Personal: The Extended Edition (Private #3)
Chapter 7
30%
Wes
“The only physical evidence we found on the piece of paper were fingerprints belonging to the public library staff member who opened the package of paper and one of the assistant’s who loaded it onto the tray, both of which came up clean in our standard background checks,” Park calmly explains from his position across from me in my estate’s downstairs office. “As did the delivery worker and those in receiving at the hospital.”
I tighten the grip I have on my sobriety chip.
“We’ve combed through all the footage possible from the time leading up to the incident at the playground to the incident itself to the delivery of the typed threat and discovered no useable information.”
Through gritted teeth, I seethe, “ Do. Not. Tell. Me. You. Have. Absolutely. Nothing. Park. ”
His stoic demeanor doesn’t change. “I have eliminated possibilities.”
“It’s been almost three weeks!”
“I-”
“ Three. Weeks. Park! ”
“I-”
“I kept my wife locked in the on property medical suite with an around the clock armed guard for the first one-”
“I-”
“I kept her phone completely away from her the second for surveillance purposes-”
“I-”
“And now we are headed into week fucking three with no changes? No leads? No idea at all who the fuck is after my wife and son?!”
He presses his lips momentarily together prior to answering. “ Correct, sir. ”
“I don’t want to be correct, Park! I want answers!”
His mouth doesn’t move.
“I want suspects!”
Wisely, he remains silent.
“ I want our lives back! ”
Park nods his comprehension yet doesn’t verbally express it.
“Get me something .” My back slams itself further into my chair. “Contact our executive sources at Haworth Enterprises if necessary.” I begin weaving the object around my fingers. “I don’t care about the cost. Financial or other. Understood?”
“ Yes, sir. ”
Park’s dismal barely precedes Hamilton’s cheery arrival. “ Evening, Wilcox. ”
It’s impossible not to sneer. “Why are you so chipper?”
“Maybe because it’s my first night off in forever, and I have a date with the most stunning neurologist.” His smug grin deepens my glare. “And before you ask, no. It’s not a conflict of interest for your wife’s primary physician to enjoy a glass of Screaming Eagle at Silver’s Steakhouse with one of her specialists.”
I wasn’t going to ask.
I was merely going to remind him that there’s no such thing as a “night off” when you’re a concierge doctor.
I call, he comes.
My wife calls, he comes.
My son sneezes questionably, and his ass will be at Wy’s door with a thermometer, tissues, and recommended amounts of orange juice for the next four to six days.
“I’m merely stopping by on my way out to check in with you.” He steps inside and slides one hand into his dress suit pocket. “Have you eaten today?”
“Breakfast.”
At least that’s what I consider the spoonful of parfait my son demanded I eat instead of him.
“Worked out?”
“Weights.”
“Cravings?”
“ Constantly. ”
His nod is filled with sympathy. “Called Sawyer?”
“No.”
“Don’t be afraid to,” Hamilton sternly scolds. “That’s what he’s on retainer for.”
The twirling of my chip mindlessly continues, doing everything it possibly can to provide me with solace.
“And given the instability of your current situation, maybe you should consider having him relocate to the property for a few weeks?”
I create a much-needed segue to return to work, “I will consider that right after I consider where I’d like the Dalvegan division to be located.” Diverting my gaze downward to the paperwork sprawled across my desk is instant. “Downtown would be ideal if it weren’t so densely populated by athletic operations.”
“Or perhaps you could pause those considerations to consider others?” Clark unexpectedly suggests, pulling my attention over to where he’s standing and Hamilton is leaving. “Perhaps ones involving spending more time with your family and less with that of which you tirelessly argued about before the incident?”
Guilt knocks my gaze elsewhere.
Prior to the abduction attempt, yes.
How much I worked was a point of contention.
A constant point of contention.
One so fucking strong it was the last thing we said to one another before my Bryn was taken from me.
Literally.
Taken.
Physically?
She’s the same only housing some darker bruises and healing scratches from her body scraping the road.
Her tattoos are all there.
Her messy buns remain.
Even her love of blue mascara has gone unchanged.
The beautiful brown skinned woman who barged her way into my life in low cut tank tops and tattered jeans and odd sunglasses is still here.
She’s still on the property.
She still orders PBJs as though she believes them to be superior to grilled cheese.
Physically, the woman I fell for is accounted for.
Mentally?
I live in the estate with a stranger.
A stranger that avoids making eye contact with me.
That hides around corners out of sight.
Is invited to participate in the simplest activities yet can’t.
Or won’t.
Or doesn’t believe she should.
One that won’t even hold a conversation with me long enough to flirt.
