War (Boston Bolts Hockey #3)

30. Tyler

THIRTY

TYLER

“What exactly are we looking for?” Aiden asks as he holds a vibrator at eye level and turns it one way, then the other, inspecting it.

Sara takes it out of his hand and puts it back. “Not a lipstick vibrator, that’s for sure.” She eyes me, one brow arched to confirm.

I offer her a nod. Definitely not a lipstick vibrator.

Why am I willingly walking around a sex toy store with Aiden and Daniel and Sara? It’s Brooks’s fault. I should know by now that he shares everything with Sara, and she can’t let anything go. Worried that the dance instructor might be a real threat, I turned to my best friend for his opinion and advice. Somehow that turned into Sara dragging us to this store, demanding I find a gift for Ava that would ensure she’s thinking about me only.

“What type of toy do you think would mimic the sensation of a piercing?” Daniel ponders aloud.

Sara’s lips curl into a teasing grin. “Nothing, you sweet playboy, you. Nothing I’ve ever played with can compare to Brooks’s glitter dick.”

Brooks lets out a heavy sigh.

“You should be proud,” Aiden mutters. “If Lennox said I was better than any of her toys, I’d be proud. ”

Hall whirls on him. “She hasn’t told you that?”

Immediately, Aiden is on his phone and calling his wife. As he disappears down an aisle, he tells Lennox she owes him for not complimenting his dick enough. Only seconds later, he’s apologizing for being in a sex store without her, and then he’s returning to us with his phone held out. “Sar, Lex says I have to give you the phone. I’m in trouble, and now you get to pick out toys, and I have to pay for them as my punishment.”

Sara cackles and taps the speaker button on the phone. “Do you want to punish punish him, or do you want fun things for you as his punishment?”

“I want you to get the biggest vibrating dick you can find so I can use it in his?—”

Brooks hits the mute button, silencing Lennox’s words. “Please god, don’t talk about what you do to my brother, Lennox.”

Sara glares at him. “You’re such a prude.”

“Why am I here again?” I mutter, walking away from the shit show that is my group of friends.

Daniel follows after me. “Because you want to satisfy your wife so she doesn’t flirt with the dancer. Calliope says if you’re worried your man is cheating, then he probably is. Go with your instinct.”

I blink. Then I blink again. “My man?”

Daniel scoffs. “You know what I mean. Here, let me pull up the article. She has a whole thing on trusting your instincts. Girl is fucking brilliant.” He’s already got his phone out, which means he’ll be distracted for a bit. The minute the kid starts reading his sweet Callie’s words—his description, not mine—we lose him.

I clap him on the back and squeeze. “I’m not actually worried about him.”

It’s the truth. Though our marriage started as nothing but a contract, I know Ava will always remain true to her word. She’d never be unfaithful. And I’m happy she’s dancing again. Watching her dance that first day changed me, all the way down to my DNA. It made me see her in a way I’d never seen anyone else. And I’m aching to see it again.

As that thought occurs to me, a plan forms in my head. Quickly, I circle the store, buy what I know my wife will enjoy, and head for the door.

“Where you going?” Sara yells as she holds up an oversized dildo that has Aiden shaking in his literal boots.

“To play with my wife.”

“Thatta boy,” she hollers as I head out into the cold Boston day. “Give her that sparkly D!”

Me: I’m in Boston. Be home soon. Where are you?

Wifey: At the dance studio. I’ll be done here in an hour or so. Let me know where you want to go to talk, and I’ll meet you there.

Me: I’ve got the address. I’ll pick you up.

Wifey: Tyler Warren, you better not intimidate my dance instructor.

Me: I wouldn’t dream of it.

My wife loves to taunt me. It took a little time to find the right room, but when I did, all my effort was rewarded.

Ava is stretching on a barre, her long leg extended against it, her back rounded in a way that highlights the curves of her ass and hips. Her smooth, pale skin is covered by a long-sleeve black leotard and absolutely nothing else. Maybe it’s the contrast between the black fabric covering her arms and her bare legs, but today, the look is even hotter.

When she spots my reflection, I have to bite my fist to hide my smile. I’m still in the suit I donned for traveling, and my hair is a mess—I’ll blame it on the agitation that ate at me while I was searching for her—but we look exquisite together. Just like we did that first day. Me fully clothed and prowling toward her like a predator, her my innocent prey.

“Are you ready to begin, mon chérie?”

At the sound of the masculine voice, we both startle.

Instantly, I spin, my eyes skewering the man talking to my darling wife in his fake French accent with his fake French name.

