18. Wendy
It had been six weeks since Vincent essentially gave up his life in Miami for…me. After I found Vincent on my porch that night, nearly half frozen to death, I thawed him inside my white clawfoot tub. When he regained sensation back in his limbs, he wasted no time making up all his mistakes to me. I would be lying if I said I did not enjoy the endless and unconditional attention, love, or whatever you wanted to call it. He was showering me with every second of his life.
I had never been given this many flowers. Literally, the restaurant was bursting with roses, and while the customers loved the new splashes of color against the white decor, something about them reminded me of why they were there in the first place. Constant reminders of the sorrow Vincent harbored toward what he did to me, how he just abandoned me. I would have liked to eventually receive roses just because. And I often wondered when we would reach that day. When doing little things, like making coffee for me in the morning before I left for work or making sure a hot dinner awaited me on the table, simply because it was the kind gesture to make after a long day at work. And speaking of work, Vincent was officially unemployed. I was shocked to learn that not only did he give the poker games up, but he also returned the debts owed to him. He said it cost him millions, but Vincent assured me it was a small sacrifice in what he got in return: me.
But everything was too perfect, almost unreal. The romantic gestures, the lavish gifts, the loving words whispered in hushed tones as he held me close in the dead of night... it all felt like a dream. A dream I was afraid would burst if I dared to believe in its reality. My heart pounded with fear and anticipation whenever his fingers grazed my skin or his eyes caught mine from across the room. Fear of losing him again and anticipation of what future awaited us.
And then there was the fact that he had no tangible life outside me. No job, no hobby, no friends to spend time with... Just me. As much as I adored his attention and affection, I couldn't help but worry about him. As much as I wanted to believe in our happily ever after, I knew from experience that things were never as simple as they seemed. There were nights when I’d wake up and find him staring at the ceiling, lost in thoughts he wouldn’t share with me. Those were the moments when I saw glimpses of the old Vincent—the Vincent before Miami, before poker, before everything crashed down—and it scared me. Because I didn’t want the old Vincent back. I wanted this new one who loved me so fiercely it brought tears to my eyes.
After an impossibly long day at the restaurant, I staggered home, feet aching, back needing to be cracked. Still, I couldn’t find the right position for relief, wanting to collapse. But as I walked through the door, I was greeted by the sight of Vincent preparing dinner. The soft glow of the lights above our heads, the smell of something delicious wafting from the kitchen, and the sight of him in an apron made me chuckle despite my fatigue. He looked up at me and smiled, a glimmer of love playing in his eyes.
“I know it’s late, but I thought we could use some comfort food,” he said, stirring whatever was simmering on the stove.
I closed my eyes and pressed my hands against my temples to ease the day's tensions. “You know I'm not hungry,” I sighed.
“Oh, you’re not?” Vincent pivoted and crossed his arms, muscles bulging through the plain white Henley, and raised a wicked eyebrow.
“No.” I rolled my lip through my teeth, fighting a smile. “When did you learn how to cook?”
“Well, I’ve had some extra time on my hands. And I have to say, I think I’m getting pretty fucking good at it.” Vincent lazily stirred the wooden spoon handle in whatever concoction was boiling on the stove. And I wasn’t going to lie. It smelled pretty fucking phenomenal. The air was thick with the scent of simmering spices and rich, savory broth. My nostrils flared as I inhaled the mouth-watering aroma, my stomach growling in response. Underneath it all, I could detect the faint hint of Vincent's cologne, a mix of sandalwood and musk.
“Are you making a beef stew?” I crept closer, shedding my coat to the floor, not caring about any mess.
“Why don’t you come here and find out?” he teased, making a come hither motion with his index finger.
“I have to admit this is impressive.”I smacked my lips together.
With a smug grin, Vincent pulled me closer, wrapping one arm snugly around my waist, “How about a taste?” His voice dropped an octave, sending a shiver down my spine. The way he looked at me, the way his eyes sparkled with mischief...it was intoxicating.
I nodded in silent agreement, leaning into him as he captured a spoonful of the stew and brought it to my lips. My eyes fluttered closed as the warmth spread through my mouth, exploding in a medley of flavors I couldn’t quite place. Beef and carrots danced on my tongue while a depth of flavor hinted at hours of simmering. I hummed in appreciation, savoring the lingering taste.
