by JA Huss
“Mr. Asher,” I say back, trying very hard to stifle my smile. Everything about him makes me want to smile.
He drops the shirt on the concrete, his pace never slowing as he kicks off his black Versace oxfords. I have to tilt my head up when he stops in front of me. It’s hard not to notice that my mouth is in the perfect position to make him relax after a long day’s work. I feel the wetness between my legs just thinking about it.
But instead of guiding my hands to his zipper, he slips off his socks and bends down to look me in the eyes. “I’ve missed you.”
“I’m back now.”
“Are you ready?”
I’m confused for a moment, but then he unleashes that hidden dimple on me and places both hands on my shoulders.
“Ready for—”
And then he pushes me into the pool.
Chapter Ninety-Nine - Vaughn
#WhatPills
I ALMOST feel bad as she tumbles over the side. But not quite. She goes under, her slip of a dress clinging to her body for a moment before it balloons out, exposing her legs.
God, I fucking love this woman.
She comes up sputtering and thrashing, but also laughing.
It’s been a long time since my Grace has been here. A long time. She’s just about to yell when I cannonball in next to her, making waves that spill gallons of water over the turquoise tiled edge.
When I open my eyes underwater, she’s right there. Her long blonde hair flows out behind her like some siren’s. Her pretty summer dress looks like it’s caught in the midst of a breeze. Before I can surface, she grabs me by the shoulders and wraps her legs around my waist. My hands automatically cup her ass and we kiss underwater like teenagers. Her fingers weave through my hair, mine slipping up her dress, my thumb caressing her stomach as my fingers grip her back.
She’s buckling from that move when we spring out of the water, the tickle too much for her.
“Ahh!” she squeals as I hug her tight. “What are you doing, Mr. Asher?”
“I’ve missed you. I’ve missed you so much.”
Her smile drops a little. “I’m sorry. I’ve been selfish and moody. I’m so, so sorry.”
“Just tell me you’re back to stay. Because, Grace, I can’t watch you be so unhappy. It’s killing me. I need you. I love you. And if I made you sad last night, I’m sorry.”
Her pout grows, but she keeps eye contact. “I needed to hear that stuff, Vaughn. I think you’re a saint for putting up with me. Not many men would stick by a girl they hardly know as she works through problems that are more than a decade old.”
I take a deep breath and touch my forehead to hers. The water drips down her face in small streams. I watch as they curve around her lips and her tongue darts out to swipe them away. “You’re not a girl, Grace. You’re my wife. I meant every word I said when I married you.”
She looks away and I know it’s because she can’t remember our vows. But I’m not going to tell her. I want her to remember on her own. And when she’s ready, she will.
“I love you, Vaughn.” She meets my gaze again and nods a little. “I’m sorry I was so out of it and I’m sorry I left you out of my decisions yesterday. You had every right to be angry last night. I was only thinking of myself, the place was a mess, and you work so hard. Thank you for taking care of things. I know it must’ve been difficult to take care of me, work, and keep up with the household chores.”
I kiss her on the nose. “It was my pleasure, princess. I can do laundry and dishes. Believe me, Felicity was the worst housekeeper ever. And you’re not the maid, so don’t think this house is your job. It’s not.”
She rests her head on my shoulder and sighs. “I don’t have a job, so taking care of things here at home might as well be it.”
“Grace, please. We can hire a cleaning service. Go get a job if you want one.”
“I wouldn’t even know where to start.”
“Mrs. Asher, say the word and I will have you gainfully employed as an event planner next week.”
“No.” She balks. “I don’t want something handed to me. I want to be part of something real. And big.”
I grab her small hand and force it down to feel my bulging cock underneath my pants. “I’ll show you something big.” I walk us towards the small waterfall. “Close your eyes and hold tight.” She grips my cock as I dip us under the falling water and step into the secret grotto hot tub. “I haven’t been in here in… well, since the builder showed it to me a few years ago.”
