Aced

“RY?” I CALL HER NAME the minute I clear the top of the stairs. The little note she left me on the counter is in my hand. “Your nothing-but-sheets date night starts now,” it reads. Curiosity rules my thoughts and fuels my actions.

Well, that and the image of her naked and waiting for me. My day’s been for shit though, so I’m not going to push my luck and expect a miracle like that to turn it around. But a man can sure as fuck hope.

SoMo is playing as I walk onto the upper patio of the house where our original nothing-but-sheets date took place a long-ass time ago. Sweet Christ. My feet falter when I find Rylee. She’s leaning back on the chaise lounge, dressed in some kind of black lacey thing that I don’t pay much attention to because it’s see-through enough for me to tell she’s naked as sin beneath it. Her hair is piled on top of her head, her lips are bare, and her knees are spread so her feet are on either side of the chair. And I’m distracted momentarily—my eyes searching for a glimpse of the something more between those thighs of hers—before realizing sky-high heels complete the outfit.

Fuck me. I can already feel the spikes of those heels digging into my ass as her legs wrap around me. That’s a pain any man can find pleasure in.

“Hey,” she says in that raspy voice of hers that calls to my heart, my dick, and every nerve in between. A coy smile plays at the corners of her mouth as her eyes narrow, one foot taps, and eyebrows rise. “I see you got my note. Glad you knew where to find me.”

“Baby, I could be deaf and blind and I’d still find you. No way in hell I could forget that night.”

“Or that morning,” she says, and damn, she’s right. It was one helluva morning too. Sleepy sex. Just-woke-up sex. Sunrise sex. I think we tried all of those and then some. And I love the flush that crawls up her cheeks from the memory. My sex-kitten wife greeting me after work in lace and heels is embarrassed. The irony isn’t lost on me. I love how she can be this way for me, when I know, despite her confidence, it still unnerves her.

“Definitely a good morning,” I agree, as I stare at her. She’s always drop-dead gorgeous but there’s something new, something different about her tonight, and it has nothing to do with the lace. I can’t tell what it is but it’s knocked the breath right out of me.

Shit, what am I missing? Panic flickers inside me that I’ve missed something major. Could it be one of those dates guys have to put in their calendar with five alerts, so they don’t forget it? I run through the usual suspects: It’s not our anniversary. Not her birthday.

I move to the other shit a guy usually doesn’t notice. Her hair’s the same color. It must be new lingerie. Is it? Fuck if I know. If it is, can a scrap of lace really change her demeanor?

Damn. I know lingerie changes mine, but that’s for a whole different reason.

What else can it be, Donavan? Bite the bullet and just ask. Save yourself the guessing game and the trouble you’ll be in if you guess wrong and hurt her feelings. No need to get the hormones she just got back under control—after all those years of fertility shit—to get all out of whack again.

“Something’s different about you . . .” I leave the comment open-ended so she can respond.

But of course she doesn’t take the bait. I should have known my wife is smarter than that. She’ll make me work for the answer, so we just stare at each other in a battle of wills before her smile slowly widens into a full grin.

Give me a clue, Ry.

Nope. She’s not going to. I should’ve guessed as much. Might as well admire the view anyway: cleavage, lace, a whole lotta skin, and thighs I can’t wait to be between. The smirk on her face tells me she knows exactly what I’m doing when I finally meet her gaze. When her eyes flicker to the table beside her, she finally gives me something to go off.

The table is covered in takeout boxes from our favorite Chinese restaurant. There’s a galvanized bucket of ice with some bottlenecks sticking out of it and paper plates and chopsticks piled on the side. Truth be told, I was so busy looking at her, I hadn’t even noticed the food.

But now, my stomach growls.

“I got your favorite,” she says, fidgeting with the hem of the lace so my eyes are drawn back to the V of her thighs, where it’s dark enough I can’t see anything. But fuck if it’s not from a lack of trying. “I hope you’re in the mood for Chinese. I thought we could eat out.”

I can’t hide the lightning-quick grin that flashes across my face because the type of eating out I’m thinking of has nothing to do with chopsticks. And from the purse of her lips, she knows perfectly well what I’m thinking. And yes, I may be hungry, but I don’t really give a flying fuck about food right now because there’s the taste of something else I’d rather have on my tongue.

“I know you’ve been working hard, stressed about the race next week. Sonoma has always been a tough one for you . . . so I thought I’d treat you to a date night with your hot wife,” she continues with a lift of her eyebrows, taunting and daring me all at once. Goddamn tease.

“Does my hot wife think that when she greets me on the patio in a getup like that, I’ll give a rat’s ass about the dinner, the cold beer, or the sunset we’ll get to enjoy while eating it?” I ask as I cross the distance; the need to have my hands on her growing stronger with each passing second.

