AVERY (The Corbin Brothers Book 2) (10 page)

I didn’t know what it was that made me kiss her, but I did, long and hard, tripping and sending both of us plummeting to the bed. I was helplessly reminded of our sloppy first night together, but this time, neither of us were drunk. We were fucking angry with each other, tearing at each other’s clothes, buttons flying off of Paisley’s shirt, her fingernails digging into my hips as she ripped my pants down.

“You’re fucking stuck with me,” she said, red-faced and wild-haired, angling her hips upward in an attempt to capture my length and push it into herself.

“That door swings both ways.” I slammed into her without a bit of preparation, and she screamed. It had to have hurt her — it had hurt me, that fucking friction — but when I paused, she slapped me right across the face.

“Don’t you dare fucking stop,” she said. “Finish what you’ve started.”

I wasn’t sure what she meant, or who started what, or what we were doing hate fucking each other, but my dick was buried to the hilt in Paisley’s tightness and it had been so long since anything had felt this good — and bad at the same time.

There wasn’t a bit of love in this, raw, the trailer rocking in time to our movements, Paisley screaming in counterpoint, grappling with me, kissing me and biting my lip so hard I was forced to flip her around, on her hands and knees, safely accessible, declawed. I pounded into her, holding on to her hips, brutal and exacting. I didn’t know who had started what anymore, didn’t know anything, just wanted to come and let my orgasm carry me away.

And yet it was Paisley who came first, grabbing at the pillow on the bed and crushing it against her chest, arching her back as it glistened with sweat, gasping, struck wordless at some chord I’d struck deep inside of her. Paisley seized whatever joy she could find in this coupling even though I had been inexcusably rough on her. It took me by surprise, this tightening of her body, and I came with a yelp, the satisfaction I had been building for myself utterly derailed, unraveling until I was out of control, sated and still wanting, not sure what was supposed to happen yet.

I pulled out of her, sat back on the bed, and she trembled for a few moments on all fours before sitting carefully on the opposite end.

“Is that what you needed?” she asked, looking at me with dry, clear eyes, gingerly pulling her clothes back on. “A good, old-fashioned fuck?”

“I …” God, there was never the right words to offer this woman. Anything I could say might be wrong. “That was too rough. I apologize.”

“I like it rough sometimes. You’d know that if you cared to find out.”

“Okay.”

“Stop saying okay to everything I fucking say.”

“O — fuck.”

“Exactly.”

I watched her in silence, trying to put together the enigma that was Paisley, until I remembered my own state of undress and tucked everything back in.

“Do you have something to say to me?” she asked. “Because now’s your chance. I have work to do, and you have drinking to do. Both of us are busy people.”

“I just want to know what you want, Paisley.”

She laughed. “What I want? My goodness. The things I want. Most of them are fairy tales, I’m afraid. But here’s something that’s realistic: I want you to do whatever you think you need to do to stay married to me. I told you that this didn’t have to be bad, but you seem hellbent on it being bad. So do what you want. Do whomever you want. Go where you want. But understand one thing.”

She looked at me hard, close enough to kiss me, but she didn’t.

“That’s the door that swings both ways, Avery.”

I didn’t know what she meant until I saw her that night at the bar, dressed in the tiniest dress I’d ever seen in my life. She was laughing and throwing back shots with a group of men, cheering them on in their stupid drinking games, pumping her arms in the air, her breasts jiggling , the only thing keep her ass above the hem of the dress her constant tugging at it.

An idiot could understand her game, and I was that idiot. If I got to stay out until all hours, come home drunk, and wake up the next morning as if nothing had happened, so did she.

I sat down at my usual barstool and tried to ponder that, tried to figure out how I felt about this new phase of our marriage. This is what I’d been doing to her. What she was doing now was her business.

