Always Consumed

  “Hey, Olive,” Jackson calls.

  I roll my eyes as he pulls himself up until his chin touches the thick, black bar. Then, he lowers himself back down again. He might actually be dating Selena now, but that doesn’t make him any less of a douchebag. Damaged or not, the asshole needs to sort his shit out.

  Sweat glistens over his naked, tattooed form and as much as I hate it, I have to give it to the guy. Though he was cut and lean before, now his muscles are more defined—sharper. My lungs misplace a little air and I’m horrified. My breathlessness is absolute betrayal to Seth and Selena. If either of them read my mind right now, they’d be mortified. I need sex. I need it before I start looking at Darryl like a piece of meat, too.

  “O?” Seth calls from the far corner.

  I flick my attention to him. He taps his blue pen against his clipboard and curves a brow at me. “You need help with the printer again?”

  Oh, God, I wish the printer was broken. Then I could have him all to myself for a few minutes. Despite the hormones raging recklessly throughout my body, I shake my head.

  “The printer is fine.” I gesture to the door. “Can we talk in private, quickly?”

  Seth tucks the clipboard under his arm and moves towards me.

  “Not on my watch,” Jackson orders, his bare feet hitting the mat with a thud. “I pay for Seth’s time just like everyone else.”

  I shift my weight onto my other hip and fold my arms. “Can’t you punch a bag for a minute or two?”

  He shakes his head as he reaches for his red microfiber towel. With a mischievous grin, he swipes it over his forehead and dabs at his reddened face. “I’ve already done the bag today. We’re about to start some submission techniques and I need Seth.”

  “Good for you,” I snap. “But I need him, too.”

  Those five letters slipped out thickly laced with desperation. Hell, I even think a tear stung my eye for a split second there. I know Seth is staring at me. I can feel it warming the side of my face. Maybe he heard my desperate plea for a moment alone with him. I’m sick of competing with everyone else. My chest is tight, my throat compacted. Don’t people realize I need him, too? I’ve needed him for a long time, but no one will let me have him—not even for a second. I don’t know how much longer I can stand it. We love each other and it’s sincere, but it feels like I’m losing him to everyone else. When is it enough? When is it my time…our time?

  “Fine.” Jackson exhales with a shrug. “If you want to comp this session, that’s okay with me.”

  “Go set up. I’ll be right there,” Seth orders.

  I look at him as he drags in a heavy inhale and closes his eyes. After a second, he expels it and his irises meet mine. Sympathy flashes over his features and it hurts. Another battle for Seth’s attention…and I lost. Again. When will it fucking end? I add another line to the tally that has become our relationship. Another day without talking. Another night without intimacy. Another week without a break.

  “Is it important?” he asks and subtly, I flinch.

  His question is low key and sensitive. It’s a tone I know well. He uses it whenever he’s worried about making me upset. I’m not upset. I was upset when Seth was called into the gym on my birthday. I was upset when his mother called and dragged him away from dinner to fix a leaking pipe in her bathroom and I was upset on movie night when Jackson had Seth pick him up after Selena threw his keys off a bridge, but now…now I’m nothing. I don’t feel upset. I feel…lonely.

  “Is it important? I don’t know. I mean, it’s important to me.” I bite my lower lip to keep it from trembling. “Doesn’t that mean anything?”

  I wanted to discuss Valentine’s Day, but the idea that previously filled me with fire now leaves me feeling cold and alone.

  “Of course it does, but can it wait? I’m in the middle of something.”

  “You’re in the middle of something.” A nervous laugh slips from my throat and I swipe at my clammy forehead. “You know, I’ve heard those words fall from your mouth a million times, but they’re never directed at anybody but me. You jump at the chance to help everyone else, you fill your schedule to the brim whenever anyone calls and you always have time to slip someone else into your life, but you never seem to have a second to spare for your family.”

  His facial features pin together in offense. “I always play with Chloe when I get home from work.”

  My heart breaks a little more. He doesn’t see my point. He never sees my point. Seth is amazing with Chloe, but she’s not the only one who needs to be nurtured and loved.

