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I’m so busy staring that I hardly notice him kissing my temple as he twists and squeezes the water from my hair. Then he towels us both off and his mouth is back on mine, tongues entwined, our bodies flush together and every hard inch of him against my stomach.

“Jax, I want my turn,” I say against his lips. I relish the heat in his eyes, the widening of his dark eyes, then the narrowing of hooded lids.

He grips my hair, moaning into my mouth before he scoops my legs around his waist and carries me into my bedroom.

He sets me down to the rug, then sits onto the edge of the bed, legs spread wide, cock menacingly erect, and I’m salivating. I’ve never felt so out of control while being in control. It’s exactly how Jax makes me feel. It’s new and wild and unlike me, but I want this with him.

Every move I make is pored over by him in a way that makes me feel outlandishly sexy, uncommonly so. He mutters expletives as I come to my knees in front of him, then breathes, “Jesus fucking Christ,” when I take him in my mouth.

“Touch yourself,” he tells me as I’m indulging in him, taking him as deep as I can.

I’ve never touched myself in front of a man before but I do now, surprisingly enjoying the direction, and certainly enjoying the feeling of my own fingers inside me as Jax starts to lose control in my mouth.

“I’ve never seen anything as fucking hot in my life,” he says, thrusting gently but out of rhythm. “I don’t want to come like this, Sienna. I want to be inside you.”

I want that, too. He slips back into the bathroom and in a second he’s putting on a condom. I watch in fascination as he rolls it down his length.

I’m braced for him to pick up where we left off and take me hard. But when he comes to me, his hold on my cheek is gentle, his kiss is slow, and he picks me up, bringing us both to sit on the bed.

“You’re in control,” he tells me as I wrap my legs around his waist and he lowers me down onto him.

The stretch is delicious. I groan or he groans or maybe we both do as I slide down him, being filled by him, taking all that I can.

There are three wild words on the tip of my tongue as our eyes meet but I stop myself from saying them. I can’t. We can’t. It’s only been six weeks and it isn’t real.

But this feels so real and so incredibly right.

He holds me tight, supports my weight, as I bring my mouth to his and roll my pelvis, slowly at first, then frantically, bringing us both to the best orgasm I have ever had.

If there was any doubt in my mind as to whether we had sex in Las Vegas, this has confirmed to me that we haven’t, because Jax was right that first morning we woke up married: if we had consummated our marriage, I would have remembered.

33

OCTOBER

Jax

Everything

God, it was everything. The first time starting in the shower. Again in the middle of the night. The spoons the morning after. Even waking up with her in my arms and my nose buried in her hair. I’ve been consumed by thoughts of her, it, ever since.

I’ve never felt this way about sex. This was more than an act. It felt natural, as if we should have been having sex together all our lives. Like I was put on the goddamn earth to make love to my wife.

But we didn’t talk about what it means. Yesterday, she worked all day, did an exercise class, then worked all night and I’m not a rocket scientist but I’d guess she was avoiding having a real talk. Not that I know what I’d say if we had a real talk. Honestly, I was sort of pleased and bereft by her not being around yesterday.

What did three rounds of sex mean? Was it earth shattering for her? Was that it? One night of breaking the rules? Are we still getting divorced and she’ll leave the country and… fuuuuuuuuuck!

I can’t let her go. I can’t.

Morning skate is distracting while we’re running drills but as soon as the coaches call time and disappear for lunch, when there’s just us guys shooting the puck for fun like we usually do after training, all the questions that kept me tossing and turning in bed last night come back.

I’m mentally, physically drained. Is this what love feels like?

I flop down on the ice, lying on my back, star fish, as if I’m about to make a snow angel, and close my eyes.

“Is he alive?” I can see shadows, hear the scrape of ice beneath blades, so I know my cry for help has been recognized, even before I hear Suzuki’s voice above me.

“What the fuck am I doing?” I groan.