Gone is the woman who stood toe to toe with me about an issue, who pushed for my undivided attention during meals, who would spontaneously kidnap me to the aquarium room to watch our fish and fuck like the newlyweds we no longer were.
Our large family dinners have been continuing to occur in her absence.
Vanessa understands but clearly misses her best friend.
Calen understands and shows up with his wife in hopes of getting even a glance.
J.T. and Janae ceaselessly argue about the best method to proceed, each divided on the interpretation of the doctor’s orders, while Clark and Lauren merely take turns coddling their grandson when I can no longer stomach being around others.
The estate staff as well as those that tend to our needs at the penthouse daily ask about her wellbeing or wish her a speedy recovery, not truly understanding the depth of her condition.
Our time together?
Is hidden.
Our relationship?
Suppressed.
Our memories?
Buried.
Deep in the dark shadows of her mind are where those things are doomed to reside for some unknown amount of time. They may occasionally peek their hooded face out when she hears a particular song or smells a familiar scent or touches a particular object; however, it’s only a possibility.
The truth is…she may never remember anything more than flashes.
She may never remember us.
What we had.
Who we were together.
How am I supposed to live like this?
How is anyone supposed to live like this?”
Closing my fist around the chip occurs in tandem with Clark continuing to chastise, “You can’t keep spending all your days in here, Weston. Wasting away. Working until you’re too exhausted to think about what once was rather than what currently is.”
“ I can ,” I argue on a heavy sigh. “You just don’t think I should. ”
His expression shifts to a deeper scowl. “You know you shouldn’t.”
And why shouldn’t I?
Why shouldn’t I enjoy memories of a life and woman I’ll never have again?
“ Weston. ”
Malaise ambles itself throughout my system until my shoulders are sinking again.
And my chest threatens to collapse underneath the weight of despair.
And my spine threatens to snap from the building pressure that seems to never cease.
“Your vows, Weston William Wilcox,” my fatherlike figure begins upon his closer approaching, “were through sickness and through health. This is her sickness.”
“ This is not sickness, ” leaves me at a muted volume.
“W-”
“This isn’t a cold or virus or a disease. This isn’t a broken bone or a loss limb. This is…something worse . ” My chip free hand attempts to give the side of my face a comforting scrub. “ Much. Worse. ”
“That’s a mere matter of perspective.”
“Excuse me?”
“It is always easier when comparing our pain or trials and tribulations to someone else’s to label what we’re going through as more severe than it is to simply face our own feelings of hardships and hard to swallow doldrums.” His hands fold themselves behind his back as his head tips higher. “The fact of the matter is…the agony isn’t better on the other side. Simply. Different. ”
Additional despair sulks my frame.
“Bryn doesn’t remember being your wife or Wyland’s mother; however, it doesn’t change the fact that that’s what she is . That you both need her. And keeping yourself buried around the clock in moves and remodels or acquisitions and mergers helps no one. Neither of you can heal this way.”
“What the fuck am I supposed to do, Clark?” The grip on my chip thoughtlessly tightens. “She rarely leaves her room. She refuses to join me for breakfast or lunch or dinner. Gifts I’ve tried to have delivered simply sit in the hallway, untouched until housekeeping collects them in the evening. She hasn’t allowed me to be there during her doctors’ visits. She’s cancelled couple’s therapy – completely – and has only attended the mandatory sessions required by Vickers to remain an outpatient.” Frustration shoots me upward to a more defensive position. “I’ve done everything they’ve suggested to me! I’ve played songs! I’ve kept the estate covered in the freshest flowers! Had J.T. smoke his favorite cigars in the hallway! I’ve had Lucky make every fucking meal we had in the beginning of the relationship! I’ve left word searches and comic books and even worn the first shirt she ever bought me around the estate for a week like it was fucking skin! I’ve tried to show her I care! That I love her! That I’m here for her! That I’m not fucking going anywhere and all I’ve got in return is nothing!”
“I hope the irony is not lost upon you, young sir.”
My mouth hangs wide open for words to fly free that never do.
“You hid from her. She now hides from you.” His expression slightly softens. “ Fight for her…and believe that she is in there…fighting for you. ”
All of a sudden, Wyland comes traipsing into the room in nothing but his Batman underwear and matching cape. He plants his balled fists on his hip, kicks his head high into the air, and announces, “Betttttttime!”
It’s impossible not to erupt into laughter.
Gordonknows… the way this kid just bursts onto the scene is something he definitely got from his mother.
“Bathtime or bedtime?” questions his grandfather with a crooked grin.
