Playing For Love (38 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Sunday and Monday were perfect—exactly what I thought being married to David would be like. We spent Sunday lounging around the house. Monday was our usual routine. Breakfast, gym, and I sat in the office writing while he did his work.

This morning had gone much the same, except I drove to the gym separately so I could pick up our costumes. Then David decided he wanted to go see them first. So... I kind of snuck out. Again.

Now, I was trying to sneak into the house.

“What is that?” David asked as I walked into the kitchen. 

“I just picked up our Halloween costumes.”

“You disappeared from the gym.” His tone was hard. “Without a word.
Again
. Don't fucking do that, Austin.”

“Didn't think it would matter considering you can track my phone and my car.” I shot back. “Not to mention, Fergus.”

“Hey, I don't want to use that. I want you to tell me.”

“You want me to tell you so you can check and see if that's where I'm really going.”

“Do you wanna fight? Or are you trying to distract me from the fact you didn't want me going with you to get the costumes?”

“Whatever,” I sighed, resigned and exasperated with his perceptiveness.

“Show me,” he ordered from behind me as I quickly made my way to the bedroom. “Austin.” His tone let me know he was a little annoyed too, as he grabbed the garment bags from me. “What the fuck did you get? This shit is heavy.” 

“It's perfect for us,” I explained in a pleading voice.

“Then why do you think I'm not gonna like it? And why didn't I get to go look with you?” he questioned as he walked into the bedroom, heading for the closet.

“David,” I tried to think of something that would make him be open to this, because I knew he wouldn't like more than one aspect of it. On the other hand, there were a few things he would love about it. I just had to convince him to let me leave the house in it.

He hung the garment bags on his side of the closet, unzipping the bigger one before I could come up with anything.

“What is this?” he asked me over his shoulder.

“A wolf costume. Red Riding Hood and the Big Bad Wolf.”

“Why're the ears missing? And all bloody looking?”

“Because he got his ass kicked?”

He looked at me, assessing me. “You wanna kick my ass?”

I bit my fingernail and looked down while I considered if I should be completely honest or not. I looked back up and answered in a small voice. “Sometimes?”

He watched me for a moment, then said, “Okay, if this is what you want. Fine. Let me see yours.”

“It's just an old-style dress and a big red hooded cape,” I quickly explained, hoping he wouldn't take the costume out.

He unzipped it before I even finished a round of my
please don't open it
chant in my head. Luckily, he was met with the oversized hooded cape. Then he started moving it aside to see the rest. He caught a glimpse of the top of the corset and looked at me. That's when I realized I was holding my breath.

“So what'd I do that you want me sweating my balls off all night?”

“Gross, David.” I hadn't considered that aspect before, but he was right. It was a detailed movie quality werewolf suit, the lower half was mostly foam to achieve the angles of the feet and knees of a wolf—he would be sweating all night. “You're not going to be sweating,” I lied. “And we won't be there all night.”

I was profoundly relieved he didn't notice my costume. It was going to be a discussion when the night came, but for now, I was good. And I could handle him the night of, just not right now. He was already edgy from my disappearance from the gym. I knew it was a dick move, but I also knew he would've put up a fight if he had seen the costumes first.

*****

Staring up at the ceiling, I tried to relax. This was my second colonic this week. I would never admit it to David, but I loved getting them. I felt better, thinner, had more energy.

Wanting to get a pedicure on the way home, I hoped David had more work to get done at the gym. Since coming clean yesterday about Fergus following me everywhere—even when David was with me—and the why, I hoped I was going to get a little more freedom, but his ‘go straight home’ when I left the gym squashed that.

“One more and you're done, Mrs. Taylor.”

“Okay.” What else was I supposed to say? She had a hose inside me, filling my colon with warm water.  

Once I was done, I checked my phone. Finding I was message free, I decided to chance the pedicure.

Honestly, it shouldn't matter. Fergus is following me. David's got a tracker everywhere, but up my ass.

I drove over to my old nail salon in Silver Lake—I wasn't familiar with the ones by us. It took a little longer, and maybe that was my mistake, because David noticed right away.

David: Come home, sweet girl.

11:09 AM

I needed more than just colon cleaning time away from him, so I ignored it and picked out a polish.

David: I know where you are. You

gonna make me come get you?

11:28 AM

I debated texting him back and explaining, but I wanted to find out what exactly he was going to do.

David: Times up, sweet girl.

11:42 AM

This should be fun.

After his reaction to the stripper incident and me running off to meet Zach, I didn't fear him getting truly upset with me anymore.

Twenty-minutes later as I sat with my feet under the nail dryer, the Range Rover pulled into the parking lot. I stared unabashedly as my husband's body exited the truck, muscles shifting and flexing under his thin, deep, V-neck tee. My pussy throbbed in need as peeks of his hard thighs inside those ripped/destroyed jeans caught my eye.

Damn, I did good.
On the husband and buying those jeans.
 

Those beat-up worn boots and his square aviator sunglasses completed his look. His wedding band glinted in the sunlight, drawing my attention. I kept getting caught off guard with these moments lately, struck with the reality that he was mine.     

Utterly and completely mine.

David opened the door and everyone paused. This was always the reaction when David entered a room—the energy he threw off couldn't be ignored—but here in this small space, it was more intense. He found me instantly, lowering his sunglasses enough to nail me with a dark, possessive look. “Mrs. Taylor.”

