Chapter 28 Ruger
Ruger
Wrenley’s been a little distant these past few days.
Nothing has changed on the surface. We still cook dinner together, still watch TV at night, still fall asleep in the same bed.
But the small things are different. She’s quieter while we cook.
When a documentary throws out some ridiculous theory, she no longer launches into a ten-minute debate about why it’s wrong.
Even when she’s curled up against me at night, her body is there, but her mind is somewhere else entirely.
I’ve tried asking what’s wrong more than once, but every time, she gives me the same answer: she’s fine.
But I know she’s lying. And whatever is bothering her isn’t small.
It’s sitting behind her eyes when she thinks I’m not looking, and every day that passes that she doesn’t tell me leaves me feeling more helpless than the last because I don’t know how to fix it.
Today, I’m going to get us out of the house and away from whatever has been living in her head all week.
She’s sitting at the kitchen table, eating a piece of toast with jam while scrolling on her phone, when I walk in.
Morning. I lean down and kiss her cheek.
She smiles, but it’s the same sort of half smile that’s been on her face for days.
I notice her mug is empty. Can I get you another cup of coffee?
Sure, she says. The pot is pretty fresh in case you want some.
I grab her mug and head for the coffee machine. I grab a mug for myself, then pour coffee into each, followed by cream, then carry them back to the table.
Thanks.
She gives me another tight smile as I sit.
Fuck, I hate this.
You got plans with Remi today? I ask.
She shakes her head. No.
I nod and take a sip of my coffee, trying to think of something, anything we can do that will get us the hell out of this house and hopefully her out of her head.
Then before I can stop myself, five words come out of my mouth that I was not planning to say: Want to shoot a gun?
She chokes on her coffee, coughing into her sleeve. What?
Do you want to go out in the woods and shoot?
Her brow lifts. For fun?
I shrug. Yeah. At targets.
She tilts her head at me. Why?
I shrug again. You seem tense. Figured it might help you relax?
Because someone who seems the opposite of relaxed should handle live ammunition? she asks in that easy, teasing tone she has that I’ve fallen so completely for. It’s like a glimpse of the woman she was before she went to that bridal party and whatever happened.
Exactly! I say brightly.
She laughs, and my heart skips because that’s all I wanted. To see a real Wrenley smile.
An hour later, Wrenley is tugging her flannel jacket tight and wrapping a scarf around her neck. I drop the cooler in the trailer I’ve hooked to the quad as my girl heads toward me.
Would it shock you to hear that I’ve never held a gun? she asks as she stops in front of me.
No. I grin. But no wife of mine’s allowed to say that. I swat her ass, and she squeals, shooting me a look that makes me want to drag her to my bed instead of the woods.
. She climbs onto her usual spot at the back, arms winding tight around me. By the time we hit the clearing, the sharp bite of autumn air and the smell of damp leaves have lodged themselves into my lungs.
I cut the engine and grab the shotgun.
Her eyes go wide. That’s big.
I can’t resist. I’ve seen you handle big things just fine.
A sheepish expression crosses her face. It worked. My words pulled her out of her head.
Rule number one, I say, pulling the gun back before she can take it. Never point it at a person. Even empty.
It’s not loaded?
I shake my head. Not yet. But safety’s non-negotiable.
I pull shells from my ammo pouch and load the shotgun, each round sliding into place. Once it’s ready, I keep my finger off the trigger and keep the barrel pointed toward the ground and look at her.
Now it’s loaded. I brush my hand over her arm, grounding her. You got this, baby.
She steadies. I think I can handle it.
I hand the shotgun over, watching it settle awkwardly against her shoulder.
Then I set clay targets along a dead log and wave her behind a big rock.
She waits with the barrel pointed skyward.
Good girl. My parents drilled gun safety into me so young it’s instinct.
I like that she’s picked up on it so quickly.
I step in close behind her. Bring the stock to your cheek.
She hesitates. Which part’s the stock?
The wooden part. I guide it up with a touch. Her breath hitches.
Now into your shoulder. Don’t drop to the gun. The gun comes to you.
She nods, lashes lowering. How do I aim?
See that little bead at the end? I lean in, voice low in her ear. Line your eye with it. Then the target. Then breathe.
Her chest rises slowly. She’s steady, so steady, but her finger stalls.
I crouch, pressing into her back, my hands bracketing her shoulders. My lips nearly graze her ear. You’ve got this, baby. Breathe in. Now, pull.
The shot cracks, echoing through the trees. She laughs, startled and bright, pointing the barrel skyward again. I did it!
