Playing Dirty (25 page)

He kissed, he licked, he sucked, pushing her hard, heightening her need for him to make her come. She moaned, she cried his name, begged for release, but he withheld her orgasm. When he drove two fingers deep inside her and stroked, fast, hard, she nearly died from the pleasure building inside her. She grabbed a handful of his short-cropped hair and held him to her. “Now,” she begged. “Please.”

Instead of giving her the orgasm her body demanded, he stood and roughly yanked down his jeans and boxer briefs, then kicked them aside. He hauled her off the counter, turned her around so she faced the mirror and widened her stance before he took her from behind. She let out a long, slow hiss of breath as he filled her. Her moans coalesced with his sharp groans as he pumped his hips, withdrawing only to bury himself to the hilt with each thrust. His cock slid in and out of her body, his fingers dug into her flesh, but she didn’t care. She needed to come. Now.

Knowing it made him crazy when she touched herself, she moistened her fingers with her mouth, then reached between her legs and applied pressure to her clit. She instantly unraveled. He watched her in the mirror as she came, his eyes going as dark as a midnight sky. The force of her orgasm rocked her so hard all she could do was absorb the shockwaves of passion as he pumped into her, harder, faster. If Ford wasn’t holding her, she’d have slid into a boneless puddle at his feet.
 

With one final thrust, he buried himself deep and came. He groaned as his dick throbbed and pulsed inside her. She leaned forward, bracing her hands on the vanity as he continued to grind into her until the spasms rolling through his body ebbed.
 

She’d been fucked. Thoroughly. Completely. Her body continued to hum from the afterglow of such intense pleasure. Ford had always been a skilled lover. Adventurous. Uninhibited. She had the pink floral box stowed on a shelf in her closet filled with various adult toys he’d bought them over the years to prove it, too.
 

Still breathing hard, he released her. “I’m sorry.” He pulled out of her and took a step back before he dragged his hand down his face. “God, babe, I’m so sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” Confused, she grabbed the towel from the counter and wrapped it around her. “For what?”

“For...” he spread his hands wide, “...this.”

Irritation settled in her shoulders. She frowned. “You didn’t hear me complaining, did you?”
 

He ignored her question as he picked up his boxer briefs and stepped in them before snagging his jeans from the floor. “Are you okay?”
 

Her annoyance had her ripping away the clip holding her hair, and she tossed it on the vanity. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I shouldn’t have done that,” he said.
“Did you hear me say no?” This wasn’t the first time they’d had sex that danced up against the rough side, and she hoped it wouldn’t be the last. She loved it when they lost control, when they left their inhibitions outside the bedroom door. “Have you
ever
heard me say no?”

He yanked on his jeans. “Maybe you should start,” he said, sounding annoyed. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

She turned to face him, surprised to see his earlier anger had returned. “Are you ticked off at me?”
 

“Yes, damn it. I’m furious with you right now.”

His answer stunned her. “Look, if I didn’t want sex, I would have said no. I didn’t, so get over yourself.” When he didn’t respond, she asked, “Do I have to guess why you’re in a mood, or are you going to tell me?”

The look he gave her was hard, unforgiving. “Every single day, I fought to stay alive. Every single day, I
found
a way to survive. I want to forget the things I had to do in order to do that. But you think by talking about it, you can somehow share in the experience.”

“No, but I read an article online that said—”
 

“Oooh, you read an article online,” he said mockingly. “And now what? I’m supposed to talk it out with you? Are you going to kiss my boo-boo make it all better?”

“That’s not—”
 

“I’ve talked to the Navy shrink, Mattie, and I’m sick of sharing my ‘feelings,’” he said using air quotes. “It’s your turn. While I was living in Hell, what the
fuck
were you doing?”

Panic seized her. “I’m not having this discussion with you.” Needing to wash away the remnants of their tryst in the bathroom, she crossed the room to the shower and turned on the tap. “I’m going to clean up and go to bed. Good night, Ford.”

“Don’t want to talk about it? Let me make it easy for you,” he said angrily. “Pick a day, Matt. Any day.”

“Why are you being such a jerk?” She tested the water, then cranked up the heat a few notches. “We had sex. It was good. More than good, it was a little rough and I came, hard. So did you, for that matter. Can’t we just leave it at that and call it a night?”

“What were you doing the past five years, Matt?” he pressed. “Other than fucking some other guy.”

The urge to slap his face bit into her hard. Instead, she clutched the towel to her chest. She was not a violent person, but right now, she wanted nothing more than to lash out at him. “Don’t bother moving your things out of the guest room.”
 

“This is still my house,” he said, his voice low and cold. “And you’re still my wife.”

“No, I’m Ford Grayson’s wife. I don’t know who the hell you are,” she shot at him. “But until you start behaving like my husband, you can sleep in the garage for all I care.”
 

He looked as if he were going to say something further on the subject, but he brushed passed her instead, closing the door with a sharp snap. She struggled not to cry, but the battle was lost. She dropped her towel and stepped into the stinging spray of the multiple shower heads. Stumbling back against the deep-blue, glass tiles, she slid to the floor and buried her face in her hands.

She cried because of the hurt and resentment still lingering between them. Cried because of what Ford had suffered, and how she’d almost given up completely. She cried until she had nothing left and could barely catch her breath.

She started hiccupping as she stood to wash her hair. When did they go so wrong? Were they so broken they couldn’t be fixed? She didn’t want to believe that was even possible, but after tonight, she had to admit, she honestly did not know if they could move forward.

The old Ford would never have retreated. He’d have stayed until they fought it out, until they’d resolved the issue. Only once in their entire marriage had they gone to bed angry, and that had been her fault because she’d been PMSing and had refused to kiss and make up.
 

