Sunlight slices through the blinds, painting gold across my closed eyelids when a sudden jolt of pleasure tears me from sleep. My eyes fly open, and a whimper escapes my throat before I can catch it. Summer's naked body bounces on my cock with a happy rhythm, her head thrown back in ecstasy.
"Good morning, baby," she moans, her voice husky with desire.
I blink rapidly, trying to orient myself in this unexpected reality. Summer's completely naked above me, not hidden beneath my oversized sweater like she's been since her return. For the first time, I see everything, her curves silhouetted in the morning light, her breasts swaying with each movement, looking exactly as I remember them. But it's the tattoos that capture my attention, eleven black spades marching across her chest like dark memories, the "BBC" stark against her left arm.
She catches me staring, and something flashes in her eyes. Her hips drive down harder, taking me deeper.
"Fuck," I gasp, my body betraying my mind as pleasure shoots up my spine.
Summer leans forward, her blonde hair curtaining around our faces as her hand grips my chin firmly. She pulls my face up, forcing my eyes to meet hers.
"Just look at me, baby," she commands, her blue eyes burning with intensity. "Nothing else matters. Just me."
Her rhythm quickens, her thighs squeezing against mine as she rides me with determined purpose. My hands find her hips instinctively, fingers digging into soft flesh as my body responds despite my conflicted thoughts.
"Summer, wait…" I try to protest, but she silences me with a deep, hungry kiss.
"Don't think," she whispers against my lips. "Just feel me. Feel us."
She pulls back from the kiss, her eyes locked on mine, wild with need.
"Say my name, baby," she commands, her voice husky with desire.
"Summer," I gasp, the word torn from me as she grinds down harder.
She groans, the sound deep and primal. Then she laughs, not the gentle laugh I remember from our early days, but something darker, almost manic. Her eyes grow wide, pupils dilating until there's barely any blue left, giving her that unhinged look that's become so familiar since her return.
"Say it again," she demands, fingers digging into my shoulders.
"Summer!" I cry out, louder this time.
Her body becomes frantic above me, her rhythm faltering as she chases her pleasure. Her movements grow erratic, desperate. Her face contorts in ecstasy, mouth falling open, eyes rolling back, expressions I've never seen on her before, not in all our years together. It's like watching a stranger wearing my wife's face.
"Yes! My name! More, more baby!" she screams, her voice echoing off the bedroom walls.
Something primal awakens in me. I grip her hips and thrust upward, meeting her desperate movements with my own.
"Summer!" I yell, driving deeper into her heat.
"Tell me who you belong to," she pants, her voice ragged as her body tightens around mine.
"Summer!" I cry out again, not fully registering what she's asking through the haze of pleasure building inside me.
My release hits without warning, intense and overwhelming. "Ahhh! Summer!" I empty myself inside her, groaning her name one final time as she collapses against my chest, her body still trembling with aftershocks.
We lie there, sweaty and breathless, the morning light painting patterns across our tangled limbs.
Summer nuzzles against my neck, her breathing slowly returning to normal. "That was perfect," she whispers, pressing lazy kisses against my skin.
I lie there with Summer's weight on my chest, my heart still racing as reality slowly returns. I've never been with anyone else, she's been my one and only since we fumbled through our first time in the back of my dad's station wagon junior year. No matter how messed up things got between us, the physical connection was always electric, always right.
"I should get ready for work," I murmur, gently shifting her to the side.
Summer props herself up on one elbow, her face scrunched in confusion. "Work? You have a job?"
The question stings more than it should. "Yeah," I say, unable to keep the defensiveness from my voice. "I got it before we... before you left officially. You just never asked."
Her eyes widen slightly. "Like, a real job? Or are you working at like a 7-11 or something?"
The question sounds harsh, but I can't really blame her. When I lost my position at Lattice Ridge Capital three years ago during the worst of my addiction, I ended up behind the counter at a convenience store, barely holding it together for four-hour shifts.
"It's a real job," I tell her, sitting up and reaching for my boxers on the floor. "I'm a financial compliance analyst at Halcyon Bridge Capital."
I don't mention how hard I groveled at the feet of some old connections to give me a second chance. But it worked and I work hard to prove my value.
Summer slides across the bed, wrapping her arms around me from behind. I feel her breasts press against my back, her chin resting on my shoulder. The tattoos I'd been fixating on are now hidden against my skin.
"Baby," she whispers, her lips brushing my ear, "call in sick. Please." Her hand slides down my stomach, fingertips teasing the waistband of my boxers. "I want to spend the day in bed with you."
I close my eyes, temptation warring with responsibility. A year ago, I would have given anything to have Summer back, begging me to stay home with her. Now that it's happening, all I can think about is the meeting I'm supposed to lead at ten, the quarterly compliance reports waiting on my desk.