“For starters . . . yes.”

“I like starters.” I reach out and trace the line of her collarbone with my fingertip. After all this time, there is still something so damn sexy about her body moving ever so slightly into my touch, telling me she wants me as badly as I want her. “And I also like dessert . . .” I say, my voice trailing off. The air is thick with sexual tension as I drop to my knees on the chaise between hers. She’s crazy if she thinks she’s going to greet me like this and not get fucked good and hard before we leave this patio. “But you forgot one very important thing.”

Her violet eyes widen as I lean in. “What’s that?” she asks, her voice breathless. My every nerve is attuned to the sound of it.

“You forgot to kiss your husband hello.” I catch a flash of a smile before she tilts her head back so our lips are in perfect alignment.

“Well, let me correct that right now, sir,” she says, knowing damn well that term will only turn me on more. Shit. Like that’s a hard thing for her to do. It’s Rylee, isn’t it?

Before I can finish thinking about what more I want her to do while calling me sir, she leans forward and closes the distance between us. And fuck yes, I want all of her right now, but I’ll take what I can get. Besides, the way she kisses me is so damn sexy. It’s that kind of kiss guys hate to admit they love: the soft and slow kind that causes that ache deep in my balls before it slowly spreads up my spine and tickles the base of my neck. It’s the kiss that comes two steps before I lose control and panties are torn because the need to bury myself in her tight, hot pussy is the only desire I have.

When she pulls back to end the kiss, I groan in complaint and fist my hands to prevent myself from reaching out and yanking her against me. I’m ready to say screw the dinner, regardless of how hungry I am.

“Better?” she asks, sass on her lips and seduction in her eyes.

“Hmm . . . there are other parts of me that still need to be welcomed home properly.” I fight the grin I want to give her because I love when she’s like this. Feisty. Sexy. Mine. Shedding her reserved nature in the way she only does around me.

“What a poor, deprived husband you are,” she says, her lips in a sexy pout while her fingers walk up my thigh. I watch the ascent of her hand, my dick definitely wanting those fingers to move faster. “And I promise to welcome all of those parts home properly, but first . . . you need to eat.”

Buzzkill. Seriously? She thinks she can tempt me with her touch and then stuff an egg roll in my mouth? Does she not know me by now? That when it comes to her I have no restraint? Well, unless of course those restraints are tying her to a bed.

“You tease.” I lock eyes on hers the same time I reach out and grab onto her hand. I place it exactly where I want it: my cock. “Why wait? We can have dessert first.”

“Nice try, Ace, but dinner’s going to get cold.” She cups my balls, fingernails scraping ever so softly that the minute my head falls back and the moan falls from my lips, she tugs her hand from my grip. “Let’s eat.”

“Oh, now that’s cold.” I laugh. What else can I do? Like always, the woman has me by the balls. I stare at her, smirk on my lips and disbelief in my eyes, as I swing my legs over the edge of the lounge chair. “You can’t greet me wearing that and expect me to focus on Kung Pao chicken.”

“But it’s your favorite,” she says, voice playful. With determined actions, she starts to open containers.

I’m hungry all right, but not for Chinese.

I reach out and tug her against me, so her back is to my front, and the feel of her warm body against mine strengthens my resolve. I’ve decided Chinese food is much better reheated. And if I have any say in the matter, that’s exactly what’s going to happen to ours.

“I beg to differ. You’re my favorite,” I murmur against the curve of her shoulder as her curls tickle my cheek and her vanilla scent fills my nose. My let’s-always-stick-to-the-schedule wife’s body stiffens in resistance at first, but when I press a kiss just beneath her ear in that clothes-immediately-fall-off zone, her body melts into mine and she relaxes. “I want dessert first.”

“Rule breaker,” she sighs, lacing her fingers with mine on her chest. She’s trying to figure out how to rein me in when she should know by now it won’t do any good. I always get what I want when it comes to getting my fill of her.

“You wouldn’t like me any other way.”

“True.”

“How about we compromise?”

“Compromise?” she asks, as if she’s shocked to hear that word coming from my mouth when discussing sex.

“Yes, it means you give some and I give some.”

“I have a feeling what you want to give and what I want to give are two entirely different things,” she teases. “Don’t forget that I know you, Donavan. I know you like to play dirty—”

“Damn straight I do, especially when it comes to having sex with you.”

She just smiles and shakes her head at me. “But I have a plan.”

“You always have a plan,” I say with an exasperated laugh. “Bet my plan is better.”

“Lay it on me,” she deadpans and then realizes exactly what she’s said. I can feel the laugh she tries to hide vibrate from her back into my chest.

