Page 11 of Pucking Curves

The way I stood there after Logan caught us, remembering what Nash said a couple weeks ago.

I’d approached him to discuss his relationship with Emilia, Coach Lariat’s daughter. Instead, he called my ass out over Wren.

"You can only pretend you don't feel it for so long," he’d said. "Eventually, you gotta deal with it."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about." He cut his eyes at Micah. "Everyone knows how you feel about his sister except him."

"Fuck." I went rigid, scrubbing a hand down my face. "It's not like that, Whatley."

"Yeah, it is." He hopped over the boards onto the ice, glancing back at me. "If you don't get off your ass and do something about it, it won't be him you gotta worry about. It'll be some other motherfucker swooping in and putting a ring on her finger when you know damn well it should be yours."

Standing in that elevator last night, I knew he was right. Just like I’ve known it since he said that shit to me. If I didn’t do something, someone else was going to swoop in and put a ring on her finger. They were going to take her from me…and I’d be the idiot who let it happen.

I wasn’t sober when I asked her to marry me, but I’m not sure I was drunk either. For the first time in a year, I think maybe I was thinking clearly. And all I was thinking about was my ring on her finger. I needed it there more than I needed air, needed to tie her to me in some real, tangible way that couldn’t be easily undone.

Micah is going to fucking kill me.

Even knowing that…I don’t regret what I did.

She’s clearly not on the same page when she wakes up a few minutes later because she groans, a pitiful sound that tears at my heart.

“Please tell me that I’m dreaming and we’re not in bed together,” she whimpers.

I smile despite myself. “Does this mean you dream about me, little bird?”

She whimpers again, trying to bury her face in my chest like I’m her favorite pillow. “I’m not here right now. My soul has left my body. Please leave a message.”

“Feel that bad, huh?” I chuckle, brushing hair back from her face.

“Yes.” She whimpers again. “Um…Archer, we didn’t get married last night, did we? Please tell me that only happened in my drunken imagination.”

The plea in her voice makes my fucking heart ache. She regrets me. I’m asshole enough to hate knowing it. Hell, I’m asshole enough to not want her to feel it.

I want her to want me the same goddamn way I’ve wanted her for the last year. I’m asshole enough to marry her when she was too drunk to consent. And bastard enough to keep her bound to me now, no matter what. I’ll lie, cheat, and steal to keep that ring on her finger if that’s what it takes. Whatever I have to do to prove to her that this is where she wants to be.

Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve gone to extremes to keep her close. It’s not like the nonprofit where she works in DC just materialized out of thin air. She wanted to be close to Micah but couldn’t find a position. So I created one.

But she doesn’t know that. No one does. The charity serves underprivileged kids. And I started it just to keep her close.

The world would recoil in horror if they knew. Perfect captain? Perfectly unhinged, perhaps. And this perfect little goddess is the sole cause of my descent into madness.

I roll her beneath me, crawling over her. My cock throbs at the feel of her body beneath mine, so soft and sweet.

“Regret me already, wife?” I growl.

Her lips part as she stares up at me. She looks so fucking sweet, all confused and sleepy.

I groan, attacking her mouth. I can’t fucking stop myself. She’s right here, beneath me, looking utterly goddamn fuckable in nothing but my T-shirt and her panties.

She brushed her teeth before bed because she doesn’t taste like vodka and orange juice now. She tastes like mint. She tastes like mine.

“My wife,” I growl, loving the way that sounds.

She whines low in her throat, her fingers threading through my hair to pull me closer. One leg curves around my hip, opening her up to me. I should stop this. I know I should. But I’ve already established that I’m an asshole willing to do whatever it takes to keep her.

I grind against her hot little pussy, nipping her bottom lip.

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