  “Yes, you do, but I’m not talking about Chloe. Am I not family, too? Where’s my time? Where do I fit in?”

  Internal pain manifests on his face, but his tongue lacks the words to express it. I nod and look away from his beautiful face. I can’t stand it when I hurt him, even though he’s hurt me.

  “Seth!” Jackson calls and his voice slices through me like a knife.

  Seth ignores Jackson and moves closer to me. His warm fingers brush along my jaw line and move under my chin, forcing my face to angle toward his.

  “I’ll fix it,” he murmurs, lowering his mouth to mine.

  I let my stare meet his as our lips graze and my breath is stolen from my lungs.

  “You go home and relax. When I get home tonight, we’ll talk. I promise.”

  His supple, full lips lightly touch mine before he turns his broad back and heads toward the cage.

  I watch him, my body tingling all over from his gentle kiss. As upset as I am, butterflies kiss the insides of my stomach and caress everywhere else with their wings. I’m certain ruts don’t feel like this. Dead marriages don’t make your knees weak like this.

  We’re okay…lost…but otherwise okay.

  Chapter Four

  Seth

  I slam my car door shut and groan as I stretch my arms above my head. I’m beat. Totally fucking beat. The days are always long at the gym, but today was the longest. After Olivia left, I couldn’t shake her from my mind. The look on her face…the desperation in her tone…I’m losing her. If I don’t figure out something and fast, who knows what’ll happen.

  Would she leave me? The thought is enough to make me want to throw up.

  I spoke to Darryl in confidence once Jackson left. He claims what’s happening between Olivia and I isn’t about sex. He says a couple can still be madly in love and not have sex on a regular basis. It’s about connection, emotion, and intimacy. Whatever the fuck that means. I’ve tried my hardest to be a better husband since Vegas, but somehow, I’m making it worse. It’s hard for me too. I wish I had time to sit down and watch a movie or be alone with Olivia, but it’s not working. There’s always something—always someone—who fucks with it.

  I was able to take out some of my frustration today¸ at least. When I got into the cage with Jackson, I didn’t take it easy on him. Twice I clipped him on the mouth for being a dick. He’s going through some shit right now, but the way he handled today was an ass move and I couldn’t help myself.

  As I make my way down the pebbled path that leads right to the front steps, I pause to look at the sky. Beautiful diamonds stud an inky canopy that fades to black…which means I’m late for dinner…which also means I’ve missed Chloe. Earlier, I’d defended my position and claimed I always play with Chloe after work. I guess those words don’t count tonight.

  Fuck.

  Olivia is going to have my balls for being late—and not in a good way.

  I fish in my pocket for my keys and stuff the roundest one into the keyhole. With a flick of my wrist, the door opens and warm air hits me. I inhale and my stomach roars. Roast. Olivia cooked a roast for dinner. I step inside, shut the door behind me, and kick off my shoes. The feeling of coming home to a house warmed with a freshly cooked meal is one I’ll never get over.

  I slow my steps as I walk up the hall. The house is warm, it smells amazing, and it’s clean, but there’s no noise. Not even the sound of paper being dragged against f
abric as she turns the page of one of her historical romance books…the absence of sound in my family home is depressing.

  I pause when I step into the kitchen. The oven is on ‘warm’ and inside, there’s a plate filled with roast chicken and vegetables. Saliva pools under my tongue, but my hunger is going to have to wait. I ignore the protests of my cramping stomach and head for the stairs. Maybe Olivia will see my ignoring the food as a romantic gesture and take it easy on me.

  When I get to the top of the stairs, I suck in a deep breath and let it out. Whatever happens on the other side of that door is going to be intense. All I have to do is show her that I plan on fixing it—fixing us.

  I just hope it’s enough.

