by K. L. Kreig
But all of that paled in comparison to what I had that she truly wanted.
The affection and attention of Kael Shepard.
Sam’s never gotten over her feelings for Kael, and the fact that I’m now married to him probably burns her like I imagine it burns me that Killian’s married to my sister. Except in my case, Killian really does love me. So when she saw the blinding jewelry adorning my left hand, it didn’t just bring out claws, it brought out the rabid. The second her eyes fell to my hand, they hardened and I knew shit was about to get ugly.
“I’d heard you’d gone through with it, but then I told my mom it must be one of those small-town rumors. There’s no way the Maverick DeSoto I know would marry a good, honest man like Kael Shepard when she’s still in love with her sister’s husband. But I guess you did.”
I hear a gasp behind me at the same time the chatter in the bakery dies. Instantly, like a needle being pulled from a record.
“Get the fuck out,” MaryLou growls angrily. After not so gently ushering Hamhock to the door, MaryLou yells after her, “And swines aren’t welcome unless you want to be on the menu.”
When she mumbles, “Pig-nosed fat ass,” under her breath, a snicker of laughter runs through the small bistro.
“She’s just a jealous cow,” Elda Hansen, an eighty-year-old regular announces. Several others join in agreement. Elda smiles sympathetically when my eyes swing her way. I muster a weak smile back, trying to hold my head up while shame threatens to drag me down.
MaryLou then insisted she take over in the front while I remained in the back until we closed at 2:00 p.m. She has a better eye in the kitchen and I’m better with customers, but after that run-in, I was so shaken up there was no way I could muster up any more happy lies.
All I kept thinking for the next several hours was how right Elda was. Sam was jealous. But sadly, Sam was right, too. I married a good, honest man while I’m still in love with another. She just had enough balls to call me out on it. As much as I don’t like her, I have a whole different respect for her now. And at least I know what half the town actually thinks.
After we closed for the day, MaryLou pulled out her emergency stash of Jim Beam, practically forcing two shots of that swill down my throat. Jim, Jack, or Johnny may not solve the world’s problems, but they do a fine fucking job burying the ugly truth for a while.
Two hours and a bottle of wine later, we now sit at my kitchen table, and MaryLou says the harshest, most candid words she’s said to me yet. Her bluntness is both what I adore and loathe about her.
“You’re a married woman now, Mavs. You made the choice to be Kael Shepard’s wife.”
“I know.”
“He’s crazy about you. That man has been by your side your entire life, not Killian. Killian is a dickless, gutless prick.”
“Once again, I know this,” I say, my tone holding a slight bite. Could she make me feel any worse about myself?
She stares at me for a few beats. “If you didn’t think you could fall in love with Kael, you shouldn’t have married him. If you don’t think you have that ability now, you should do the right thing and end this before you do any more damage.”
“Ouch.” Apparently so.
“Truth hurts like a bedsore, doesn’t it?”
I nod my agreement because my throat is too clogged with emotion. My teeth dig into my cheek so hard I’ll probably have a canker sore tomorrow.
She reaches across the table, gripping my hand in hers. It’s hard to see her through the water now glassing over my pupils.
“It’s not such a bad thing to fall in love with your husband, Maverick.”
“How do you do that when you’re in love with someone else?” I whisper, desperately wanting someone—anyone—to give me that answer. If I was handed the key to falling out of love with a man who’s nothing but destruction, I’d use it. In a heartbeat. Then I’d throw that fucker in the Keg River so I wouldn’t be tempted to undo it.
“Simple. You have to let him go first.”
“It’s not that simple, ML. If it was, I would have done it already.” Only a woman who isn’t hopelessly pining away for a man she can’t have would think in such naïve terms.
“It is that simple, Mavricky. Know what I think?”
“No. But that won’t stop you from telling me anyway.”
My snarky comment doesn’t slow her stride in the slightest. “I think up until the second you walked down that aisle you were hoping for a miracle.”
I look away, embarrassed at my transparency.