"I can't," I say, gently removing her hand. "I'm still proving myself."
Summer's arms tighten around me, her body tensing. "But I need you here," she says, her voice taking on that edge I've come to recognize, the warning before a storm.
"I turn to face her, taking both her hands in mine. "Summer," I say, my voice firm but gentle, "I'm your husband. It's my job to provide for you, to keep a roof over our heads and food on the table. This job matters."
Her bottom lip quivers, but I press on before she can interrupt.
"I've worked my ass off to rebuild what I destroyed. Two years ago, I couldn't even be trusted to stack shelves properly. Now I have people who depend on me."
Summer's eyes narrow, her fingers tightening around mine until I feel her nails digging into my skin. "And what about me? Don't I depend on you too?"
"That's exactly my point," I say, wincing slightly as her grip intensifies. "If I lose this job, we lose everything."
Her eyes flash with something dangerous, and she pulls her hands away from mine. The shift is immediate, her vulnerable expression hardening into something calculated as she sits back on her heels.
"I get it," she says, voice suddenly quiet. "You need to go to work." She tilts her head, studying me with those ice-blue eyes. "But I'm nervous, Scott."
"About what?" I ask, reaching for my shirt draped over the bedside chair.
"I'm nervous you won't trust me while you're gone," she says, crawling toward me across the rumpled sheets. "You'll think I'm cheating on you when you're not around."
The statement hangs between us, so absurd I almost laugh. After everything she's done, she's worried about my trust issues?
"I don't trust you at all," I say flatly, the words coming out before I can filter them.
I brace myself for tears, for rage, for the explosive reaction I've come to expect from her. But Summer just smiles, a slow, knowing curve of her lips that makes my skin crawl. She doesn't seem phased in the slightest by my words.
"That's fair," she says with a light shrug, reaching for my discarded t-shirt and slipping it over her head. The fabric hangs loose on her frame, covering those tattoos once again. "Trust is earned."
Her calm acceptance throws me more than any tantrum could have. I watch her warily as I button my shirt, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
"I could come with you," she suggests, her voice bright and casual. "Bring you lunch later. Meet your coworkers."
"Absolutely not," I say too quickly.
Summer's smile doesn't falter, but something cold flickers in her eyes. "Why not? Ashamed of me?"
"I'm not ashamed," I say, running a hand through my bed-tousled hair. "It's just that I don't think you're emotionally stable enough for that right now."
The words hang in the air between us. Summer's smile freezes, her eyes widening slightly before narrowing into slits. For a moment, I brace myself again.
Instead, she just stares at me, her jaw tightening visibly. I can see the cogs turning behind those gorgeous, icy blue eyes, weighing her options, deciding whether this is a battle worth fighting.
Finally, she exhales, her shoulders dropping in apparent surrender. "Fine," she says, her voice clipped but controlled. "If you're so worried about me being around other people, I understand."
She slides off the bed, my t-shirt hanging down to her mid-thighs as she pads across the room. I watch her warily, waiting for the other shoe to drop. This calm acceptance doesn't fit the pattern of behavior she's established since her return.
"Then how can I prove to you I'm not running around with other men while you're gone all day?" she asks, turning to face me with arms crossed over her chest.
My eyes drop to where we're standing, and I notice something that catches me off guard, a small trickle of my release running down her inner thigh and pooling on the hardwood floor. There's something strangely erotic about it, this physical evidence of our connection, even as my brain struggles with the emotional chaos between us.
Summer follows my gaze and notices what I'm looking at. Her expression shifts instantly, a wide smile spreading across her face as if she's just had a revelation.
"I've got it," she says, her eyes lighting up with excitement. "We could put cameras in the house."
I blink, trying to process this sudden change in conversation. "What?"
"Security cameras," she continues enthusiastically. "In all the rooms. There aren't that many anyway, the kitchen and living room are connected, then just the bedroom and bathroom."
"No chance," I respond immediately, my mind recoiling at the thought of being under constant surveillance in my own home.
But Summer's already pulled her phone from somewhere and is swiping through screens with determined focus, completely ignoring my objection.
"Summer, stop," I say more firmly. "I don't want cameras in the house."
She doesn't even look up from her phone. "No, this is for the best," she insists, her voice eerily calm. "That way, there's zero doubt. You'll know exactly what I'm doing every minute you're gone."
Her smile widens even further, taking on that manic quality that sends chills down my spine. "Excellent! I just Amazoned them. They should be here within a couple of hours."
"They do same-day delivery now?" I ask stupidly, momentarily distracted by the logistics rather than the violation happening right in front of me.