My core clenched and flooded, responding to that delicious growl.

I knew I’d made the right choice in ignoring him when he gently but firmly escorted me out and around the back of the building and pushed me into an almost alcove, facing the wall.

The sounds of traffic only yards away filled my senses. It was noon-ish on a Friday, and we were definitely going to get caught.

He took my purse and set it down, then placed my hands on the stucco wall, nice and civilized, like I'd just volunteered for a stop and frisk. But I could feel a simmering aggression radiating off him. And just like that I felt it, the familiar surge of hormones and chemicals telling me to fuck him senseless. My heartbeat sped up, my breathing turned shallow.

When his big body pressed behind me, my entire world narrowed to a pinpoint, nothing but the rise and fall of warm, hard muscle against my back and his rigid cock against my ass. He leaned down, his rough stubble and lips grazing the sensitive flesh below my ear.

“Does it make you wet?” he rumbled in that dark and decadent voice, his hands slowly roaming over my thighs, up my sides, over my breasts, taunting my nipples with their proximity.

My breath caught and I forgot the question, my whole being willing his fingers to stroke the hardening peaks.

“Does it?” he demanded, breaking my focus.

“What?” I panted.

He huffed a smug laugh, then rasped, “Does it make you wet? Knowing I dropped everything to come after you? That I'll do anything to get to you?”

Oh, fuck.
Yes, it really did.

His fingertips trailed over my nipples and I arched into him, my ass pushing against his length and breasts straining for a firmer touch.

“Yes,” I gasped.

“So...” He drew the word out on a growl, swiveling his hips into me and teasing my nipples, tormenting me with the same skilled moves he used when we were fucking. “I pull these jeans down, your cunt's gonna be ready for me?”

“Yes,” I gasped again. Just watching him climb out of the truck had me wet. I could feel it soaking into my jeans.

“Better fucking be,” he growled, his large hands going to my jeans, undoing the button and zipper, and roughly shoving them down my thighs.

His hand pushed between my legs from behind, two fingers trailing lightly over my lips, spreading my wetness over my folds. A moan of relief escaped me and my spread legs wider, as wide as I could with my jeans around my knees, asking for more.

“You are so
fucking
wet,” he groaned as histhick digits slipped through my slick folds, teasing my clit with long torturous strokes.

“David, please,” I whispered, angling my hips and pushing down, trying to work them inside me.

Abruptly, he pulled away.

“Stick your ass out,” he demanded, coldly, unzipping his own jeans.

I tilted my hips back as far as I could.

I knew this must be what being in heat felt like. Mindless with a need so primal and overwhelming,  a bitch was unconcerned about an audience or location. Nothing existed beyond getting him inside me, fucking me with long hard strokes. My whole world revolved around his cock.

“Good girl,” he growled appreciatively, and my insides clenched as my body relaxed. Becoming submissive with only those two words a little aggression.

He gripped my hips and I felt the barest graze of heat before, he slammed in deep, knocking the breath out of me.

“That what you wanted?” His voice low and strained.

“Fuck yes,” I panted, trying to push back, trying fuck myself on his cock.

He was rough, fast, dominant, and claiming.

It was over far too soon.

*****

I laid in bed and enjoyed feeling spoiled, wrapped in my Egyptian cotton heaven when I woke up Saturday morning, alone.

One day he would sleep later than me.    

The past week flew by as we fell into a comfortable routine. Beginning with breakfast and the gym. David played the part of trainer and jealous husband perfectly, and the sex was getting hotter the more jealous he was. I got my writing done while he took care of gym business. David cooked us lunch and dinner at home. In between, all three of us explored the property, getting Chance more acquainted.

The only disruption in our routine was David's meeting with his agent last night. He'd apologized profusely for not wanting me to go with him, something about what was said or might be said about me, I didn't bother telling him I would rather have an extra colonic then go to dinner with his agent.

Seriously, I would.

We were enjoying our quiet before the storm, at least I was. David had a photoshoot in Italy the following week, and I had a cover shoot I had yet to mention to him, mostly because Elaine and I knew he would veto it. It conflicted with his schedule, which meant I wouldn't be going to Italy with him, and since he'd bought me a full set of Tumi luggage, obviously he was under the impression I was. But that was an argument I was saving for tomorrow.

Or maybe Monday.

Today, I had a full day planned. A full day that I hadn't put in my phone, so David was unaware, but I needed to tell him before he started making plans.

I got up and found one of David's tees and a pair of the David's Property panties—they were super cute and comfy, but his reaction when I wore them was why I loved them. Slipping them on, I made my way into the living room, hearing what sounded like David cooking and Chance banging around his bowl as he ate.

“Hey, babe?” I called as I entered the living area.

“Yeah, sweet girl.” His deep, rich rumble carried across the large open space, hitting me full force, washing over me. Comforting me. He spoke over his shoulder. “Made waffles. Hope that's okay. Gimme a sec and I'll have your coffee ready.”

As I sat at the breakfast bar, my eyes slid over the muscles in his back, down to his narrow waist to those indents above the thick swells of his ass. His low-hanging sweats teased me. I asked, “What are you doing this morning?”

I watched as those muscles tensed. A moment later, he turned from the stovetop to look at me.

“What am I doing this morning?” he asked, suspicious and a little offended. His arms braced on the island, making his pecs flex as he stared me down. “What's that supposed to mean?”