“ Betime, Gampi. ” He waves both hands across his almost naked body. “ Odiosly. ”
Clark’s wide smile remains in place. “Yes. Obviously.”
“Wyyyyy!” a frazzled Jessi shrieks. “Wyyyyy!!!” Her labored breathing threatens to get me chuckling. “ Ohmygod, why are there so many hallways in this house?! ”
“In here,” I warmly announce, expediting her arrival.
His nanny swiftly whips into the room – out of air – in her vintage Cookie Monster t-shirt that’s most likely damp from bathtime, an activity that only his mother seems to have mastered with him. “You can’t just go running off like that, Wyland!” She blows a wavy strand of hair out of her vision in apparent frustration. “You know it’s bedtime.”
“ See ,” Wy motions to the older male in the room. “ Betime. ”
“B-eeeeeee-ddddd,” Clark sounds out for him.
“I say dat.”
And that.
He gets that from Bryn.
He honestly gets so much that being around him for extended periods of time is painful.
Extremely.
Painful.
Wyland points to me at the same time he firmly states to her. “Dad put bet.”
“Dad’s working right now,” Jessie professionally attempts to cover for me. “That’s why I’m here.”
“Dad dollwavs worting,” he huffs in undeniable dejection. “Mom dollwavs sick…”
Clark shoots me a sympathetic head tilt wordlessly imploring me to do better.
More.
If not for the sake of my marriage than at the very least the sake of our son.
He shouldn’t have to suffer like this.
Even if we…aren’t… together …again… yet… he still needs us both in his life.
That is non-negotiable.
“Not tonight, Little Hero.” A small smile spreads onto my face as I tuck my sobriety chip back into my sweatpants pocket. “Tonight, Dad is all done with work and will be tucking you into your cave.”
“Yeahhhhhhhh!” He joyously claps before sprinting over to me. “Daddddd timeeee!”
In one easy swoop, I lift him into my lap.
Curl my arms around him.
Trap him to my chest and drop a loving kiss on the top of his head.
He shouldn’t have to grow up without us.
Not when we’re still here.
Not when being here is still an option.
“You sure?” Jessie gives her hair a small ruffle. “I don’t mind doing it. It’s my job.”
“I mind.”
My retort has Clark noticeably smiling.
“It’s your job to assist.” Wy’s head nestles itself against my heart. “Not to be his parent.”
Her mouth twitches in an attempt to dispute the statement.
“Go home, Jessie.” A heartfelt grin is offered during the rising to my feet. “Or go out partying with your friends. Afterall, it’s Friday night and-”
“It’s actually only Tuesday,” she quietly corrects.
I slightly cringe in humiliation.
“But meeting up with Astrid for a drink and some tea sounds heavenly.”
“Isn’t tea a drink?” Clark questions out of obvious confusion.
“In this case, it’s goss,” Jessie explains while Wy needlessly pokes at my chin. “And not the trash tabs ish that’s speculating this whole thing with Bryn was a giant ploy to get her out of the way for us,” her finger motions back and forth, “to be an us. ”
It’s impossible not to glare.
I understand the paparazzi have a fucking job to do.
I understand lies and intrigue sell.
I understand they sell even better when wealthy individuals like myself are in the center of it.
However, that is a bit too far.
Perhaps I’ll postpone investing in the media firm for athletes that Jericho was needing capital for and simply purchase Global Laundry outright.
Control the narrative directly.
“No,” Clark murmurs to me despite my mouth never moving. “You father considering doing the same thing, and he was advised against it as well.”
My sardonic sneer is short lived due to Wy unexpectedly grabbing my face with both hands. “ We meed Mom. ”
“We do need Mom, Little Hero.” I let his grip get harder. “And we’re gonna go get her.”
“ Yeahhhhhhhh! ” exclaims my son in such a way something inside of me shifts.
Snaps.
Shatters.
Shows me exactly what it is I’m fairly certain Clark was just trying to explain.
This is over.
This hiding from one another, hiding from our son, delaying our marriage – whether that means picking up where we left off or starting completely over – is done.
We need to move forward.
Adapt.
It’s how all legacies survive.
And our marriage…our… tale …will be one that survives the test of time.
“Take the rest of the week off, Jessie.” I cut my gaze away from Wy who is rambling under his breath about peanut butter and geese. “You’ve earned it.”
