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Chapter Fifteen
Sweat from his workout had already dried, giving his skin an itchy, sticky sensation that usually drove him crazy. He needed a shower. A good long shower to wash the grime of travel and the sweat of exertion.
But Elizabeth was working out, and that meant he had to stay.
Well, he didn't have to stay. She hadn't asked him to, and it wasn't as though there were people in the gym that could potentially bother her. No annoyingly chatty chicks. No creepy dudes looking at her and adjusting their junk every five seconds.
Still, he stayed. Partially because he wanted to. And partially because chatty chicks and creepy dudes could show up at any time.
Mainly, though, he stayed because she looked fucking hot.
Hair up, face determined as she went through the various portions of her workout. He didn't interrupt her, or try to give her tips, because she obviously knew what she was doing. She had earphones tucked in her ears anyway. And even he wasn't tacky enough to break that bit of gym etiquette.
He was pretty sure it was illegal to interrupt a gym goer who was listening to music.
So, after he'd gone through what the hotel's gym had to offer, after he'd finished a brisk run on the treadmill, he'd downed a couple bottles of water, stretched, then parked himself on an empty bench to watch her.
He could see beads of sweat rolling down her neck. She was on the treadmill now, and he let his gaze slither down her body. So much sweat, he mused, lightly bouncing his leg. Her shirt was more wet than dry, and the little shorts clinging to her appeared to be damp. Even her legs were sweaty, as evidenced by the sheen that made her calves glisten.
Chewing on the inside of his bottom lip, he swept his gaze upward, pausing to enjoy the rhythmic bounce of her ass before settling on the bounce of her tits. It was much more pronounced and mesmerizing. Also dangerous, he realized, mentally thanking his baggy shorts.
But fuck, it had been a while. When their plane had landed there had been a ridiculous wait for baggage, then another wait to check in. They hadn't even slept in the same room. Roman had dragged him out of bed so he could get his ass in gear, and here he was.
Getting turned on watching a woman run on the treadmill.
He checked the time. Still early – not even eight. After lunch he, Seth, and Roman were due at Headquarters. Which left him with plenty of time for that shower. And, more importantly, plenty of time to get some action.
He just hoped she didn't have plans.
Jerking his head up when he saw her straddle the treadmill, he forced his thoughts away from how much he wanted to see her bend over. Instead, he finished his third bottle of water, trying his best to appear nonchalant.
She turned off the treadmill. Jumped down, mopping sweat from her face. Her towel swiped down her neck, then she was picking up her water. He hated the way his mouth went dry at the sight of her lips puckering around the mouth of the bottle. There was probably a reason that she affected him more than any woman ever had before, but he didn't want to delve into that.
Not now, when she was walking towards him.
"You didn't have to wait for me," she chided.
A droplet of water clung to her bottom lip. He watched it wobble as he pushed himself to his feet. Fuck decorum and all that other shit people tried uselessly to beat into his brain, he decided, dipping his head. His tongue swiped her bottom lip then dipped into her mouth when she opened it in surprise. She tasted like sweat and coffee and the cigarette they'd shared outside before coming to the gym.
"Dean…" Her voice was a breathy little moan, guaranteed to make him hard.
"Need you," he muttered, nipping at her bottom lip before pulling back. She was flushed from her workout, but her eyes were a little wider. And, he noted with a slow grin, her nipples were hard.
"My room," she blurted.
They took the stairs – because fuck waiting – and he marveled that with just two words she turned him into an impatient teenager again. He practically bounded up the stairs, pushing himself to go faster, one word repeating itself like a mantra the entire time.
Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex.
The corridor was deserted so he had no qualms about walking directly behind her, hand on her hip. At her door he let his hands wander, enjoying the little gasps as she fumbled with the card. He pulled her flush against him and began to rock his hips. Not that doing so alleviated the storm of desire that flooded his body. If anything, it only increased it.