Then, one of the men she was drinking with turned to look toward the exit and my heart stopped. It was none other than Joe Durham, the boy who’d driven elementary-aged Paisley nearly to tears, bullying her about her mother, her appearance, her hobbies, and just about anything else he could think of. He’d been a big, oversized boy, and he’d transformed into a big, oversized man. Maybe she didn’t realize it was him, that she was actually socializing with her tormentor. But then she turned to him, laughed extra loud and long, and laid her slim, manicured hand on his arm.

I couldn’t hardly explain the feelings that raged inside of me. The first one I recognized was jealousy. Paisley was mine, even if sometimes I wished she wasn’t. She shouldn’t even be here, out at the bar by herself. Beyond that, she shouldn’t have even been talking to other guys.

The next was outrage. Why Joe Durham? What did he have that I didn’t? I’d inherited the Corbin good looks, even if I hadn’t inherited the Corbin love and passion for ranching. Did she favor Joe over me? Did she like her men big and beefy and dumb instead of lean and blond and capable?

And then, thankfully, outrage subsided into guilt. Paisley was out here because I wasn’t a good husband to her. She deserved to have attention paid to her, for people to laugh with her and buy her drinks and want to spend time with her. She was gorgeous whether she chose to do her makeup and wear a dress and heels, or if she just slapped some sunscreen on her face and wore jeans and a T-shirt on the ranch. She was beautiful now, laughing and looking like she was genuinely enjoying herself.

I was an asshole. I was an asshole and a terrible husband.

Partly indignant and partly eager to try and set things right — or at least push the situation toward the path of being right — I left my barstool and walked over to join the party.

“I see you’re having a good time,” I said, clearing my throat at Paisley, who jumped but didn’t look especially surprised to see me here. She might not have seen me come in. But this was my haunt, after all, not hers.

“Well, look who it is!” she exclaimed. “You all know my husband, don’t you? Avery Corbin?”

Of course everyone knew me. If they didn’t know me personally, they knew Corbin Ranch. They knew my family name.

“Avery, you remember Joe, don’t you?” she asked, patting the enormous man’s shoulder. “Joe Durham, from elementary school?”

For fuck’s sake. She apparently did know exactly who he was. Why was she so much as giving him the time of day?

“I remember,” I said, nodding curtly at him. He held out his hand almost grudgingly, but I shook my head at him. I couldn’t be sure as to why my wife was forcing this interaction, but I wasn’t about to be chummy with a guy whose ass I’d kicked for a noble cause. I didn’t care how long ago it was.

“Well, Joe’s back in town visiting his folks,” Paisley continued, oblivious to or perhaps thoroughly enjoying my discomfort. “I suggested we catch up. Isn’t it funny to see how we’ve all changed through the years? You’ll never guess what he’s been up to.”

“Can I talk to you for a second?” I asked, plastering what was probably a sickly smile on my face for appearances’ sake.

“And ruin our party?” She pouted. “What’s so important that you’re being such a party foul?”

“Yeah, don’t be a party foul, Corbin,” Joe said, leering at me. “Paisley can do whatever she wants — isn’t that right, Paisley?”

“That is very right, Joe,” she said, patting him fiercely on the head like she might’ve if he were a pet dog. He didn’t seem to mind the contact. In fact, he looked like he liked it — or perhaps liked the way it was making me distinctly uncomfortable.

“Paisley can do whatever she wants,” I said as patiently as I could manage. Seeing her in that dress was such a distraction, especially remembering how I’d taken her, bent over, in my trailer. Could she even fit underwear beneath that dress? It would be easy just to take her out to the truck and satisfy whatever strange craving I was feeling. It was a touch barbaric, the urge to reassert my marriage by forceful, impassioned fucking in a vehicle, but that was about where I was at with Paisley. It was vexing.

“I’ll drink to that!” Paisley cheered. “Paisley can do whatever the fuck she wants!”

She drained what remained of her cocktail, and I wondered if I had ever seen her this drunk before. She always seemed like she liked to stay in control, but tonight, she was out of it, stumbling in her too-tall heels, leaning against everything and everyone in a desperate bid to remain upright.

