He urged her onto her back as he remained on his knees.
“So fucking sexy.” Streeter squirted lube into his hand and coated his cock. Another dollop covered his fingers and he kept his slumberous gaze focused on hers as he slipped those digits inside her. Once. Twice. Three times.
“You wet enough to take me?”
“Yes, but keep the lube handy.”
There was no hiding his emotions in those beautifully expressive green eyes as he planted his left hand above her shoulder and rolled his pelvis up, dragging his cock over her mound.
She groaned. “Do that like a hundred more times.”
“You’re way more optimistic than I am about how long this is gonna last.” He pushed into her slowly. Watching her face like there would be a test later about exactly when pleasure overtook her pain.
It’d been so long since she’d felt that stretching burn—and never like this—as he inched his way inside.
“Streeter.”
He stopped.
She felt his legs shaking. Watched the sweat building on his hairline. Saw him clenching his jaw when he forced out a terse “What?”
“Kiss me.” Bailey twined her arms around his neck. “Please.”
“I can concentrate on fucking you or kissing you, but not both at the same time yet, so pick one.”
She bit her cheek to keep from laughing. “Definitely fucking.”
“Thank god.” He snapped his hips and he was all in.
The weight of him was the perfect amount of pressure on her clit. And if he stayed like that, she might embarrass herself and come at the first hard thrust.
“Tell me what’ll get you off.”
“Rock forward. Oh god, yes, just like that. So close.”
“Already?”
“Yes! And no goddamned judgment when you just admitted you were ready to blow too. Please just . . .”
Streeter laid his hands on the insides of her thighs and pushed them flat to the mattress, pinning her like a butterfly. Then he started to move.
That one adjustment was all she needed. She unraveled immediately. Arching hard, swearing a streak of gibberish, then unable to make a single sound as she held her breath through every throbbing pulse.
It. Was. Fantastic.
A dozen fast jabs later, she looked up as Streeter closed his eyes and groaned.
She felt every pulse of his cock and clamped her inner muscles to the rhythm of his release.
Sex-drunk, he pitched forward and buried his face in the crook of her neck.
A heavy sigh later and he started nibbling her jawline. Then her earlobe. He kissed a path to her mouth, bestowing soft smooches and tiny sugar bites, pausing only to whisper praises into her neck and promises into her ear.
Their soul kisses started out slow but didn’t remain that way for long. When she felt him harden inside her again, and that white-hot spark of need ignited between them, she clamped her hands on his ass and held on.
* * *
Bailey wasn’t sure how long they’d lain in his bed, indulging in afterplay after the second time. But at some point, they both fell asleep.
“Streeter?”
“Yeah.”
“I need food. I’m starving.”
On cue, her stomach rumbled.
She kissed his shoulder and rolled to the opposite side of the bed. “I’ll cook since it was my idea to have dessert first.” She found her panties and one of Streeter’s T-shirts, which hung to her knees but was still better than putting on pants.
She wandered into the kitchen and peered into the fridge. Of course it was fully stocked. She took out the eggs, a package of sharp cheddar cheese and a gallon of milk.
When Streeter appeared, his hair adorably messy, wearing just his boxers, she bit back a sigh. He really was too good to be true. “So, cutie, I’ve decided on scrambled eggs with cheese and tomatoes.”
“Sounds good. I’ll make the toast. The pan you’ll need is in the oven.” He paused. “I’ve got bacon in the freezer.”
“That’ll take too long.” That was sort of a half-truth. Bacon didn’t agree with her so she usually avoided it.
The meal came together pretty fast.
After the first bite, Streeter set his fork down. “Thank you for cookin’.”
“Thank you for fucking me stupid.”
He smiled. “Totally my pleasure.”
He was quiet too long after he finished eating.
Bailey touched his forearm and he jumped.
“Shit. Sorry. Lost in thought.”
“About?” Please don’t say guilt.
His troubled eyes met hers. “Why a beautiful, sexy, funny woman like you isn’t married or in a relationship.”
Maybe if she talked about her past he’d talk about his. “I’ve been in relationships, even a couple of serious ones. But I knew they wouldn’t last.”
“How?”
“They were based on convenience or the taboo nature of screwing around when we weren’t supposed to be during deployment. My last relationship was with a guy in my company. It ended two years ago. He ended it, in case you were curious.”
“I am. Why’d he break it off?”
Bailey snagged the piece of crust on her plate and proceeded to shred it into crumbs. “Logan said I wasn’t what he wanted anymore. That stung. I mean, it would’ve been easier if he’d cheated on me. Then I could blame his new squeeze for the breakup. But when someone you care about says to your face, ‘Babe, it’s not me, it is you,’ that’s a personal blow to the core of who I am. Or who I was. That changed me. Not because I couldn’t live without him, but because I could. I’d wasted a few years with a guy . . .” Who ran at the first sign of trouble. But she couldn’t admit that. She cleared her throat. “With a guy who had a standard that I couldn’t live up to.”
“His loss”—Streeter leaned over and easily lifted her out of the chair and onto his lap—“is my gain.”