When he sees me, he straightens. “Can I help you? This is a private class, but you can browse the list of available classes in the front hallway.”

Before I can speak, Ava pipes up. “He was just leaving.”

“Oh, do you know him?” He assesses me now, eyeing me as if he stands a chance to earn Ava’s favor. Not that it matters. There’s no choice. She’s mine. Contract or not, it’s all in her glare. My wife is just as obsessed with our games as I am.

“Just my husband having a little temper tantrum,” she says to him, though she keeps her green eyes locked on me. “I told him I was busy for the afternoon, and he doesn’t know how to take no for an answer.”

“I don’t.” With a slow, devious grin, I take a step closer. My blood heats as her scent—vanilla and coconut—grows stronger.

“I didn’t realize she was married,” he says behind me. “You don’t wear a wedding band.”

I grasp her left hand and inspect it in an exaggerated manner. The emerald I slid onto her finger is right where it should be. I hold up her hand to him and ask whether he’s the type of man who goes after women who look as though they’re engaged. “Alors tu es le genre d’homme qui s’en prend aux femmes fiancées?”

He blinks at me, clearly not understanding a word of the language from the country he feigns relation to.

I demand an answer. “Réponds-moi, oui ou non?”

I can’t hold back the chuckle when the man nods aggressively. What a fucking idiot. But the man is right about one thing. My wife doesn’t have a wedding band. I’ll need to rectify that soon .

Focusing my attention back on her, I wrap my arm around her waist and pull her close, locking her hand between our bodies, and press my lips to the space where a band should be, marking her.

“Hello, Vicious,” I whisper.

“Hello, husband,” she says, lips quirking.

She spins her hand, but I tug it closer and kiss her wrist, my eyes on her the entire time. “Enjoy your dancing.”

“Enjoy the show,” she murmurs, knowing I’ll never leave her here. No, for the next hour, she’s going to torture me. Make me watch her sway those hips and smile at the man still watching us. And I’m going to love every minute of it.

“Are you proud of yourself?” I hold the door to the dance studio open for my wife.

“Actually, yes.” She brushes by me, her fingers sliding against my chest.

Fuck, this woman drives me mad.

I grab her hand and pull her back before she can get away. “Really?”

Ava presses both hands to my chest and looks up at me from beneath long lashes, her green eyes alight and her lips wet from rolling her tongue across them. “Yup. It’s ridiculous, I know, but I love seeing you all jealous over me.”

“I’m not jealous,” I lie as I guide her toward her car. I pluck her keys out of her hand and open the passenger door.

She’s silent, studying me as I lean over her and buckle her seat belt. It’s something Brooks does with Sara. I always found it absurd, but I get it now. My instincts kick in and my body takes over when it comes to her. And I’m not the least bit upset about it. “So if I told you I was wet right now, you wouldn’t be upset?” She grasps my wrist, her breaths coming faster.

Still hovering over her, I drink her in. Even beneath the white sweater she threw over her leotard, the swell of her breasts taunts me. “Why would I be upset?”

She licks her lips again. “Because he made me wet.”

I nip at her bottom lip, biting down just hard enough to pull a whine from her. “Is that the story you’re going with, Vicious?” I pull back a smidge so I can see her completely. “Or are you ready to combust because you liked that I was watching you with him?”

“What if it’s both?” She whispers the admission, worrying her bottom lip as she watches me, like she’s concerned about how I’ll react.

I pull back and shut her door, then slowly round the hood of the SUV. When I climb into the driver’s seat, I put the gift I picked up for her on the center console between us. “Then I’d say I need to punish you to remind you of who you belong to.”

“I don’t belong to you,” she says, her fire returning and her chin lifted in challenge.

“State of Massachusetts would say otherwise.” I start the car and turn my attention to the road, knowing I need to get far away from this place before my jealousy really does take over and I bring her back into the dance studio to show her precisely who she belongs to right in front of her instructor and the million and one mirrors she teased me with during her class.

“I’m married to you. I don’t belong to you.”

I reach for her hand as a peace offering. “Well, I belong to you, Vicious, so either way, you’re stuck with me.”

“For sixteen years,” she says softly.

“It’s humorous you think I’m ever letting you go,” I mutter, rolling my neck to ease the tension that forms whenever she reminds me of her damn timeline. With a glance her way, I lower my voice and grit out, “How about you show me just how wet you are?”

Ava sucks in a breath and whips her head in my direction. “Right here?”

“Yes. Spread those legs, dip your finger in, and show me.” When she still hesitates, I grip her thigh and pull it toward me.

