Once five minutes have ticked by on my Chopard, I shrug off my suit jacket and yank off my tie, lying them both over a chair. Rolling my sleeves up to my elbows, I stroll slowly up the stairs so Maura can hear each one of my footsteps.
She’s sitting at the edge of my bed, her eyes bright with anticipation. Her shirt covers her torso, but her pale legs gleam in the dimmed lights.
“Beautiful,” I murmur, my eyes moving slowly over her body. “Now get on your hands and knees.”
Her face flushes pink, and I know just how my orders are affecting her. As she moves to follow them, I notice the top button of her shirt has come undone.
It’s the only reason I catch a glimpse of the pale scar grazing the top of her sternum.
The long, precise, obviously surgical scar.
My breath catches, and fully inhaling suddenly feels impossible. Why does my wife have a scar on her chest?
It’s probably nothing—a childhood injury. I know for sure that it’s none of my goddamn business. If Maura wanted me to know about the scar, she would have told me. Fuck, it’s probably the whole reason she wants to wear a shirt during sex in the first place—she’s self-conscious about it.
But I can’t stand not knowing what it is.
What happened to my wife?
“That scar on your chest. Where did you get it?”
Maura freezes, and the color drains from her already pale face. Whatever memory I just touched, it’s something shedoesn’t want to revisit now. Maybe ever. A brief moment passes, and she shakes her head, plastering a placid smile on her face.
“Nothing,” she says smoothly. “Old hospital drama.”
An answer that only raises more questions. She must know that because she sighs, sitting back on her heels.
“I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.”
I want to press her. How was she hurt? When did it happen? Why doesn’t she want to discuss it? Curiosity rages, but I swallow it down. She doesn’t owe me those answers, and pushing her is only going to make her frustrated.
“Okay,” I say.
Her eyes search my face, but she must decide she can trust me not to push because she gets back on her hands and knees. An uneasy feeling curls in my stomach. My previous plans for tonight suddenly don’t appeal to me.
“Lie back, Maura.”
Her brow furrows. “But you said?—”
“I changed my mind.”
“Is it because?—”
“Lie back and spread your legs for me, wife.”
She sighs, but she does what I say. She makes a goddamn pretty picture, spread out and ready for me. I crawl onto the bed, grabbing her hips and shifting her so I can lay down on my stomach, my face inches from her pussy. Thank fuck for king-sized beds.
I run my nose along the seam where her thigh meets her torso, inhaling her musky scent.
“Is all this for me?” I swipe my thumb along her aching core and she sighs.
“Yes, James.”
I sweep my tongue along her outer lips, relishing how it makes her grind herself against my face. It’s so fucking sexywhen she lets herself be needy like this. When I finally close my lips around her clit, she grabs my hair and tugs hard.
“You’re so fucking sweet,” I mutter against her, right before I start licking her in earnest. She tastes like a goddamn dream, tangy and musky and mine. I could spend all fucking night here, lapping at her trembling pussy and tasting the sweetness pooling on my tongue. She’s so goddamn responsive to me, it’s like she was made to be mine.
Soft whimpers and sighs fall from Maura’s lips. Her legs wrap around my shoulders, enveloping me in her.