Shock has her squeaking, “But-”
“Your salary will not change.” The corner of my lip is forced upward by his pointed finger. “ And do not be alarmed at an extra zero on your check. ”
“ Ohmygod, Wes- ”
“ Don’t. ” Pretending to chomp at Wy’s digit gets him laughing and moving his hands away. “You’ve exponentially exceeded what’s required of you. Enjoy me doing the same.” Before she can say another word, I direct my attention back to the caped kiddo in my grip. “Do you need to go potty? We only wanna show Mom your dry, big boy underwear.”
“I tie!” He scurries down my torso to take off towards my ensuite bathroom. “I tie!”
“Let Gampi help!” Clark calls out after him. “Pee in the potty, on the floor is naughty!”
Post a bathroom break and reassuring Jessie it’s fine for her to enjoy time off the clock, Wy and I head for the room Bryn originally occupied upon her initial arrival, which has become the same one she’s occupying now.
I’m uncertain if it was accidental or intentional.
If something called her to the space or she was simply drawn to it.
I do know I haven’t slept in our bed without her.
Merely being in the room itself is painful enough.
Office couches and recliners have been sufficient replacements, although Hamilton and Sawyer may disagree.
The instant we arrive outside of her door, his tiny, balled fist pounds on the door with all his might.
Once.
Twice.
Three and four and five times more before there’s an answer.
The door practically flies off its hinges due to the amount of force she uses to whip it open, yet one look at him instantly erases any annoyance she had clearly been feeling.
While her gaze settles on him, mine greedily drinks her in.
Follows the plunging neckline of her light gray, sleep tank top.
Sweeps the top of her full tits I haven’t had in my mouth in ages.
Descends to her tiny shorts that allow the lit-up Bat symbol on her leg to be seen in full display.
To call to me.
To signal for my touch.
My mouth.
My teeth.
Clearing my throat is done to cleverly hide my hungry groans but given the way she steals a small swipe of her lips, I’m not so sure it works.
Bryn casually leans her deliciously, curvy figure against the door frame at the same time she meets Wyland’s gaze. “And who exactly are you looking for caped crusader?”
“You!”
“Me?” She overdramatically gasps. “Why me? I didn’t escape from Arkham.”
But is on the verge of putting me there with that smirk.
“Wead books wit us.”
“Wyland,” my scolding is swift and warm. “ Manners. ”
“ Pweaseeeee ,” he gives me a quick side eye, “wead books wit us?”
Her mouth tips down, clearly ready to politely dismiss the request, so I do the only thing I can.
I negotiate.
“You read the book with us, and I will alert security as well as housekeeping to allow you unaccompanied access to the golf carts.”
To no surprise, she quirks an intrigued eyebrow. “No chaperone?”
“No chaperone.”
“Okay.” Her lips twist in a painstakingly familiar way. “You have a deal Wilcoxes. I will read bedtime books with you in exchange for keys to operate heavy machinery and will read bedtime books with you,” she meets our son’s gaze again, “ if we can all wear capes.”
“We tan! We tan!” Wy uncontrollably wiggles around in my possession. “Dad got goanup capes in calmnic woom!”
“You have a womb?” She teases in my direction with a bounce of her eyebrows. “ Fancy. ”
“ R-r-r-room. ”
“There’s no need to bark at me.” Additional amusement gets her giggling. “I already agreed to the terms by my conditions.”
“ Terms and conditions. ”
“I said what I said.”
This time laughter leaves me alongside a headshake.
Clark is absolutely right.
The woman I fell in love with…that fell in love with me…is still there.
I just have to go diving.
Once my chuckles die down, I tip my head the route we need to be taking, “ Shall we, Miss Kyle. ”
“ After you, Mr. Wayne. ”
“I misseddaraintoo!”
“You are,” Bryn adoringly agrees at the same time she shuts her door behind her. “You are little Mr. Wayne.”
Wy’s proud nodding precedes our walk to a space I haven’t been in once since she’s been home.
Our stroll takes us past artwork, which Wy poorly explains, including his own pieces that are occasionally framed on the walls. He paints magical make-believe tales about most things in the display cases yet all Star Trek memorabilia – including the 3-D chess set she received from J.T. as a wedding gift – are surprisingly close to the accurate.
The instant we enter the room, I place our son down on the couch, where he does the only thing he ever does in this room.
Jump.
His bouncing movements barely register to me as I cross over to where the capes are dangling, yet his mother helplessly investigates, “And what exactly are you doing, little Mr. Wayne?”
“Twainnningggg!”
An amused hum is all that precedes her gaze finding me. “Is that to keep him from touching your precious collectables?”
One wink is all she’s offered.
And lucky for me, it’s all she needs to get grinning wide again.
Holyhell, I miss her body.
But I’ve been going Joker level insane without that smile.