She opened the door, slammed it as soon as they were inside. Turning to face him, she grabbed a handful of his hoodie and pulled him into the bathroom. "Just a quick shower," she whispered between fervent kisses as they began to strip. "To get the sweat off."
"So we can get sweat again?" he asked with a chuckle. Not waiting for her to get her sports bra off all the way, he leaned down to catch a puckered nipple between his teeth. He rolled it gently, reaching to push her shorts down. She whined, wriggled out of her bra, then grabbed at his head. Encouraged, he nudged her shorts down to her thighs. He could taste her sweat and, moaning, sucked hard at her nipple. Gentleness forgotten, he pushed a hand between her legs, palmed her. She was slick, hot, and her sharp moan filled the room as he began to stroke her clit. Releasing her nipple with a pop, he kissed up her chest, tongue caressing her flesh in time with the finger on her clit. He felt her pulse pounding just beneath her ear. "Is your pussy dirty, Lizzie?"
Her fingernails dragged over his shoulders. "N-no."
"I think it is." He continued his slow, steady stroking, his other hand pushing her shorts down beyond her knees. Feeling her kick them off, he leaned back slightly. "Don't worry, we'll get it clean. Help me get my shorts off, Sweetheart."
She did so, trembling, starting to rock her hips just a little. One hand gently grasped his cock. A smirk played at her lips when he groaned. And, just when he thought she was going to forgo the shower, she withdrew completely. It cost her; he could tell by the way she shivered once there was space between them. "Come on," she managed, in that breathy little moan.
Dean finished kicking off his shorts and joined her in the shower. He snatched the curtain closed while she turned on the water, the pulled her to him. "I'm gonna be selfish," he mumbled against her lips, grabbing her hand and placing it on his dick.
"Oh?" Hissing as the water hit her back, she moved to the side a bit. She gripped him, gentle yet firm, and began to stroke.
"Yeah. See, I need to cum." The spray of water landed on his cock, and he was pretty sure he saw stars. "Fuck… Lizzie, help me cum. Then I'll behave while we wash—" he cut off when he heard her snort, grinning. "Yeah, I never behave. Anyway, if I have to stand in here with you all wet and naked rubbing up against me, I'll pop as soon as my boy pokes into you."
She pressed her face to his chest and actually laughed. "You've got such a way with words," she sighed. Even though she could have been disgusted, she placed feather-soft kisses over his skin. "But… First…"
"Hmm?" He shifted his stance, the hand over hers urging her to move just a bit faster.
"We have to get it clean," she whispered, biting down gently on his nipple.
"We—What—You—Huh?" he babbled, jaw dropping when she released him.
"If I'm going to put your dick in my mouth—"
"You are?" he blurted, louder than intended. She hadn't before. Gotten him going with her hand, yeah, had even kissed all the way down to his hip, but she'd never gone down on him. Which, now that he thought about it, was strange to him. Not the fact that she hadn't, but the fact that he hadn't asked for it. In all previous relationships, blowjobs had been mandatory. If he were brutally honest, a woman's oral talent was typically exhibited before anything else sexual. Because, in his experience, it was easy to teach a chick how to fuck. Sucking dick, well, that was a natural talent. He could give pointers, make requests, but unless she had the ability it was a waste of time.
He didn't know why he hadn't done the old nudge and nod with Elizabeth. Usually he was just too damned impatient to get inside her. And, yeah, some part of his brain knew that pushing down on her head while unzipping his jeans wouldn't go over too well.
"You look like a fat kid that got locked in a candy store overnight," she mused, her laugh a playful tune that he could listen to all day. Leaning up, she offered a sweet kiss, then reached behind him for something on the little shelf. "To answer your question: yes, I am going to put your dick in my mouth. Besides, it's only fair. You're always going down on me, why shouldn't I return the favor?"
