22. Sutton
Chapter twenty-two
Sutton
This bed and these sheets are super comfortable, although it is a little warm. That’s the first thought that filters through my head as I wake up after one of the best night’s sleep I’ve had in a long time.
I go to stretch my arms but realize I can’t because …
Oh, shit. I blink open my eyes, and the events of last night come crashing back to me.
The way Bash kissed me, how hard he made me come, and how good it feels right now tucked against him.
The way he’s holding me so tightly yet gently at the same time.
What the hell did I do?
I’m getting attached to him. And I shouldn’t.
“I can feel you thinking over there. Stop it.” His voice is raspy with sleep, and it’s fucking hot.
He burrows his face into my shoulder and hair as he tightens his hold on me.
I sag against him, rubbing my thighs together.
Liking the feel of his hard chest against my back, his arms banded around me, hot breath on my neck.
He toys with the hem of my shirt, which is actually his. “Do you need to come again?” He nuzzles against me.
“Mmmm.”
“Your words. I need your words, wife.”
Wife. Ugh. Why is that so hot? I gasp, pushing back against him, against his erection, needing friction.
“Yes.”
I should say no. I should get out of bed and tell him we need to talk about this, about what happened between us last night, about what it means, but I don’t want to.
I just want to enjoy this, and damn the consequences.
Look what happened the last time you did that, the tiny voice in the back of my head says, but I ignore it.
This is different. This time, you could get your heart broken.
I push those thoughts away as Bash gently moves my hair away from my neck before kissing the bare skin. His other hand traces patterns along my thighs, making me dizzy with need every time he gets closer to my center.
“Yes, what?” he whispers against my skin.
“Make me come, husband.” I let my legs fall open.
He growls, slipping his hand between my legs and circling closer to where I need him.
“Please, Bash,” I beg.
“There she is,” he says before finally sinking first one finger and then a second inside of me. “So wet for me already. So needy.”
His thumb circles my clit, applying just the right amount of pressure, and I about buck off the bed. Using his other arm, he anchors me to him, his hard cock, shielded by his boxers, nestled against my back.
“Bash.” His name comes out in a strangled moan.
His hand wanders to my breast where he tweaks my nipple through my shirt as he pumps in and out of me. I’m trapped against him, and all I can do is enjoy what he’s doing to me, so I close my eyes and lean my head against him.
He nips at my jaw. “You’re so bloody gorgeous, love.” His breath is hot against my skin. “I could come just from this. I’m so hard.”
Now I’m picturing him coming in his pants just from touching me. Fucking hell. That’s quite the visual. The familiar swooping in my lower abdomen starts, meaning an orgasm is imminent.
“So close.”
“My pretty wife wants to come for me?”
“She does. Please.” I’m barely holding it together.
“Come. For. Your. Husband.” He punctuates each word with a thrust of his fingers, and I detonate, yelling his name and other unintelligible words.
He strokes me through my orgasm, and when I sag against him, he pulls out of me. I move so my head is resting against his chest.
“You alright, love?”
“Perfect. That was a nice way to wake up.”
He chuckles. “It was. If you want me to wake you up this way all the time, just let me know. Happy to oblige.” I nod against him, too relaxed to speak. “Unfortunately, we need to get up. Order breakfast. We have a late checkout, but we do have to go home today.” He nudges me.
I roll away from him onto my back, the reality of what we just did, not once but twice, catching up to me. Maybe this is a bad idea.
“You’re thinking too much again, love.”
“I know I said last night I wanted to change the rules of our marriage, but maybe, maybe that wasn’t a good idea.” I shake my head, closing my eyes and chewing on my bottom lip.
“Hey. Hey. Look at me.” I do as he says. “Why wasn’t it a good idea?”
“There’s a lot riding on this marriage.” I’m scared.
“I know. And I get that. But we’re two adults who happen to be married.” He holds up his hand, wiggling his ring finger. “We can change the rules.”
I scrub a hand down my face, thinking about all the reasons why we shouldn’t do this, why this isn’t a good idea.
“I get why you’re hesitant to go down that road with me. I do. You have to protect yourself and your baby.” He swallows roughly. “And I’m supposed to be leaving in a few months.”
“That is a big factor …”
“I don’t want to go. But I promised my father I’d take care of the family and the farm.
And they need me. My mum needs me. But what about what I need?
