Page 51 of Holding Penalty

She sticks her tongue out at me. I’m pretty sure I’d come right now if that wet, pink tip just flicked against my cock.

I quickly check myself. This is fake. I’m doing this so she can get the inheritance she deserves and so she doesn’t succumb to desperation and get back with her cheating piece of shit ex. I shouldn’t be having perverted thoughts of her while doing so.

“When am I gonna see you in commercials, by the way?”

I’m thankful that her question catches me so off guard that I don’t dwell on my previous thoughts anymore. “Huh?”

“Those sponsorships you want more of. Have you gotten any yet?”

Oh, shit. Right. That’s the bullshit reason I gave her for how I’d benefit from this marriage.

I don’t want Piper knowing I just went through all this because I couldn’t bear the thought of her getting back together with Crew. That truth might make things awkward. She could get the wrong idea. Like that I’m jealous or something, even though I barely know her.

I wasn’t going to try to get any sponsorships. That shit’s all more trouble than it’s worth, in my opinion. My hockey contract pays me more than I could spend in a lifetime. But I guess I should find something, now, just to sell the fib.

“My agent’s working on it,” I lie. A bad feeling twists through me. It doesn’t feel good lying to my wife, even about something inconsequential like this.

She walks forward into the living room area, closer to me, and the house feels hotter by about fifteen degrees.

“Your place is nice,” she says, looking around.

“Our place.” I don’t want her to feel like a guest while she’s here. I want her to feel at home. “Do you need help moving any of your stuff in?”

“No,” she shakes her head, “Hallie and I got it done yesterday.”

“Is any of your stuff still at …” my nose twitches, “Crew’s place?”

She shakes her head again. “I cleared out all my stuff one day when he was at work and left my key.”

“Good.”

Piper picks up an oversized t-shirt that was draped over the backrest of the couch and slides it on. Thank fuck. My heart rate eases to a healthier level.

“I picked up an air mattress, too, by the way.”

I frown. “Why?”

She lifts an eyebrow. “Uh, because I don’t want to sleep on the floor?”

My brow furrows. “Why would you think …” Does she think I’m letting her sleep on an air mattress? “You’ll sleep in my bed.”

She sits on the armrest of the couch, the hem of her shirt riding up and exposing way too much of her thigh. She gives me a chiding look. “Awfully forward, aren’t we, husband?”

Heat climbs up my neck. “I mean, it’s your bed, now. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“No way. It’s your house.”

“It’s our house, and no wife of mine is sleeping on a damn blow-up mattress.”

She crosses her arms, her eyes finding mine with a challenging look. “Bossy, much?”

I take a long stride towards her, feeling like I’m stepping through a thick cloud of static. “When it comes to my wife’s comfort? Maybe I am.”

Something mischievous tips into her expression. “So you’ll do anything to make me feel at home?”

“That’s right.”

“What if I told you I don’t like sleeping alone?”