"Yeah, it's crazy, right?" She giggles, still scrolling through her phone. "Makes you kinda feel bad for poor saps having to work at that pace."
I shake my head, bringing myself back to the actual issue. "Wait, no. I don't want monitoring in this house twenty-four-seven."
Summer finally looks up from her phone, her expression hardening. "It's the only way, Scott."
"The only way for what exactly?" I ask, frustration building in my chest as I button my shirt with more force than necessary. "The only way to prove you're not screwing someone else the minute I walk out the door?"
"The only way for you to trust me again," she says, her voice softening to that vulnerable tone that always manages to cut through my defenses. "I need you to believe in me, Scott. In us."
I run my hands through my hair, trying to think clearly. "Summer, putting cameras everywhere is... It's invasive. It's not healthy."
Summer's laugh cuts through the tension, high and mocking. "What? Do you have something to hide from me, Scott?"
"No, but…" I start, but she doesn't let me finish.
"BUT WHAT, SCOTT? WHAT ARE YOU HIDING FROM ME?" Her voice explodes in the small bedroom, making me flinch.
I look away, embarrassed by what I'm about to admit. "I don't want you seeing me... You know… go to the bathroom on camera," I whisper.
"Oh."
Her response hangs in the air, simple and deflated, like she's genuinely thrown off balance by my concern. The rage that was building just seconds ago evaporates as she realizes what I really meant.
"We're married," she says, her voice gentle now as she steps closer. "You were an addict, baby. I've cleaned you up at your worst." She reaches for my hand, her fingers cool against my palm. "I held your head while you were sick. I washed you when you couldn't stand."
The memories flash through my mind, humiliating snapshots of rock bottoms. Summer kneeling beside me on bathroom floors, wiping vomit from my chin, helping me into the shower when I'd soiled myself during withdrawal.
I pull my hand away, still uncomfortable. "I know, but that was different. This is…"
"Please, Scott," she interrupts, but she's not yelling anymore. She's begging, her eyes filling with tears that look genuine for once. "We need this. I need this. Don't you see? It's the only way we can rebuild."
I stand there, torn between my instinct to reject this invasion of privacy and a strange, unexpected thought that's creeping into my mind. There's actually something appealing about being able to see what Summer's doing when I'm not home. Not just to catch her if she's doing something wrong, but to reassure myself that she's really staying.
Part of me even likes the idea of being able to check in on her throughout the day, to know she's keeping her word. After everything that's happened, maybe a little surveillance isn't the worst idea.
"Just for now, okay?" I finally concede with a sigh. "We can try it for a while."
Summer doesn't say anything, just nods with a satisfied expression that tells me she knows she's won this round.
"Oh," she says suddenly, as if just remembering something important. "Before you leave, I got some quotes."
"Quotes?" I ask, confused.
"For the tattoo removal," she explains, grabbing her phone again and opening her email. "The specialist said over the phone, to remove all my tattoos will take about two years."
"Oh yeah?" I respond, processing this information. "Damn, two years?"
"Yeah," she confirms, scrolling through the details. "It'll end up being about ten thousand dollars total."
"Fuck, that's expensive," I blurt out, the amount hitting me like a physical blow.
"Yeah, it's around six-fifty per session," she explains, "and with how much skin damage there is, I need eight weeks between sessions."
I feel a wave of relief wash over me. "Oh, so I don't pay the ten thousand up front?"
"No, just per session," she clarifies.
"Hmm..." I consider this, mentally calculating if I can fit this into my budget. It's not cheap, but it's doable, especially spread out over time.
Summer scrolls through her phone again. "We could also try to cover them up instead," she suggests. "I was thinking maybe butterflies?"
"Oh, uhhhh..." I stammer, not sure how to respond.
She looks up at me, her expression surprisingly neutral. "You want them gone gone?"
I nod slowly, appreciating that she doesn't seem upset by my preference. "I think I can afford six-fifty every two months."
Summer nods, her expression brightening. "I'll schedule the first appointment for Saturday," she says, her fingers already typing on her phone. "That way you won't have to miss work."
"Sounds good," I reply, glancing at the clock. I need to leave soon if I want to avoid traffic.
She looks up at me, her eyes suddenly vulnerable. "I want you there with me, Scott," she says, her voice softening. "For the appointments, I mean."
I pause for a moment. "Oh, okay. Yeah, sure."
"It's just..." She hesitates, fingers fidgeting with the hem of my t-shirt that she's still wearing. "I have so many tattoos to remove, and I think it's going to hurt pretty bad. The specialist said it feels like hot grease splattering on your skin."
"I'm your husband," I say, the words coming easier than I expected. "Of course I'll go with you."