” He whispers the last part as he reaches for my hand.
“I don’t want to hurt you. I’d never hurt either one of you.
All I can offer you is temporary. A few months.
I can’t promise more. But I want you while I can have you, anyway you’ll let me. ”
My hand falls to my stomach, where baby bean is growing. I already have one big thing happening in my life. Do I have room for whatever he and I could be? More importantly, would I survive being with him and then having him leave?
“I need time to think about it …”
“Of course, love. I understand.”
“I’m not trying to string you along.”
“I know.”
He reaches for me, pulling me against his chest, and wraps his arms around me.
“Thank you.”
We lie like that for a little while longer before I get out of bed and head into the bathroom to get ready while he phones in our brunch order.
I wish we had more time together here. That we could spend another night in our little cocoon, but he has practice tomorrow, and I have to go back to work.
I take a fortifying breath and then another, staring down at the phone number I’ve typed, willing myself to hit the Call button.
I know I need to. I don’t know why I’m this nervous to talk to my grandmother’s lawyer, but I am.
I need to get it over with. I meant to call him this morning when I got to my office, but I procrastinated, and now it’s midafternoon, and I refuse to put this conversation off until tomorrow.
Once I do this, I can focus on other things.
Like whatever is going on between Bash and I.
But most importantly, so I can focus on the rest of my pregnancy.
I drop my hand to my stomach, feeling the flutters I’ve attributed to the baby, although it might be too soon for that.
I’m only thirteen weeks pregnant today. It’s probably indigestion from the Italian sub I ate for lunch.
Finally, I hit the Call button, and a few minutes later, his assistant is putting me through.
“This is Glenn.”
“Hi, Glenn. This is Sutton St. James.” I pause. “Mary Jefferson’s granddaughter.”
“Oh, yes, Ms. St. James,” he says, his New York accent strong. “I trust that you’re well.”
“I am. I’m calling to find out where or how I can send you my marriage license.” I don’t understand why he didn’t tell me where to send it the last time we spoke, but here we are.
He rattles off an email address, and I quickly type it in, double-check the signed license is attached, and hit Send.
“You should have it momentarily.”
He hums in response. I twist the ring on my thumb as the silence stretches on. Do I hang up? Sit here?
The sound of the clacking of a keyboard comes through the phone.
“I received it. Looks like it’s in order.” There’s clicking in the background. “You provided your husband’s information. Wonderful. I’ll be reaching out to speak with him.”
“Oh-kay.”
“We must do our due diligence, you understand, Ms. St. James, or should I say Mrs. Henderson. We want to make sure your marriage is legitimate. Although I trust it is. But you never know. I’ve had one or two times where someone has tried to skirt around stipulations in a family member’s will.
” He tuts. “We always find these things out.”
My palms are sweaty. Why is he telling me this? My heart races. Does he think my marriage is fake? I mean, we signed the paperwork. It’s real on paper.
“My husband works a lot. He’s—”
“I’m familiar with who your husband is, Mrs. Henderson.” Does he watch hockey? “I’ll be in touch.”
“Sounds good.”
He hangs up without another word. Well, okay then. I type out a quick text to Bash to let him know to expect a call from Glenn, then I put my phone in my drawer and get back to work.
I spend the rest of the afternoon reviewing the press announcements for events the Storm are hosting or part of in the coming weeks, as well as requests for quotes or interviews from local media.
At five-thirty, I pack up my things and head out to my car, ready to relax and thankful that Monday is over.
When I get home, I unlock the door and push it open, expecting my cats to come running to greet me, but there’s no sign of them.
I take off my shoes and make my way into the kitchen, dropping my purse and empty lunch bag onto the counter.
No sign of Bash either. I can’t remember if he said he’d be in when I got home or not.
I pad farther into the condo, and the sight that greets me when I make it to the living room stops me in my tracks.
“Bash.”
The man in question looks at me from his spot kneeling on the ground in front of a massive cat tree. A cat tree that was not there this morning, one my cats are currently exploring.
“What did you buy?” I ask as I walk into the room.
He blushes, turning his attention back to my cats.
“I saw it at the pet store today and couldn’t resist.”
“Why were you at the pet store?” I step up to him, staring at the structure in front of me. It’s got multiple perches for them, two different scratching posts, and three different cave hideout spots.