She looks around with wide eyes. “You have a secret hot tub?” And then she kisses me sweetly on the cheek. “And you’ve never even been in here to”—she squeezes my dick and I close my eyes for a second to enjoy it—“christen it?”
“Mmm,” I reply as my hands lift up her dress. “Now is as good a time as any.” She lets go of my shoulders and lifts up her arms. I sweep the dress up and over her head, ball it up, and throw it through the waterfall and into the pool. “Mrs. Asher. You’re commando again.” I twist her perky nipples and she squirms and unlatches her legs from my hips.
“Yes,” she purrs next to my ear. “I wanted to keep you focused.”
“You’ve got my attention.”
“Oh, not yet, Mr. Asher.” And then her hands are unbuttoning my suit pants.
My dick is so hard I’m ready to bend her over. Once the zipper comes down, her hands are greedily searching under the water. I help her out by climbing up onto a step. Her mouth comes dangerously close to my cock, her warm breath sweeping across it as her fingers deftly pull down my suit trousers.
She unpacks my throbbing thickness and licks the tip. My hands go to the back of her neck and I encourage her to take more of me as I sit on the edge of the hot tub.
“Mmmm,” she hums, making the tip of my dick vibrate. I lean back a little, one hand on the concrete behind me, propping me up, the other fisting handfuls of hair and urging her on.
“I want to come down your throat, Grace. I want to bury my whole dick in your throat.”
She responds with her hands on my shaft. Not quite up and down, not quite twisting, but a combination of both.
I almost fucking lose it right there. But instead, I pull her hair, forcing her head back so I can lean down and kiss her on the lips. “I want to fucking devour you. I want to lick your pussy until you scream. I want to fuck your ass until you beg me to stop.”
“I’ll never beg you to stop. Ever.”
I shoot her a coy grin. “Never say never, princess. I’ll take that as a challenge.”
And with that I grip her hair once more and thrust deep into her throat. She gags, tries to pull back, then looks up at me with trust in her eyes, and takes a breath from her nose as her tongue flattens along my shaft. “Mrs. Asher, you are perfect.”
She sucks in response to my praise. I hold steady at the depth I’m at and let her do her thing.
Her petite hands reach under to cup my balls and that’s when I know it’s over. She sweeps a finger back, touches my ass, applies some pressure, and I’m gone. I come down her throat, her muscles tightening, her mouth open so wide she’s sucking air in around my pulsating shaft.
“Holy fuck, Grace. Holy fuck.” That’s the extent of my vocabulary. I pull back and saliva drips down her chin. I fist her hair to tip her face up to me and then I lean down and kiss her. “I fucking love you. I love you so much. Switch places with me and lie back, baby.” My breath is coming out in long draws and she’s panting so hard she looks lightheaded. “Lie back so I can lick your pussy and make you come.”
She moans just from my words and sits on the side of the hot tub while I climb into the water.
“Open your legs, princess.”
She opens her legs and closes her eyes at the same time, but when my tongue teases the tip of her little bundle of nerves, her eyes shoot open and she moans. Her hands reach for my head now, but I grab a wrist and guide her fingers to her pussy. “Play,” I command.
She begins moving
in slow circles, clashing with my tongue as I stimulate her. I ease two fingers inside her swollen folds and curve them up to find her spot. Her whole back arches up off the ground as the moans turn into stifled screams. She bites her lip to stop the release, but I suck on her clit to keep it going. My fingers begin a stronger rhythm inside her pussy and when I nip her, she lets loose. Her squeals echo off the grotto walls, the sound of pounding water adding to the symphony we are creating.
My dick is hard again so I stand up, making her whine from the interruption of her release. But when I plunge my cock inside her and finger her ass at the same time, she gasps for air. “Come, Grace. Come for me, sweets.”
She comes hard.
She comes all over my dick.
And even though she’s been adamant about taking her pill so she can’t get pregnant, I know this is the night we start over again. This is the night when those pills go in the trash.
