Coming Clean by C. L. Parker Read Free Book Online Page A

now and then. Don’t start.”
    Oh, like I didn’t have any steam to blow off?
But I let it go.
    “I’m not starting anything, Shaw. I’m too tired to start anything.” I waved him off and then headed toward the bathroom off our bedroom.
    Shaw followed. Somehow, I knew he would. Maybe because I was aware of the pattern—the same old, predictable routine we’d found ourselves in. I could practically spell it all out before the order of events happened. But because I was a creature of habit, I went along with it.
    Picking up my toothbrush and toothpaste, I got busy with the brusha-brusha-brusha. Right on cue, Shaw slipped in behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and nuzzling my neck while he pressed his hard-on to my ass. For a second, I thought about turning my toothbrush on him to get rid of the strong smell of whiskey coming from his breath—a couple of drinks, huh?—but got distracted by his next two cues. One hand reached up to cup my braless breast, tweaking the nipple through my nightshirt while his other hand snaked its way underneath and into my panties.
    “Spit,” he ordered. Then, “Rinse.”
    I did because I knew what was next. I’d never been immune to Shaw’s exploration of my body, despite how much he infuriated me to no end. Well, my body had never been immune to his explorations. My mind, sadly, had become another matter.
    The moment his fingertips made contact with my clit, I went Niagara Falls down south. Shaw hummed in appreciation, taking no care in roughly palming my breast while biting my shoulder and then shoving my panties down to fall at my feet.
    Within seconds, his belt was undone, his cock freed, and one of my knees was lifted to the counter to open me up for him. One splayed hand positioned just so on my back forced me to lean forward, right where he wanted me.
    Again, I found myself studying my own reflection in the mirror, curious as to my stoic expression when he pushed the broad tip of his cock inside me. It wasn’t that I was immune to that feeling of being completely filled, I just knew what the outcome would be, and
not
because I was psychic.
    With Shaw’s grip on my hips, I watched as my body lunged forward and back with each of his frantic thrusts. Deep and hard, he penetrated me, working toward his endgame. Two players on the field, only one was a ball hog, stealing all the glory for himself. But I knew what he expected of me, so I gave it to him.
    “Oh, Shaw…Oh, Shaw…Right there. Yes, right…
there
,” I said, egging him on until I Kegel’ed it, squeezing his rigid shaft inside me in pulsing intervals to mock an orgasm. And then I gave a final, languid moan. That stoic expression I’d been sporting had not changed.
    Following that cue, Shaw bucked harder, grunting with his forehead pressed to my shoulder and never once looking up at me in the mirror. And then he came. Lucky him.
    He took but a moment to collect himself, pressing three chaste kisses to my shoulder before he pulled his cock free of my sheath and said, “Thank you, sweetness. I promise I won’t be late again.” An empty promise.
    And just like that, our makeup sex was complete. I tried not to take it too personally that he always felt the need to shower afterward when I was the one dripping semen from my vagina, but how could I not? Yet another selfish act of Shaw—a Shawism, as I’d come to dub these frequent actions of “all Shaw, all the time.”
    God, I miss foreplay
, I thought as I grabbed a wash towel to clean myself up. I also missed the way we were. The couples therapy had been my idea, my insistence, and Shaw had been fighting me tooth and nail on it. But something was wrong with us. How could he not see it? There was no real intimacy between us. We’d been living like roommates with a child in common, nothing more, just going through the motions like a couple of drones. I wanted to feel something again, to feel him again. The one thing I didn’t want to feel was