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I rub at my temple. "I sense you’re trying to tell me something."
Summer smiles through her tears. "All I’m saying is, don’t let self-doubt hold you back. Don’t be afraid to go after what you want."
46
Quentin
I flicker my gaze over the features of my sleeping wife. Every night, after working until the early hours of the morning, I make it home, but do I sleep? No. I prefer to spend the time watching her.
I take in the way her cheeks are flushed, how her lips are parted, how her hair is a halo around her shoulders. She’s on her side, with her face turned toward me.
The first time I watched her sleeping, I spent the night in the chair next to her.
The next night, I sat on the bed.
On the third, I lay down on my side and watch her until the first rays of the morning light came through the window. My wife sleeps deeply. My climbing into bed didn’t register with her.
A strand of hair has fallen over her face. I reach over and tuck it behind her ear, then freeze when she mumbles something under her breath. She falls silent, her breathing evens out, and I allow my muscles to relax. I don’t want her to find me in bed with her. I don’t want to fall asleep next to her. If I did, I’d wake up wrapped around her, and my dick, which is already erect by her proximity, would not take no for an answer.
She moans in her sleep. That’s never happened before. She must be dreaming. Her sleep camisole leaves very little to imagination, with her full breasts pushing the material tight across her chest, the shape of her nipples outlined by the fabric.
I sweep my gaze down to where her camisole has ridden up, revealing a strip of pale, creamy skin. And below that, her panties ride high on her legs, showing off the thick spread of her thighs. I swallow hard. The crotch of my pants—I didn't bother to undress so I don’t get too comfortable—is too snug. I adjust myself. Then, unable to resist the allure of the woman next to me, I reach over and slide my fingers under the gusset of her panties. Jesus, she’s soaking wet.
She’s sleeping, and unaware of what I’m doing. I should... put distance between us. I should get the hell out of this bed before I make her come in her sleep.
I begin to pull away, but she moans, then spreads her legs apart. The lips of her pussy glisten with her arousal, and just like that, all thoughts of leaving vanish from my head. She’s my wife and she’s turned on. She moans again, then squirms in her sleep. And when she widens the space between her thighs, I don’t hold back.
I tease her slit, then slide two fingers inside her. Goosebumps pepper her skin. She turns her head in my direction, but her eyes are closed. I resist the urge to lean in and kiss her. If I do, she’ll definitely wake up. Instead, I ease my fingers in and out of her, in and out.
Her pussy clenches, then ripples around my fingers. My dick extends, and fucking hell, I can’t hold back. I shove my other hand down my pants and squeeze my cock from base to crown. The pain cuts through the noise in my head and helps me focus. I add a third digit inside her, and she groans.
Her breathing grows heavy, but her eyes are closed. Thank fuck. I weave my fingers in and out of her, while also jerking myself off. My movements speed up, the moisture squeezes out from between her legs. Jesus, this woman… She’s so fucking sexy, it slays me. The pressure at the base of my spine builds, and I know I’m not going to last long. I curve my fingers inside her and am rewarded by a shudder that sweeps through her. She pants, her mouth open in a silent cry. Watching her come sends me over the edge. I swipe my cock from base to crown one last time, and my balls explode.
I come and come in my pants like a teenage boy, then lay there with my fingers inside her pulsing pussy for a few seconds. I pull my fingers from her wet channel and suck on them, then scoop up some of my cum and paint it on her lips. She licks it off, then turns over on her side.
I pull away without waking her, then roll off the bed, head toward the ensuite bathroom, and step into the shower.
That orgasm should have relaxed me, but looking at my hard cock, you wouldn’t know it. I need her more than ever, and not only in a physical way. I want her with me, next to me, by my side, in my life.
But I can’t have that. I will not let myself have that.
I’m torturing myself by having her here under my roof. I’m setting things up to hurt her even more by being unable to break things off with her.
Whatever happened to the bravery I was known for in military strategy? Come up with a ballsy plan to keep ahead of the enemy? I’m your man. Want to structure an audacious acquisition to grow the Davenport Group’s profits? I’m one step ahead of you there. But shoring up my courage to tell my wife that I want to leave her, and I lose my balls.
I switch off the shower, grab a towel and dry myself, then walk out with it wrapped around my waist. I walk into my closet, and dress quickly. With a last look at my still sleeping wife, I head out of our bedroom and for the office.
The door to my office flies open. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Davenport, I tried to stop her.”
I look up to find my assistant red-faced and on the heels of a young girl who’s barged in.
She looks like my wife but is not my wife, because I recognize her from the picture my wife showed me of her and her sister. She’s thin, almost painfully so, and is wearing tights and an oversized sweatshirt with the words “Royal Ballet School" on it.
She marches over to my desk and slams down an oversized backpack with various badges pinned onto it. “You have some nerve making my sister unhappy,” she fumes.
The soft American twang to her accent, not to mention the way her eyes dart arrows at me, reminds me of Raven.
A sharp tug winds itself around my heart. I ignore it and nod at the girl. “Lizzie, good to meet you.”
