My body is flooded with heat and pleasure as I come again, my fingers straining in their tight grip around the headboard as I scream.
Behind me, Hunter pounds into me two more times before he groans through his own orgasm. And when I open my eyes again, I breathe through a wave of shame with the image of Drake still frozen in the forefront of my mind. And feeling for one second like the hands currently gripping my hips are his.
Quickly, I reach back and latch onto Hunter’s hand. Turning toward him, I shake myself out of my imagination and feel relief when I lock eyes with my husband. Theonlyman I should be thinking about when I climax.
So…what the hell was that?
Rule #3: Midnight kitchen meetings can be very enlightening.
Hunter
Ten years.Ten years.
Still feels like yesterday. I still feel like that drug dealer in the driver’s seat of my dad’s beat-up SUV. Twenty-three years old and just scrambling to get by.
Ten years in fancy suits and nice cars and a beautiful house I bought and paid for, for my beautiful wife.
I’m not going to spout some bullshit like how I don’t deserve this, because I know I fucking do. I worked my ass off to trade a life of selling MDMA for one selling BDSM. I haven’t lost touch. Somewhere inside, I’m still that stupid kid who’s lucky he never ended up behind bars. But I don’t feel bad about that. I did what jail would have done. I rehabilitated myself, and this woman next to me was my sentence.
Isabel is breathing softly, her messy mop of amber hair half-covering her face. Reaching down, I pull back the strands and kiss her forehead as she sleeps. Then, I carefully roll out of bed without waking her.
The red light of the old alarm clock on the nightstand shows 3:22. Life at the club has turned me into a night owl, wide awake all night and falling asleep at dawn. And when I hear a cabinet close in the kitchen, I know I’m not the only one.
“You really keep bad hours for a construction worker.” My voice carries across the dark space, and the glass rattles on the counter when Drake hears me.
“Jesus Christ, brother. You scared the shit out of me.”
I can’t hold in my gravelly chuckle as I reach for a glass just behind him, his bare shoulder brushing mine. “Sorry.”
“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks.
“You know me,” I reply in a lazy mumble. Filling the glass with water, I look over at my best friend bathed only in the light from the tiny bulb above the stovetop. As I set the drink down against the counter, I smile. “I thought for sure you’d be out cold. Sounded like a real workout in there.”
He grins wide, leaning back against the marble, his broad hands bracing the surface as he hoists himself on top of it. In nothing but a pair of jeans, his bare feet hanging out of the bottom, he looks almost proud of himself for all the noise he was making tonight.
Technically, it was the girls making all the noise, I guess.
“Oh, you heard that?” he replies with a mischievous smile.
“Come on, Drake. Emerson and Maggie probably heard that back at the club. It’s a small miracle the neighbors didn’t call the cops. It sounded like you were drowning feral cats in there.”
He’s chuckling now, his chest rising and falling quickly with each breath. It must be nice to have a manual labor job like construction. Even at thirty-four, he’s remained in perfect shape, without having to work out every day. Meanwhile, I had to install a full gym in our basement and live down there, part-time, to keep my physique.
His work on job sites is his weight training and sex is his cardio.
“These Arizona girls are crazy.” He laughs. “I was only at the club for an hour before they had me sandwiched in an Uber. Can we stay?” he jokes with a toothy smile like a child.
“Youcan stay. Iz and I have three other clubs in three different states to see between now and next week. A few of them I know for a fact you don’t want to miss out on.”
“Yeah, that sounds more fun. Besides, the sounds coming from your room weren’t much tamer than mine.” He raises an eyebrow in my direction.
“Were you listening to my wife’s sex sounds?” I reply with a glare in his direction.
“Oh, like it was the first time. Remember when the only place you two had to do it was in the back of the SUV and I had to wait outside? Or when we had that apartment in the city and I worked nights, trying to sleep through your morning sexcapades.”
I’m chuckling into my water glass when I hear soft footsteps coming from the bedroom. “What are you boys still doing up?”
Isabel emerges from the hallway in her pajamas, a revealing pair of shorts and a skimpy tank top that shows off her perky nipples through the fabric. By this point, I’ve gotten over any jealousy where Drake is involved. He’s seen Isabel in underwear before. It was a little hard to avoid when we lived together for those few short years before he started construction on our new house.