“Just as long as you’re aware that I’m only about the sex.”
He frowned.
“If that’s a problem, let’s get it out there now.”
“No, actually that’s better for me. Then I won’t feel guilty about spending my off-hours with Olivia.”
She pressed her forehead to his. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”
“Surprisingly . . . no. But since this kick-started my libido, I can’t wait to hear you knockin’ on my door after Olivia’s in bed.” His gaze bored into hers. “It’s gotta be here during the week. I can’t leave her alone.”
“I’d never ask you to do that.”
They stayed like that for a while. Breathing the same air as Streeter trailed his fingers up and down her leg.
Finally he said, “After I told you I’m fine with just sex, I’m gonna ask you not to leave. It’s only nine o’clock. Hang out with me.”
“Streeter Hale. Are you asking if I wanna Netflix and chill with you?”
“Yeah.”
Dear lord. Was the man . . . blushing?
Oh, Bailey, how are you gonna keep yourself from falling for him?
She’d think about that later. Much later.
“I don’t care what we start watching first, but I wanna end our night with some porn.” She kissed the muscle flexing in his jaw. “Don’t tell me you don’t watch it.”
“Of course I watch it, but not out here where my kid could catch me with my dick in my hand. Them kinda movies I watch in my bedroom.”
“I’m in.”
“But I’m gonna be honest. I don’t wanna watch porn with you. I wanna do the things I’ve seen in porn with you.”
“Even better.”
Chapter Twelve
It’d been so long since Streeter had a warm female body in bed next to him that he couldn’t sleep.
Rather than risk wakin
g Bailey, he carefully turned on his side, facing away from her.
He swore to himself he wouldn’t overthink this.
But how was he supposed to focus on anything besides reliving the best sex he’d ever had?
And what did he do with the guilt that it’d never been like that between him and his wife?
Had that been his fault? Or hers?
After she’d died, he’d spent countless nights staring at the ceiling, missing her, hating her, hating himself for missing her and hating her.
During her pregnancy she’d curled into a protective ball around their child and he’d rubbed her aching lower back. Then he’d kissed her belly and marveled at the life that grew inside her.
He’d believed she’d felt that same sense of awe. But maybe her silence hadn’t been because of wonder. Maybe she’d gone quiet because of dread.
Had he known something was troubling her after Olivia’s birth? No. Danica hadn’t wanted to breastfeed. Not a big deal, a lot of women didn’t. Streeter got up when Olivia started crying. Danica had become so used to him taking the late-night feedings that after a few weeks she didn’t move when Olivia squawked on the baby monitor.
When he’d come home from a hard day on the family ranch, Danica had been all smiles, happy to see him. Yet looking back, he remembered almost every night he’d walked into the house he’d heard Olivia crying. Danica assured him “she’d just started that” because she’d set the baby down so she could fix supper.
Streeter had no reason to think Danica hadn’t been telling the truth.
Even the couple of times he’d shown up midday and found Danica in her pajamas, snoozing away in their bed while Olivia wailed from her crib, his wife had a logical and tearful explanation. She’d only stretched out for a moment after she’d put Olivia down for her nap and she was just so tired from the demands of a baby that she’d fallen into an exhausted sleep.
All signs he should’ve noticed that something hadn’t been right.
But his angry side chimed in that those were things his wife should’ve talked to him about. There was no way he ever would’ve told her she had nothin’ to be depressed about when she finally had the baby they’d been trying for, for so long.
So his missing her had quickly turned into resenting her.
Resenting her had turned into hating her.
And the hating had turned everything about her, about their marriage, about their life into a void where nothing had ever been as it seemed.
Even now he feared he’d stay stuck in the past, in his own inadequacies.
A gentle touch skimmed the ball of his shoulder and down the outside of his arm. “I know you’re not asleep.”
“Did I wake you?”
“It’s fine.” She paused. “Do you want me to go?”
Did he?
He cleared his throat. “I . . . don’t know.”
“If I stay, we need to talk about her.”
“I know.”
A beat passed. “Would it be easier if you stay on your side like that so you don’t have to look at me when you’re talking?”
There wasn’t a hint of anger or pity or reproach in Bailey’s tone. And what kind of fucking saint did that make her for not running the fuck out of here? She didn’t need this heavy stuff. She’d told him she’d just wanted sex. He should ask her to go. For her own good.
But he didn’t.
He couldn’t.
He’d tell her the truth, even if she chose to run from it and from him.
Well, that’d be tit for tat since he’d been running from this himself.
Streeter rolled over and faced her.
She blinked those beautiful hazel eyes at him.
“God, you’re so pretty,” he murmured as he touched her cheek. “If I were a smooth talker I’d say I couldn’t sleep because I’d be afraid when I woke up that all of this was just a dream.”
“Then I’m glad you’re not a smooth talker. Because I’d rather have the truth.”
“C’mere.” He stretched out on his back and tucked her against his side, shoving the pillow under his head.
Bailey squirmed around until she got comfortable, twining her legs with his, making sure there wasn’t any space between his body and hers.
