First Comes Marriage (Aster Bay #3)

Chapter Twenty-one

The five-story-high Ferris wheel at the edge of the Town Common was the centerpiece of Aster Bay’s annual Labor Day weekend carnival, the entire block of greenspace covered with brightly colored rides and stalls. From the top, you could see over the roofline all the way down to the bay in one direction and view the stained-glass Garden of Eden in the steeple at St. Anthony’s head on in the other direction. As night settled over the town, the lights on the Ferris wheel blinked to life, beckoning Baz and Sabrina closer.

There was no line when they approached—the youngest carnival-goers had all been shuffled away by parents and indulgent grandparents when the streetlights came on a half hour ago, and most of the teenagers wouldn’t make their appearance until dark had well and truly fallen. Baz handed over a strip of day-glow orange tickets to the bored-looking attendant and followed Sabrina into a waiting car.

She’d gone quiet on him again, shooting glances his way when she thought he wouldn’t notice, her lips pinched tightly the way she did when she was holding something back. He hated that look—not as much as he hated the various stages of embarrassment and hurt he’d seen flicker across her face the day before at her parents’ house, but still, he hated it all the same. Ever since they’d gotten home from Brookline, she’d seemed…distant.

It shouldn’t have bothered him that much, but that pinched look on her face now, here, made him itchy all over, like he could feel the things she wasn’t saying.

They hadn’t talked about what happened in her parents’ guest room, the things he’d said to her, the boundaries they’d blown right past. Yesterday as they’d driven home, each mile that brought them closer to Aster Bay also pushed them further apart. By the time they’d arrived back at his condo, the awkward weight of all the things they weren’t saying was a physical presence between them.

So even though he’d wanted to protest when she’d said goodnight and slipped into the guest room with a shy smile, he hadn’t. Because she didn’t owe him anything. The only modification to their previous arrangement had been an agreement to indulge in their physical attraction to each other, to act like fucking idiotic teenagers and pretend he could be fuck buddies with his wife.

No, you agreed to enjoy it while it lasts. Stop being such a whiney fucking asshole and enjoy it.

The ride attendant secured the door on the Ferris wheel car and the ride slowly began to spin, bringing them higher and higher. But Baz didn’t care about the view. He cared about what had put that look on Sabrina’s face. What wasn’t she telling him?

“Seemed like you were having a good time with Kyla and Tessa,” he said.

“They’re great,” she confirmed. “All your friends are.”

“They’re your friends too. If you want them to be.”

“Maybe they won’t want to be my friend when they find out we’ve been lying to them.” She flashed him a small, apologetic smile. It was almost worse than the pinched lips.

“The lie is a technicality,” he said, but even he didn’t believe it.

“I’m not sure they’ll agree. ”

He blew out a frustrated breath. “We’re married. That’s not a lie.”

“No, but—”

“Anything else is between us. We decide what’s true.”

It was Sabrina’s turn to make a frustrated sound. “That’s not how truth works.”

“Then tell me what’s true, Sabrina. You’re living in my apartment. That’s true. You’re wearing my ring. Your name is next to mine on the goddamn insurance forms. That’s true, isn’t it?”

She ran her eyes over him appraisingly, like she could see what had crawled under his skin and made him irrationally adamant. But it was her —her wildflower scent and her auburn hair and her fucking freckles and the little huff sound she made when there wasn’t enough cereal left in the box for a whole bowl and all her goddamn flirty little skirts and just her .

Something in her eyes shifted, as though she’d heard his thoughts, and maybe she had. Maybe the way she was seeping into all the cracks in his life and filling them up was written all over his face, how badly he wanted more from her, and how much he hated himself for that. Maybe she already knew.

Maybe she felt the same way.

“Yeah, Sebastian,” she said, her tongue flicking out to wet her lips. “That’s all true.”

“Why do you do that?” he asked, digging a hand into his hair.

“Do what?”

“Say my name like that? Sebastian . No one calls me Sebastian.”

“Do you want me to call you Baz?” she asked carefully.

“No, I don’t fucking want you to call me—”

“Then I don’t understand what the problem is.”

“I didn’t say it was a problem.”

“If you want me to call you Baz—”

“Just tell me why, Sabrina! ”

They stared at each for a long time as the Ferris wheel continued to turn, before she finally gave him an answer that leveled him. “Because Baz was engaged to my sister. And Sebastian …is mine.”

He pulled her against him, one hand curled around the nape of her neck and the other gripping her waist as he pressed his lips to hers. The kiss was urgent and a little angry, like every kiss they’d shared, and he wondered if it would always be like this—bruising and needy and so damn good.