“Would Paisley like to have a quick and private word with me out in the parking lot, maybe?” I asked, keeping my tone as even as I was able to.

“She already says she doesn’t want to talk to you, genius,” Joe said, standing up. Well. His height had finally caught up with his girth. He was nearly as tall as I was, now.

“Remember,” I said lightly waving my finger in his face. “The game is that Paisley gets to do what she wants. She doesn’t need your help to determine that.”

“You think you own her,” Joe said. “That’s what she told me. That’s a hell of a thing to make a woman think.”

I looked at Paisley with raised eyebrows, and her eyes twinkled in merriment. The idea that I would try to convince her that I owned her — or would even want to try and do such a thing — was downright laughable. She was having fun making a fool out of Joe, but she was making a fool out of me at the same time.

“No one owns Paisley Summers,” I informed Joe. “I just happen to be married to her.”

“You don’t sound very excited about that,” he said. “If I’d married Paisley, I’d tell anyone who listened.”

“That’s because it would be such an anomaly for her to marry someone like you,” I said.

“What the fuck is an anomaly?” Joe demanded, getting up in my face as Paisley laughed her head off in the background. I was glad someone was finding this so funny. It was looking more and more like I was going to have to repeat a lesson I thought Joe had already learned back in elementary school.

The strange thing was that it wouldn’t have been an anomaly for Paisley to marry someone like Joe. From the shine of the watch on his wrist, even though I didn’t know much about those kinds of things, I could tell he was doing well for himself. His clean fingernails illustrated the fact that he didn’t work with his hands like us ranchers did. What had he been up to? Why had Paisley reconnected with him? The thought gave me a shot of hot, ugly jealousy right to the chest, making my heart pump.

“Are you going to answer me, or am I going to beat it out of you?” Joe demanded, reclaiming my attention.

“The only thing you’re going to be beating is your own cock when you go home alone,” I informed him. “Whatever you’re doing right now isn’t a good idea.” That last sentence was also directed to Paisley, but she was apparently having too much fun orchestrating all this drama to let a little thing like dignity stop her from what she was doing.

“You all are both so much bigger now than last time,” she said. “I wonder if the outcome will be the same or different?”
“I’d be more than happy to try and figure it out for you,” Joe said.

“I would like to avoid that,” I said. “A recess scrap in elementary school is one thing. A bar fight is another.”

“You’re scared,” he taunted.

“No. I’m just smarter now, though you seemed to have suffered a setback in that department.”

Joe cocked his fist back and my stomach sank. I really, really hadn’t wanted to get into a fight tonight. I dodged his wild punch and stepped back, holding my hands up, palms outward, in what I hoped was a sign I wanted to placate him.

“I’ll leave you all to your party,” I said. “I hope you enjoy yourselves.”

“What did you even want to talk to me about before?” Paisley asked, looking a little disappointed that she wasn’t going to get the rematch she’d been wanting to see.

“It’s not important anymore,” I lied.

“Just tell me,” she said impatiently. “What was so important that you were trying to interrupt our party so rudely in the first place?”

I gritted my teeth. “I just wanted to tell you that I had never seen you wear that dress before, and that I thought you looked very nice in it.”

She blinked, surprised. It obviously wasn’t what she’d expected me to say. Hell, I hadn’t even expected that I’d say that. It wasn’t a lie. She did look good in the dress, even if it wasn’t in my particular taste. But what I’d really wanted to figure out was just what the hell Paisley was trying to do. This wasn’t like her. Reconnecting Joe was a deliberate prod at me. She couldn’t have enjoyed being with him. He’d made her feel like shit when we were kids, and it was something I didn’t think she was willing to forget.

If I had to guess, it was a ploy to make me jealous, to show me what I was missing out on because I couldn’t get past the fact that ours was a marriage of economics, not genuine desire.

The thing that rubbed me the wrong way was that Paisley had gotten it right. I was jealous.