“I got it under control, Di.” His eyes are alight now though, appreciative.
“I’ll fucking do it. He’s gonna burn too many bridges that can’t be rebuilt.” My threat hangs heavy in the air. We both know I mean it, too.
“And I love you for that. But, baby, I’m telling you as mypartner. To share what’s going on in my life. Not so you’ll come shove your foot up his ass on my behalf.”
“Fucking threaten me with a good time, Chance.”
Now I might be half-joking. I’m hearing what he’s saying, and I respect it. If he wants to fight his own battles, I’ll wait in his corner, right by the ropes, ready to rub out his shoulders—among other parts of him—give him water, carry his towel, whatever he needs to stay on top of his game and take this dude out. I won’t take his KO from him. That’s his. But his manager, this Tony creep, tries something on my man, I will make sure his life blows up in his shit-eating face. Try me on that one.
“There’s that fucking fire, baby.”
His pleased, low growl sends sparks firing through my system, and his eyes heat, molten pools of azure as they rake my small stature across the table from him. And just like that, I miss him all over again. I’d planned on keeping him out of my body, out of my bed—figuratively speaking, of course—but I’m already feeling weak.
His foot comes out, he hooks it underneath the bottom railing of my stool and pulls me closer to him. A smirk creeps up on one side of my mouth, appreciating this flirty, demanding side of him coming out to play.
I need to reclaim control here, or this night is gonna go a lot more like the date we’re recreating rather than how I planned for it to go. (Chastely, if you’re wondering.)
I’m a fucking goner for this guy when he’s like this. Well, just about any way, really. But right now? Playful. Charming. So fucking protective. Commanding. He’s lethal. My absolute kryptonite. Gets me hotter than anyone I’ve ever been with.
His hand comes down on my thigh that’s pressed up against his khaki-clad leg and he grips me with just the right amount of possession to make my blood sing, my heartbeat pulse between my legs, and my nipples stand at attention.
My eyes narrow on him in warning, and he gives me an innocent look in return, brows raised.
“I know what you’re doing, buddy.”
“Touching my wife?”
“Mmm,” I humor him.
“Copping a feel on the mother of my children?”
“Is that what she is?”
“Feeling up the love of my life?”
“That’s the label you’re going with, hmm?”
He leans in, until his mouth is against my ear, his nose pressing into the side of my head and speaks low enough that no one else can hear, but the low pitch of his voice reverberates in the best of ways as he does. “Planning how I’m going to make my hot-as-fuck date come until she’s screaming the second we’re behind closed doors.”
Unsanctioned chills shoot through my entire body, and I feel his lips curve against the shell of my ear in response. Cocky prick.
“I hear she’s pretty hard to impress. Might need to pull out all the stops. Call in for back-up.” My voice doesn’t betray me, and I say a silent thank you to my throat for staying stronger than my lady bits are doing.
He pulls back just enough to cast a heated glance at my mouth, my chest, then back to meet my gaze again. That overly confident smirk is back again, a Chance staple. “Think I can handle her. I remember how loud she used to scream for me when we were out at parties.” He gives me a deliberate pause, letting my mind flood with images of exactly what he’s talking about. “She couldn’t wait until we got out of there to have this—” his hand grips mine and moves it overtop hisverysolid bulge “—inside her. In fact, I think she got off on everyone hearing exactly what I was doing to her behind those doors.”
My eyes flutter shut, chest rising and falling rapidly with the short, shallow breaths I’m struggling to inhale. He’s not lying. Webothgot off on it, though. No matter where we were. What frat house, friend’s place, whatever. We’d sneak away, find some alcove, closet, bathroom, whatever we could get inside of, and he’d get inside ofme. And he never, ever let me come until I’d screamed his name loud enough for theentireparty to hear. I was half mortified, half proud afterward. But it was always worth it.
Hey, I never said we were the classiest pair out there.
Just a perfectly matched one.
Or, at least, we used to be.
My cheeks flush at the memories invading my senses. My body remembers them just as well as my head does.
I wonder if we still burn as twin flames like we did back then. Like we did for so many years. Until our eternal light was doused, dulled by the monotony of married life, of a routine where we prioritized everything in our lives but one another, until it flickered and finally faded entirely. Seems like he’s brought out the lighter fluid tonight, though.
He moves both of our hands back to my own lap, and leans back in close to me again.