“But what I think you’re failing to see is that you’ve got one. He’s right in front of your face and if you don’t pull your shit together and realize the gift God has handed you in Kael Shepard, you’ll end up losing him, too.”
I don’t respond. Once again, she’s right. Kael is an amazing man. He wanted me. He married me. He loves me. Him. Whatever Killian’s excuses are for giving up on us, they aren’t enough. He’s lost to me forever. The truth is he’s been lost to me for years now. It’s time I begin the grieving process and start accepting it. But the pain of that thought weighs me down until I feel I can’t take a full breath.
“I’m not sure there’s room for anyone else, MaryLou,” I say honestly.
“That’s because you haven’t tried making room for anyone else. You need to kick him out. He’s taking up space that’s not his to take anymore. Now, come on. Let’s try out that religieuse recipe you’ve been babbling about.”
“Yeah. Okay.”
Two hours of baking and drinking fly by. Well, more drinking than baking. By the time MaryLou left shy of an hour ago, we’d managed to kill almost another entire bottle of wine. Larry came to pick her up while his brother followed behind with my car. One benefit to living in a small town, I guess. Folks think nothing of doing small favors like that for others.
Losing myself in whiskey, wine, and laughter, I’m now sufficiently tipsy and my rough day feels like a distant memory. Of course, it’s not. And come tomorrow, I’ll have yet another regret to add to my growing mound: a bitch of a hangover.
I’m just pulling out a fresh batch of choux from the oven when the garage door opens indicating Kael is home.
Home.
Kael is home.
To our home: a modest two-story, shafty, old Victorian house that was once mine, which we now share together. As man and wife, not a couple of roomies.
Wow. It will take me a while to get used to that.
Growing up, Kael and I spent so much time together it was as if we practically lived with each other anyway. This is no different, Mavs. Except it is. He’s now sleeping in my bed, naked, not camped out on the floor in a pile of blankets and pillows, watching reruns on TV Land until we fall asleep.
When I hear his footsteps, I keep focused on the double cream I started to whip, calling over my shoulder, “Hey, how was your first day back at work?”
I feel the warmth of his body heat right before he molds his front to my back. Heavy hands land on my hips at the same time his lips land on my exposed throat. “Long. I missed you.”
“I missed you, too,” I tell him softly, knowing it’s what I’m supposed to say.
“Whatcha making?” he breathes in my ear. “My mouth is watering.”
I try to forget how much he sounds like Killian when I answer, “Religieuse. I’m thinking of putting it on the menu, but I need to perfect the crème pâtissière first.”
I’m on my third batch of the custard. The first one curdled. The second one didn’t set quite right, but this time, I think I’ve finally perfected it. Too bad I did it half-cocked.
“God, I love it when you go all French on me, Mavs.”
I laugh, but it comes out more like a huff when he places another hot, openmouthed kiss on the very back of my neck. My stomach flutters a little when his teeth clamp my skin. When he runs his tongue along the line of my throat to my ear, I can’t suppress a light moan.
“You smell incredible. Like su
gar and nutmeg. And maybe a little wine.”
“MaryLou came over.”
“Mmm. That explains everything.”
“Want a glass?” I sound breathy and needy and apparently it’s all the encouraging Kael needs.
“No. I want something else entirely.”
He reaches around and scoops up a finger full of custard. The gooeyness disappears out of view and I think he’s going to taste it, but I jump when he begins to paint the cool crème along the length of my shoulder.
It’s hot today. And so damn humid. August in Iowa can be intolerable. Temps are nearing a hundred degrees. The heat index just an hour ago was one hundred ten. It’s so hot the air conditioner is working round the clock and it’s still not keeping up.
So I have my frizzy hair thrown in a messy tangle on top of my head and a short, strapless sundress on trying my best to keep cool, but now my internal temp just shot up ten notches. Not only is Kael nibbling his way along my collarbone, his right hand snakes underneath my dress and tunnels into my panties.
