my name when he’s losing control.
My mother would be lighting a prayer candle for my soul if she knew I’d spent the night serving as a culinary “masterpiece” on a kitchen island.
But I can’t help the grin that spreads across my face whenever I think about the way he called me Ms. Mysterious as he wrapped his hand around my ponytail, and pushed his dick all the way down my throat.
The man is too much for words.
When I walk back into the bedroom, the playful mood has shifted slightly. Luca is sitting up against the headboard, the duvet bunched at his hips, frowning at his phone.
“The world is calling?” I ask softly, remembering that my husband is a big deal.
“Agent, a photoshoot, and some school charity event Tatum’s roped me into,” he sighs, tossing the phone onto the nightstand.
The mention of his life—his real life—brings the heavy truth crashing back in. I sit next to him on the edge of the bed, my voice dropping. “We should talk about Croix, Luca. We need to figure out—”
He reaches out, his massive hands framing my face and effectively silencing me. He leans in to kiss me deeply with a slow, lingering heat that makes my brain power down for a second.
What was I saying again?
“Slow down, wife,” he whispers against my lips. “Can we just have the morning? Can we just be here for a second before we dive into Croix and complications?”
I look into his eyes and nod. I want that too. I want to pretend the rest of the world doesn't exist for just one hour more.
“Okay,” I breathe. “Hungry?”
“Starving. But for actual food this time,” he says, his thumb tracing my jawline. “Are you going to make me breakfast in bed?”
“Oh, goodness, no.”
He frowns, playfully. “My wife doesn’t cook?”
“Your wife has weak legs and deserves a break,” I laugh, leaning into his touch. “I’ll cook when you haven’t had me up all night in an unknown number of positions.”
“I’m still not done with you,” he warns, and I believe him. The man is absolutely insatiable.
“Yeah, we’re going to have to talk more about your proclivities, Mr. Chidubem. Something tells me you’re hiding a lot more than whipped cream kinks.”
He grins, then gives me a slow, knowing wink. “You know me so well already. You’ve clearly been internet stalking me.”
I roll my eyes. Because I have. “Whatever. Nana Shirley’s Small Cakes has the best pancakes and French toast in the city. I’ll order delivery from there.”
While we wait for the food, the space between us fills with everything we’ve missed or didn’t know.
I lie in his arms, curled into the solid warmth of his chest, as we trade stories of our lives and histories.
It feels as though we’re simply picking up where we left off in another lifetime.
Our rhythm always so effortless and natural it makes my throat tight with unshed tears.
“Who was your first love?” I ask.
“Rose McGarrity. Twelve years old,” he answers instantly.
“That rolled off your tongue mighty fast.”
He laughs, the sound vibrating through his chest and into mine. “I mean, come on! Who forgets their first love? What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Who was your first love?”
“I’m not sure I’ve ever been in love,” I admit. “Not for real. Not the kind you read about.”
“How old are you? How is that possible?”
“Thirty four and it's possible. Trust me. Growing up, whenever I got too close to a boy, my mother would always say I didn't know anything about love. And as I got older, seeing what other women have suffered through in the name of it, I realize she must have been right. I’ve always refused to settle just to force feeling like I have something with someone. If that’s what love is, I don’t want it. ”
“That’s sad,” he observes quietly.
“Why do you say that?”
“I mean, not the forcing love part. The the fact that you won’t even give it a shot for real.
Because who cares if it has problems or ups and downs?
That’s the point,” he says, his tone intensifying.
“You indulge to learn. You find pieces of yourself in experiences and places you never would’ve reached without that person.
You’re closing yourself off to so much possibility by intentionally avoiding it all the time. ”
“You’re beginning to sound dangerously like a hopeless romantic, Chillmonger.”
He kisses the top of my head. “I’m beginning to fall dangerously in love with my wife.”
The confession hits me like a physical wave, and I have to bite my lip to keep from letting out a full-on, girly squeal.
Then, Luca grows quiet. “What the fuck are we going to do, Aspen?”
“How do you think he’ll take it? Clearly, you’ve known him longer than I have. And probably more intimately, if we’re being honest.”
“Easy,” he warns.
I snort. “Okay. Sorry.”
“He’s going to be crushed. When we were younger, a classmate basically stole his girlfriend. It’s why he’s so weird about introducing women to teammates or anyone else. So—”
“This will crush him,” I say, finishing his sentence for him.
“In the worst way.” he confirms. “And then there’s my family.”
I shake my head. “Don’t even get me started on families.”
“My family has such high expectations for their firstborn son. The fact that I’m not a doctor is already insulting enough. But being on a reality show like this? It will be shameful to them.”
“Even if you’re in love?” I ask. Like a young girl hoping the boy she has a crush on likes her back.
“They would prefer it if love didn’t cause such a spectacle or get in the way of my career.”
“I understand. And I don't want to pressure you,” I say, reaching for his hand. I mean it, even if every instinct in me is screaming that I’ve just been reintroduced to my forever. “I know this is a mess, and no matter how good this feels—”
He looks at me with an intensity that steals both my breath and my words. “It’s a beautiful mess, Aspen.”
My phone buzzes on the nightstand, and I grab it to check the notification. “The food order has been picked up. It'll be here in twenty-five minutes.”
“Great. I’m going to shower before it arrives, if you don’t mind?”
He slides out of bed. He’s completely unashamed of his nakedness. And honestly, I wouldn’t be either if I looked like that. I certainly wouldn’t be if I were hung like that.
“Is that just the morning?” I ask, my eyes widening at the tree trunk that is my husband’s penis.
He flashes a grin, glancing down and then back at me. “That’s just…me.”
The tension breaks, shifting into a different kind of heat and I realize I’m not done with him yet, either. “Are you… can I…”
“Join me,” he supplies, his voice dropping an octave. “Shower with me. Please.”
Hell yeah, I will!
I follow him into the bathroom, watching the way he moves through my space as if he’s been here before. Where Croix hasn’t even seen.
He warms the water to perfect temperature before inviting me in to join him.
When we actually get into the shower, reality hits.
My bathroom is designed for a standard human woman, not a six-foot-plus professional athlete with shoulders that seem to span the entire stall.
It’s immediately, hilariously awkward. He’s ducking to avoid the showerhead while I’m pressed against the cold tile, trying to find a stray drop of warm water.
“Move your big ass over!” I laugh, shoving him to the side.
“I’m trying, but I’m literally hitting the ceiling,” he grunts, attempting to tuck his massive frame into the corner.