Chapter 26
Warmth surrounds me as I’m roused from one of the most restful night’s sleep I’ve had in recent memory, my body sore in places that haven’t seen action in quite some time. But it’s a good sore. A delicious sore. A sore I wouldn’t mind experiencing again.
And again.
And again.
Snippets of last night flash before my eyes and a renewed ache settles in my core from the reminder of just how incredible it felt to be with Beckham again. How he catered to every single one of my needs. How he made me feel more beautiful than anyone has in years.
“Mmm,” Beckham groans, sending a delicious shiver through me. “This is infinitely better than waking up next to that damn pillow.” He pulls my body further into his, his chest hair tickling my back.
“It was a necessary evil after I woke up with your dick against me that first morning.”
He rocks against me, his erection slipping between my legs.
“Like this?”
“Exactly like that,” I whimper, lust spiraling through me. It doesn’t matter how many times we did this throughout the night in our desperate attempt to make up for all the nights we deprived ourselves of this. I still need to feel him again.
I fear I always will.
“Well then…” He abruptly releases me from his embrace. “I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
I quickly roll over and pull him toward me, hooking my leg around his waist. “Don’t you dare, you tease.”
He skims his lips against mine. “And I thought you liked it when I teased you.”
He circles his hips. When his arousal hits my clit, sparks shoot through me, and I throw my head back. “Do I ever.”
“Mmm… And I really like teasing you.” He pushes me onto my back. “So damn much,” he murmurs, burying his face in the crook of my neck as he drives inside of me.
I release a noiseless gasp at the sudden invasion, my muscles clenching as a myriad of sensations fill me. I didn’t think it was possible to feel this much during sex. With most of the other guys I’ve been with, Oliver included, I couldn’t wait for it to be over so I could disappear into the bathroom and take care of my needs.
With Beckham, that’s not necessary. He always makes sure I’m completely satisfied before he allows himself the same pleasure. And not just once, either. The man seems to be on a mission to see how many times he can bring me to orgasm, almost like it’s a challenge to him. Like I’m a challenge to him.
Then again, isn’t that what we’ve always been to each other?
“You feel so damn good, Haley,” he grunts as he fills me. “Love how warm you are. How tight you are.” He straightens, pressing his thumb to my clit. “How wet you are.”
“Beckham…” I moan, lost to the sensation. “I don’t… It’s too much. I don’t think my body can handle another orgasm.”
Chuckling, his lips find mine, his tongue caressing mine in a scintillating kiss that I feel from the tips of my fingers all the way down to my toes.
“If you ask me, death by orgasm is a damn good way to go.” He slows his motions. “But if you don’t think you can handle it, I’ll stop.” He starts to pull out, but before he can, I wrap my legs around his waist.
“You’d really leave your wife unsatisfied?”
His eyes flame, just like they always do when I refer to myself as his wife.
I didn’t think I’d like the reminder of my attachment to him, considering the lengths I’ve gone to in order to ensure we keep the lines as clearly drawn as possible.
I’m pretty sure we eviscerated every single one of those lines last night. The idea doesn’t fill me with unease like I thought it would. How can it when I’ve been the lucky recipient of several earth-shattering orgasms?
“You said you weren’t sure your body could handle any more. Just trying to be a good husband and listen to your needs.”
I drag my tongue along his neck, taking his earlobe between my teeth. “You probably wouldn’t be able to make me come again anyway.”
“I believe my record indicates otherwise. If I’m right, and I usually am, I’ve given you six orgasms over the past eight hours.”
“Seven,” I correct.
“What’s that?”
“It’s seven orgasms. You’ve given me seven orgasms.”
“Seven. That’s a good number. But I’m not a fan of odd numbers.” He lifts my leg and drapes it onto his shoulder. “Why don’t we make it eight?”
Before I can answer, he leans closer and thrusts into me, this position allowing him to go even deeper than before.
“God, Haley,” he groans, closing his eyes as pleasure covers his expression. “Why can’t I get enough of this? Why can’t I get enough of you?”
“I have no idea.” I crane my head, chasing his kiss. “But I don’t care. I just need this.” I pull him closer. “Need you.”
“Oh, god,” he whimpers, a visible shiver rolling through him. “I need you to come because I’m about to?—”
Before he can utter another syllable, the unmistakable patter of little feet cuts through, followed by the sound of a door opening.
But not just any door.
Ourdoor.
I throw Beckham off me and grab the duvet, covering our bodies in the seconds before Maggie appears by the bed. A furrow creases her brow as she looks between Beckham and me, both of us panting.
“Why was Beck on top of you?”
I shift my gaze toward him, horrified my daughter caught us having sex. He doesn’t share in my unease, though. Instead, he wraps an arm around my shoulder and drags my body against his, kissing the top of my head.
“Your mom had an itch I was helping her scratch,” he tells her, then flashes me a smirk.
I’d love to wipe it off his face, since he’s obviously enjoying this. I can’t seem to care though, not when he’s happier than he’s been in the past few years. Lighter than he’s been in the past few years.
And I love seeing this side of him. Don’t want to do anything to go back to the people we were before we succumbed to our desires, to hell with the past.
“She sometimes helps me scratch my back when I can’t reach,” Maggie announces.
“Moms are good like that. Aren’t they?”
“Yup,” she chirps, then looks my way. “Can I have my breakfast?”
“I’ll be right there, sweetie.”
