Chapter 23
23
Essie
Jack:
Mom wants you to come to dinner tonight.
Essie:
Brax too?
Jack:
Hang on, I’ll ask.
Yeah. According to Mom, spouses are a package deal.
Essie:
Great, my husband and his enormous package will be there. :)
Jack:
I hate you.
Maybe I’ll start dating one of your friends. See how you like it.
Essie:
You can try. One of them might take pity on you and lower her standards.
I was going to murder my husband and make myself a very happy widow.
My mom, who was aware that my marriage was a sham, sat at the head of the small rectangular dining table. My brother, who was aware that the marriage might be a sham, but its consummation was very real, sat at the foot. Brax and I occupied the chairs between them, facing each other. I wasn’t aware of much of anything at all except that Brax kept stroking his socked foot—Mom didn’t like shoes being worn inside—against mine.
And I couldn’t tell him to stop without informing my mom and my brother that he was doing it in the first place.
I was on edge.
Maybe because I kept having flashbacks to all the times we had sat exactly like this, minus Brax playing footsie with me, so many years ago. Brax had been a staple at our house from fifth grade on and generally ate dinner with us once or twice a week. It went both ways, with me and Jack sometimes staying at Lodestar Ranch for dinner and even spending the night. Looking back, I suspected Jenny, Brax’s mom, had done it purposefully to give my mom a break.
Or maybe because Brax kept acting like he was my goddamn husband or something.
He kept his hand on my lower back when we entered the room together. He pulled out my chair so I could sit down. He was entirely too solicitous to my mother.
Okay, maybe that was just because Mom and Brax had always gotten along well. But still. It was annoying.
“Essie, how about you help me clear the salad plates?” Mom suggested. “Brax, will you pull the Guiness pie from the oven? Jack, there’s a bottle of red in the cupboard. Could you open it, please?”
We all got to our feet. I stacked the four salad plates and brought them to the sink, where I gave them a quick rinse and put them in the dishwasher. With Jack taking a corkscrew to the red wine, I pulled down four glasses and four dinner plates.
“Let me help you,” Brax said, setting the Guiness pie down on a potholder in the center of the table.
“I’ve got it.” I clustered the four glasses on top of the stack of plates. It was a little wobbly, but if I balanced the stack on one forearm, I could?—
Brax swept the glasses up by their stems, two in each of his large hands, and dropped a kiss on the top of my head.
I scowled. “What are you doing? Everyone in this room knows our marriage is fake.”
“Practice.” He smirked and did it again. “No one is going to believe it’s real if you keep glowering like that every time I touch you.”
Not every time .
I could think of some very specific times when I did not glower at his touch, and unfortunately, I thought of those times right now.
I shifted, squeezing my thighs together, and my gaze dropped to his mouth.
His beautiful, smirking mouth.
He leaned forward, his lips brushing my ear as he whispered so lowly that only I could hear, “You’re wet right now, aren’t you, hellion?”
Smug bastard.
I pushed past him with a growl. It would have felt good to drop the stack of plates right on his feet, but I didn’t do that. I set a plate in front of each chair. Gently, so he would know he hadn’t affected me.
He grinned. I wasn’t fooling him at all. And from the way Jack’s lips flattened into a grim line, I doubted I was fooling anyone else, either.
“Isn’t this nice?” Mom beamed as she served us each a fat wedge of Guiness pie. “Just like old times.”
My gaze collided with Brax’s like it was pulled there by a magnet. And the look on his face. I sucked in a sharp breath. Hunger and heat and something that edged unbearably close to wistfulness.
“Yeah, just like old times,” Jack said, and there was something in his tone that pricked my attention. “Isn’t that right, Brax?”
My gaze volleyed between my brother and my fake husband, but whatever Brax felt was hidden behind a bland smile.
“I wouldn’t say exactly like old times,” Brax said. “Some of us are going gray.”
Since there wasn’t a single thread of silver on Brax’s dark head, and my mom was a box-dye devotee, it was obvious who his remark was intended for.
“Braxton,” Mom scolded. “You boys are always ribbing each other. Pay him no mind, Jack. It looks distinguished on you. Essie, how are things at the ranch? Any special new clients you’re excited about?”