Chapter One Hundred - Grace
#TheThingsYouLearnWhenYouSnoop
WAKING up the next morning is like… damn. I’m not even excited enough to come up with some kind of metaphor. It just sucks. Asher is gone, I’m alone—again—and the house is empty and quiet.
I hate this.
Yesterday was so good. I kept myself busy all day. But today… now what do I do? I need a job.
I force myself to get out of bed and wash up, then pad my way into the kitchen. Which is still clean because after our mind-blowing secret backyard grotto sex last night, we ate my spaghetti and meatballs and cleaned the kitchen together.
I think that was the first domestic thing we’ve really done as a couple. And it’s wrong. I mean, almost three months after I move in, we’re not on our own schedule yet. We’re not settled. We’re not… meshing.
Oh, the sex is meshing. The sleep time is also wonderful. I think the best part of my day is climbing into bed with Vaughn and having him scoop me up next to him so my face is nestled on his chest. Definitely the best part of my day.
But good God, looking forward to bed, that can’t be all my life is about.
I really need a job.
I stick my cup under the one-cup instabrewer that Vaughn sets up for me before he leaves for work, and wait for the coffee to drip as I look around for things to clean. I really did most of it yesterday.
The only places I didn’t clean are the garage and the pool shed. So I guess that’s on the agenda for today.
And then that little devil on my shoulder whispers in my ear. Vegas, Grace. You could go to Vegas and see if you can jog your memory.
Yeah, Asher would love that. After my jaunt to Colorado, I’m pretty sure the next time I do that shit, the spanking will be more punishment than pleasure.
I chuckle a little at that. I do love me a spanking. But not when he’s really mad. I don’t want to piss him off. I want to make him happy.
So no. No memory-lane Vegas trips for me. I sigh and grab my coffee. It’s all about cleaning the garage and pool shed for me today.
I head out back first. Might as well take advantage of the morning shade. Once the day gets older, the sun will beat down on that shed and it will be very hot inside.
And that’s where I spend the next couple hours. I inflate all the rafts just so they are available for us if we want to float. I sweep out the cobwebs and the put all the various pool toys in a large mesh bag. I even wash the two windows.
The garage is even quicker. Vaughn’s garage is spotless. Not even a drop of oil on the gray painted floor. Everything is either organized in some elaborate wall shelving system complete with giant plastic tubs, or hanging on a hook over his well-equipped tool bench.
So I sweep it out and call it good. I consider washing the car he says is mine now. But it’s clean. I’m not sure who cleans it, but I’ve never seen one of his cars get dirty. That must be someone’s job.
So I go back in the house and catch the tail end of a message playing on the house phone in his office.
Damn, two days in a row there’s a call on that phone that has not gotten a call in almost three months. What the hell is going on?
I walk into Vaughn’s office, but the message is over.
Should I listen?
I mean, it’s my house too now. He says so, at least. I’m not restricted from looking at anything. Maybe Felicity’s room, because most of her stuff is still here. I would never go in there anyway, but no one ever said it was off limits.
My feet are already walking towards the machine before I can make a decision and so it’s a simple press of a button to make it play.
“V,” the man’s voice on the machine says. “Got that Black Bash ticket you wanted. It wasn’t easy, asshole, and there’s no plus one. So you owe me big. I’m gonna email it now, just sent it to your phone. All the invites have a barcode on them, so they’ll scan the email when you enter. I told you I think this is a bad idea, but whatever, dude. You’re in. And don’t forget the theme this year is classic movie stars. Later.”
The Black Bash. That’s what the girl was talking about yesterday too. I check the machine for yesterday’s message, but it’s already been erased.
Hmmm.
Vaughn never mentioned a party to me. Is he hiding something? I mean, it’s pretty clear he wanted a ticket to this party and that message also made it crystal clear I’m not going with him. No plus one.
