Fuel the Fire (25 page)

3.) He may not trust me one-hundred percent yet, but he needs me. That’s more leverage than anything Scott has.

“Thanks, thanks,” I say, aching to grip Rose’s ponytail and tilt her head back towards me.
But this goddamn fucking chair.

“So I’m about to go into a meeting with the executive from GBA, do you have any updates for me?”

Updates. “Lily is thinking about the second season more than Rose,” I lie. None of us will ever do it, but I have to dangle him for a little while longer, so I can have more time to build trust between us. “She’ll take time.”

Rose whips her head to me and mouths,
Scott?

I mouth,
answer the questions.
This Fuck, Marry, Kill shouldn’t be this hard. She hasn’t even written one new response.

She sighs heavily before resuming her focus.

“How about you just force her to do it?” Scott says with an annoying laugh attached. “She’s your wife. You know what’ll work?”

My fingers press harder into the phone’s casing. “What’s that?” I hear my even-tempered voice, but I grind my teeth.

“Backhand her when she says no.” He takes a short pause…and then he laughs at his own repulsive joke.

I hold Rose protectively at the waist. I bring on the shortest laugh I can muster without sounding sarcastic or mocking. “I’ll keep that in mind,” I say lightly. “Good luck.” If anyone knows me at all, they can tell I’m being fake by those two words.

Good luck.

“Same to you.” I let him hang up first.

“What did he say?” Rose asks.

“He’s meeting with GBA right now. It’s not important.” I pocket my phone and then rub her neck, leaning forward, harder against her ass again.

She sets down her pen. “Finished.”

I rest my hand back on her outstretched one, keeping her breasts flat against the table. “Let’s see, Miss Highest Honors.”

Above
Connor Cobalt working at his office
she wrote:
Kill

She crossed out
Connor Cobalt beating you at chess
and rewrote:
Connor Cobalt playing chess with you – Marry

Slightly cheating, but not quite. I’ll accept the amendment, but if our positions were reversed, she’d never let me make one like that.

And then lastly—
Connor Cobalt on his birthday
she wrote
FUCK
in all capital letters. I harden almost instantly, and I grip one of the rungs of the chair and slam it on the ground. Rose flinches but I hold her jaw with my free hand, keeping her head straight ahead so she can’t watch the decimation of her fucking chair.

It takes two more contacts with the floor before the legs break, and then one strong tug later, the rung detaches from the wooden frame. The other cuff slides off of the rung, and I’m freer than I was.

I pull her ponytail, and a gasp escapes her lips. I kiss her again, my other hand slipping up her inner thigh.

I part her lips with my tongue, tasting her, toying with her, and then I release her hair and push her face back onto the table.

“Connor,” she warns, but her eyes stay attached to me, not wandering around the room. She tries standing up, but I force her chest back down, a firm hand between her shoulder blades.

Her palm peels off the table, and she attempts to remove mine between her legs. I slap her away and then I spank her ass.

She cries into a soft moan, and then she says, “Wait…wait, Connor.”

You’ll like this, Rose.

I stroke the soft flesh of her thigh again, and she reaches for that hand
again.
I slap her away and spank her ass. She chokes on a noise. “Connor,
wait
…you have to wait…”

I lean forward, my erection digging into her, and I can feel her leg muscles flex in arousal. “You want me to fuck you,” I whisper in the pit of her ear. “I want to fuck you. We both win, Rose.”

She breathes shallowly. “Connor…” I’m close to her pussy. “No!” This time, she squeezes my wrist, but the panic in her voice already hits me. I immediately take my weight off my wife, and I gently rotate Rose. I cup her face with tender care, rapidly skimming her entire body for any kind of sign.

She places two palms on my chest, her eyes fluttering like I’ve already fucked her hard. I barely even played with her.

“Rose?” I murmur.

She licks her lips. “I have plans. You can’t ruin them.” That’s what this is about? She oddly keeps tugging down her cotton dress, hiding whatever she has on beneath.

I lift one of her hands, about to kiss her palm, but she retracts it and raises her chin, collecting her bearings.

“Just wait until tonight,” she snaps.

