Page 109 of Wicked Spite
“Felt like it,” I say, shrugging. “Seemed fitting.”
“Fitting for what?”
“My wife on my body,” I reply simply, enjoyingthe way her eyes darken at the statement. Flattery and arousal flickers across her face, and I savor every second of it.
“You’re impossible,” she murmurs, leaning down so her lips brush my ear. Her breath is warm, sending shivers down my spine.
“Shut the fuck up and kiss your goddamn husband,” I snark back, tilting my head to give her better access. Her hands slide down to my shoulders, nails digging in just enough to send a delicious pain shooting through me.
Her lips crash into mine with a brutal intensity as we fight with lips, teeth, and tongue until she pulls away, breathing deeply.
“Keep playing your game,” she orders, her voice taking on that challenging tone I love. “I need to finish this sketch.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I reply, picking up the controller again. But my focus isn’t on the game anymore. It’s on her, on the way her body shifts behind me, the heat radiating from her skin.
I try hard to keep my eyes glued to the screen, but she is a siren. Every so often, I steal glances over my shoulder, catching glimpses of her brow furrowed in concentration, her lower lip caught between her teeth as she works.
“Damn it,” I mutter as some faceless enemy takes me out on the screen. It’s impossible to concentrate when she’s right there, tantalizing and untouchable.
I never did like being told I couldn’t play with my toys.
Finally, she breaks the silence with a voice that’s softer. “Penn,” she says, and just my name on her lips is enough to make me drop the controller like it’s got crabs.
Reagan’s warm breath sends a shiver down my spine as she leans in close, her lips brushing against my ear. “Let’s go for a ride, hubby,” she whispers.
“Is that right?” I smirk, tilting my head to look up at her.
Her fingers trace patterns on my shoulders, nails grazing my skin just enough to make me twitch.
“Yeah,” she says, leaning closer. “Thought it might be…relaxing.”
“Shit,” I say with a grin that feels feral even to me. “You ain’t gotta tell me twice, woman.”
I get up and look down at my slippers sadly. Damn, I’m gonna need to put boots on and leave Billy and Stu behind.
We head outside and to the smaller of the two garages that houses mine and my brothers’ bikes and walk to my beauty, just gleaming and waiting for us in the cold March air.
Reagan hands me her hair tie without a word, turning around so I can braid her long hair. A ritual that’s oddly intimate despite its practicality. As I run my fingers through her hair, separating it into sections for the braid, I find that it’s one of many small things I love doing for my wife.
“I still can’t believe how good you are at this,” she teases, her voice softer than usual.
“Helmet,” I say, handing her the matte black headgear. She slides it on, the act transforming her from the pain in my ass to my partner-in-crime.
“Ready?” I ask, swinging my leg over the bike and settling into the seat.
“Always,” she replies, climbing on behind me, her arms wrapping around my waist in a firm grip. I start the bike and rev the engine, the roar announcing our departure as I guide us out of the garage.
I feel the rush of adrenaline already starting to build. The bike lurches forward, tires screeching against the pavement as we tear away from the house and onto the open road. The wind whips past us and her fingers dig into my sides, possessiveness and trust wellup in me.
“I wanna go fast, psycho,” she yells, her voice barely audible over the roar of the engine.
“Say less,” I reply with a grin, twisting the throttle harder. The speedometer needle leaps, climbing toward the red zone. The asphalt rushes beneath us in a blur of gray and white.
The feel of my girl pressed up against me on my bike is something indescribable. She molds to me, an extension of my body, of my mind. I know with her that if I was to ever be lacking, she would pick up the slack, the mantle. Her demons have tainted her and her shades of gray blend seamlessly with my black and red shards until all you see is us.
Beautiful.
Broken.
