17. Emery
Emery
I'm buzzing as we take the stairs up to the front door. Hayes hasn't let go of my hand since helping me out of the truck, and this somehow feels more like a first date than our wedding night.
Our wedding night.
It doesn't sound real.
I glance down at my finger. The gold band catches the porch light, and the diamond shimmers. I was surprised when he pulled a ring out of his pocket in the chapel since it was a last-minute ceremony, but he said it belonged to his mother, which explained why he had it.
Now, it sits on my hand. A promise we probably shouldn’t be making when there are still too many uncertainties.
I suppose he's right that we've already done everything else out of order, so why not this? Especially if it is just a matter of us taking care of business, as he said. Him checking off a box so that my uncle can’t marry me to anyone else.
The thought alone has my stomach lurching because when I look up at Hayes, I want this to be real. I want this to mean more than him simply trying to protect me.
When his lips landed on mine after I said yes, a silly part of me believed he was feeling the same thing I was, and he was done denying it.
This undeniable pull.
A landslide of need that courses through my veins at the simplest touch.
I should've known better.
Hayes stops at the top of the stairs, turning me to face him. “I have to meet up with Steel for a bit, but I'll be back tonight.”
My heart is a sinking ship in my chest as I look past him to the horizon.
While we were saying our vows, the sun set.
We celebrated with shots at the bar next door to the chapel, but apparently, it was too much to think he’d want to continue the night with me when there are probably more exciting things happening at the clubhouse.
Hayes’s dark-blond hair blows with the slight breeze. A dewy sheen of sweat coats our skin in this dry heat, and reminders of the night we met flash before me.
How we moved as one. Slicked with sweat and urgent need.
How he kissed every inch of my body like he’d memorize my curves. My freckles.
He’s forever imprinted. And while I held those memories in comfort for months, now all they do is hurt.
“I’ll be back tonight,” he says again when I’ve yet to respond.
“It’s fine if you’re not.” I shrug, putting up the same walls he clearly still wants between us. “I understand if the club needs you.”
They always need him.
And he always needs them.
It’s an endless cycle that defines his life. Why should I expect that to change just because he married me to keep me safe?
I maintain a cool expression. I’m not giving him a show or begging him to stick around. I refuse to beg a man. I’m either worth it to them or not, and clearly, Hayes has more important things to take care of tonight.
Hayes frowns, and for a moment, I feel guilty because it's not his fault that I’ve made my problems his, but I quickly shove that away. Charlie is as much his responsibility as mine. If we have to play this game for her, then so be it.
I turn to walk away, but Hayes catches my elbow.
“I mean it, Emery. I’ll be back tonight. I know it’s shit timing, but—”
“He's the president.”
Hayes nods, scratching the back of his neck. “Give Charlie a kiss for me."
“I will.” My irritation doesn’t mean I won’t make sure Charlie gets the best of both of us.
By the time I make it inside, Tempe is half asleep on the couch, and Charlie is already in bed.
I say goodbye to Tempe, and a prospect meets her outside to walk her home.
Clearly, the club president doesn’t pull any punches when it comes to his old lady if he doesn’t let her walk home alone after dark, even in the neighborhood. Their house is barely a few feet away.
Charlie doesn’t stir when I give her two kisses. One for me and one for her father.
With the windows open, a soft breeze filters through the house. The scent of lemons fills every inhale. I’ve slowly cleaned the musky smell out of the furniture. The stale, dusty air has been replaced by the fresh scent of potpourri. All around are dots of color and life.
By the time I finish brushing my teeth, I practically fall into bed. Between lack of sleep and the surprise wedding, I’m exhausted. I drift off to sleep quickly but toss and turn. Dreams melt into nightmares, and every little sound wakes me, stirring hope that it’s Hayes coming home.
After waking up for the tenth time, I tap my phone and see it’s already almost three in the morning, and he hasn’t come back.
I should have expected it, but some part of me hoped my husband would actually be here on our wedding night. To the point where I left the bedroom door open in hopes he might try to sneak in.
Maybe I really am the only one who wants this.
Why would he?
He has a clubhouse full of beautiful women willing to take care of his needs.
Why bother with the girl who still has no idea what she’s doing in bed?
I should have told him that I refuse to marry someone who isn’t going to be faithful.
I’ve gotten so used to not questioning my uncle I’ve forgotten that I have a spine.
No more.
Tomorrow, I’ll tell Hayes what I’m thinking.
I kick off the sheets, and the breeze tickles my skin. Outside, a storm is brewing. The air is changing.
I toss and turn, burying my nose in the pillow and grumbling. It smells like Hayes even though he doesn’t share this bed with me. He lingers everywhere. On my clothes—in this house. I’m irritated with him, and I crave him, and it’s so incredibly frustrating.
He’s the addiction I can’t kick.
A shock to my system.
I close my eyes and let myself cling to that for a second. I picture Hayes’s face like I have so many times over the past ten months. He might resent me, but I crave him. It’s undeniable. My core burns as my hand drifts lower, pausing at the hem of my T-shirt.
Given the heat, I skipped wearing shorts.
No one is home but me and Charlie, so it doesn’t matter.
But still, in the darkness, it feels like I’m crossing a line.
Touching myself to thoughts of Hayes was different when he was a memory I’d cling to in the middle of the night.
Now he’s my husband, and I still can’t figure out if he wants me.
This is wrong.
So why does he always feel so right?
Sagebrush rustles outside. The gentle sounds of the desert are calming. I brush my fingertips over my thighs, and my skin prickles.
I’m so mad at him right now that I shouldn’t be doing this, but I can’t help it. And when my fingers drift inward, I imagine they’re his.
I picture Hayes bracing himself over me. The heat of his breath on my neck. The press of his lips on my throat. The weight of his body over mine.
He’s my first and only experience, and I’ve clung to that like an obsessed woman. Nothing culls this attraction—this need that’s burned hot since the first time we met gazes across the casino floor.
Skating my fingers inward, I slowly move them over my cotton underwear. He’d love that I’m already wet for him. That he wouldn’t even need to touch me to have my body responding.
I peel the underwear aside and imagine it’s his large hands driving inward. It’s his finger running a gentle circle over my clit. It’s him driving deep.
My touch pales in comparison, but I ignore that. I focus on him, gasping as I grind the heel of my hand over myself.
Tipping my head back, I focus on the memory of his lips on my throat. Of his teeth skimming my collarbone. I imagine him kissing lower. Claiming a path between my breasts and over my stomach until he meets me where I need him most.
My mouth parts, and I’m so close at just the thought of him. On the precipice of my release. My body arches, and just as I’m about to tip over that ledge, a floorboard creaks, pulling me back.
My eyes fly open, and I find Hayes standing in the doorway with his hands tucked into his pockets. His eyes are fixed between my spread legs, and the most beautiful smirk lights his face.
“Don’t stop on my account, wife.”