Chapter 23 #2
In the meantime, this has become part of our routine. Waking up with her in the middle of the night after every nightmare to comfort and hold her, whispering words of reassurance into her ear until she stops shaking and slowly falls asleep again.
It’s almost alarming how used to it I’ve become. But by the tenth time it happens, waking up to find her hyperventilating and struggling to self-regulate, I know exactly what to do.
“Another one?” I ask softly, moving to kiss her shoulder. She nods, eyes lost in the darkness above us. “Was it the same as usual?” she nods again. “You or me?”
“It was you. He shot you. And I woke up as he pulled the trigger on me.”
I pass a soothing hand over her back, drawing slow circles over the T-shirt she’s wearing. “It was just a nightmare, Andrea. We’re safe here.”
“I know, but it felt so real. It always feels so real …”
I press my lips on her shoulder once more and gently encourage her to lie down. I guide her to her side, her wounded shoulder up, and press myself onto her back, holding her in a way that won’t hurt her. “We’re safe,” I whisper. “No one’s coming for us here.”
She relaxes more with every word, her breathing slowing down to return to normal. Even as words become superfluous, I keep her in my embrace, as close as we can be given the circumstances.
“I should have seen him,” I say after a moment of silence. “I should have seen that man waiting outside. Everything would have been so different.”
“Baby, as attentive and astute as you are, you can’t see and anticipate everything. I’m not blaming you for not seeing him. I’m only glad I saw him in time to save your life.”
“You almost died because I wasn’t paying enough attention.”
“That’s not technically true. You almost died because you weren’t paying attention. I almost died because I was.”
I let her logic run a couple of laps in my head, absorbing the nuances. “Does it help?” she wonders in a small voice.
“So, in a way, I endangered my own life rather than yours. Is it weird that it does help?”
“It just means you love me more than life itself. Which is quite flattering.”
I tighten my arm around her middle. “It’s an odd feeling.”
“What is?”
“To care for someone so much. To value the life of another person more than your own. It feels very selfless, but at the same time, I’m selfish in my love for you.”
“How so?”
“I never want to let go of you. I almost lost you, and I want you all to myself all the time.”
“So, I guess being here works quite well for you.”
“It does. That’s why I’m being selfish. We’d stay here for the rest of our lives if it were my call. But I realize you need to be around your family, your friends, and people other than me.”
“Don’t you? Wouldn’t you miss Kev and Shelly if we never went back? What about Maddison? Don’t you want to see our goddaughter grow up? And what about your sisters? Your nieces and nephews?”
I allow myself a few long seconds to think about it, trying to imagine what this could become over time. “I guess I would eventually, yes. But if the alternative is keeping you safe, I’m willing to never see them again.”
“I’m sure we’ll find ways to remain safe eventually, without needing to hide.”
“We’ll work on that once you get better. Now, rest. It’s the middle of the night.”
“Ugh … All I do all day is rest. A girl needs to have some fun now and then,” she mumbles.
Like an audacious little minx, she arches back to press herself into me, bringing the swell of her ass right onto my cock. I grab her hip and push her away, but it’s too little too late. My body’s already reacting to the contact, a familiar rush surging into my length. Stupid fucking instinct …
She lets out a protest, trying again, but I prevent it. “What’s a wife to do to get fucked by her husband?” she complains.
Shit. This works on me even better than physical contact. But I don’t let it show, muttering instead, “Not until you’re healed.”
“I’m feeling so much better already. We could go slow. Very slow.”
“Six weeks,” I remind her, gently pinching the skin of her hip. “Not a day sooner.”
“The doctor said four weeks, Alexander.”
“She said six optimally.”
“Ugh, killjoy.”
“Sex addict.”
“Prude.”
“Slut.”
She giggles at the last one. “You’re so mean.”
“I know. Sleep.”
After a sigh, she wriggles closer to me. When I try to prevent it, she says, “It’s not sexual. I’m just cold.”
Though I doubt it, I let her hip go and let her press herself onto me. When she feels the uncontrollable effect she has on me, she mumbles, “And I’m the slut?”
“I’ll always be a slut for you, freckles. Even when it’s inconvenient.”
Her small chuckle shakes her against me. “What a good little husband you are.”