But even as she melted against him, even as she flicked her tongue against his and arched her body closer to his, somewhere in the back of his mind a dim little voice tsked and reminded him that words like ‘always’ didn’t apply to them. They didn’t have ‘always.’ They had now, until Christmas, until she didn’t need him anymore. And there was something seriously fucked about how hard that made him, how desperate he was to take everything she’d give him for every minute that he could, to suck every last drop of good out of their time together before she decided she’d had enough. Maybe if he did, he could save up enough of this feeling to last after she was gone.

He kissed across her cheekbone, trailed his tongue down the line of her throat and sucked on the tender skin on the underside of her jaw. “That’s right, baby,” he crooned against her skin when she whimpered. “So tell me where the fucking lie is.”

He was burning up with the sudden, unmistakable need to show her how right she was, that she was his, and that he’d be hers if only she’d let him. To touch her and taste her and claim her for himself. The need mixed with anger, a tight, hot swirl in his gut clawing up his throat, reminding him how fucking stupid he was to let himself feel anything for this woman, how much better off he’d be if he could let it be about nothing more than sex.

He hooked her knee with one hand and lifted her leg over his own, the frilly skirt of her sundress draping over the empty space between her legs. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of her thigh, and her knees fell apart, an invitation that felt like a trap.

“Are you wet for me, wildflower?” he asked against her ear before taking the lobe between his teeth and tugging gently. She gasped at the sting of his bite and rocked her hips against the air, his hand sliding an inch higher, disappearing completely beneath her skirt now. “Have you been a good wife and kept this pussy ready for me?”

Her head fell back with a groan, but he held her in place with that hand on her nape, his lips whispering all manner of filth against her throat. “Touch me,” she whispered, her hips moving mindlessly as he traced circles ever higher on the inside of her thigh.

“Dirty girl.” He wasn’t sure if it was praise or admonishment, but whatever it was, she liked it, her green eyes sinking into darkness. Some foolish thing that felt an awful lot like pride bloomed in his chest.

He slid his hand higher, his fingers finally brushing against the damp gusset of her panties. He traced the edge of the fabric with a single finger, then slid them to the side. She shivered in his arms as the night air met her exposed skin. It took all his self restraint not to flip up that frilly little skirt and let himself see her, wet and swollen and goddamn perfect. But it was one thing to play with her in public, to move his hand between her legs where no one could see, even if they might suspect, and quite another to risk someone else glimpsing the heaven beneath her skirt. No, that view was just for him.

“I’m still waiting for an answer, Sabrina,” he said in a low warning tone as he slid one finger over her slit. He settled the pad of his finger against her clit, stroking in slow, small circles the way she’d shown him the other night. She released a shuddering breath and captured his mouth again, but he pulled away with a nip on her lower lip. “What exactly is the lie? You’re my wife. ”

He increased the pressure of his circles, wanting to make her come hard and fast, to force her to the edge of her own pleasure before she could really get her arms around it, to steal her orgasm from her the way she was stealing his heart—unexpected and sharp and a little bit wrong and somehow still so good he couldn’t stop.

“This is your husband’s hand fucking you.” He plunged two fingers into her opening and curled them against her front wall as his thumb continued to work her clit. “I’m the one who’s going to make you come, here, with all these people around.”

Her inner muscles fluttered around his fingers and he nearly came in his pants like an inexperienced teenager. He swore under his breath and fucked her harder, faster, the obscene sounds of her pleasure as he pumped his fingers in and out mixing with the distant laughter and carnival music floating up to them from the ground.

“You like when I touch you like this?” he asked in an awe-tinged growl.

“Yes. Oh, God, Sebastian.” She gripped his forearm where it disappeared beneath her dress, her short, manicured nails digging into his skin as she urged him on, rocking her hips into his touch with increasing urgency.

“So what’s the lie?” he asked again. “It can’t be the way you’re riding my hand right now. Fuck, I wish I could see it. But I can feel it, baby. Feel how much you need to come. There’s no lying about that, is there, wife? Give it to me. Want to know how it feels when this pretty pussy comes. Show me now, here, on my fingers, with all those people down there wishing they knew how good you feel. And then I’m taking you home, wildflower, and you’re going to show me again. You’re going to come on my tongue and on my cock, over and over, until you can’t remember anything about a fucking lie. ”

She arched away from the back of the seat, folding over herself as her thighs shook uncontrollably and she came apart on his hand. He worked her mercilessly until she began squirming away from his touch, pressing her thighs together, trapping his hand between her legs, buried deep in her cunt but stilling their motion. He lifted her chin up to him and kissed her softer than he would have thought possible when her pussy was still pulsing around his fingers. As the Ferris wheel slowed, their car making its final loop, and he reluctantly removed his hand from between her legs, and he knew: the only lies were the ones they were telling themselves.