“See,” Vincent mumbled against my ear, his warm breath sending another jolt coursing through my body. “I told you.”
A small dribble of juice lingered on my lip, remaining unnoticed by Vincent as he swiped his thumb against it, spreading it along my mouth and dipping his digit against my tongue. I sucked the savory saltiness from his skin as Vincent released a growl, his eyes never leaving mine.
“Good girl.” He removed his hand from my mouth. “You said you’re achy from today?”
“I am.” I forced the words out, now fighting a new ache spreading from my stomach down to my sex, wishing Vincent would put anything of his back into my mouth.
“We’re going to fix that. Ice will probably help.” Vincent’s deep voice rocked my bones, wondering what he meant. “Go upstairs, get undressed, lay down, and wait for me on the bed.”
“When you say get undressed…” I trailed off, heat radiating every inch of my skin.
“Do not have a single fucking piece of clothing on.”
I left Vincent standing in the kitchen, stew still simmering on the stove, his gaze burning a trail on my back as I walked out. As anticipation swelled, I climbed the stairs, each step making my heart pound against my ribcage.
In the bedroom, I shucked off my clothes with a speed I didn't know I was capable of. The shirt, pants, and underwear lay in a crumpled heap on the floor, completely forgotten. I slipped under the cool sheets, the silky fabric touching my skin, fueling the fire already raging within.
After what seemed an eternity, he entered the room. His shirt was gone, and he held something behind his back. Vincent’s eyes drank me in, raking over every inch of exposed skin with a hunger that made my breath hitch.
“Comfortable?” He sauntered to the bed, pulling back the covers and exposing me to his gaze. My body trembled as his eyes roamed down from my face, tracing the contours of my breasts, pebbled nipples, stomach, and clenched thighs. Vincent revealed what he’d been hiding: a bowl filled with clear ice cubes and a silvery metallic spoon rested on top. An involuntary gasp escaped my lips at the sight of it.
I squirmed an inch away, but Vincent’s free hand clamped down on my thigh, squeezing its flesh until a tiny yelp jumped from my throat, triggering the corner of his mouth to lift. “Where do you think you’re going?” he asked, his voice alone sending a rush of warm arousal straight to my pussy. The mattress sank under the weight of Vincent’s body settling, still holding me down with one hand.
My body thrummed with a burning desire, my clit begging to be sucked, my pussy begging to be filled. But I knew if I didn’t follow the rules and be a good little slut, I’d only be denied. This was the insatiable game Vincent and I played since he returned, and I was addicted. There was more I yearned for, but Vincent didn’t know it yet.
“Are you going to be my good little whore, or will I need to tie your hands to the bed?” Vincent pinched my inner thigh harder, creeping closer to the apex of my thighs, the place I needed him to touch most.
I froze, not out of fear but the sheer delight in his words. The dominant tone in his voice was a stark contrast to the tender man who’d been feeding me stew moments ago. “I’ll be good, Vincent,” I breathed out, barely audible.
“Good girl.” His hand released my thigh, the absent pressure making me whimper.
He dipped the spoon into the bowl, fished out a cube of ice, and lifted it up for me to see. The cold condensation dripped from it as he held it an inch from my heaving chest.
He smirked, letting a single drop of water fall onto my nipple. I jolted at the contact, yelping out a surprised “oh” as the cold spread through my chest and straight to my soaked pussy.
The drips turned to a stream as he glided the cube down my breast, swirling it around my nipple, down to my stomach, making me wriggle under him. His dark eyes were on mine the whole time, an amused spark dancing in them. He trailed the melting cube, stopping right on my clit, pressing into the tight bud, causing my cunt to clench at nothing.
“S-S-stop,” I stuttered, but Vincent didn't heed my protests.
“If you need me to stop, you know what to say,” he murmured, the wicked grin on his face spreading. “We're just starting to have some fun.”
The ice cube sent shockwaves through me each time it grazed my hardened nipple or teased my clit, but it also brought an exhilarating rush of sensations, a thrill I was beginning to crave more.
The ice cube was now almost melted, a mere sliver between his fingers. He trailed it down my body one last time before replacing it with the cold metallic spoon from the bowl.