I take the gun and set the safety. When she looks back at me, sunlight catches her eyes, her mouth, her whole face, and the sight nearly drops me to my knees.
She looks like herself.
She’s not distracted or lost in whatever thoughts are haunting her. She’s just Wrenley. Happy and excited and completely caught up in the moment. It’s exactly what I wanted for her.
Thank you, she says softly.
I can’t help myself. Seeing her like this fuels something inside me, so I lean the gun against the rock and crush my mouth to hers.
I will never tire of this. Her taste, her heat, the way she twists to straddle me and grinds against the bulge in my pants. My brain is a blur of forest, gunpowder, and her.
Her lips drag up my throat, and I shudder, every muscle straining not to lose it here on the dirt. But I can’t. Not like this.
Up, I rasp.
She blinks, pulling back. Why? Bear?
Her frantic glance around almost makes me laugh, but I’m too far gone. No bear, but I can’t leave these woods without being inside you.
Her pupils blow wide. I grab her waist and haul her toward the ATV.
Once we reach the ATV, she breathes, Won’t someone see us?
I shrug, already hard as steel. There’s a chance. But it will be worth it.
She tilts her head, like she’s weighing whether this is smart or absolutely nuts. For a second, I think I’ve lost my chance to bury myself inside her. Then her lips turn up into the slyest smile I’ve ever seen.
It will be.
Fuck.
Every last drop of blood has now left my brain and gone to my cock. Knowing she wants me just as badly as I do… nothing is hotter.
Good. My voice is low. Turn around. Bend over.
I’m not waiting. I can’t.
Her eyes drag down my body, slow and deliberate before she turns. She presses her ass back against the thick bulge in my pants, and a guttural sound tears from my throat. She’s treating this like a game, and I’m more than ready to play.
I peel her leggings and panties down, slow enough to savour, fast enough to feel feral about it. Her perfect, round ass is bared to me, dark skin glowing in the light. I drop to my knees and drag my tongue up her cheek, tasting her.
Her breath stutters. My hand slides between her thighs, finding her clit, rolling it between my fingers until she shivers. Then I trail down, pressing two fingers inside her slick heat.
Fuck, I rasp as her body grips me.
Ah! she cries, head falling forward as I thrust my fingers in and out, stretching her, teasing her.
You’re so fucking wet.
For you, she gasps. Only for you.
Jesus Christ. I withdraw, holding my soaked fingers in front of her lips. Clean them off for me.
Her eyes flutter shut as she sucks me clean, moaning around the taste of herself. My cock twitches. I’m a second from losing it in my pants, but that’s not how this ends. Not when I have my wife bent over and begging.
I tear at my belt, shove my pants and briefs down to my ankles. I tear at the condom packet I grabbed from my pocket with my teeth. I roll it on quickly, the pressure nearly unbearable.
She peeks over her shoulder, eye heavy-lidded, mouth curved in wicked amusement. You planned this.
Willed it to life, I mutter, pressing my palm between her shoulder blades and kicking her feet wider despite the tangle of leggings around her ankles.
I drag the head of my cock through her slick seam, teasing, savouring the way her body trembles with need.
Ruger, please, she begs, voice wrecked. Fuck me.
I snap.
I drive into her in one hard thrust, and the world detonates. Her hot, wet walls clamp around me, and I bury myself deeper, chasing the edge of sanity.
Fuck, baby. My hand slides over her hip, across her stomach, dragging our bodies tight as I hammer into her.
Her gasps, her cries… they’re mine. All mine.
I reach between her thighs and circle her clit, desperate to push her over. Come for me. Right here. Right now.
Her cries rise, ragged and desperate, until her walls convulse around me, milking me, her orgasm crashing hard.
Yes, I groan, pounding through it, refusing to stop. More. Give me more of my name.
Ruger! she sobs, broken and perfect.
That’s it. That’s fucking it.
My orgasm tears through me, violent and blinding, my body jerking as I spill into the condom. Every nerve in me burns, goes numb, and then burns again as I ride it out, clutching her so tight, I’m scared I’ll break her.
When I finally pull out, I spin her around, haul her against me, and kiss her like I’ll never stop. Her lips are soft and urgent.
She presses her forehead to mine, and for a few minutes, I let myself forget that something is wrong.
Wrenley is in my arms, her cheeks flushed, and her smile is easy.
Whatever is weighing her down is still there.
I know it is. But right now, she’s here with me, and as I hold her close, I find myself willing to be patient a little longer because some things are worth waiting for, and Wrenley is one of them.