Michelle was tipsy, and that petty little glint in her eye did things to me. She was usually so controlled, so when something finally slipped under her skin, it was like a whole other version of my wife came out, and I knew if I could coax her into staying there, I was in for a good night.
“I didn’t have a problem with the dress code.” I shrugged. “And neither did your son.”
“I counted at least three women who would absolutely key my car,” she went on, as if I hadn’t spoken at all.
“Could it be the particular tone you’re giving off?”
“Me?” she scoffed. “I’m classically trained in etiquette. No, you should be more worried one of those women is going to name our grandchildren—Ridge, Stormi, fucking Chardonnay.”
Oh, boy. I had a live one.
Michelle didn’t often drop f-bombs, but when she did, it was best to clear the area. Tonight was shaping up nicely.
“No need to worry,” I said. “I’m confident Jake has mastered the art of leaving no souvenirs.”
“Oh, my god.” She laughed. “You’re so crude.”
“Maybe,” I said. “But instead of worrying what our son is—or isn’t—doing with the car-keyers, you could focus that energy on me. I’d like to get lucky too.”
She turned toward me. “Really, Scott? That’s what you got out of this conversation?”
“No,” I said patiently, playing the long game. “I’m just saying, if you’re going to be spicy, I should probably be the one benefiting.”
“Yeah?” Her irritation slid seamlessly into a smile. “You want me to bitch-slap you instead?”
I crossed the room, slid her hair off her back, and bent to kiss the bare skin of her shoulder. “I thought you’d never ask.”
“Scott.”
The word came softer, and out of nowhere, a flicker of exhaustion settled over her shoulders. I saw the slight slump, and the way her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes anymore. This was the moment I could lose her to sleep. But if I stopped trying every time exhaustion set in, I’d never get anything. No, persistence was key in a long marriage, and I was a go-getter.
I didn’t push. Instead, I let my hand drift from her back, my fingertips tracing over the silk material covering her arm. I drew a lazy, meaningless pattern from her shoulder to her elbow and back again, the lightest pressure I could manage. Her skin pebbled under my touch. A good sign. I kept at the slow, hypnotic caress until her eyes fluttered shut. She leaned her head against my chest as a quiet sigh escaped.
My other hand came up to her neck, my fingers threading into the soft hair at her nape. Another sigh, this one deeper, shakier. Her hand, which had been resting on the hotel vanity, reached for mine, and her fingers dug in just slightly. Our eyes met in the mirror, and there it was: the shift. The moment weariness gave way to want.
I lowered my head, and my lips found the pulse point just below her ear. “Michelle,” I breathed against her skin, and a full-body shiver wracked her frame. She arched into me, a silentplea. I pulled her to her feet and found the zipper. It slid down with a soft buzz, and the air hit her skin. I slid the dress off her shoulders, letting it pool around her feet on the hotel room floor. She stood before me in the dim light, and I swear, she was still everything to me.
My hands roamed over her, familiar with every curve, every dip, every scar that told the story of our life together. I knelt before her and let my lips trace a path down her stomach, feeling her muscles quiver under my mouth. I took my time, listening to the sharp intakes of her breath, the soft moans that vibrated through her, until her back bowed and her fingers tangled in my hair, her voice crying out my name in a fractured, desperate whisper.
As I rose to my feet, a fire I hadn’t seen all night blazed in her eyes. She grabbed the front of my shirt, yanking me forward until our chests collided. Then she shoved me back onto the bed, her movements fierce and sure, and in an instant, the hunter became the hunted. Fuck yeah!
She climbed over me, straddling my hips with a predatory grace that sent a shockwave straight through me. Her knees pinned my legs to the mattress, and the look in her eyes was pure, undiluted hunger. She tore at the buttons of my shirt, her knuckles grazing my skin, and I didn't move a muscle, just watched her, mesmerized. This unleashed, feral side of Michelle was what I lived for.
With her palms flat against my chest, she leaned down, and her hair fell like a curtain around us. She captured my mouth in a kiss that was all teeth and tongue and raw need. She broke away, breathless, and went for my jeans, working them down my legs with an impatient shove of her hands, and I kicked them free.
She adjusted, her body gliding against mine as my handsfound her hips, and I pressed my thumbs into her soft skin. She guided me to her, her eyes locked on mine, and then she lowered herself, taking me inside her with an achingly slow slide that made my vision swim. We went still. It wasn’t just physical. It was trust. Love. Everything we’d built together… still holding.
43
MICHELLE: LOVE IT OR LIST IT
“And the gate is fully automated,” the real estate agent said, gesturing toward the long drive we’d just come up. “Privacy and security are a big selling point here.”
The woman kept talking, her voice bright and practiced, pointing out sightlines, security features, and high-end finishes Jake didn’t seem the least bit interested in, but then maybe he was just used to it now. When he wasn’t on a tour bus, he lived in luxury hotels, slipping easily into a life that still surprised me when I stopped to think about it.
But now he was looking to set down roots, and he’d turned to us for guidance.
“It feels safe,” I said without thinking.