Fucking hell, if this is how my body reacts to the word now, I’m worried about what will happen the day I actually become her husband. She already has me wrapped around her little finger, has had for a while now, but her hold on me will tighten when that happens.
I’m not sure I mind. Not since I know I’ll get a good little wife in return.
“Hi, handsome,” Andrea greets me as she joins me in the living room.
To celebrate a month of being here, we’re having a special night with a fresh batch of margaritas, finger food, and a board game.
It’s not that special, as it resembles most of our evenings here, but we’ve made an effort to make it a little more festive than usual.
Plus, she’s officially allowed to drink again.
We spent a couple of hours together in the kitchen preparing everything, then she went up to change while I finished setting it all up and prepared our drinks.
She looks down at the black tank top she borrowed from me, skeptical.
It looks like a dress on her—a very short dress.
“This is the best I could do, sorry. You only packed comfortable clothing for me, so I had to improvise.” She spins around, showing me the claw clip in her back, holding the fabric to make it a better fit.
“No sling tonight?”
“I think I’m pretty much done with it. My shoulder barely hurts anymore.”
I nod, returning my attention to the margarita I was pouring. “So, what game did you choose?” I ask.
“It’s a couple’s game. Each card has a question, and we have to answer it together, then maybe discuss. I bet we’ll learn a lot more about one another.”
“That should be fun.”
“That’s what I thought. Shall we?”
She sets up the box on the table before sitting next to me, with her legs under her.
With her margarita in her left hand, she randomly picks a card from the box.
Seeing her use both her arms feels grand, and pride swells in my chest at seeing her recover so well.
She reads the bold letters silently first, and then out loud.
“What nonsexual thing does your partner do that really turns you on?”
We both think about it for a few seconds, and she says first, “When you put on your glasses. Or when you adjust them. It makes me so horny, it’s not even funny.”
“Really? You must be horny quite a lot.”
“You have no idea.”
“I used to get really turned on when you called me ‘baby,’ but I’ve gotten used to it now. So maybe when you’re thinking intently, with your brows furrowed. Sometimes you even have the tip of your tongue poking from between your lips. It makes me want to distract you.”
“You must have gotten so many hard-ons when we shared a desk at Kelex.”
“Woman, I’ve stopped counting the unsolicited erections you’ve triggered at work for me.”
Delighted by my admission, she takes a sip of her margarita with a broad smile. Gesturing toward the game, she says, “Your turn to pick.”
“Is it our similarities or differences that attract us to each other?” I read after picking a card.
“Hmm, that’s a good one. For me, our similarities helped us find some common ground and bond.
But I definitely love how different you are from everything I’ve ever known.
That’s part of the reason I’m attracted to you.
I like that you’re cerebral, full of self-control, and aloof to most of the world.
It makes me feel so special that you’re spontaneous, open, and warm with me. ”
“And I love that you’re free-spirited, impulsive, and social. It makes me want to be the same. It pushes me to be more like you.”
“You know you don’t have to change for my sake, right? I love you just the way you are,” she insists.
“I know. You’re more of a role model, if that makes sense? I adore everything about you, so becoming even the slightest bit like you would be an achievement.”
After a few seconds of staring at me with her lips parted, she decides, “I need you to tone it down, Coleman. At this rate, I’ll jump you and beg you to put a baby in me by card number four. And not even for the sex, just so I can birth your offspring.”
Without giving me time to answer, she picks another card. She snorts after reading it to herself, then says, “I think we can skip this one.”
Curious, I take it from her and read: How is this relationship unique?
“Yeah, I think we both know the answer to that,” I agree after a soft laugh.
We alternate picking cards, and for a lot of them, we already know the answers.
Our first love is each other. Our favorite sex positions are doggy style for her, cowgirl for me, and sexually, we want to explore anal and tying her up.
On a less carnal note, we also know a lot about one another’s upbringing, about each other’s parents, about our flaws, qualities, and insecurities.
But the game allows us to ask things we’d never thought about, and I’ll forever enjoy learning more about her.
I could spend the entire week picking cards, answering, and discussing without growing bored with it.
We learn about each other’s first kisses, our first times, about our understanding of love, our expectations for the future …
We even settle on having two children—three if it’s easier than we anticipated.