“Oh. Um.” I swallowed a bite of pie and took a hasty sip of wine, then wiped my mouth. Brax was back to rubbing his foot against mine under the table and I shot him a narrowed-eye glance. “I’m not training horses right now. All my time at Lodestar is focused on getting Pirate and me ready for the Futurity.”
Mom frowned. “What do you mean? A horse can’t train eight hours a day. Couldn’t you fit in a client or two?”
“I resigned from the apprenticeship. The rules don’t allow current training activities of any kind for non-pro competitors. So.” I shoveled a bit of pie into my mouth, hoping that would be the end of it.
Of course it wasn’t.
“Oh, Essie, I don’t like that. What are you doing for money?” Mom asked, setting down her fork to give me her full attention.
“I have savings. I’m still not paying rent, thanks to my sugar daddy over here.” I jerked my head in Brax’s direction. “As soon as the competition is over, I’ll be back to work— real work, not just an apprenticeship. James wants to hire me as a full-time trainer.”
“But James is coaching you and Pirate for the competition, isn’t she? Don’t you have to pay her for that? I can’t imagine she comes cheap.”
“I get the family discount for Pirate’s board and training,” Brax cut in. “Once he’s bringing in stud fees, Lodestar will get a cut of that. It all evens out in the end.”
“And I’m helping out with ranch chores, since I have some extra time on my hands,” I said. “So James is coaching me free of charge.”
Mom shook her head. “I still don’t like it.”
“Good news, Mom. You don’t have to like it.” I kept my tone breezy despite my increasing annoyance. “I’m doing it, and I’m fine.”
“I know, honey. But I want you to be better than fine. You worked so hard to get to the top of your sport. I don’t understand why you threw it all away.”
I took a sip of wine, not trusting myself to speak.
“She didn’t throw anything away, Mrs. Price,” Brax said with quiet firmness. “All the talent and skill she honed for the last twenty years? She still has that. She took it with her and she’s using it now. She and Pirate have a real shot at taking home the championship this November. And that’s going to launch her into a career that she’s passionate about. I’d say that’s better than fine.”
The tension was thick. I washed down the sudden ache in my throat with a long swallow of wine. Brax had stood up for me? He hadn’t approved of a single decision I’d made since the day he almost died. Or so I had thought.
Was I wrong about that?
“Brax,” Mom said, and I felt his leg stiffen against mine. Her expression was so soft as she looked at him. “I told you to call me Cat.”
Brax relaxed. “I’ll try to remember that.”
The smile she gave him was full of affection. “People are going to think it’s weird if you call me Mrs. Price. I’m your mother-in-law.”
“For now, anyway,” Jack said, his smile just as wide as Mom’s but not as nice, somehow.
Something was definitely going on between them.
Brax was still nudging my foot with his when he smirked at Jack. I wondered if he would look so calm and smug if I teased him a little.
I decided to find out.
I ran my foot up the inside of his calf.
He looked at me across the table, one dark eyebrow raised.
I took a sip of wine. “When do you have to go back, Jack? How long do we have you?” My toes rubbed Brax’s inner thigh, and he coughed.
“Another four days,” Jack said. “But I’ll be home again for Christmas.”
“Oh, that will be nice,” Mom said. “We missed you last year.”
“National security doesn’t believe in holidays.” Jack laughed like it was a joke, but there was a weary edge to his voice. Maybe tomorrow I’d convince him to spend the day with me. Take a trail ride or something.
But right now I had a husband to torture.
I wedged the ball of my foot against Brax’s bulge. His eyes narrowed on me as he finished his last bit of pie and then he smiled at my mother. “This is excellent, Cat. Thanks for cooking.”
“Anything to get out of dishes,” Mom said brightly. “That was an offer, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, ma’am—” Brax broke off in a moan that he quickly covered with a coughing fit as I wiggled my toes.
I was all concern. “Are you okay, dear? ”
The look he gave me was downright murderous. “Wonderful,” he clipped.
Jack stood and started gathering the empty dishes. “I’ll help clean up.”
