Page 63

“Arms up,” she says, and I follow her instruction.

My breath catches as she reaches for the hem of my shirt, her fingertips bringing a shiver to my skin as they graze my sensitive sides.

I close my eyes as she lifts the garment over my head, slowly, torturously slowly, because all I can think is that I’d like her to be undressing me, for real.

I’m on dangerous ground here. Becoming scarily obsessed with the thought of taking my wife to bed.

“All set,” she says, staring down at me as she holds my T-shirt. I see the rise and fall of her chest with her breaths and am acutely aware of the hammering under my ribcage.

“Remind me why we don’t have sex?” I ask.

She thrusts the shirt at my chest and points a digit in my face. “Six weeks, Jax Harris, then we are getting a divorce. Six weeks then you can get this horny-hornisome out of your system with as many puck bunnies as you like, but I am not one of them.”

She storms away, kicking off heeled shoes that I might think about in the privacy of our en suite.

“If this is what married life is like, remind me never to get married for real,” I grumble, huffily traipsing myself and my semi-hard member to the bathroom.

For fuck’s sake, I’m crushing increasingly hard on my wife. Who hates me. This is a disaster.

26

OCTOBER

Sienna

Do You Want to Meet My Mom?

Why we don’t have sex.

Oh boy, undressing him on the edge of this bed that’s big, cozy and inviting, and which has been turned down for the night with a little chocolate on the pillow and two small, sweet treats…

Why don’t we have sex?

Honestly, I can’t, won’t go there. This arrangement is becoming complicated enough. I like Jax, I care about him. The more I peel away his layers, the more complex he is and the more the core of him feels warm and, ironically given our circumstances, authentic. Funny and kind. I get the sense not many people get beyond the top layer of player and playboy with Jax. It’s a privilege I don’t take lightly.

But there’s still lots of stuff about Jax and I that doesn’t align and that would never work in a real marriage. Like he says, I’d hen peck the crap out of him, though mostly because he leaves his crap everywhere, and eventually he’d start to resent how much I work, even if I’m beginning to wonder why I work so relentlessly myself lately.

The point is, sex is confusing and complicated, and yes, I might want to have sex with Jax and I may or may not have thought about him multiple times while I’ve made myself orgasm recently, but⁠—

He winces, then whispers, “Fuck,” through the door into the en suite that he hasn’t properly pulled shut.

I set my laptop aside and climb off the bed, holding my ear to it. “Jax, are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. All good,” he says, but I can hear tension in his voice.

“Are you in pain? Do you need help?”

“I’m good. Nothing I haven’t felt before.”

I bring myself to sit on the floor, still wearing my work clothes from the game, resting my back against the doorframe. “You don’t have to play tough guy with me. That hit you took coming off the ice was dirty.”

It’s seconds before he replies and he expunges his next breath so loudly, I hear it. “It wasn’t hard, it was awkward. It’s creaked my neck and tweaked my trap. It hurt getting into the tub but I’m fine. You’ll have to get used to some bruises and blood during season. I might lose a chiclet or two. Would you still…?”

He trails off and for some reason, I’m biting my lip as I hug my knees to my chest. “Would I still find you attractive if you were missing teeth?” I ask.

Jax Harris is vulnerable and infallible. Who knew?

“I’m sure I would,” I tell him truthfully. Jax is unfathomably attractive and, “You’d be giving rugged pirate vibes. Captain Toothless. Ahoy, Me Hearties!”