She walked out of the studio without pants, just the leotard and her sweater. If I hadn’t been there, I can guarantee she’d have put them on. It’s freezing out, but the woman does stupid things to taunt me, and now that she’s taken it this far, I’m not letting her pull back.

“Come on, Vicious. Don’t get shy on me now. Tease me like we both know you want to. Torture me. Don’t shut down on me.” It’s a plea for so much more than just another intimate moment with her. These games we play are my salvation. They give me hope that the two of us can have more than just the stipulations we first agreed to. It’s in these moments that I feel most at ease. I like the pain. It means I can still feel. That I’m not as dead inside as I once was.

When we come to a light, I shift and study her. She’s got her lip caught between her teeth, and she’s watching me just as intently. Like she’s reading my every thought. Good. Let her figure it all out. I’m not hiding anything from her. I lick my lips and rev the engine, growing impatient. The instant the light turns green, I hit the gas, making the tires squeal and Ava’s head snap back against the headrest.

With a throaty laugh, she teases the edge of her leotard with a finger.

Cursing, I glance from her to the road.

“Pull that little strip of fabric over and show me how you glisten for me.”

“And Benoir,” she purrs.

“Fuck Benoir and his fake French name,” I growl as jealousy burns in my gut. “It kills me, hearing his name on your lips, baby. Makes me want to fill that mouth so you can never speak it again.”

Her throaty moan has me whipping my head in her direction again. I’m just in time to watch as she stuffs two fingers into her cunt.

“Oh, fuck. That’s my dirty wife. Yes, soak those fingers. Get ready to taste yourself.”

The desperate noises she makes as she fucks herself with her fingers has me swelling until my dick is threatening to split my zipper. I’m racing against the clock, trying to get us out of the city and to the back roads before I come in my pants, and I haven’t even touched her. Her whimpers, the wet sound her body makes as it suctions her fingers, her every sound ramp up my heart rate until my blood whooshes in my ears.

“Get the toy out of the bag next to you,” I beg her .

She’s too enthralled, too far gone, riding her fingers, knowing the torture she’s doling out, to obey.

I dip my hand into the bag and pull out the toy I’ve already removed from its box. When I flip the switch, her eyes fly open, and, chest heaving, she studies it.

“Come on, baby. Put this inside your tight cunt. Let me watch you ride my present.”

Pupils blown wide, she whines. “No, show me how much you want me, Tyler. Set it against your balls and come with me.”

A bolt of electricity arcs through me. This woman wears a demure disguise so well, but she’s fucking filthy.

“That what you need, baby? Need me to make a mess to show you just how much I want you? How I’ve been dreaming of you?”

As I press the vibrator to my already aching balls, I jolt. Knowing there’s no way I can focus on the road like this, I take the next exit. I don’t care where the fuck we are, but in two seconds, she’s going to be riding me, and I refuse to let a single person see my wife as the dirty whore I need her to be. We’ve barely made it into a wooded area when I throw the car into park, unbuckle her seat belt, and drag her over the center console and onto my lap.

“Shit,” she pants. “What are you doing?”

“Fuck me, Vicious. I need you.” While I move the seat back, I take her mouth in a rough kiss and drag her over my cock so she can feel just how fucking gone for her I am.

She bites my lip, and with a mumbled no , she pushes back and rolls her hips in the most intoxicatingly beautiful way. Between the sight of her, the way she slides over my dick, and the vibrator still pressed to my balls, I’m hit with a wave of dizziness. But I refuse to blink. I refuse to look away from her. Instead, I focus on her hips and the way they dance against me like they did less than an hour ago when she was with fucking Benoir.

“Look at you, baby, just as desperate as I am. Did he do that to you? You think he’s got a piercing that will make you scream?”

Eyes closed, she moans, lost in the pleasure.

“He got your name tattooed above his balls? Did he mark himself for you?” I taunt, gripping her hips and rolling her over me. “No, it’s your husband’s cock that keeps you wet. Your husband who branded himself yours. Forever, wifey. That’s what I’m telling everyone. I’m forever yours and you’re forever mine. Now admit it, Vicious. Tell me how much you need me, and I’ll fill you so good you won’t be able to walk tomorrow, let alone dance.”

“Shh, keep taunting me, and I’ll have to figure out a way to shut you up,” she teases, sliding her fingers into my mouth, feeding me the taste of her pleasure.

I’m sucking them clean when she detonates, pulsating on top of me. In this moment, I know I’m done for. Because like a teenage boy, I come in my pants with her taste on my lips and a smile on my face.