It took a moment longer and a few deep breaths before Brax slowly got to his feet.
“You’ll pay for that, hellion,” he warned quietly, as he joined me at the sink.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said blithely. “I am a perfect lady.”
With the dishes done, Mom asked Brax and Jack to bring in some firewood and I took the opportunity to use the bathroom. After doing my business and washing my hands, I opened the door only to be greeted by Brax’s scowling face.
“What are you—” That was as far as I got before he put a hand to my belly and nudged me back into the cramped bathroom, kicking the door shut behind us and locking it. “Brax!”
“Take a good look at yourself, hellion.” He turned me by the shoulders to face the mirror over the sink. “Does that look like the face of a perfect lady?”
I smiled sweetly at our reflection. “It sure does.”
“Really? Because I think it’s the face of a brat.” Behind me, his eyes on mine in the mirror, he traced the line of my jaw with his thumb. “You know what happens to brats, don’t you?”
I could barely think straight with his voice rumbling in my ear and his dick hardening against my ass. “What?” I asked.
“They get exactly what they deserve.”
Dear god, I hope so .
My breath stuttered as he flicked open the snap of my jeans and pulled down the zipper with excruciating slowness. I spasmed as he dragged a finger across my lower belly, following the elastic of my underwear.
“I wonder if you’re wet,” he mused. “You were so mean to me at dinner.”
He didn’t wait for me to answer, which was a good thing because I couldn’t formulate coherent sounds at the moment. His hand slipped into my underwear, his middle finger followed my seam to my entrance, and with no hesitation at all, he pushed inside.
“Wet. I fucking knew it.” He sounded almost angry about it and he slipped his finger out again, painting my clit with my wetness. “You get so wet when you’re mean, hellion.”
My head fell back against his chest on a soft moan.
“Quiet.” While one hand played with my pussy, his other wrapped around the base of my throat. He squeezed gently. “I had to sit there at the dinner table with you playing footsie with my dick. I had to make polite conversation .”
I whimpered and he squeezed again, less gently this time.
“Not a damn sound, hellion,” he growled .
I licked my lips, my gaze locked on his in the mirror, and nodded.
His hand cupped my pussy and this time, two fingers slid in. It was a tight fit with my thighs pressed together. I tried to widen my stance but he stopped me. He slowly pumped his fingers in and out. My hips bucked, urging him to move faster, but he refused to be rushed.
“God, you’re soaked.” He groaned when my inner muscles contracted around his talented fingers. “And you’re so close. You want to come so badly, don’t you, Essie?”
My lips parted, but he squeezed my throat again. At the reminder, I merely nodded.
He stared at me in the mirror, his eyes darkening as his gaze flicked from my eyes to my damp mouth to my chest, rising and falling with each heavy breath. “Should I let you come? Or should I leave you like this, the way you left me? Aching and frustrated.”
My eyes widened as I realized what he thought I deserved and what I thought I deserved might be two very different things.
My hand grabbed his at my throat. I dug my nails in. Our gazes collided in the mirror, his feral, mine desperate. A muscle ticked in his jaw.
“I should leave you like this. But I love to watch you come, and maybe that’s what I deserve,” he said roughly.
His fingers pumped faster. My eyes closed as the pleasure built .
“Eyes open, Essie,” he commanded. “Look at us.”
He ground the heel of his palm against my clit and sent me flying. My eyes flew open, my fingers digging into his hand on my throat, as waves of pleasure rocked my hips into his hand again and again.
“That’s it, honey,” he husked, his mouth against my temple. “Just like that. Look how pretty you are when you come.”
When the spasms subsided, he gently pulled his hand from my underwear and stepped around me. I slumped against the wall, panting, my jeans still undone, watching through heavy lidded eyes as he washed his hands and dried them on the towel.
He was smirking when he turned to me. “You feeling okay, dear?”
I made an incoherent sound.
He chuckled softly and squatted down so he was eye-level with my belly button. Gently, he tugged up my zipper and fastened the snap. Then he leaned forward and kissed me there, taking a deep breath.
“Come on, then,” he said, straightening again. “I can still smell you and it’s making me hungry for dessert.”