Page 2 of Rough Patch

He stood on the front porch and squeezed the stems of the paper-wrapped flowers in his left hand then relaxed so they lived long enough to make it inside the house. He knocked on the door. Of his own house. And waited.

Every second he stood out there was worth it. When she swung the door open, his breath whooshed out. Holy shit. A negligee. Sheer. Nipples. He could only think in single words. His dick throbbed, sprang to life, and he thrust the flowers out in front of him. “Here.”

She tugged him inside by the collar of his shirt and tossed the bouquet on the table as she pressed her lips against his, forced her tongue in his mouth, and curled her leg around his hip.

His arms wrapped around her waist, and he kicked the door shut behind him. The neighbors didn’t need to see what was about to happen. Although, if he had his way, they’d probably hear it. He walked her backward to the sofa, never breaking the kiss.

She moaned into his mouth as he cupped her ass then slid his hand lower until he could feel the wet heat of her pussy. She shifted her hips to meet his fingers, and his eyelids fluttered shut. Oh, God. Nothing in the world felt as good and as right as Fiona. She ground against his fingers, whimpered, and groaned, then tore her mouth away from his and attacked his belt and button-fly. When she wrapped her hand around his cock, his breath halted.

She turned and bent over, bracing herself against the back of the sofa. A thin string of lace peeked from between her ass cheeks and she jerked it to the side, holding it away. “Fuck me, Grier.”

And though he loved hearing it, he wouldn’t make her ask twice. He shoved down his jeans, and his dick sprang free, ready to push inside of her. When he paused, wondered if it was safe for the baby, she reached for his dick, positioned it against her pussy then slid until she had every inch. Oh, God. This was and would always be home.

* * *

The second time, they’d made it as far as the stairs. Grier hadn’t even managed to say hello or thank you or I love you before she’d pushed him down and climbed on top. She’d ridden him, pounding her hips against his until she arched her back and cried out his name over and over. Then she’d collapsed against him, and he’d carried her to bed.

Now she had her head on his shoulder, and he brushed his hand over her hair. He couldn’t stop touching her, couldn’t stop smiling, either. “I think we should have dinner every night.”

She swirled a finger around his nipple then lifted her head for a quick kiss. “You think so?” Her smile didn’t reach her eyes, and Grier’s gut clenched. This wasn’t the look of a satisfied woman who’d just spent the last couple of hours rocking her husband’s world onto its side. This was an angry woman.

She sat up and pulled on a robe before she stood and walked to the attached bathroom. Grier folded his hands behind his head and waited. After a few minutes, she came out with a toothbrush in her mouth. “I think we should move back in here. Together, I mean.”

Grier couldn’t play this game with her right now. Not with Sedotal still on the loose and the FBI breathing down his neck so close they probably knew every scratch on his back from her nails. Dave dying hadn’t been good for Grier on any front.

“I thought you didn’t want to stay here.” She was safer at the club where one of the guys was always around to protect her while he was off looking for Sedotal.

She’d walked back into the bathroom but poked her head around the corner. “I miss my house. And I miss sleeping in a place that doesn’t smell like stale beer and pot.” She came out of the bathroom and sat beside him on the bed. “And I miss my husband.” Nice to hear, but the lie darkened her eyes.

Being around her right now was dangerous for her. He couldn’t risk her life or the baby’s. But damned if he wanted to be anywhere else than in her house and in her bed. He wanted to be the man in her life, protecting her and their baby. He only wished she wanted it too, and her eyes said she didn’t.

She ran a manicured nail along his thigh where it poked out from beneath the sheet. Thinking became ever more difficult as she inched toward his dick. In the interest of forming actual words, he covered her roving hand with his and tugged until she moved half on top of him with only the sheet and the thin layer of her robe between him and heaven. “If you want to come home…”

She kissed his nipple. “I want us to come home.” Her breathy voice along with her fingers stroking him through the blanket made refusal an impossibility. “But I need to know everything so I can protect myself.”

When the words finally broke through the haze in his head, his hard-on died a sad and pathetic little death. Goddammit. She didn’t give a shit about him coming home. She was after answers. Answers he couldn’t give.

He slid out of bed on the other side. “Jesus, Fiona. You could’ve just asked me if you wanted to know about the picture.” His anger was unreasonable. Maybe even unwarranted but hurt coursed through him. She’d used her body. Thought he’d be too blinded by desire to resist telling her everything she wanted to know. “Could have saved yourself all the fucking and faking.”

Her tone hardened. “Of course I want to know about the picture. I want to know why my husband is handing over an envelope of God knows what to the fucking FBI.” She whirled to face him as he zipped his jeans. “And I fucked you because I wanted to. Because you’re my husband, and I wanted you.” Her eyes flashed and she punched her hands onto her hips.

It was a pretty convincing show of indignance, and if he’d bought it, he might have felt a tiny bit of guilt. “Bullshit. You fucked me because you thought you’re so in my head that if you used your body, I would just lie back and tell you the things that could get you killed.”

“And you’re so noble you would’ve said no? So damned self-righteous you would have tucked your dick and walked away rather than risk my life… as if you give one shit about me.”

He stalked out the bedroom and downstairs before he said something he couldn’t take back or worse told her everything.

“Yeah, run away again. It’s what you do, isn’t it?” She taunted him from the top of the steps then raced down to grab his shoulder and spin him around. “I don’t need you to protect me. I’m a big girl.”

Well, this damned sure wasn’t doing either of them any good. He tamped down his anger and stared at her. “You are?” He kept his tone soft.

She squinted. “Yeah.”

“A big, tough girl.” He slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her in then lowered his head to slide a line of kisses along her jaw. If she could use sex, maybe he could too. With his free hand, he loosened the belt to her robe and cupped her breast. As he ran his thumb over her nipple, she gripped his shoulders.

“What are you doing?”

He smiled. “If you don’t know, I must be doing it wrong.” He took the nipple in his mouth and swirled his tongue until she whimpered and clung to him.