I take her hand again and put it on my crotch, a rock hard erection aching to fit between her legs. “I can’t wait around, so I’m either coming inside your pussy, your mouth or in the shower. Would you like to pick?”

She cautiously checks over her shoulder and then whispers, “Go into the pantry.”

Since she’s reluctant to give blow jobs, struggling always to take me entirely in her mouth, I figure she’s succumbed to sex but wants to do it in a more private setting. I lead the way to the walk-in pantry. She shuts the door behind us and switches on the light.

I focus so much on her penetrating gaze that I miss the tiny key between her fingers and her unlatching the free handcuff. My mind catches up the minute she locks the cuff to a wire shelf.

She leaves.

“Rose!” I yell.

She returns very quickly. “I had to set down the key,” she says, sidling closer. She unbuttons my pants.

“I need my hand—”

“You only need one. I’m blowing you.”

I can’t hide my surprise. “What?”

She glares. “I know I’m not good at it, but you’re not fucking me right now. And you’re not rubbing one out on your birthday.” She drops to her knees, tugging my pants to my ankles. Her eyes soften a fraction. “I need your help.”

I’d rather help her than just watch. “I always guide you, Rose.”

She nods, pulling down my boxer-briefs. The length of my shaft intimidates her in this position. I clasp her wrist and bring her hand to the base.

“This would be easier if you didn’t cuff me,” I say.

“Then it’s a challenge. It should be more fun for you,” she retorts.

Being tied up isn’t the kind of challenge I like. “Not more fun, more aggravating.”

She squeezes my dick with more force, and a grunt scratches my throat. She says, “I want to be with you on your birthday for once.”

“I would’ve taken you to Hong Kong. Open your mouth.” I rest my hand on the back of her head, planning to control the movements.

She stares up at me. “No you wouldn’t have.”

Maybe she’s right. I never even considered bringing her with me before.

“I’m going to show you why you should love today.”

“Starting with a blow job?” I question. It’s not the most uncommon thing between us, but it’s not frequent either.

Her yellow-green eyes drill a hole straight through me, and then she opens her mouth.

[ 23 ]

ROSE COBALT

If you don’t hurry, Connor is going to rip the shelf out of the fucking wall.
– Ryke

After the blow job that made Connor momentarily satisfied and made me infinitely more aroused, I had to leave him handcuffed in the pantry. If I let him loose, he will flee, and he’ll miss out on a night he’d actually appreciate.

“Did he escape?” Lily asks. “You’re glaring at the phone.” In my bedroom, she sets down two dinner plates of sea bass and squash on an elegant tablecloth.

Daisy darts around her, lighting candles. “Ryke wouldn’t let him escape,” she sticks up for her boyfriend. He’s been very helpful in corralling my husband.

Connor isn’t a fan of surprises, but this is a low-key one. Just him. Just me. If he hates this, then so be it, but at least I tried
something
.

I would have prepared a more extravagant event—anything outside of this house—if I thought he’d like it. From previous attempts at making birthday plans, I know he won’t. And despite the handcuffs, the rest of the day is about
his
enjoyment.

I dim the lights on the wall. “He’s still locked up.” I text Ryke,
send him here in three minutes.
My veins pump full of adrenaline, slightly worried that this may all backfire. “I think that’s it,” I tell Daisy and Lily.

My sisters canvas the area: the intimate dinner for two, the sultry lighting, Connor’s favorite classic rock songs playing on low volume in the background. I wear possibly the most elegant dress I’ve ever designed, something suited for the Oscars and not just a late-night dinner in my bedroom.

But some events deserve the most expensive wine, the crème brûlée dessert, and that rare one-time-only dress meant to be unzipped slowly.

My gown accentuates my hourglass figure, the fabric almost completely sheer in a deep Merlot hue with floral appliqué and shimmering crystal embroidery. With long sheer sleeves, the dress fills two needs of mine: both sophisticated but entirely sensual. Parts of my body are exposed through the fabric like I’m standing in a misted shower, the illusion of being naked but still covered.

“He’s going to love it,” Lily says with an assured nod, her furry hat still on her head. She can tell I’m nervous.