  With a shaky hand, I reach for the handle. The round ball fits nicely into the palm of my hand and I twist it until the door opens. I leave it at a small crack for a few seconds before I open it the rest of the way. The thin, flower-like lamp on her bedside table is lit, casting a soft white glow around the room. My attention scans over our silk-drowned king sized bed, but it’s empty. The only sounds in the room filter out from the slit in the bathroom door on the far side of the room. As the shower runs, she hums gently, and although Olivia is not a good singer, her humming is nice. It’s something she’s picked up since watching all of those kids’ cartoons with Chloe, and I like it. It’s comforting.

  I step into the room and close the door behind me. She must hear it click over the sound of the shower because as soon as it’s shut, the humming stops. I tug my shirt off and toss it to the floor as I approach the bathroom. Heat flows from the open door and a sweat breaks out over my chest as a result. I enter the bathroom and shut the door. Steam fills the room. It’s thick on every glass surface and strip of metal. It settles in my lungs like a heavy blanket and immediately dampens the rest of my skin.

  I can only just make out the pale silhouette of her figure and the pink sponge she drags over her chest and down her stomach. Despite all of the moisture in the room, my mouth dries. In no time, I push my shorts down my legs and slide open the glass shower door. Olivia, her dark, wet hair sticking to her chest and covering her right breast, takes a few steps towards the other side of the shower to give me space, but space is the last thing I want. I take in the backside of her naked body. How have I not worshipped it every day? How have I managed to avoid touching her for so long? My fingers twitch at my sides, eager to caress. So, as she runs her sponge along her shoulder, I pull it free from her hands. Her head lolls to the side, but she doesn’t fight for it back. I massage the soft sponge in my large palms until the foam doubles and pours over the back of my hand. Then, I reach out with my hand first and massage the bubbles into her shoulder blade. She doesn’t say a word—she doesn’t have to. I feel her body relax under my touch and it melts away my own tension. I move my hand to her waist and soap up her other shoulder blade. Her body sways slightly, and her tummy clenches as I slip my hand around to hold it. She doesn’t let me touch her belly, but I don’t think she has the energy to care, so I make the most of it. I caress it with my palm, pushing bubbles of soap around her skin. I grit my teeth against a throbbing pressure in the shaft of my cock and I press myself against Olivia’s ass to give it something to lean against. Even over the torrential shower jets, I hear her breath catch in her throat. I move closer to her until my chest barely grazes her back. I came to talk, originally, but this is so much better.

  I squeeze the sponge in my fist, eliciting more bubbles from its center, and pull my hand from her tummy to trail them along her shoulders, brushing her hair to one side whenever it gets in the way. Strong tendrils of excitement explode throughout every inch of my body as I glide the sponge over the base of her neck right before I move it in circular motions over her shoulders and between her shoulder blades. I think I’ve only washed her like this once. A long time ago.

  We were in Concord.

  I close my eyes as I slowly slide the sponge down the middle of her back, trying to remember just how I touched her that night. Things were so much simpler then. Even though I was under a lot of pressure, I always had time for her. After I almost destroyed us in Vegas, I’d given everything up for her. Now, it seems I’m giving her up for everything else. I stop moving the sponge at the very base of Olivia’s back. I don’t want that. She’s the best thing to ever happen to me.

  Clearing my throat, I drag the sponge in rhythmic strokes back to the nape of her neck and run it down the length of her arms. Eventually, I drop the sponge to the floor before sliding both my arms around Olivia’s soapy torso. She lets her head rest against my shoulder as I tuck my face into the nape of her neck. A second later, she locks her fingers with mine and softly trails them over her body. With ease, they drift across her stomach, up over her ribs, and onto her breasts.

  Moisture glistens on our skin as the edge of the shower sends tendrils of water over my shoulder and onto Olivia’s. I watch the clean water as it rolls off the sharp edges of her collarbone and continues its descent over the rise of her breasts and pink nipples. She fills my hands so perfectly.

  “You really upset me today,” she mutters, shifting her weight nervously.

  Moving my head, I kiss between her neck and shoulder. “I know. I’m sorry.”

  Olivia lets go of my hands and turns to face me. Her dark hair sits flat against her head and her usual bright green eye seem dull, even in this light, and I hate that I’m the reason why.