He idly twirled a hank of her hair around his finger. “Once I get goin’ on this, just let me ramble without any questions until I’m ready, okay?”
She kissed his pectoral. “Got it.”
How . . . where . . . was he even supposed to start with this?
Find out what she knows.
“First I gotta ask how much you know about my history and Olivia’s mother. Even if you heard it thirdhand, I wanna know.”
“I haven’t asked anyone about you, and no one from the Split Rock has come up and warned me off you, because I’m pretty sure no one would put us together as a couple.”
“How wrong they were, huh?” He kissed the top of her head. “That was the hottest sex of my life, Bailey.”
“It was right up there for me too.” She wiggled against him, still searching for the perfect spot. “So I know that you married your high school sweetheart. I figure you were mostly happily married since you were together for years. You had a child together and she died. From the way you don’t talk about how she died, it was probably a car accident rather than a medical condition like cancer.”
“Or she committed suicide.”
Bailey’s body went rigid.
“The shock of sayin’ that has worn off for me, although as you know, I don’t talk about it at all if I can help it.”
“Does Olivia know how she died?”
“No. I’ll tell her, of course, when she’s older, before someone else does. But there’s part of me that thinks she already knows.” He paused and swallowed hard. “That she remembers.”
Bailey opened her mouth against his chest and then closed it again.
“When Olivia was six months old, Danica killed herself in Olivia’s bedroom. She slashed her wrists first, but she also had a shotgun and pulled the trigger. That’s what I came home to. Her dead and Olivia screamin’ in her crib. And she must’ve done it right after I went to work.” He kept twirling Bailey’s hair. “All I could see beyond the blood was my beautiful baby who’d screamed so much she’d gone hoarse. When I called 911, the call center told me to stay put, not to do anything, until law enforcement showed up. But I could see that she’d been goddamned neglected all day, and I wasn’t gonna let Olivia go hungry while we waited. I sat on the floor with the front door wide open, as I fed her the first bottle she’d had in probably nine hours.
“Not a lot of calls like that in to our county, so the deputy and ambulance got there pretty quick. First thing the deputy did was check my call log to see who else I’d been in touch with because at that point, I was a suspect. I listened as the deputy called my dad and my brother to verify that I’d been at work with them all day. Took about an hour for a crime scene unit to arrive and another half an hour for them to determine I hadn’t killed my wife. Oh, and since a minor child was the only witness, and had been endangered by her own mother, social services was called to the scene too.
“The social worker went into Olivia’s room and packed up a bunch of her clothes, diapers, blankets and stuff. She went upstairs with me and helped me bathe Olivia and get her dressed in clothes that weren’t covered in blood. Danica’s body was gone by the time we returned downstairs. Then I gave the deputy Danica’s parents’ contact info because I couldn’t handle telling them. I threw some of my own stuff in a bag, tossed in formula and bottles and left. Checked into a motel. But I’ll bet I didn’t sleep more than two hours in three days and Olivia wouldn’t let me out of her sight.”
His chest was damp—he’d expected Bailey’s tears and for some reason, instead of annoying him, that helped him keep talking.
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“The weeks that followed were mostly a blur. The funeral, dealing with Danica’s grief-stricken parents and sister. We were all in shock. None of us had seen it comin’. And because of that, ugly words were exchanged all around. I never went back to the house. Danica’s best friend went in and boxed up all the pictures and baby items, a couple of heirlooms that’d been passed down from our families and some of Danica’s things that Olivia might want someday. But the rest of it? I had it hauled off. It was either that or throw a fuckin’ match inside the house and watch the place burn.
“I couldn’t go anywhere in my hometown without invoking pity and questions. My fucked-up life was the topic of speculation and gossip. Olivia became a tragic figure. At six months old. But I muddled through for a while. My daughter had become so attached to me I couldn’t work. I couldn’t stand to be around people, especially Danica’s family because they looked to me for answers that I didn’t have.” He paused, wishing he’d grabbed a glass of water. “Then everything went down with my dad and brother that I already told you about. Also during that time it came to light that over the years Danica worked for the state, she’d quadrupled the amount of her life insurance. I had no fuckin’ idea she’d done that. And it pissed me off because the last time she increased the payout was four years before we had Olivia. I couldn’t help but think . . . did she know she was gonna off herself eventually? Had Danica always had bouts of depression and I just hadn’t seen it? Or had postpartum depression brought on suicidal thoughts?
“All questions I’ll be stuck wondering about the rest of my life with no possibility for answers. When I questioned the insurance company about the policy changes, they indicated that fertility problems were the reason Danica gave for increasing the life coverage level—she wanted to make sure that I or we—me and a baby—would be taken care of if anything went wrong during a procedure. So yeah, I had no issues getting the insurance company to pay the goddamned guilt money from my dead wife. But no amount of money would ever make our lives easier. Especially not after . . .”
Bailey pressed a kiss above his heart and dug her fingers into his chest, as if she were trying to hold his heart inside.
Spun Out Page 14