“You wanna put it on yourself?” I gesture a hand at the dangling collection. “Or would you like assistance?”
She sassily struts over and attempts to snatch one up only to be caught off guard. “ Fuck, that’s heavy. ” The memory hit us in tandem. “ I’ve…said that before…haven’t I? ”
Maintaining my collected composure is almost impossible. “You have.”
Rather than dwell on the idea or request more of the moment, she simply swings on the accessory. As soon as it’s properly in place, she grumbles, “I am immediately regretting this decision.”
“It’s the only way you and Wy ever learn.” Her jaw tips down while I swiftly wind the cape around my neck. “ Little Hero ,” I announce in my best Bat rasp, “ to the cave. ”
“To da caveeeee!”
His smooth jumping off the side is impressive; however, there isn’t much time to appreciate it. Despite having small legs, which should be a disadvantage, the kid has speed.
And lots of it.
Regardless of if he’s walking or running or swimming, he’s quick.
Quick enough to easily get lost or into trouble, especially when not directly supervised.
The two of us chase after him to ensure he ends up in his bedroom as opposed to his playroom – or more likely the kitchen where fresh baked cookies are taunting him – making sure to keep our arms stretched out in front of us to paint the illusion we’re flying or gliding like the Dark Knight himself.
Randomly, Wy stops to fight invisible villains, shouting out words similar to that of a classic cartoon, and insists we join him in their demise. In spite of being out of breath and uncomfortable by the object hanging around our necks, Bryn and I both fully immerse ourselves in his adventure.
Get lost in what feels comfortable yet discomforting.
Relish in creating a new memory that had roots to old ones.
It takes much longer than originally planned to reach his room but considering how out of breath he is when he finally crashes onto his mattress, it appears to be worth it.
Perhaps this was part of her plan.
Perhaps she recalls the easiest way to get our son to sleep is to guarantee he has no energy to stay awake.
“Time to hang up your cape, Little Hero, put on some jammies, and read one book for bed.”
Wyland taps his chin in contemplation. “ Four. ”
“That escalated quickly,” Bryn snickers during the unlatching of her leather item.
“ One. ”
“ Leven. ”
“ One .”
Wy releases an exasperated sigh heavy enough to shake his Batman sheets covered full size bed. “I pit da one?”
“Deal.”
“ Deal! ” He eagerly nods his head before gingerly removing his cape. “Tareful, Dad. It mos’ speshial.”
“Most special, huh?” His mother promptly echoes, curiosity keeping her close. “Why? Did you get it directly from the real Batman himself?”
“We gave it to him for his birthday this year,” I explain in tandem with collecting all our superhero clothing to relocate to the top of his black dresser on the opposite side of the room. “It’s the closest one he has to an authentic cape.”
“Bes birfday ebbbbbbber!” Wy joyfully states.
For him?
Yes.
For his tiny classmates that don’t seem to appreciate the aquarium nearly as much as him and his mother?
Can’t say the same.
“Which book do we wanna read tonight?” I carefully drape the items on top of the furniture near a family picture from the aforementioned birthday and open the drawer that contains his pajamas. “ Oh, David! ?”
“Mmm…no…”
“ No, David! ?”
“Mmm…no.”
After grabbing his Daddy Shark, Mommy Shark, and Me pajamas, I turn on my heels and suggest, “ David Smells! ?”
“Who the hell is this David kid, and why are there so many books about him?!”
Bryn’s outburst receives a chortle prior to an explanation, “It’s Wyland’s favorite set of non- ocean, non-superhero, non- Star Trek books.”
“I appreciate you being specific.”
“They’re about an adorable little boy who has a tendency to cause trouble or end up in trouble by just…being…a kid…” I cross over to where Wy is already starting to dose off. “They’re more or less Wy in book form.”
“His autobiography.”
“ Exactly. ”
We exchange small laughter that seems to inspire another idea to come to mind. “Why don’t we read One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish ?” He leans forward at the same time I dangle his shirt for the taking. “Mom loves that one.”
There’s a small, notable crack in her voice. “ I do. ”
“Me too!” Wy agrees while independently wiggling the article on. “Me too!”
“Sounds like we have a winner.”
Our son yawns, nods, and stuffs himself into his shorts next. As soon as he’s finished, he crawls across his mattress, snuggles under his sheets, and crams his stuffed Hammerhead shark, protectively underneath his armpit.
Bryn eyeballs the creature in his small arms, eyebrows pulling together in what could very well be another flash of a memory.
It’s the first stuffed animal she ever gave him.
It was the first one in his crib.
The first one in this bed.
The only one he brings to preschool, and the one we can’t leave for vacation without.