“Okay.” She spins on her heels and runs from the bedroom, sounding like a herd of elephants as she scurries down the stairs.
It’s not until I hear her tell Monte he has to wait for his breakfast that I release my breath and pin Beckham with a glare.
“Helping me scratch an itch?”
“It’s not a lie.” He rolls on top of me, settling between my legs once more. “You did have an itch.” When he nips at my neck, a renewed wave of desire rushes through me, despite having just been caught by my daughter. “And I’m more than happy to help you scratch that itch whenever you need.”
“How charitable of you.”
“That’s me.” He pulses against me, a devious look in his dark eyes. “Extremely giving.”
“Beckham…” I push him off me, although it’s a test of willpower when every inch of my body still craves his touch.
Regardless of whatever’s going on between us, Maggie is and always will be my priority.
“What’s wrong?”
“I just scarred my daughter for life. I’d rather not risk her walking in on us yet again.”
“That’s what you get for being addicted to my cock.”
Playfully swatting him, I climb out of bed and move to the dresser, grabbing a fresh pair of panties. “I’m not addicted to your cock.”
“That’s not what you said last night.”
“And what did I say?” I face him, pulling a pair of shorts up my legs after tugging on a t-shirt.
He rests his hands behind his head, a cocky grin lighting up his sinful face. “I may not be quoting verbatim, but it was something along the lines of ‘Oh, Beckham. How are you so good at this?’” he says in his best imitation of me.
I shoot him a glare. I can’t deny it. I did say that.
“‘I love your cock. It feels so good inside of me. I’ll never get enough of it. You’re the god of sex.’”
Rolling my eyes, I grab one of the pillows off the floor and throw it at him. “I did not say that.”
“Maybe not.” He waggles his brows. “But you were thinking it.”
“Whatever.” I hurry out of the room, Beckham’s sexy chuckles following me every step of the way.
I definitely was thinking it.
But I’ll never admit it.
“Hi, Mama,” Maggie says sweetly when I walk into the kitchen.
She’s already snuggled up on the couch beside Monte, a coloring book in front of her.
“Hey, sweetie.” I walk toward her and kiss the top of her head. Monte looks up at me expectantly, and I give his head a scratch, as well. “What would you like for breakfast?”
The instant I utter that word, Monte jumps off the couch, barking excitedly.
“Not you,” I tell him. “It’s not your time yet.” I turn my attention back to Maggie. “Want some pancakes?”
“Yes, please.”
“You got it.” I place another kiss on her head, then busy myself with making her breakfast.
As I mix up the batter, Beckham slips into the kitchen and it takes everything in me to subdue my racing heart.
Has he always looked this sexy in the morning? Probably. But today, in his pajama bottoms, white t-shirt that clings to his muscles, revealing his tattooed arms, and disheveled dark hair, he looks good enough to eat.
And I was lucky enough to be treated to a meal of him last night.
“Coffee?” he asks.
“Sure,” I respond quickly, uncertain how to act now that we’re out of the bedroom.
He walks past me as I finish mixing the batter, the two of us moving around the kitchen like it’s a normal day.
Like we didn’t spend all night having sex in a variety of different positions.
“Should we talk about it?” Beckham asks in a soft voice, handing me my mug.
“Do we have to?”
He shrugs nonchalantly. “You’re the one who had me sign a contract so we could manage expectations. That’s all I’m trying to do. Manage expectations. We crossed a line last night. I want to know if we should move the line accordingly or keep it where it was.”
“I know. I just…” I push out a long sigh, so many conflicted thoughts and emotions filling me.
“Answer me this,” he says, bringing his coffee to his lips. The lips that gave me more pleasure than I thought possible last night. “Did you enjoy yourself?”
My cheeks flame as I pour some batter onto the griddle. “Without a doubt.”
“Me, too.” He sets his coffee on the counter and steps closer. “Would you like to do it again?”
“Would you?”
“I asked you first.”
“What are you? Five?”
“Simply stating the facts, Haley. So tell me. And don’t stand there and try to think about what I want to hear or what you should say. Give me an honest answer.”
Sometimes I hate how well he knows me. How clearly he still sees me, even all these years later.
He touches my chin, forcing my eyes toward his as he repeats, “Do you want to do it again?”
“Yes,” comes my swift reply.
“Me, too.”
“But—”
He presses his finger to my lips, silencing my protest. “I get it. There are a thousand reasons this is a bad idea.”
I laugh, oddly relieved that he understands.
“But I could probably come up with twice as many reasons why this might be a good idea. Instead of standing here and dictating what this should or shouldn’t be, maybe we just…let it be. We’ll take it one day at a time.” He pulls me closer as he inches his lips toward mine. “Or one incredible orgasm at a time. How does that sound?”
“Like either a really good idea. Or a really horrible idea,” I respond breathily.
“There’s only one way to find out. Isn’t there?” His mouth hovers over mine, so close I can barely focus on anything other than tasting him.
“There is.”
“Then let’s find out, Haley.”
I draw in a steadying breath, then nod. “Okay.”
“Okay,” he repeats.
I close my eyes, bracing myself for his kiss.
But it never comes.
Instead, he releases me and spins around.
I watch with a mixture of bewilderment and frustration as he walks out of the kitchen without a single care that he’s left me a panting mess of hormones.
Or maybe this was his plan all along.
As he’s about to head upstairs, he glances over his shoulder. “Enjoy your day… Wife.”