I gasped as the cold metal made contact with my overheated skin. Starting from my collarbone, he dragged it down slowly, dipping slightly into the valley between my breasts before continuing its journey over my stomach. I squirmed under the unexpected sensation but arched into his touch anyway. The spoon slipped from his fingers; whether intentionally, it landed with a harsh clank against the wood floor. Vincent wasted no time diving his hand into the ice bowl, grabbing a cube, and inserting it into his mouth. I watched, mesmerized, as he twirled the frozen square around his tongue, shoving it into his cheek pocket before slowly extracting it through his lips. Vincent adjusted his thick, hard cock, unzipping his jeans to relieve the pressure from being restrained. He held the cube in his hand for a second until he plunged the ice straight into my warm, dripping cunt.
My gasp was swallowed by Vincent’s ice-cold mouth crashing against mine, his cold tongue pushing through my parted lips. The frigid shock of the ice cube inside my pussy sent my body into a wave of spasms, but Vincent's mouth ate up my startled cries, his tongue tangling with mine. He started to move the melting ice inside me, drawing circles around the intimate walls once, twice, and then he pulled the ice out only to push it back in slowly.
“Oh God,” I cried, thrashing beneath him, pleading to wrap my fingers around his thick cock. I was close, but as much as I wanted to come, I wanted to unravel around him buried deep inside me.
His fingers stirred me from within, alternating between cold and warmth as he replaced the partially melted ice with a fresh one. The relentless pace of this game made my senses reel, but I clung onto Vincent's bicep, my nails digging into his skin for support.
“That’s it, baby.” His warm breath coated my lips. “You should see how fucking sexy you look. Your pussy feels so good gripping my fingers. Your juices are melting the ice in my hand.” His lips planted a lazy kiss against my mouth, Vincent’s tongue swiping mine. “If only you could feel how good your needy cunt feels wrapped around my fingers.”
“Please,” I begged, desperate for him. “I need you.”
“What do you need? Use your words.” This time, he pushed the melting cube deeper into my cunt, leaving it there as his fingers slid out of me.
I tried to speak, but the cold left in my sex was too much, and instead, I tipped my head back, releasing a desperate moan. The only thing that snapped me out of it was Vincent’s fingers grabbing my jaw and redirecting my gaze until we locked eyes.
“Use. Your. Words.” His cold baby blues warned me to listen.
“I need you inside me. Now.”
“That’s all I needed to hear you say.” Vincent retreated from the bed, sending a jolt of panic through me. Where was he going? But, as I sat up too quickly, he got on his knees in front of my spread legs, hooked his hands behind my knees, spreading me wide, my glistening pussy on display for him. “Push the ice out of that sweet cunt,” he ordered.
I did as he instructed, feeling the ice cube slip from my body. My thighs were quivering, and my body shaking with anticipation. Just as the ice was about to fall past my entrance, Vincent dipped his head between my legs, catching the cube with his tongue, and pushed it back in.
“You taste so fucking good,” Vincent rasped as he began fucking me with his tongue and the ice simultaneously.
The cold of the ice mixed with his hot saliva drove me crazy, so intense that it was almost unbearable. I could barely see through the fog of pleasure, and I didn't want to. All I wanted was to feel his thick cock inside me.
Vincent took his time, though, teasing me further by alternating between pushing the ice cube deeper into my folds with his tongue or letting it slide out only to be pushed back again. His hands held my hips, fingertips digging into the skin as he devoured me.
“Please, I’m so close.” The words slipped from my mouth as I squeezed my breasts, twisting each nipple between my desperate fingers.
“So close to what? Use your words,” Vincent demanded before latching onto my clit between his teeth.
“Please, please,” I begged, my vision turned blurry. “I need to come around your cock. Please put your cock in me.”
Vincent pulled his mouth away from my cunt, my juices pooling below me on the sheets. He stood, moving away from the bed. The now familiar pang of panic shot through me again. But it didn't last long as he returned after peeling off his pants, freeing his thick, hard dick. I spotted the foil wrapper in his hand, and just as he tore the corner off, I sat straight up.
“No, don’t.” I reached for the hand that held the condom. “I want to feel all of you. I trust you.” As the words left my mouth, I couldn’t stop the question entering my head: did I really trust him?