And even more importantly, it was the first one I ever bought her.
Instead of talking to him about it – or even asking me about it – she lets her fingers fidget with her airplane necklace and gaze wander elsewhere.
Knowing now isn’t the right moment to confront her about what she’s perhaps ignoring, I simply cross the room to the wooden shelves that are overflowing with books.
After finding the beloved hardback, the three of us crowd together at the head of Wy’s bed – per his request – to begin reading. Our usual routine of engaging him as much as possible effortlessly begins, and I do my best to focus on relishing in the familiarity.
How she asks him what certain shapes and colors are.
What fish does he recognize.
The way she tosses the educational leading over to me to ensure I am invested as well.
Present.
By the end of the story, Wy’s eyes are barely open at all, his small face is pressed firmly against Sammy, the shark, and his mouth is slightly cracked open as though he wasn’t ready to abandon talking yet had no choice.
I ditch the book on his nearby nightstand – next to his Star Trek Enterprise ship – cautiously rise to my bare feet and place a small kiss on his forehead. “ Night, Little Hero. ”
“Nigh, nigh, Dad.”
“Love you.”
“Wuv you.” There’s barely a breath between sentences. “Mom tiss.”
Bryn’s eyes instantly bulge out of her head in obvious alarm prompting my chest to tighten in distress, wanting to rescue her, wanting to save her from any inkling of anxiety, yet I don’t.
Because this is our son.
Her son .
She’s gotta get back into the mom seat of this ship even if she doesn’t exactly remember how to operate it all the time.
“ Mom…? ”
I motion my head forcefully towards him to indicate this isn’t a negotiation.
This is not a new opportunity to strike a deal or amend our other.
She is going to kiss her son goodnight.
End of story.
Bryn harshly swallows what appears to be tears and outrage prior to leaning over.
The kiss itself is soft.
Almost too feathery to count.
Luckily for her, he’s already snoring and doesn’t request more of her affections.
Or her love.
Unlike me.
Who is about to demand so much more.
The instant we’re on the other side of the threshold, my wife takes off for the nearest set of stairs.
“ Bryn, ” I gingerly call during my pursuit. “ We need to talk. ”
There’s not the faintest bit of surprise that she says nothing.
That she continues to hastily hurry down the halls.
Duck around corners.
Practically leap down the stairs.
Getting to her room before her is impossible, yet stopping her from going inside isn’t.
One hand slams against the top edge of the door itself and mercilessly curls, refusing to let her slip away, forcing her to become trapped in my space.
My presence.
“ We. Need. To. Talk. ”
“Yeah, I thought I made it clear I wasn’t interested in that when I didn’t respond the first time.”
“ I’m not asking you, Ms. Winters. ” My body sways closer, only stopping when it’s firmly pressing itself against her back. “ I’m telling you. ” The sound of her breath hitching threatens to have mine do the same. “ We’re going to. ”
One slow spin around results in her heaving chest knocking into mine. “ You sure talking is what you really wanna do, Mr. Wilcox? ” Her fingertips do the thing I least expect and lightly glide down the front of my t-shirt. “ Because…this ,” they gently cup my swelling shaft, “ doesn’t feel like a discussion. ”
Not groaning over being touched is impossible.
And so is not letting my stare become heavy.
Or hooded.
However, I push past the hungry grumbles festering in my throat to state, “ Fucking my wife is not up for discussion. ”
“Maybe it should be?” The salacious waggling of her eyebrow sparks an unfortunately familiar ache. “Maybe it’s all that we should be discussing?”
“How can we discuss anything when the only thing you do is hide all day?”
“I’m sorry…what exactly do you call what you’re doing all day?”
“Working.”
“Avoiding.”
“I have…responsibilities.”
“You have excuses.”
There’s no stopping the glare I twitch.
“And you just hate that I have them too.”
My lips momentarily press together in irritation.
I hate that she’s right.
I hate that even when she should be wrong, she isn’t.
“Why are you hiding?” Our eyes lock aggressively onto one another’s, both bracing for a fight. “Is it me ?” I tighten my clasp. “Is it because I look like this?” Bitterness marches across my tongue. “Is it because you cannot stomach the very sight of me anymore?”