I imagine war if he’s put-off or dissatisfied by my efforts. I may grab a candlestick as a weapon. “Let’s hope so because I didn’t buy another fire extinguisher.” I tighten my ponytail. Somehow a hay bale caught on fire during Halloween. I surprisingly had no part in its destruction.

“I’ll fill some buckets of water downstairs,” Daisy offers. She gives me a wink. “Just in case.” I love my little sisters, my muscles almost uncoiling. I shouldn’t be anxious about this. I feel like I’m fourteen again, preparing to annihilate Connor at Model UN, crammed in that tiny hotel room and flipping through flashcards. I had the worst stomach pains, more at the idea of seeing him again than at the idea of losing to him.

Upon years of reflection, I question whether they’re my form of butterflies, my body willfully rejecting anything so sweet and lovey-dovey.

If so, then I’m the recipient of nauseous butterflies that make me want to hurl. I’ve been married for two and a half years—you’d think they’d die already.

My phone buzzes in my palm.

He’s coming up
. – Ryke

“You two need to go—thank you but shoo.” I wave them off, especially as Lily tries to bound over for a goodbye hug. I recoil at the sight of one.

“Just a little hug?” Lily asks, pushing her fingers together as if I don’t know what
little
means.

Daisy sidles next to Lily. “I’ll be Rose’s stand-in hugger.” She wraps her arms around Lily’s scrawny frame and squeezes so much more than I ever would. It’s a terrific hug, which is why I don’t torture anyone with my stiff ones.

Lily squeezes Daisy back with equal sisterly affection. “That’s such a good hug, Rose,” Lily smiles. I give them five more seconds before I physically tear them apart, a hand on each of their shoulders, and I steer them to the door. Their smiles are welcome
outside
my room.

They leave just in time, racing down the hallway to Lily’s bedroom and disappearing out of sight. Connor is the only one who ascends the stairs. I shut the door before he sees my outfit, and my eyes flit over the room. Candles lit on the dresser and table, his favorite winter food from his favorite restaurant. His favorite music. And then me, his favorite person.

Everything is perfect.

For some reason, I’ve already concluded that he’ll hate it, so when he opens the door, I am scorching as hot as the flames behind me.

He sweeps my features and my body in a long, inexpressive wave, and my legs harden to cement. I force my feet to move nearer, and then I reach over his side and shove the door closed. All the while he stares down at me, my heels not equalizing our height difference.

I raise my chin, an inch or so separating our bodies. His hand slides to my hip, his firm grasp sending shockwaves and pulses below. “You’re wrong,” I tell him strongly.

“Am I?” he questions.

I nod once, refusing to concede on this matter. “I’m not celebrating your age, Connor. January 3
^rd
is a day where I celebrate you existing for another year. I don’t care if you’re seventeen or if you’re eighty. You’re here, and I’m…” The compliment is
right
on the tip of my tongue. It tastes foreign but not foul.

His lips begin to lift in a grin. “Go ahead, Rose.” His enjoyment usually riles me to do otherwise, but today is different. He needs to see that.

“I’m
grateful
,” I say, “to have you in my life and if you hate all of this, then I will
never
try again. You can spend every single birthday after this one alone in another country, and I’ll let you leave without hassle.” I can’t read his stoic features, not as much as I’d like to. I think maybe the intimate dinner hasn’t persuaded him, so I push myself to do something else out of my nature. I reach for the zipper at my shoulder blades, attempting to undress.

He seizes my wrist to stop me, and his deep blue eyes possess me first, filled with serenity and finality. He zips the dress back to my collar. My heart pounds, my blood simmering, and I watch him walk around me to the table. Still standing, he begins to pour wine into the glasses.

He’s purposefully quiet, leaving me to guess his iron-locked thoughts. If he despised this, he’d be gone by now, so I cling to this fact and pull back my shoulders with more confidence. I strut deeper into our regal light blue and gray bedroom, taking a seat on my vanity stool.

He’s not interested in the food. That much I’ve gathered.

I find myself tapping my heel on the floorboards while he sips his wine. He watches my eyes narrow to pinpoints.

“If your silence is
my
punishment for handcuffing you,” I say, “then you should know that it’s more of a prize. Your voice bleeds my ears.”