I sit down at his desk and turn on his computer. We have computers all over the place in this house. Laptops just appear. There’s always one or two in the kitchen. Vaughn said that he and Felicity used to work online while they ate dinner on the couch. There’s a desktop in our bedroom—that’s the one I took over. And there’s even a tablet that migrates around as well. It’s got everyone’s email on it. Even mine is on there now. He and Felicity, for all their sophisticated hacking skillz, do not seem to give a fuck about the security of whatever accounts are on these machines.
They must have private ones too. Because that’s the only thing that makes sense.
I look over at Vaughn’s desktop computer.
I could look on that one. Just check to see if the emails are the same. You know, to familiarize myself with our blended household.
My hand jiggles the mouse, just to check and see if it’s shut down or sleeping, when it comes to life.
No password required, all his files are right there on the home screen, so I guess that should make me feel special. He trusts me implicitly. No information is off limits.
Or, that little angel on my shoulder pipes in, he trusts you not to snoop through his stuff.
I navigate down to the mail icon on the bottom of the screen and click.
Up comes Gmail. And nope, this is not the email he uses in the living room.
There are five messages. That’s it. Nothing in his send folder. Nothing in his spam folder. Nothing in his draft folder. Five messages and all of them say unread.
Until I click on them. I start with the oldest, which is from just a few hours ago. Right after he left for work. It’s some kind of production schedule from Larry, his agent. And once I check, they are all from Larry, only from different accounts. The newest one—subject line: Invitation that you will regret, so don’t blame me—is from another Larry account.
I don’t get it. Why is this Black Bash thing so strange? It’s setting off alarm bells for me. I just can’t put the pieces together to understand why.
I open it, of course, and I’m staring at something that looks like an online plane ticket. The kind where you just flash your phone at the scanner to board, and it reads the code.
This party that seems to be a huge deal, but for all the wrong reasons, has a barcode embedded into the invitation.
Why?
The phone rings again, and I jump up so fast I knock the phone over and it answers.
“Hello?” the woman’s voice says on the other end of the line. “V?”
I do not move. I do not say a word.
“Well, that’s weird,” she says under her breath. �
�If this is the message, V, I’m telling you this as a friend, stay away from the Black Bash. OK? Just stay away. Later.”
What the hell is going on?
I wait a few seconds to make absolutely sure she’s hung up the line, and then I pick up the phone, mark all his emails as unread, and then turn the monitor off.
I’m just about to walk out and mind my own damn business when I have an idea.
It’s not an idea I’m proud of, but I have one and once it’s in my mind, I can’t not do it.
I go back to the computer and access that email with the ticket. I forward it to my own email account and erase the message. Then I erase the phone messages too.
It’s wrong, I know it. But I have a bad feeling about this party. And if people are coming out of the woodwork to warn him off, it’s my duty as his wife to help keep him away.
If he asks for it, I still have it. I’ll give it to him after we discuss.
But only if he asks.
I leave his office and go back out to the living room and have a seat. Put my feet up. Turn on the TV. Change channels for like five minutes. Turn the TV off.
I check the clock. It’s only three. I have five hours until Vaughn comes home.
I get up and check the fridge. Close it up after staring for two minutes. Sit back down at the bar. Flip through old mail—hey, there’s a letter from my bank in Denver. Open it and understand like two words on that statement aside from the bank balance, which has to be wrong, because it says ninety thousand dollars. Tuck that statement back into the envelope and put a sticky note on it with the letters WTF. Vaughn can deal with that. I have no clue.
Check the clock again. Three fifteen.
Scream.
Not really. It’s a sigh. But I feel like screaming, that’s for sure. What the hell am I supposed to be doing all day?
I list my possibilities. I have a car. I can go shopping. But seriously, I’m not a shopper. I don’t need anything. And I don’t like to drive in LA. It scares me. The people are crazy. The freeways are crazy. And they have so many roads. Like, in Colorado, you got two choices for freeways. The one going east and west and the one going north and south. Sure, there’s a few smaller ones, but basically, you’ve got two choices.
