She does it again, and the combination of her eager tongue and her tight throat would’ve sent me over the edge if her dressing room door hadn’t opened right at that moment.
She freezes but doesn’t pull away when I let go of her hair, shock cutting through the haze of lust. I thought he’d come, but I was hoping he wouldn’t. I was hoping I was wrong. “Don’t stop,” I beg my wife, desperate. It isn’t sexual satisfaction I’m after — it’s something deeper and far darker, and she reads my needs with ease.
Faye sucks down on my cock harder, a knowing look in her eyes. It feels like the biggest fucking victory to know she’s placing me above everything else, including her own pride. She must suspect who just entered her dressing room, yet she continues to give me what I asked her for. If I hadn’t already fallen for her, I would have now.
“My wife is too occupied to speak to you, Eric,” I murmur, my gaze lifting to his stricken face. Eric looks fucking devastated, and I smile, knowing he’ll never be able to forget the image I’m presenting him with.
Faye falters for a moment at the sound of his name, but then she takes me in deeper and swallows hard, repeatedly. Fucking hell. Does she want me to come with her ex watching us? There’s no mistaking her eagerness, and I grin when Eric just stares at the back of her head in disbelief, most of her face hidden from where he’s standing.
I glance back down at my wife, a wave of emotion crashing through me. I didn’t need to say a word for her to recognize and tame my demons, because she and I are one and the same.
“You’re so perfect,” I tell her, unable to help myself as I pull back a little, only to slide deeper into her throat. “I’m so fucking crazy about you, Faye. The way you take my cock without a care for who might be watching, and the way you put me first. I…” I fucking love you. I love you.
I look up at Eric, overcome with emotions I don’t want him to witness. “Get the fuck out,” I snap. I wanted him to know that she’s mine, and I wanted to sever any lingering bonds between them, but I’ve done that now. “My wife deserves one hell of a reward for her performance, and I don’t want you here to witness it. I don’t give a fuck if you want to see my cock, Eric, but you aren’t seeing a single inch of my wife’s skin.”
He stumbles back, looking entirely disillusioned and so fucking heartbroken that I’d feel sorry for him if it wasn’t my wife he coveted. The door falls closed, and I pull out of Faye’s mouth, my cock hard and throbbing.
“No,” she pleads, her voice tainted with desire. “I want you to come for me, Dion. Please. I need you to give it to me.”
Her mouth latches onto me, and she easily takes it, until she’s got the entire head of my cock in her throat. “Baby, I can’t,” I tell her. “I can’t take it, Faye. I’m too close.”
She looks up at me as though she’s as desperate and needy as I am, as though she truly needs me to come for her. “Fuck,” I groan, my hands finding their way into her hair again. “I’m so fucking obsessed with you,” I murmur as I begin to rock my hips. “You’re such a good girl, aren’t you?” She moans, pleased with my praise, and I smile down at her. “My perfect, perfect wife.” She swallows then, and that’s all it takes for me to come down her throat. She takes every last drop, intense fucking pleasure flickering through her eyes as I pull out of her, unsteady on my feet.
“I’m going to bring those goddamn roses home,” I tell her, my voice trembling, “tear them up and spread the petals on our bed, and then I’m going to fuck you until you’re screaming for mercy.”
Chapter Forty-Two
Faye
Dion parks in front of the house, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. He’s staring straight ahead, the tension in the air palpable. “I’m so fucking sorry, Faye,” he murmurs.
I turn toward my husband, my gaze searching. “For what?” I ask, my voice soft. “For keeping a promise?”
He looks down, clearly unable to face me, and I think I understand why. “For enacting a threat that I never should’ve made in the first place.”
He runs a hand over his face and takes a shaky breath. “I know you love him. I shouldn’t have… fuck. I don’t deserve to claim you the way I did. I don’t even deserve to touch you, yet I still knowingly destroyed every last hope he had.”
He looks so remorseful, and it kills me. “I don’t love him, Dion,” I whisper. “I don’t think I ever did.” It’s something I’ve barely even admitted to myself, but I know he needs to hear it. “Being with him was an act of defiance, a desperate attempt to regain some control in a life I had no say over. It wasn’t about love — it was about freedom.”
He looks at me then, a flicker of hope lighting in his gaze. I smile as I reach for him, the tips of my fingers brushing over his temple. “If I didn’t want to get on my knees for you, I wouldn’t have, and you would not have made me. Being able to put your worries to rest like that made me feel incredible.”
Dion just stares at me, as though he can’t quite figure me out. There’s a hint of fear in his gaze, and I’m surprised I never recognized it before. If not for everything the girls told me, I may not have realized that I’m not the only one with impenetrable defenses. He’s as scared as I am.
“Come on,” I murmur as I undo my seatbelt. “Let’s go home. You made me another promise that I expect you to keep.”
I grab the bouquet Eric gave me from the backseat before heading toward the front door, my steps slow and my heart racing. When I finally hear Dion’s footsteps behind me, I exhale in relief, a smile making its way onto my lips.
“Faye,” he calls, but I don’t turn back. Instead, I head straight for our bedroom, knowing he’ll follow me. He pauses in the doorway, and I turn toward him as I destroy the first rose, letting the petals fall onto our bed. “Stop,” he urges, his voice rough.
I grin and shake my head. “I don’t want to.” I shrug as another rose is reduced to petals, and he takes a hesitant step toward me. “It took me far too long to realize it, but from the moment we got married, you’ve been catering to me, showing me this flawless version of you, almost like you’re trying to make up for the years of neglect and rejection.”
I see it now — he acts remorseful around me. The evidence is in the way he treats me with just a bit too much care, like I’m breakable. It’s in the way he quietly suffers as he watches me play his mother’s piano in his own home, and the way he searched through old photo albums for me when it clearly tore him up to do so. He acts like he deserves to suffer, when he’s just as trapped in this marriage as I am. He didn’t have a choice either.
I destroy another rose and watch the petals flutter to our bed, and he takes another hesitant step toward me. “That’s not the version of you I want, Dion,” I murmur, looking back at him.
Hope mixes with sheer reverence in his eyes, and it emboldens me. I take a deep breath and lay my soul bare. “I want the parts of you that you wish would never see the light of day. Dion, I want the man that promised me he’d fuck me on top of these rose petals. You don’t need to pretend with me, you know? I can tell you’re holding back, and I don’t want you to. I just want you.”
He pauses in front of me, seeming uncertain. “You don’t,” he whispers, as though he’s begging me to prove him wrong. “Baby, if you saw the darkness that hides inside me, you’d run. Rightfully so.”
I place my hands against his waistcoat and stare up at him. “So show me, Dion. Give me what no one else in my life ever has — give me a choice. Show me the worst parts of you and let me decide if I can live with what I find.”
His hand curls around my cheek, his eyes blazing. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. I can keep up this act until we’re gray and old, Faye. For you, I would.”
I smile up at him and shake my head. “I want all of you,” I whisper, pleading, begging. I don’t want him to treat me like I’m made of glass, like he has to hide parts of himself around me. “I can take it, Dion. You told me you wanted to try with me, right? So try.”