“How about we have sex first and then eat?” I suggest, knowing I’m driving her crazy. Her laugh rings around us, but for the first time since I’ve been home, I hear something different in her tone. Before I can give it much thought, she continues.

“Nope. That’s not the plan. And definitely not a compromise. Food first, then sex,” Rylee says as she shifts away and moves to face me. She crosses her arms over her chest and nods, trying to take a hard line with me.

“I love when you get all demanding.” I lean forward with a half-smile on my lips, knowing my comment will get her all riled up.

She narrows her eyes, and I can see her mind working to figure out a way to negotiate so she gets what she wants. And for the life of me, I can’t figure out what that is. I’ve been so absorbed in work—the narrow lead I have in points over Luke Mason going into Sonoma and all of the other shit that goes with it—I’ve obviously missed something.

“It seems we’re at an impasse,” she finally says. Her prior confidence, which had momentarily wavered, is back, and I’m more than ready for action.

“Good thing I drive a hard bargain,” I say with a quirk of my eyebrows as I glance down at her outfit.

I’ll drive more than a bargain, sweetheart.

“Oh, I know you do, Ace, but I think we need to leave it up to the fortune cookies to decide what we do next.” Her eyes light up with challenge while I start laughing at how ridiculous that sounds.

“The fortune cookies? What are you talking about?”

“Well . . . you said you wanted dessert first so I’m just trying to compromise,” she says with a bat of her eyelashes.

“Not that kind of dessert,” I state. There’s nothing I can do but shake my head at her and her asinine suggestion, but fuck, I’ll take any help I can get to speed up this process so I can slow it down with her. Come to think of it, I’m sure I can twist any of those stupid little fortunes to my benefit. So be it. Game on, Ryles. “It’s ridiculous, but you planned this so you get to make the rules. Let’s just hope those fortunes say you need to have hot monkey sex with your husband.”

Her face lights up and her lips curve into a grin. She leans forward and grants me a great view of her cleavage as she starts rummaging through the plastic bag on the table. My eyes shift and focus on the dark pink of her nipples just beneath the sheer fabric, until she starts waving the cookies in front of my eyes with the smuggest of smiles.

She knows exactly what she’s doing, and has no shame in playing it up as I work my tongue in my cheek, bide my time, and let her have this moment.

“Only three?” I ask when she sets them on the table in front of us. “How are we going to decide who gets the third one?”

“Since we’re learning to compromise . . .” Her voice trails off as she elbows me in the ribs. And just as she starts to pull away, I grab her arm, pull her into me, and press a chaste kiss on her mouth. It’s already been way too damn long since I kissed her. She swats me away when I try to slip my tongue between her lips. “Are you trying sway me for the third cookie, Donavan?”

“Did it work?” A man can always hope.

“Here. You go first,” she says, leaving me hanging without an answer as she holds the cookie in front of me by the cellophane. When I take it from her, she shifts so she sits square to me, her bent knee against my thigh, giving me a perfect view of her pussy. In a glance, I can make out the trim strip of her hair down there, and fuck if it doesn’t turn me on even more.

Fortune cookie gods, please be kind. Sex is needed.

“Okay. Let’s see,” I say as I pull the cookie out of the bag and break it with a dramatic flair, praying it’s a fortune I can work with. I pull the strip of paper out and shake my head as I read the words. Really? How fucking perfect is this?

“What does it say?” she asks as I laugh.

“It’s been a long race, but you’ve finally crossed the finish line.” I look up and she seems as amused as I am.

“I’d say that’s a fitting fortune,” she says, eyes narrowing as she contemplates the words. “I guess the real question is what race are they talking about?”

“Life?” I shrug. “Fuck if I know.”

She laughs and fidgets with the cookie in her hand. Why does she seem so on edge all of a sudden?

“You’re trying to figure out how that gets you sex, and I don’t think that helps you out in any way, shape, or form.”

Shit. She’s right. There’s no way to parlay this into me getting sex before food because if I’ve already crossed the proverbial finish line, it doesn’t bode well for me.

“Damn it. That’s a food-before-sex one. Don’t get cocky, Donavan. I’m primed for a comeback,” I say pushing her cookie toward her and taking a bite of mine, hoping this silly game will end soon, but am enjoying myself all at the same time. “Your turn.”

The things I do for my wife.

“Okay,” she says as she breaks the cookie and stares at her fortune. “It says your lucky numbers are six, nine, and sixteen.” She looks up from her fortune, eyes guarded, teeth worrying her bottom lip.

“That’s random. Nothing else is on there?” I ask as I grab it from her. Yep. It says exactly that. Must be a misprinted fortune, but hell, I’ll take it because I can use it. “Sweet! This is a sex-before-food one because it says your lucky number is six and nine . . . sixty-nine. And guess what? I happen to like doing certain things pertaining to that number too . . .”