“This is so fucking good,” he murmurs hungrily. I’m not sure if he’s talking about the filling or the finger he’s pushing north.
“Kael, what are you doing?” I squirm, responding to his touch. My mind may understand I’m sleeping with my best friend, but my body…she’s not confused in the slightest. She’s drunk. Thanks to said drunkness, now she’s horny. And she wants the devastating pleasure he’s offering. Even if it is weird, I’ll admit Kael is a very talented lover.
“You know…I know you so well, Maverick.” Hot breaths fan my cheek and fall down my neck, doing nothing to quell the goose bumps now blanketing me. “I know you can’t sit still longer than five minutes. You bite your nails when you’re bored. You’re a tomboy who’s strangely addicted to lip gloss and carries around thirty-two varieties in your oversized purse.”
“Oh, shit,” I gasp when he joins another finger with the first. I’m starting to get very wet and very pliable.
“But for as much as I know about you,” he husks, “I don’t know what makes you drip with desire. I don’t know what makes you so fucking hot you’ll combust in my hands.”
His fingers leisurely move in and out as he talks. It’s as if he’s trying to learn every bumpy ridge inside me. Or drive me wild. When his thumb starts lightly grazing my clit, my head falls back against his shoulder. Wild. Definitely wild.
I should stop this. Stop him. I shouldn’t want this…should I?
“I want those secrets, Maverick. And your body will tell me everything I need to know.”
His caress is whisper soft as he traces a line across the top of my dress, over the slight swell of my breasts. It’s slow and languid and makes my skin tingle. I hold a breath when he dips shallowly in to tease a puckered areola before tugging one side down, freeing a breast, which now feels swollen and achy.
His overly light circles around and around my sensitive nipple make my back arch and my breath catch.
Sweet Lord. I need more.
“Mmm, a soft touch makes you quiver. Let’s see what else does.”
Stop. Tell him to stop. But God, I can’t. I don’t want to tell him no like I have the last three times he’s tried making the moves on me. And let’s face facts: the way I’m undulating under his ministrations doesn’t exactly scream back off.
The hand between my legs still working its magic, I silently watch on as he leans forward to dip a finger into the ganache I planned on icing the choux pastry cases with. He brings a chocolate-covered digit up and circles it around my peaked bud. I gasp loudly when he pinches and tugs.
Hot, dirty words trickle into my ear. “Oh fuck, yes. This makes your pussy pulse, Swan.”
There’s no denying it. I felt the clamp around the fingers inside me as much as he did.
“You like a little pain with your pleasure?”
I like it. I like it a lot. When I don’t answer, he tweaks again and I choke out a yes.
“You know how sexy it is that you’re this wet for me?” he groans. “Fuck. I want to bend you over this counter, Maverick. I want to rip off your soaked panties, hike up this dress over your bare ass, and adorn your cheeks red with my handprints. I want to wind your gorgeous hair in between my fingers and pull your head back so I can watch your eyes as I slide into you and mark my wife as mine. So you never forget.”
Gulp.
Holy shit.
My head is spinning. My bones are liquid.
Did someone just drop a dirty-talking Kael look-alike in my house? What the hell happened at work today? In all the months we’ve been an official “couple,” he’s never spoken to me like this. He’s treated me like glass…or as a bride who might flee any second. Even on our honeymoon, he was tender and gentle.
“I want to do such sinful things to your body, Swan.”
And God, who knew his childhood pet name for me could be so damn sexy when purred like satin in my ear?
Kael expertly brings me up, higher and hotter. I’m burning. Already throbbing for release, but he demands an answer. “Tell me you want that, Mavs.”
I nod.
I want to tell him the more sinful the better but I don’t have a chance. With a strong hand, he pushes my face toward him so he can capture my lips in a heated kiss. It’s forceful, a clear stamp of ownership, but it’s so damn sensual at the same time it makes my toes curl. I feel gooey chocolate smear on my face, but I’m too gone in an alcoholic sex haze to care.