Vincent furrowed his brow slightly, the corner of the wrapper frozen between his fingers. His gaze bore into mine, searching to see if I meant what I said.
“You’re sure?” His voice was deep and gruff, one hand still holding onto his erection. He was ready to drive it into me but wanted me to be sure.
“Yes,” I confirmed, rewarding him with a slow nod. “I am.”
With those words, the tentative look on his face faded. He discarded the condom on the bedside table. His strong, rough hands roamed up my thighs until they reached my hips, guiding me to the edge of the bed.
As much as I wanted to let go and forget about everything except this moment, there was an irritating voice reminding me of Vincent’s mistake that nearly broke me beyond repair. I squeezed my eyes shut, shaking the intrusive thought from my mind, and decided I would enjoy this.
Vincent lowered himself, gliding his dick through my slick folds. Even though I was dripping wet and ready for him, the first push was still a shock—his thickness stretching me wide as he drove himself all the way in till he was fully seated within me.
“Oh God…” The moan fell from my lips without control as his cock filled me completely.
Vincent’s movements were slow and calculated at first, taking time to stretch me around his girth. His brow furrowed in concentration, and sweat began to bead on his forehead as he picked up the pace.
“Tell me how much your cunt needs me. How much do you need me? How hard you need me to fuck you because you’re my perfect little whore.” His thrusts became relentless, and I met each one with my hips raised off the bed, eager to feel more of him. He groaned in response, pounding into me harder, deeper.
“Please don’t stop.” I clawed his back, almost positive I broke the skin.
Vincent’s mouth enveloped mine in a desperate, wet, sloppy kiss. Our moans filled the room as the air grew thick from sex and raw arousal. Unable to hold back any longer, I clutched Vincent’s shoulders as waves of pleasure crashed over me. My orgasm hit me hard, my inner walls clenching around Vincent’s cock as I screamed. My pussy clenched around his cock as I rode out wave after wave of my climax. “Fuck, Wendy…” He groaned, thrusting harder into me. Each powerful surge of his hips against mine was punctuated by a grunt of my name. The room filled with the sounds of our labored breathing and the wet slap of skin against skin. My body shuddered under him, still sensitive from my climax.
With a deep grunt and a final thrust, Vincent’s face contorted in pleasure. His hands on my hips tightened impossibly more as his cock twitched within me, releasing his hot seed. Our moans mingled as he emptied himself inside me. He collapsed onto me, sweaty chest against my breasts, as we caught our breath. We remained tangled for what felt like an eternity. His weight on top of me was comforting, making my body burn with satisfaction.
After a while, Vincent rolled off me, panting heavily but still keeping an arm wrapped securely around my waist. His free hand ran through his tousled hair before dropping onto the pillow next to his head.
“Fuck,” he finally said. “You’re so fucking amazing.”
A gentle smile curved my lips as I turned to look at him, a heat blooming in my chest at his words. “You are too,” I murmured, tracing a finger over his chest. My skin tingled where our bodies were still pressed together.
Vincent propped himself onto his elbow, kissing me on the lips. “I’ll be right back.” His eyes locked on mine before I had a chance to respond. He bounced out of bed, pulled on his black boxers, and disappeared from the bedroom. His words were simple but sent my heart into a dangerous spiral. Of course, Vincent would return. This wasn’t like last time, and it never would be again, according to the thousands of reassurances he fed to me since reappearing.
But I couldn’t shake the fear. And it was starting to gnaw away at me. I had to tell Vincent about how I felt, and this insecurity still lingered in my mind. My heart never doubted Vincent’s love for me, except the logical side of my brain warned me to be careful.
A few minutes later, Vincent returned with a glass of water with floating lemons and a fresh berry plate. He handed me the glass, his fingers lingering on mine before he sat back against the headboard, with the plate resting against his bare thighs.
“Thought you might need some refueling,” he said, plucking a raspberry from the plate and holding it to my mouth. “Be a good girl. You know what to do.”
I rubbed my tired eyes, the fire leaving my skin, leaving me with a tingling buzz. “I just want to lay with you.” I eyed the colorful plate he prepared, and it really was impressive. “Jesus, Vin. You plated the fruit beautifully.”