“You’re incorrigible,” she says, playfully pushing against my chest, before uncharacteristically fisting her hand in my shirt and pulling me into her. Our faces are inches apart, the heat of her breath is on my lips, but there is something in her expression that stops me from kissing her.

And I never stop myself from kissing her.

“What is it?” I ask. She just shakes her head, trying to blink away the tears welling in her eyes despite the smile on her lips. “Talk to me, Ry. What’s wrong?” My hands are cupping her face as I wait for her to explain. Tears make me fucking panic. How’d we get from sexy to flirty to funny to tears?

“I’m being stupid,” she says, shaking her head as if that is going to help clear the tears from her eyes. She must sense I’m freaked the fuck out because she pushes against my hands holding her head, and presses her lips to mine. “I love you.” Her voice is soft as her lips move against mine, and something about her tone makes my heart beat a bit faster. “Like head-over-heels, butterflies-in-my-stomach kind of love you . . . that’s all.”

Her words dig deep down into the places that rarely get paid attention to these days: the goddamn abyss where the demons from my childhood live. The ones that used to rule my life until Rylee came along using her fucking perfection and selfless love to help brighten that darkness, and chase away the doubt that occasionally rears its bitch of an ugly head.

I lean back to make sure this woman who means the whole goddamn world to me really is okay. Because if she isn’t, I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure she is. When she bites her bottom lip, smiles and nods she’s fine, I smooth my thumb over the indent her teeth just left, before trying to lighten the suddenly serious moment. “You scared me for a minute. I thought you were upset about the prospect of sixty-nining, and that would mean I’d be in a whole world of hurt with this death-do-us-part thing since I kind of like when I get to do that with you.”

“You perform that number exceptionally well, so no, that number stays in play,” she says with a cute wink. She bites the inside of her cheek and eyes the third and final cookie in my hand before flicking her gaze back up to mine.

Thank fuck for that, but there is something most definitely off with her. “Here,” I say as I hold out the last fortune cookie, hoping to make whatever wrong I’ve done, right.

“No. You open it.” She shoves it back toward me, smile back in place. “It’s the tie-breaker.”

When I try to make her take the cookie, she just pushes it into my hands and scoots back. “Sex before food, sex before food,” I chant and we both chuckle. But my laugh dies off when I read the fortune, and try to make sense of it. “OVbunEN.”

What the fuck? I read it again before I look up to meet Ry’s eyes. The sight of her—tears welling, that smile so goddamn big on those perfect lips—knocks the breath out of me. And, suddenly, it all clicks into place.

It’s like everything is moving in slow motion—thoughts, breath, vision—everything except for my heart. Because it’s pounding like a fucking freight train as I glance back down to the jumbled words on the paper, before looking back up to her.

There’s no fucking way.

Can’t be.

“Really?” I ask. I don’t even recognize the awed disbelief in my voice as I ask about the one thing I thought we’d never get another chance at again.

The first tear slips over and slides down her cheek as we stare at each other, but this one doesn’t make me panic like they usually do.

“Really,” she whispers.

Disbelief turns into the best fucking reality. Ever.

OVbunEN.

Bun in the oven.

“You’re pregnant?” I can’t even believe the words I’m saying as I pull her toward me, and onto my lap.

She can’t get the words out to tell me yes so she just nods her head as tears fall, and her arms cling to me. And fuck, her hands digging into my back feel incredible because I don’t think I’ve ever felt closer to her. Not even when I’m in her.

I have one hand on her neck and the other on her lower back. Air’s not even welcome in the space between us as we hold on to each other on this patio where so many firsts have happened for us. Telling me here of all places makes perfect fucking sense, now.

My face is buried in the curve of her neck. And if I thought my heart and soul had been lost to her before, I was so fucking wrong it’s not even funny. Right now, in this moment, I’ve never felt more connected to her. My fucking Rylee.

My mind flickers back over the years of agonizing fertility treatments when emotions ran high, and hope always gave way to heartbreaking disappointment. When we finally acknowledged last year that having a baby the traditional way was never going to happen for us, Rylee lost herself for a bit. Fuck yes, it put a strain on our marriage, but it was more devastating for me to watch the woman I love more than my own soul slip away day by day, bit by bit, and not be able to do a goddamn thing about it.

The helpless feelings I had during that time can take a hike.

When I lean back and move my trembling hands to her face, I don’t think she’s ever been more beautiful than in this moment: eyes alive, lips in a glowing smile, and a tiny part of us growing inside her.

“We’re gonna have a baby,” she whispers. And although I already know it, hearing her say it causes my breath to catch and my heart to summersault. “June ninth.”

Six. Nine.

Fuckin’ A.

We finally crossed the finish line we thought we’d never reach.