“Stomach the sight of you?” Her head condescendingly tips to one side before she thrusts her lower half into my free-floating hand revealing unforeseen warmth and wetness. “ Does that feel like I can’t stomach the sight of you, Mr. Wilcox? ”
“ Fuck… ” my fingers thoughtlessly curl, “ you’re soaking, Little Prey. ”
“ And I don’t get that way for men who fucking disgust me. ” She pushes my hold away almost as quickly as she welcomed it. “ Make sure you put that shit down in the captain’s log. ”
“ Noted. ” Both of my hands relocate to brace themselves on the frame. “Tell me why you’re hiding from me. Your friends. Family. Our son. ” I stomp down the lump of dread doing its best to clog my vocal cords. “Tell me why this is the most time we’ve spent together since the hospital.”
“You mean since you locked me in the castle with only Mrs. Teapot to talk to?”
“You leaving the estate with an unidentified threat is not ideal.”
“And you all but locking me in the cellar with your aged collection of family whiskey isn’t either.”
Narrowing my glare can’t be helped. “So, you’re punishing me for trying to protect you?”
“That’s what you think I’m doing in here all day, every day?” Her condescending head tilt shuts my mouth once more. “You think I’m just locked away piloting the USS Petty ?”
Alright.
This conversation isn’t going the way I expected.
Then again, they rarely ever do when it comes to her.
“Come on in, Captain Jonathan Asshat.” Bryn bumps her body violently backward against the door, granting us access inside. “Let me give you a grand tour of the bridge.” Cautiously following in leads to an unveiling on her bed that I would’ve never expected. “Here you’ll find what is evidently my laptop ,” she mockingly waves, “where I’ve been reviewing articles and interviews and exposés regarding your family, our relationship, our company, our charities, and the marine life institute where I currently run a fucking division all on my own.” Another device is unexpectedly grabbed from the nightstand and tossed onto the bed. “ This tablet – that I borrowed from my mom –” one swipe wakes the device back up exposing me to a night I’ll never forget, “I’ve been using to review our wedding photos. The ones the public had as well as the ones we kept in private. Our family vacations, in which I have taken full notice of the fact that we only travel by vehicle.” She lets her hands falls to her hips. “I’m sure that ties to what happened to your parents and my dad but isn’t exactly a subject I think we wanna get into when so much other shit is a bit more pressing.”
I’m barely granted a moment to grab a glance.
“Over there,” her chin kicks to the far side of the mattress, “you’ll see our wedding scrapbook – I can hardly fathom I made – next to Wy’s baby book from his first couple of years – including clippings from his first haircut – and if you direct your focus to the other side,” she tips her head to indicate where to look, “you’ll find really random shit like a ‘hangry’ shark mug, an aquamarine bracelet, old VIP passes from Talk Trekky to Me, a ticket stub from some band called ArKturus – that I just know is Puppet Boy’s doing – and even mini jars of sand with dates on them, which I’m sure are meaningful to us but that I don’t remember.”
My mouth twitches to speak yet isn’t given the opportunity to.
“Because I don’t consciously remember any of this shit! And because I don’t , I sit in this room…this hotel B&B wannabe…and study. ” Her body defensively steps forward. “ And study. ” Another stomp closer. “ And. Fucking. Study. ” The gap becomes closed. “I study the life I had on my own. I study the life I had with the people that currently walk these halls. I study the life I had with my son. And most importantly, you selfish prick, I study the life I had with you. Why? Because I love you. Because I know I love you. Because no matter what it is my brain erased, my goddamn soul can’t deny or won’t deny or doesn’t wanna deny, the fact that I love you! That I’ll never stop loving you and only you!”
One hand possessively winds itself around the nape of her neck to roughly yank her mouth to mine. Possessive groans are purged past her spread lips, pushed down her throat, and commanded to be swallowed by my flexing fingers that have rightfully reclaimed their mantle.
Bryn is mine.
Her fucking soul knows it.
Time to remind her body.
Our tongues collide and the collision is callous.
Sloppy.
Preceded by whimpers and proceeded by moans.
Grunts.
Growls that have her executing licks so lecherous only equally licentious lashes can weaken her resolve.
And once it’s weak?
I make it weaker.
I press harder.
Faster.
Halt any ability she has to breathe.
Catch a breath.
I force her fingers to fly to the front of my t-shirt – the very same shirt she gave me on a Tuesday anniversary – and claw for leverage.
Kindness.
Mercy that she’ll never receive.
Not from me.
Not in moments like this.
Pulling back is done just enough to growl, “ I’m gonna fuck you like you don’t remember. ” An undeniably harsh bite is taken of her bottom lip. “ And keep fucking you like you’ll never forget. ”
There isn’t time for her to think or blink before my tongue is diving back deep inside while my free hand is yanking her into me by the cup of her ass. My fingers dig into the taut flesh until they’re sure to leave a bruise, an idea that rapidly spreads.
Has me abruptly removing my mouth from hers.
