Page 61 of I Almost Do

As a kid, I used my fists. As an adult, I use power. Tonight I'm using both.

When that prick threw his beer on Clarissa and assaulted her, the entire world tunneled to one purpose.

Protect.

And he did throw it on her deliberately. I saw it happen. Saw the leering looks the guys gave each other. Saw the jerked chin of one to the other and the deliberate pretense.

They think it's over because my wife was cold and shaking and wanted to go home. They think it's over because Clarissa agreed not to press charges. It's not over. It won't be over for a long, long time.

I got my shots in with my fists. Now I'm going to destroy them. When I'm done, every one of those punks will regret this night for the rest of their lives.

Sasha called in the rest of Clarissa's regular security rotation, including those off-duty, to deal with this mess.

I'm sitting on the edge of her bed, looking at my phone, when she walks into the room. She's wrapped in a white towel, water still clinging to her shoulders, as she sinks to her knees in front of me and reaches for my hands.

I hold up the phone. "They think they got to everyone with video. We'll know for sure tomorrow. But it looks good."

She just nods, reaches for my phone and tosses it on the bed beside us. “I don’t want to talk about other people right now.”

Then she takes my hands in hers and turns them over to look at the swollen and torn-up knuckles on the right one. The left isn’t great, but the knuckles aren’t split.

She brushes a finger gently just next to a particularly raw area. "Are you okay?" she asks.

I shake my head. I'm not surprised she's worried about me, but I wish she wouldn't. I'm not the one who was assaulted. "That's my line. You're the one I'm worried about."

Her shoulders are high, living somewhere near her jawline, and she brushes her thumb back and forth across her lower lip. "I'll be all right."

She stands and, without a word, guides me into her bathroom, where she cleans my knuckles before covering them with antibiotic ointment.

When we return to the bedroom, she drops her towel and pulls on a pair of panties and a tank top. She's not even trying to be sexual. The fact that my adrenaline is still up and I want to fuck her right now is sick.

I disappear into the bathroom to brush my teeth and throw on sleep pants and a T-shirt. When I get back to the bedroom, she's under her white comforter, curled on her side and lying against her pillows. She looks so fragile. I want to wrap her up and hide her from the world.

She lifts the blanket in invitation, and some part of my brain reminds me of my original plan to sleep on the floor. That part of me is an idiot.

My wife is in that bed, and I'm holding her. Nothing on earth could stop me.

23

Waking up Slow

Clarissa

Wakingisslowtocome. I rise to the surface in gentle awareness of warmth and comfort and the wet heat of rampant arousal curling through me.

When I finally blink my eyes open to the early morning light filtering through my bedroom curtains, I'm lying on my side with my back to James. He's plastered against me, his left hand not only under my tank top but cupping my breast. His erection is hot and hard as steel as it lies heavy between my thighs.

He's still asleep. I feel the deep, consistent rise and fall of his chest against my back, the loose weight of his limbs.

And I'm so torn. Because part of me wants to freeze like a deer in headlights and enjoy every single second of this moment before he wakes up and leaves this bed. But another part, an almost primal creature inside me, absolutely can't help rubbing back against him and trying for more. I'm so damn greedy for my husband.

Experimentally, I give my butt a little wiggle. Push back just a bit.

James's hand tightens on my breast, squeezes. Our lower bodies are covered by my panties and his pajama bottoms, but I still feel the delicious flex of his cock against me.

My body starts the tiniest little rhythm, and I feel James's breathing change. He responds, meeting me micro-thrust for micro-thrust.

He brings his face into my hair, nuzzling my ear. Then his breath skates hot against me as his cock grinds harder. The decadent thrill of it makes me want to purr.

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