Her face turned and I pressed my lips against hers before she could respond. Her lips parted slightly as she gave a little gasp that sent a message straight to my groin, so I sucked on her bottom lip lightly, then swept my tongue across it before sliding it into her mouth. The throbbing of my dick replaced the throbbing in my hand as I realized I had the cure to any broken bones right here in this car with me.
My hot-as-hell wife.
Matteo cleared his throat. “Uh. We’re here, horny teenagers.”
Cassie squeaked and I laughed as we pulled out of our kiss. “Thanks, cock-block.” I eyed him before opening the car door. “I’ll call you when I know my schedule for the next couple of weeks, okay?”
He nodded. “Sounds good.”
We walked into our apartment building and straight onto the waiting elevator. The doors closed and I pinned Cassie against the wall.
“Jack, what are—”
“Be quiet,” I demanded before quieting her with my mouth. I nipped at her lips before exploring her neck. My unbroken hand followed the curves of her waist, down her hips, before cupping her ass. I squeezed, causing her to whimper, and my dick felt like it might explode right there. I needed to be in her. And I needed it now.
The ding of the elevator arriving on our floor interrupted the sexual assault I was launching on Cassie’s irresistible mouth. I moved to grab her with my broken hand and quickly switched arms. Reaching for her, I pulled a little too aggressively toward me and she yanked her hand from mine.
I didn’t apologize. Instead I fumbled with the keys, constantly reminding myself to do everything with the opposite hand. You never realize how much you take for granted until you’re forced to. My left hand had always been great, completely reliable, my go-to hand … until it broke and stopped working. Now I had to remember to perform even the most mundane of tasks with the hand that felt the most foreign to me.
Fighting off the frustration that seemed to be making itself at home, I needed to do something that made me feel like a man. Finally managing to get the front door open, I moved to grab Cassie, but she pressed her hands against my chest to stop me.
“Jack? Aren’t we going to talk about this?”
“Talk about what?”
“Your hand? What you’re thinking?”
I huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, Kitten. We’ll talk. After you give me what I want, I’ll give you what you want.”
I needed to f**k my wife. I needed to own her, take her, show her I was still the man in this relationship, even if I wasn’t the man on the field. Her eyes narrowed as her lips twisted into a snarl. My girl was itching for a fight, and I wanted to suck that expression right off her face.
“That’s not how it works, jackass,” she snapped, and I immediately puffed out my chest.
“Don’t play tough with me. You know you want some of this.” I ran my hand down the length of my body and she chuckled. “So now my body’s funny to you? I’ll show you funny.”
I stormed into the living room before stopping at one of the many mason jars filled with quarters around our house. Remembering the quarters I’d saved for our first date after Cassie told me it cost me fifty cents every time I touched her, I smiled to myself. She had tried to be so sassy, but I saw her defenses weaken when I poured the bag of quarters all over the table at the diner where we were having dinner. Holding two coins between my unbroken fingers, I walked back to where Cassie stood. She hadn’t moved. Not a muscle. She wanted this as much as I did, no matter how much she pretended she didn’t.
“Open your hands.” She eyed me, but refused to move. “I said, open your hands, Kitten.”
She slowly cupped her hands in front of her body, and I dropped the fifty cents into her palms.
“Now, get in the bedroom.”
Being Hurt Doesn’t Work For Us
Ever since we left the field, Jack had been a roller coaster of emotions, taking me on a violently jerky ride. One minute he was sweet and attentive, and rude and nasty the next. Unsure of which Jack I might get, I stayed quiet in our bed in the aftermath of having sex, trying to figure out what the hell had just happened between us.
Jack had always dominated in the bedroom, but this was something else entirely. He bossed me around, making demands he’d never once said out loud before. He pushed and pulled at my body like he owned it, and I had no choice but to comply. Maybe under different circumstances I might have been turned on by his aggression, but not like this. Not after my husband just broke his pitching hand and potentially ended his career. He wasn’t in his right mind and his performance in the bedroom only proved it.
I’d never in a thousand years tell him that the thought of his career being over crossed my mind, but it did. Of course it did. I wasn’t an idiot. Multiple fractures would eventually heal, but there could be complications. Everyone knew that. Jack needed his hand to work on the ball field. His fingers were required to grip and maneuver across the seams of the baseball for different pitches. If his grip loosened, his pitches wouldn’t be the same. And the idea of Jack without baseball scared the hell out of me.
I knew he avoided talking about his injury for this very reason. I wasn’t the only one scared, but at least I admitted it. Glancing over at his sweaty body, the lines of his chest rising and falling with each breath, I longed to make his pain and hurt go away. He was quieter than he’d ever been before, and I realized how deep in his own head he must be.
Although I was the queen of building emotional walls, Jack could do a pretty good job too if he wanted. The memory of how I’d behaved earlier in our relationship flooded through me. All the times I kept my feelings to myself, refusing to burden him with any of my personal drama. The only problem was that not talking to Jack about it forced me into personal overload, where the only solution I saw was to run away. Holding feelings in hadn’t worked then, and it wouldn’t work now. Desperate to keep the lines of communication open between us, I touched his chest lightly. “Jack?” I whispered, still reeling from the sex we’d just experienced.