“I told you, I have a lot of time now.” He smirked, holding up a juicy black raspberry. “Open.”
I opened my mouth obediently and let him feed me, the sweet burst of tartness melting against my tongue. He chuckled softly at the pleasured sigh that slipped past my lips, his dark eyes gleaming with amusement.
“Thank you,” I said, letting him feed me a sliced ruby-red strawberry. As I ate in silence, I studied Vincent in the dim light.
His chiseled features were softened by the gentle glow, his dark hair wild from our recent fuck. He was a picture of sensual ease, his naked chest rising and falling with each breath. His eyes held a warmth that melted my heart, the same warmth that had drawn me to him years ago. But underneath it all was a layer of worry and uncertainty that I knew too well.
My gaze dropped to the berries, my appetite suddenly gone as unease settled over me.
“Vincent...” I began, my heart pounding in my chest. “I need to talk to you about something.”
“You mean we need to talk,” he countered, lifting his eyes to meet mine.
“Oh? Okay.” I set aside the half-eaten plate, taking a hefty gulp of the citrus water, and placed it on the nightstand. “You go first.” My pulse thundered in my ears, wondering what he would say.
“I see the look that flashes across your face whenever I leave a room. Like before, when I said I would be right back. You still think I’m not coming back. You think I’ll abandon you again.” There were no questions in Vincent’s words. Everything was a pure fact.
I cleared my throat, tipping my head back, begging myself not to cry as I blinked the moisture away. “Vincent, it's not that I think you'll...leave,” I mumbled, struggling to find the right words. “It's just that...I can't shake off the feeling from that memory...”
Silence settled between us. The ticking of the clock on the bedside table hammered against my eardrums. The echo of a distant siren filtered in through the closed window.
“I’m scared, I guess. Or maybe just permanently fucked up.”
“Don’t say that.” Vincent reached for my arm, his fingertips heating my skin. “You’re not fucked up, and your feelings are valid. That’s why I will continue to prove myself to you daily.”
“But I don’t want you to feel like you need to do that. You’re here.” I cupped his face. “We’re here. Let’s just live now.”
“I thought we were living.” His brow furrowed, drowning in confusion.
“You need to get a job, Vin.” My fingers traced his square jawline. “Don’t get me wrong, I love the cooking, the fresh coffee in the morning, and fresh flowers everywhere.” I gestured to the empty air.
His expression turned stern, his royal eyes hardening in a way I hadn't seen before. “I'm not running away from anything, Wendy. Not anymore. But I have to make up for the time I lost.”
“But it isn’t about making up for lost time. It's about building a life together now.” I paused, my eyes searching his. “We need some stability, Vin.”
“Stability,” he repeated, rolling the word around his tongue like it was foreign. “Right.”
“I don't want you to spend all your days worrying about how to make it up to me. I want you to be happy,” I sighed, my fingers brushing through his hair.
He looked down at our intertwined hands, his thumb slowly circling my palm. His chest rose and fell in slow rhythm with his deep breaths. “Fuck, I need a job.” Vincent buried his head in his hands. At first he was silent, but then his shoulders started to shake.
I straightened, leaning forward, touching his smooth, muscled shoulders. “Vincent, babe? Are you crying?”
He answered my questions with quick, short laughs, and I joined him. “I’m sorry.” Vincent shook his head, wiping the happy tears away. “Do you know earlier today I started to read up on how to whittle wood? Like maybe make a desk or something like that.”
“Vincent…” My chin dropped. “You need to find something.”
“You’re right. I do.”
“Something legal,” I added.
“Obviously.” He rolled his eyes. “I’m just so bored.” Vincent held up a finger. “Hold on. To clarify, I’m not bored with you. Being with you is a dream.”
“I get it, Vin. You need something to keep you busy.”
“I’ve been so focused on trying to make up for what I did that I lost sight of what we need.”
“And what is it that we need?” My voice was soft, almost a whisper, as I looked at him.
He was silent momentarily before answering, “We need normalcy. We need routine. We need...stability.” The last word was spoken with a certain resolution.
I took his hand in mine, toying with his thick fingers. “Do you have any ideas of what you can do?”
“Actually, babe?” Vincent leaned forward, planting a kiss on my forehead. “I do. But I might need your help. Will you help me?”