Chapter 4
William
C het was a mess. He clearly hadn’t slept if the dark bags beneath his eyes were anything to go by.
And his emotions were out of control, which usually only happened when he hit sub drop.
I was always around to help him after a scene, and this time, I’d failed him.
That was on me. I should have been patient.
Should have told Hyram I needed to hold off on taking out Reynold until Chet was okay.
But I’d been too worried about whether the Savage Dreams MC and Chet’s father would make a move before I could.
It was a chance I hadn’t been willing to take.
But not taking that chance had come at the cost of my husband’s mental health.
“I’m sorry, baby,” I rasped for the umpteenth time as I pushed open the door to our room.
He shook his head, hiccupping. I knew he wouldn’t accept my apology for a moment.
Chet was one of the softest men I’d ever met, even after everything that had happened to him.
Life had tried killing the light inside of him, but it hadn’t worked.
It was up to me now to protect him, yet I was the reason this had happened.
“Let’s take a bath, okay? I know you’re mad at me, but a bath will help, baby.”
He sniffled and lifted his head. “I hate crying when I’m mad,” he croaked.
I lifted a hand to swipe at his cheek as I headed for our bathroom.
“I know.” I offered him a rare, soft smile.
“But if it makes you feel any better, you’re so beautiful when you cry.
” Leaning in, I licked up a tear, just because I couldn’t fucking resist. I was addicted to the taste of his tears.
“I just don’t like it when you cry for anything other than being impaled on my cock or being so lost in how good I’m making you feel, you have to release all the euphoric feelings in the form of crying. ”
He lightly smacked my chest, huffing at me as he narrowed his red-rimmed eyes. “Sweet talking me won’t work.”
I snorted. “I know. I try anyway.” Besides, I knew deep down, it made him feel better.
Chet was a slut for praise—specifically, my praise.
I’d seen him so angry at me before that he’d decided sleeping downstairs on the couch would be better just so he wouldn’t have to be around me.
But a few softly spoken praises had at least warmed him back up to me enough to have him come sleep upstairs in our bed with me.
He couldn’t sleep without me, and his well-being was more important than anything in this fucking world.
I gently set him on the bathroom counter, then strode over to the tub.
I could feel his eyes on my every move as I started the water, then poured in Epsom salt and lavender-scented bubble bath.
When I turned to face him, he crossed his arms over his chest and turned his face away from me like the true little brat he was—the little brat I adored.
He was the only person capable of getting under my skin. I didn’t know how he did it, but one second, I was rescuing him, and the next, I was claiming him as mine.
“I’m letting the attitude slide because you’re angry at me,” I told him as I erased the distance between us. Gripping the hem of his shirt, I tugged it over his head, then tossed it to the floor. “But don’t forget who’s in charge, baby.”
He looked at me then, narrowing his eyes at me once more. “You’re making me madder.”
I bit back a snort because I truly didn’t want to upset him more than I already had.
Instead, leaning in, I pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose.
“How about we soak in a bath, then nap, then we go out for milkshakes and fries?” I didn’t usually let him indulge in junk food.
It caused a lot of inflammation in his body and made him irate.
And milk had a bad habit of upsetting his stomach.
But I’d deal this one time and let him have something sweet and greasy.
He couldn’t hide the brightening of his eyes even if he tried. “You promise?”
I nodded. “I promise, baby. Have I ever broken my word to you?”
He blew out a soft breath, his shoulders drooping just a little, a sure sign I was wearing him down. “No,” he mumbled.
I kissed his cheek, then quickly stripped him out of the rest of his clothes. His body was beautiful—a true work of art. With tan skin and lean muscles, he had the body sculptors and painters would kill to turn into art.
When I began reaching for my cut, he shook his head and grabbed my hands. I arched a brow at him. “Let me,” he mumbled.
I dropped my hands, and he slid down from the counter.
My cock hardened the moment he began to undress me, but I ignored it.
It was an automatic response to Chet. I always wanted him in every fucking way I could have him.
But this wasn’t about me. This was about him.
I needed to make up for leaving him behind and not taking care of him. And I needed to cheer him up.
I hated it when he hit a low.
Grabbing his hand once I was as naked as him, I led him toward the tub. Once we were submerged beneath the water, I wrapped my arms around him and tugged him between my thighs. He sagged back against me and rested his head on my shoulder.
It took a mere two minutes for him to begin snoring.
Pressing my lips to his hair, I murmured, “I’m sorry, baby. I’ll never abandon you again.” And that was a vow I intended to take to my grave.