  “What did you want to talk about?” I ask.

  She shrugs. “It seems kind of silly to bring it up now when I’m not in the mood. It was supposed to be a good thing—something that would make me feel good.”

  “I’m listening now. I want to hear it.”

  Her green stare falls sheepishly from mine and she bends to pick up the sponge. I wait, patiently, as she squeezes out all of the soap and applies more from the small shelf behind her. She balls the sponge up in her hands, compressing rhythmically until foam leaks from it. Then she presses it to my chest, cleaning me in small, firm circles.

  “Well, it was about Valentine’s Day tomorrow…I have an idea.”

  My lips twitch, but she misses it. Her attention is on my torso and the sponge. “What’s your idea?”

  Despite the heat in the room, a red blush spreads from her chest to her ears, making her cheeks glow beautifully. Only one topic makes Olivia blush so deeply, and that’s sex. Still hard, I pulse painfully, but as she moves her sponge south, she pretends she can’t see how hard I am for her. And it drives me fucking crazy.

  “I was thinking we could meet at a restaurant—preferably one with a hotel room upstairs.”

  I smirk. “Okay.”

  “That’s not all. We get ready separately, go to the restaurant separately, and we meet each other there.”

  Confused, I angle my head. “If we’re meeting up anyway, why go separately?”

  Olivia shakes her head, her cheeks flaring. “I don’t mean meet-up, I mean ‘meet’…for the first time all over again—it’ll be a game. I can be a glamorous Puerto Rican supermodel and you can be a famous French soccer player.”

  Me French and her Puerto Rican? Yeah. That’s not going to work. I arch an eyebrow and she swats at me.

  “Or not—you know what I mean.”

  For the first time in a long time, excitement (mixed with slight embarrassment) ignites her features, and I don’t have the heart to say no to the little fetish she’s developed. I can understand it—the wanting to escape reality for a little while. It’s definitely enticing.

  “You want a French soccer player?” I ask, taking the sponge from her hands and tossing it to the floor.

  She swiftly shakes her head as the sponge hits the floor with a squelch. “You can be anyone you want to be.”

  “Can I be me?” I ask, griping her hips and pulling her against me.

  “Uh…” Her chest heaves, our close proximity messing with the oxygen in her brain. “That’s not…not how it works.”

  Her breathlessness
causes something fierce and primal to coil in my abdomen. “If you want someone else, I can be someone else for you.”

  I crane my neck and lower my mouth to her neck. Her entire body quivers as my lips touch and part against her warm, wet skin.

  “I want you to be you.” She pants, hiking a thigh around my hip and making me smile against her neck. “Just with a different name.”

  I push forward and pinch her flesh between my teeth. She hisses, flexing her hips into mine. I release when she brings out her claws and plants them firmly in my shoulder blades.

  “You don’t like my name?” I ask.

  I inch her back until her ass presses against the cool tiles.

  “Seth’s my favorite name,” she replies, the end of her sentence lost in a light moan. “But you can’t be Seth. That’s the whole point of the game.”

  I pull back to meet her eyes. “If you can tell me why you want to meet for the first time all over again, I’ll do it for you.”

  “I’m hoping it will take us back to the beginning.”

  I drag my fingers up her arms, caressing her softly. “We’re not there anymore? You don’t think we’re the same people we were back then?”

  Slightly, she slumps. “Don’t you feel different? Don’t you feel like we’ve changed? You’re not the same man I married and I’m not the same woman you married.” Her eyes nervously flick from my face and then back again. “Back then, we were inseparable. Insatiable. Reckless.”

  She’s right. I know that. “We can’t be those people forever.”

  Olivia nods. “I know, and I don’t want to go back to that, but I don’t want to lose what made us special in the first place, either. I don’t want my life to be all work and no play. That’s not living.”

  “Do you think we’re stuck in a rut?” I finally manage to spit out after weeks of worrying.

  Her face doesn’t change, she doesn’t even look surprised I said it, and I wonder if she’s thought about it, too.