She rinsed her hair, added conditioner, then decided to shave her legs. Using the built-in shower-bench for support, she slathered shaving cream on her legs. As she dragged the razor over her calves, she realized her and Ford weren’t even close to resuming their relationship, not in the real sense. They might have breached the sexual barrier, but emotionally, they remained miles apart.
 

She finished shaving, then rinsed her hair before she stepped out of the shower. As she toweled off and dressed in a pair of loose fitting pajama bottoms and one of Ford’s old Baylor University t-shirts she’d never been able to part with, she understood they needed to find a way to make peace. But how could they when Ford was still held captive, this time by the demons haunting him, and his jealousy over her relationship with Trenton. “Deal with it,” she murmured to her reflection in the mirror. “How are we supposed to do that?”

Sadly, she didn’t have the first clue.
 

Fourteen

THUNDER RUMBLED FAR in the distance, warning of the first of what reportedly would be a series of storms rolling up from the Gulf, if the weather-gurus were to be believed. August in Texas was damned hot, that was a given. But Mother Nature had been raging more than usual, making everyone miserable in the process, with triple digits riding high on the mercury. The humidity was so thick, Ford swore they’d been living under a wet, wool blanket all week. They were overdue for some stormy weather, and the light wind stirring the leaves on the big tree out front, carried with it the promise of relief and the sweet scent of coming rain.
 

Like he’d told Mattie Sunday night, they were stuck. Now, not only were they stuck, there was a chasm between them he swore was widening every day they remained unresolved. Neither one of them had ever been the type to hold a grudge before, at least not for more than a few hours, so he wasn’t accustomed to the polite responses and emotionless queries he’d been getting from her all week. Otherwise, she wasn’t talking. Her lips were sealed tighter than a seasoned CIA agent being interrogated by the enemy. Naturally they’d argued during the course of their marriage, sometimes even heatedly. But they’d
always
made-up afterward. But he swore, if he heard her say, “I’m fine,” one more time when he asked her if everything was all right, he might just lose it.
 

So what was he doing? Instead of confronting his wife and clearing the air, or having it out with her once and for all, he was hiding in the garage like a fucking coward. He wasn’t the one being stubborn. He’d tried several times to apologize for his behavior, and every time he did, he swore it only pissed her off more.

At a loss of what to do next, he shook his head and dug through the tool box, looking for the right size wrench. Despite the awkward silence between them, they’d still somehow managed to continue with the familiar roles they’d slipped into since his return. Old habits and new routines were becoming as natural to him as breathing. Granted, he couldn’t completely shake the horrors that had been ingrained on his soul during his years held prisoner, but he was determined to conquer that particular beast. Still, too many nights to count, he’d been jolted awake by a nightmare he struggled to recall, lingering on the fringes of his mind, leaving his body coated in a cold sweat. Those were the worst, for the simple fact he’d spend hours tossing and turning afterward, unable to quiet his mind. Desperate to recall the nightmare, he’d lie awake and relive the variations of hell he’d endured.

He hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d told Mattie there was so much more he could tell her. He bore scars, physical and emotional, but he had no desire to relive them—at least with her. Chauvinistic or not, he wanted to shield her from the ugliness of what he’d endured, not share his experiences like some loser attempting to relive his glory days. Wasn’t it enough that he
had
survived? That he
had
made it home?

He plucked the wrench he wanted from the tool box and walked back into the sticky evening air where Phoebe waited for him in the driveway. “You sure about this, sugar pea?”

She let out a dramatic sigh. “I’m sure, Daddy. Krista said baby wheels are for babies.”

Krista, he knew, was the little girl down the street Phoebe played with from time to time. “You’ll always be my baby,” he said as he crouched down beside her. He started loosening the bolt to remove the first training wheel from Phoebe’s bike.

“It’s not the same thing,” she said. “Krista says I’m gonna be a first grader. I’m too big for baby wheels now.”

She was too big for a lot of things, mostly the little moments he’d missed. He’d never rock his newborn daughter to sleep, never see her take her first steps. He’d forever lost the opportunity to hear her speak her first words, or sing her first song, and it infuriated him. But what really bothered him was that Phoebe had noticed her parents had rarely spoken at all this week. The way she’d kept looking at them both during dinner tonight had him deciding enough was enough. Keeping his distance and engaging in polite conversation was not the kind of marriage he wanted.
 

He removed the first training wheel and set it aside, then went to work on the second wheel. At first, it wouldn’t budge, but after putting some muscle behind it, the bolt finally gave. “Are you sure Mommy put your bike together?” Ford asked. “Granddaddy didn’t help?”

Phoebe crouched beside him, her little hand resting on his knee to maintain her balance. “Nope,” she said. “Mommy did it. I helped, too.” She gave a forlorn expression at the discarded training wheel. “Are you sure this is going to work?”

“I’m sure.” He removed the last training wheel and set it aside. “Are you absolutely certain you’re ready?”

She drummed her fingers against her cheek and frowned. “I don’t know, Daddy. Maybe we should put them back.” She looked at him, her gaze filled with worry. “What if I fall?”

“Then you fall,” he told her. “And it’s okay to fall. Falling tells you you’re trying. And you’ll never know if you can do something if you don’t at least try.”

Phoebe let out a very grown up sounding sigh. “That’s what Mommy always says.”

That made him smile. “Your mommy is very smart.”
“That’s what she says, too.”

He chuckled and stood, before flipping the bike back onto its wheels. “Why don’t you go get Mommy?"

“Can’t we practice first?”

He thought again of everything he’d missed out on in Phoebe’s life, then shook his head. “She won’t want to miss you riding your bike without training wheels for the first time.”

“I s’pose. But I bet she won’t want to see me fall,” she said, then walked slowly toward the house, dread evident in every step.