I want this.
I need this.
You can have this…stop thinking so damn much.
My breath kicks up and my sex spasms as he picks up the pace, shifting into high gear. Playtime is over. He means business.
“Yes, Mavs,” he pants against my lips, encouraging me.
Yes, Mavs. So fucking tight and hot and soft. Come for me, Small Fry. I want to feel your pussy clench my fingers hard.
Fuck, Maverick. Stop.
Stay with Kael.
His thick erection twitches at the small of my back. A sting on my clit, now hostage between two fingers, makes my knees tremble. I beg for more.
“Yes, so good, baby,” he croons softly.
Jesus Christ, so fucking good, Maverick. He grips my hip so hard, I’ll bruise. I want bruises.
No. Please. No.
I squeeze my eyes shut, completely disoriented. My body moves in time with fingers pumping in and out, in and out. Fingers that demand everything from me, while the past and present cruelly play tug-of-war.
“Come for me.”
Come for me.
“So fucking close. Give it to me. I’ve got you.”
Give it to me. It’s mine.
His pace increases, supplicates, and I already feel an orgasm barreling down on me. The other side of my dress is tugged down, my nipple rolling between deft fingers. I’m adrift in that space between yesterday and today. Invisible. Confused. Wanting.
“You’re right there.”
Fuck yes, you’re there.
I’m there. “I’m coming,” I announce on a short, ragged breath. God, I’m coming. My hands fly to his forearms and my fingers dig into his flesh.
I’m coming, Killian. Oh, God…I’m coming, I tell him as I let myself soar, riding out the intense wave of ecstasy crashing through my body like a tsunami.
I’m falling, tumbling, starting my downward descent into the rabbit hole of bliss and obscurity when his body tenses and he releases me like a hot ember. I’m suspended midair, desperately trying to reach that pleasure now rapidly slipping away.
Then I’m being whipped around. I glance up, blinking rapidly, to find hard eyes and a ticking jaw.
Oh no. Shit. Oh, crap. Did I say Killian’s name?
Kael yanks my dress back in place, not bothering to wipe me off first. The sugary substance sticks to the inside of the thin fabric like paste, molding it around my still stiff peaks like cellophane.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, completely breathless. Scared shitless.
“Company.”
Huh? “Company?”
“Company,” he repeats, clearly irritated.
Oh, merciful God. Thank you, Lord. Thank you. Thank you.
“Who’s here?”
“Who do you think?” he grates.
Who do I think? Who do I think? It’s hard to think about anything except the fact that I was on the precipice of one hell of an orgasm that I genuinely wanted. I needed that orgasm, dammit. I don’t give a crap who is here; I’m about two seconds away from grabbing his hand and putting it back down my underwear, forcing him to finish what he started.
Kael snags a dish towel hanging from the oven handle and vigorously wipes the mess from my face. He’s rough. It hurts. I know I’ll have a red streak against my skin when he’s finished.
His entire demeanor has shifted from sexy and playful to downright angry. My brain is still trying to catch up to what’s going on when it hits me. Only one person would make him react like this.
Killian.
Oh fuck.
Killian.
I hold my breath as the sound of knuckles raps on the front door. Kael and I exchange a look, probably both thinking the same thing.
Welcome back to the real fucking world.
I watch her from across the playground, wondering if she needs my help. She’s one of the scrappiest girls I know and I don’t think she’ll be too happy if I run to her rescue, but I can see she’s getting more upset by the minute. I’ve seen firsthand what she’s capable of when someone riles her. It ain’t pretty.
Tommy Johns and his sidekick, Mark Flinn, have her cornered over by the giant snow pile in the corner of the yard. Their backs are to me, but I’d know that stance anywhere. Legs spread, arms crossed, shoulders set, heads cocked. Bully mode, locked and loaded.
They’re assholes. My dad would wash my mouth out if he heard me use that word. I’m not allowed to swear, but he does it all the time…so I figure what the hell. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.
