“I was thinking about having roasted chicken breast and red potatoes for dinner.”
I thought it over as I pushed the tails of my dress shirt back into my slacks. “Sounds pretty good. Maybe some salad as well. My stomach hasn’t been right since that weird Indian place Drew took us to on Monday.” She smiled, laughing to herself. “What?”
She shook her head. “Nothing.”
I threw my jacket back on and walked over to her, pulling her to me. “It’s not nothing.”
She bit her bottom lip, a blush creeping along her cheeks. “We’re just weird.”
“We’re weird?”
“I mean, I don’t watch sitcoms, but I’ve seen some when I dated Drew and spent time with Caroline. The things the people talked about were often strange to me.” I quirked my brow at her, and she sighed. “You know I have warped perceptions on reality, and our conversation was oddly similiar to those shows. I didn’t realize we’d become so mainstream and domesticated.”
I laughed out loud. Normalcy was weird to her, and we were engaging in a normal, everyday couple conversation—the type we’d had hundreds of.
“Baby, we’re married.”
Her brow scrunched. “And?”
“And we’re evolving as people and a couple. Life isn’t only about the crap we’ve been through anymore. The everyday shit, sharing it, and living life is the new us.”
“I didn’t say it was bad, just…weird.” She tucked her head. “And I kind of like it.”
I wrapped my arms around her and held her close. “You’ll get used to it, and it won’t be weird anymore.” She snuggled into my chest, a content sigh coming from her. “Dinner sounds great.”
“You can make the salad.”
I smiled and kissed the top of her head. “One of the few things I can make.”
“You’ve gotten better at other things.”
I nodded. “I have.”
“You can make lasagna tomorrow.”
“Mmm, that sounds good.”
“Tomorrow. I’m making chicken tonight. Besides, we’ll need to stop at the grocery store.”
I opened the door and held it for her to walk through. One of the few locals of the floor passed by, giving us a knowing look.
I didn’t care who knew. Was it unprofessional to have sex at the office? Hell, yes. Was that going to stop me? Not a fucking chance. Discreet was what we strived for, but sometimes it was inevitable that someone heard us.
“Your tie is messed up.” She reached up and adjusted it as we rode the elevator back up.
We were walking down the hall back to her office when I noticed Caroline standing in front of Lila’s office, tapping her foot with her arms crossed in front of her. What had her so pissed?
“My God, Nate, can’t you wait a few hours until you get home?” She huffed as we neared.
I grinned at her. “No.”
She rolled her eyes, then pointed at her watch as she looked at Lila. “Tick-tock, girl. We have lunch plans, and you’re eating into them with your sexcapades.”
“Oh, crap!” Lila looked down at her watch and headed into her office to get her purse and coat.
“Yeah, you forgot, didn’t you?”
“No, time got away from me.”
Caroline quirked her brow. “How long were you two getting it on?”
I checked out the time, doing the math of when we left. “We were pretty quick.”
“Nate!”
I peeked in and saw that Owen had already left for lunch. “I know it’s no secret from her, so stop acting embarrassed. Besides, baby making has no schedule.” I grinned.
Caroline’s head snapped to me. “Wait, what was that? Baby making?”
I glanced at Lila, who was glaring at me. Hadn’t she told Caroline? Weeks had passed, and Caroline was out sick for a week in there, but I thought she would be the first person Lila told. Caroline gave me a “I hope you know what you’re doing” look.
Lila sighed. “I was going to tell you about it over lunch.”
“You sure as hell are.”
“I’ll see you later,” Lila said as she gave me a kiss and headed down the hall.
Once they were out of sight, I headed down to my office. As soon as I entered, I slammed my head against the door. Was I forcing my desires for a family on Lila? Did she even want children, or was she placating me? There was the possibility that the trial on Monday was consuming her thoughts—perhaps that was why?
The answer was clear to that one. Her demeanor told me the stress of the trial was getting to her—hence the romp this morning. She was the one who called me to meet—an unusual occurrence.
I was hard.
Then again, I seemed to be hard all the time.
Fucking PTSD. It affected my mood, often in a bad way, and heightened my already high-demanding sexual needs. At its worst, I was an asshole who needed his dick wrapped in warmth twenty-four-fucking-seven.
Our addictive dependence on each other wasn’t considered healthy, but it was what we needed to function. We craved each other to calm the storm within.
Getting off only gave me a moment of peace, but it was a moment.
I had to get it all out, because in the morning, I needed to be strong for Lila. The trial was starting, and my shit needed to take a back burner.
Staring at the TV, I palmed my cock as thoughts of fucking her unconscious took hold. She wasn’t home. Her art class, or, as I liked to call it, separation-of-her-dependency-on-me class, was going on until eight.
Another fucking hour.
My cock couldn’t wait that long. My balls ached and the head leaked, begging to explode. If I didn’t get myself in check, she was going to come home to something destroyed, and that would make her worry. Then she’d let me fuck her until I felt better.
The problem with that scenario was I’d feel worse because I knew what she was hiding below the surface.
She couldn’t hide from me.
The pain, the fear—it shook her to the core to an almost debilitating degree. Yet, she went on, putting on that damn face, telling me everything was all right when it fucking wasn’t. It was a left-over defense mechanism that I didn’t even think she realized she’d been doing for the past week.
My fist slammed down next to my side, and I yelled out a curse. Frustration didn’t even describe my situation.
I wanted to be selfish. I was dying to push my cock into her mouth and fuck her face, her throat swallowing around me; to slam my cock in her pussy, making her cry out as I fucked her hard, releasing all of my pent up rage and fear; to feel her tight ass constrict around me. I wanted to tie her to the bed and pound into her over and over until she came so many times she passed out. Make us both forget what was coming.
My tongue swiped across my lips, muscles flexing as my hand opened and closed on the couch cushion. Hips, toes, hands—all curling in need.
To taste, to take, to devour.
I flipped the front edge of my shirt over my head and pushed my shorts down enough to pull my cock and balls out. The head was red and angry, my dick begging for Lila to make it all better. When was the last time I’d gotten off by my hand? It had been few and far between since I’d met her, so much so that my cock was practically trained to come from Lila and Lila alone.
I moved my hand up my shaft and hissed as I hit the underside of the sensitive head, setting up a slow, teasing, steady pace. It wouldn’t take much to come.
I recalled some of our favorite escapades, one of my favorites coming to the forefront—the alleyway in Noblesville. The thrill of being seen, watching as my cock claimed her pussy…
I was lost on the edge of coming. Every muscle was so tight, statue-like as my fist flew up and down my cock. My mouth was open, eyes cloudy. I didn’t hear her come in, but she stood before me, fuzzy.