Latching it onto her jaw.
Her chin.
The sensitive side of her neck where my teeth savagely sink.
And I suck.
And suck.
And suck.
And bruise the skin similar to the way my fingers have her cheek.
The cheek I’m now tearing the fabric up to expose.
To peek over her shoulder and admire as she shudders in my hold.
“ This is all mine, baby. ” A small spank is delivered to her ass. “ Let me hear you fuckin’ say it. ”
“ Yours, ” escapes in mainly air.
Her lack of hesitation…reluctance…refusal not only swells my cock, it has it soaking my boxer briefs.
Screaming to be freed.
Moving.
Fucking.
“ Again, ” leaves me in the same breathless tone. “ Say. It. Again. ”
“ Yours, ” Bryn immediately repeats prompting me to scrape my teeth along her collarbone. “ Yours. ” The grating gravitates lower. “ All. Yours. Wes. ”
An animalistic grumble is attached to a tiny bite of her tank top covered nipple, and the gasp that leaves her is so deliriously maddening it’s impossible to stop myself from pushing her onto the mattress.
Tearing off her bottoms.
Lowering my sweats just enough for my cock to spring loose.
I don’t wait for begging or permission.
I don’t wait for more teasing or tormenting.
I simply spread her thighs wide and dive my dick to the hilt.
“ Ohmyg-”
“ Wes ,” seeps past my gritted teeth as I blanket her body with mine. “ You say my fucking name. ” Rocking my hips slightly back is swiftly followed by another sharp thrust. “ And only my fucking name, Little Prey. ” The action is instantly repeated. “ Understood? ”
“ Too much ,” whimpers the love of my life while wiggling her hips in discomfort. “ That shit doesn’t fit. ”
Wolfishly grinning can’t be stopped. “ Then we’ll make it fucking fit, baby. ”
Her mouth lowers in objection prompting me to pitilessly pound again.
And again.
And again.
To force her to stay open for me by pinning her bent thigh to the bed and pounding again.
Rougher.
Quicker.
I force her back to bow off the mattress every time my shaft lightly brushes her swollen clit and her leg to extend and contract and extend and contract mimicking the soaking wet muscles doing their best to milk my cock dry.
Hisses reverberate around the room alongside thumps and thuds from the physical pieces of our past plopping to the hardwood.
Each slam is swiftly mirrored by my dick.
Mimicked by my heart.
Shown appreciation by my speed increasing.
Licks and sucks and nips are rained down the length of her neck in tandem with the photos and papers flying through the air.
“ Mine ,” ferociously escapes between the bestial bites bruising her beautiful brown skin. “ All. Mine. ”
“ Yours, ” Bryn reassures, fingers latching onto my locks for leverage, pulling me in deeper and deeper, only to then anxiously push me away when her pussy starts uncontrollably quivering, clearly ready to come in spite of the shoving action her hand executed. “ All. Yours. ”
“ Prove it, Little Prey ,” I command prior to skating my lips up to her ear lobe. “ Show me. ” The bucking of my hips damn near falters when she begins wildly withering underneath me. “ Come on my fucking cock. ”
An almost heavenly gasp is stolen seconds before a body shaking scream is unleashed and supported by the sounds of glass shattering as it hits the floor. “ Wesssss!!!! ”
Grains of sand blow across my bare feet, begging for me to look away, to take one moment to acknowledge their existence, yet between my wife’s other fist ferally banging my chest for reprieve and the white-hot waves, drowning my dick, dripping down to my balls, demanding that I fill her to the brim, meet her splash for splash, it’s impossible to give a shit.
I don’t care about their coarseness.
I don’t care about the new sharpness beneath my toes.
I don’t care about the mess we’ll have to clean up.
I only care about the one we’re about to make.
“ You want my cum, baby? ” My mouths knock against the shell of her ear, panting unsteady, much like my pumping. “ You want me to fill that pretty little pussy up? ”
“ Yessssss, ” Bryn cries out, both sets of fingers now clawing at my back. “ Yesssss, Wes… ” The airy nature of her words gets me growling more. “ Make me yours. ” Trembles begin against my own volition. “ Only. Yours. ”
Thick, torrid surges start splashing themselves against her still pulsating muscles as beastlike snarls are smeared along her cheek in my mouth’s pursuit for hers. Smashing our lips back together allows me to slop up her screams and suck in her sighs and unrelentingly suffocate her system by overwhelming it in such a way it leaves no doubt that she’s mine .
That she’s always been mine .
And that she’ll always be mine.
In sickness.
In health.
In every way possible…
Until the end of time.