Sorry, not sorry.
I add one finger, then two, keeping up with the soft strokes of my tongue. Soon, she loses control, grinding her hips against my face and groaning loudly. I love it.
“You taste so good,” I murmur before I give her clit a firm suck.
Aubree’s thighs tremble and she clutches my hair, tugging as she starts to come. I can feel her body gripping my fingers, and my cock pulses against my thigh. Sensation riots through me. I don’t let up until she’s trying to squirm away from me.
“Shit, Landon,” she murmurs, coming down from her high as I gather her in my arms, tug her close to my chest, and kiss her temple. “That was incredible.”
I touch her hair, her cheek. “You’re pretty incredible.”
I’m not sure if she’s self-conscious about what just happened, but Aubree rises to her feet, her face flushed. Pushing my unsettled feelings aside, I help her into her jeans. Once she’s dressed, she lets out a stifled yawn.
I chuckle and tuck her hair behind her ear. “You look sleepy.”
She nods. “Maybe just a little.”
I remember at our dinner the other night, she told me she’s been working extra hours because of a big project she’s spearheading for her boss. “Then let’s get you home.”
“What about that?” She looks down to where my dick is threatening to bust through two layers of fabric to come out to greet her.
“Maybe next time,” I say with a rasp. If I earn it.
Part of me still can’t believe I deserve a girl like her. And yeah, I want her—so badly—but I’m also okay with taking my time. That’s not to say I won’t be jerking it as soon as she’s gone.
She nods. And with another sweet kiss, she knocks down another of my walls.
After Aubree leaves, I fall back onto my bed with a sigh. As hot and eager as I was moments before, now that my apartment is quiet and the heat of the moment has passed, something else has taken up residence in my brain. When I close my eyes, all I can picture is the uncertainty in hers when that appraiser questioned us. Pressing my fingers into my temples, I try to stave off the impending headache I can feel forming.
I had fun with her today, more than I expected to, but that’s not to say everything went smoothly.
Buying her a new car? Stupid. I see that now.
Can I afford it? Yes. But that doesn’t mean it was wise to put a dent in my bank account—and for what? Showing her I was serious about her in a way that words can’t?
The worst part is, I’m not sure she even got that, because I muttered something idiotic about her looking hot in the ride. Which is true, as is the thing I said about the WAGs. All the other players’ wives drive a nice car, and it’s my responsibility to make sure Aubree does too. Call it my grand gesture, or whatever. Simple, right? Except apparently not, because the car sits untouched, gathering dust in the parking garage beneath my building. Good times.
And yet, maybe I’ve learned something in all of this, because what Aubree said has stuck with me. I need to learn to communicate better with my wife if I have any hope of making this marriage work.
9
* * *
Making Mountains out of Molehills
Aubree
Of all the ways to spend my evening after working all day, working on a wedding reception seating chart wouldn’t be my first choice.
But as a bridesmaid, when Becca texted me last night pleading for my event-planning expertise, I couldn’t say no. And as a human being with taste buds, when she lured me with the promise of splitting a veggie pizza while we work, I told her I’d be there. After spending longer than expected at my dermatologist appointment this morning, I sped over to Becca’s place, knowing that veggie pizza was just what the doctor ordered.
Not literally. Although I wish.
Now, as I’m standing in her kitchen staring at the nightmare on her table, I understand why the pizza was a necessary incentive. If I didn’t know better, I’d think this was the work of some conspiracy theorist trying to piece together clues from a crime.
“So the coasters represent tables, and each poker chip is a guest,” Becca explains, gesturing to the chaos happening on her kitchen table. There have to be almost three hundred poker chips, each one with a name written on it in permanent marker. Apparently, the four-hour flight to Becca’s hometown of Dallas isn’t enough to stop people from RSVPing yes to the wedding of the decade.
I pick up a red poker chip, reading the unfamiliar name scrawled on it. “So this is where all the missing chips from poker night have gone.”
A guilty smile tugs at her lips. “Petty theft in the name of wedding planning. Don’t tell Asher.”
We load up our plates with veggie pizza before settling in at the table, rearranging poker chips and taking hefty bites to fuel us. Since there’s spinach on the pizza, that makes it brain food, right?
“If you put Coach Dodd and his wife with the players, you can have all the assistant coaches at the same table,” I say, dragging the coach’s poker chip from one coaster to another.
“That’s what I thought too, but then where do my boss and his wife go?”
Becca is the assistant to the owner of the Ice Hawks, so between her coworkers and Owen’s teammates, there are about a hundred hockey-related guests attending this wedding. And that’s only a third of the total guest count. I guess everything really is bigger in Texas.
I scrunch my brows and take a big bite of pizza, hoping by the time I finish chewing that I’ll have a solution. Sadly, no luck.
Becca sighs, resting her chin in her cupped hands. “Aren’t you glad you didn’t have to do any of this?”
I shrug, scooting the poker chip with my name on it next to Landon’s. “Honestly, it’s the sort of thing I always pictured doing. I’ve gotten plenty of practice with all the galas I’ve orchestrated for work. I always thought I’d get to put it to use someday for my own wedding.”
“You and Landon could always renew your vows,” she says. “I mean, if you’re staying together, that is. I haven’t wanted to bring it up, but I’m dying to know.”
I groan, only half mocking her. “Not you too.”
“Have you guys been . . . spending time together?” she asks, grinning.
I nod. “A little.”
Her smile grows wider. “Like, what? A date?”
My lips twitch with the beginning of a smile.
“Spill it!” She squeals, pushing the poker chips away with the first real excitement I’ve seen all night.
I can’t not tell her. So I do.
I launch into the full story—the dinner Landon and I shared, the awkward questions from the ring appraiser, shopping together, the freaking car he bought me . . . and even what happened afterward on his couch. My cheeks heat up at the memory of Landon on his knees in front of me.
I force a deep breath into my lungs, remembering that Becca is still watching me. “But I don’t know. It feels like he’s trying to force it. Trying to make this marriage stick, when I really don’t know what I want.” I shake my head. “I hardly know him.”
Becca’s eyes widen. “Oh yeah, going down on you and buying you an SUV. He sounds like a real monster.”