War (Boston Bolts Hockey #3)

52. Ava

FIFTY-TWO

AVA

“So this is where you disappeared to,” my husband mumbles as he appears behind me. I bite my lip as I take in his strong form in the mirror. I can’t help but appreciate the way his black T-shirt stretches against his muscles. The black lines of the tattoos that cover his toned arms. The flex of his jaw as he catches me ogling him. Those blue eyes that always light a fire inside me, so bright and hopeful in comparison to his menacing form. “See something you like?”

I bite down harder, trying to fight a smile, but it’s no use. “Very much so,” I tease, remembering the words uttered between two strangers who had no idea where that conversation would take them.

It brought us here. To a ballet studio in a house this man purchased for three children he probably couldn’t have imagined raising back then. With me, the woman who works to drive him mad on the regular.

Tyler steps closer, the heat of him at my back, but his eyes never leave mine in the mirror. “You smell like heaven.” Angling lower, he kisses my neck and nuzzles against me in a way that sends shivers cascading through my body. The goose bumps that erupt are visible since my arms are bare. I’m comfortable in my own skin in a way I never was until him .

He snakes a hand down my side and cups my breast, then settles the other on my stomach. “I missed you.”

“Me too, Ty,” I rasp, my body already hot from dancing. He’s been gone for another ten-day stretch, and I’ve been antsy. The more time I spend with this man, the more I miss him when he’s gone. It’s a far cry from how I used to wish he would disappear.

His flight was delayed because of weather, so instead of getting home late last night, he’s just now made it in. We’ve got about two hours until the kids wake up and the chaos of a regular day around here begins. Bray has two hockey games today, though I can only go to one because Josie was invited to a birthday party. This is a first for her, so to say she’s excited would be an understatement. She hasn’t stopped talking about it since we got the invitation two weeks ago.

“Did you miss me or my fingers, pretty girl?” With a nip to my shoulder, he tweaks one nipple. I never wear a bra under leotards at home, and it drives him wild.

“Definitely your fingers.”

His responding chuckle causes the hair at my nape to tickle my skin, and then the hand on my pelvis dips lower. “Keep your eyes on the mirror, then, wifey. I want to watch you watch me take you apart with these.” He taps his fingers gently against my core.

Whimpering, I buck my hips.

He corrects me immediately, pulling me back against him, forcing me to feel how hard he is. “Now, now. That’s not good form.”

God, I love it when he plays with me like this. When he’s not gentle. When he expects me to fight him. He makes me stronger. Makes me vicious. Turns me into the person I am only with him.

“Hmm, that’s not what Benoir said at practice this week.”

Blue eyes narrowed, he digs his fingers into my hip. “Are you teasing me, wifey?”

There’s no stopping the smile that splits my face. “Always.”

“Strip.”

I cough out a laugh. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” He steps back, releasing his hold on me. “He got to see you at practice this week. I want to see more. Do your dance for me right now. Naked. I want to watch you spin, bend, pirou-fucking-ette with nothing on. Dance for me, Vicious. Please .” He tacks that last word on with a smug smile. He knows what that does to me. How I yearn to please him. How I live for that cockiness.

I spin on my heel, but before I can face him, he grasps my shoulders and forces me around again. “Face the mirror.”

My chest grows heavy with excitement as I fix my attention on his reflection and slide the straps off my shoulders, then pull the leotard down over my hips. “I need music.”

Tyler grabs his phone. “Song?”

I smirk. “‘Bed Chem’ by Sabrina Carpenter.”

The laugh that leaves his lips is raspy and sexier than anything I’ve ever heard. As soon as the first verse begins, I straighten and move. This isn’t the routine I’ve been working on for our show. No, this one is for Tyler only. I’m seducing my husband. My breasts feel heavy under his gaze, my nipples hard, my legs tingling as the ache grows between them. I watch my form—wide arms, pointed toes—knowing he’s enjoying every second.

When the song comes to an end, I take a bow, knowing precisely what he’s seeing now. My ass, bent over, too enticing for him to ignore.

Tyler doesn’t disappoint. With a low growl, he clutches my hips. “Hold still.” Then he’s crouching behind me and running his tongue between my legs. “Hands on the mirror, baby. You’re going to need to hold on, because you’re going to be here for a while.”

With every swipe and swirl of his tongue, my breathing gets heavier, causing the mirror to fog. When he adds two fingers and pulls back, meeting my reflection, he fucks me slowly like that. “My beautiful, vicious, perfect wife. Fall apart for me.”

“I need?—”

“I know what you need.” And he doesn’t deny me. Quickly, he stands and drops his pants. Then, in one swift move, he lifts me into his arms, lines up, and thrusts into me. He kisses me. Fucks me. Makes love to me.

He does all the things. That’s how we do everything. We’re both soft and hard when it comes to one another. Rough and easy. We love and we fight and we play. As long as we’re together, we’re happy.

“I love you, Ty,” I whisper between gasps.

“I love you so much that sometimes I hate you,” he says as he bites down on my lip. “You make it impossible to think of anything else. When I’m away from you? Fuck, Ava, you’re my obsession.” He fucks up into me, sending me over the edge when his piercing hits that spot inside me no one else has ever been able to touch.

I squeeze him tight, forcing a cry from him and milking his orgasm pulse by pulse.

I place my hand against his heart, reveling in the steady rhythm. “I’m equally obsessed,” I whisper, holding my pinky up between us.

He glances at my hand, his eyes narrowing when he catches sight of the design.

“Promise,” he whispers as he reads the word I had inked along my pinky. Next to it, in the spot where my wedding ring sits, is a tattoo that matches his. Our wedding date and three letters beneath it.

W-A-R. It’s a reminder of what he’ll do for me. Who he is. And who I am because of him.

He didn’t play by the rules in order to win me, and I sure as hell threw the rules out the window when it came to our marriage. But let’s be honest: all’s fair in love and war.