He wouldn't say he was always going down on her. He was pretty sure there were at least three times they'd had sex that he hadn't gone down on her. And even if he did, it wasn't his fault that her pussy tasted so damned good, was it? Fuck, if he could bottle that taste and sell it he'd be a billionaire in no time. Just thinking about how she tasted made his mouth start to water. The sweetest honey mixed with strawberries and cream, a dash of cinnamon, and a ton of her screams – fuck yes please please please oh god don't stop don't stop oh fuck oh fuck fuck fuck just like that yes oh god yes right there Dean!
Grunting when she gently pushed at his chest, he leaned back against the cool tile. He could only watch in awe as she squeezed his dick then released it. Holding a bottle of shower gel with both hands, she drizzled a line from base to tip. Then, she squeezed a dollop into the palm of her hand. Pushing the bottle into his grasp, she gave him a magnificent smile and gently cupped his balls.
"Shit," he gasped, tossing the bottle aside when she began to massage him. Lather grew, foaming around the base of his dick, and he nodded encouragingly, licking his lips. "You can be a little harder, Lizzie."
She clutched, drawing a moan from deep in his chest, then released. Once more, then her soapy hand glided up, gripping the base of his cock. She held on as though it were a lifeline, squeezing as she began to stroke.
"Faster," he ground out between clenched teeth. Immediately she set a delirious rhythm that had his head falling back. Fuck. If she kept it up she wouldn't have to worry about putting his dick in her mouth. Too many more strokes and he'd be spurting on whatever part of her body was closest. "Lizzie—Fuck," he whined when she suddenly let go.
Elizabeth shifted to one side and the water cascaded down on him. She cupped her hands together, collecting water and letting it go just above him, repeating the movements until the last of the bubbles trailed down his thighs.
"Shit," he panted. His blood was crashing through his veins, what little hadn't gone south to his dick. He needed to cum. At this point it wouldn't take much. If she just kissed the tip he'd go over the edge. A moan started its way from his chest, strangling in his throat when she firmly pinched the tip. She held fast, not speaking or moving until his breath had calmed. "Lizzie," he murmured once he could speak again. She'd deflected his orgasm, and judging by the little smile playing at her lips she was pleasantly surprised.
"I've got you," she promised softly, going to her knees in front of him. The spray of water now landed directly on the back of her head. Sensing discomfort, he reached over to adjust the direction of the flow until a light mist was all that landed on her. She smiled her thanks, trailed her tongue over his hip, then dragged it up his length.
His toes curled when she guided just the tip into her mouth. Holding the base with one hand, cupping his balls with the other, she moved slowly down. Her movements were fluid, the ripple of her tongue underneath was perfect, and the amount of suction provided was just enough to render him speechless. He braced a hand on the wall for support as she moved back up at a sluggish speed. "Faster," he whispered, the hand not holding him up reaching down to lightly caress her cheek. She leaned against his palm, loosened her mouth. Her tongue dragged up the sensitive flesh, then flicked over the tip rapidly while her fist began to stroke him hard and fast. "C'mon, Lizzie… That's it…"
The back of his head met the tile wall with a dull thud. She now moved rapidly, following her fist down and holding it for half a second before coming back up. His fingers slid into her wet hair, tangling in the strands, gripping the back of her head. Not that she needed guidance. But she moaned when his fingers dug in, a soft 'mm-hmm' noise that assured him all was well. His knees grew weak when he felt the back of her throat. Tightening his grip on her head, he urged her farther down, slowly, until she had taken all of his cock.
Her hands moved to his hips, their relaxed state a sign that she was alright. He held her down, not that she was trying to get away, until she swallowed around him. "Christ," he hissed, relaxing his fingers so she could get some relief. The tip of his dick resting on her lips, gasping for breath, she gazed up at him. "I'm right fucking there," he whispered, gently massaging her scalp. "One, maybe two more strokes like that, and you'll have a mouthful."
She nodded, drew in a deep breath, and went down without assistance. Dean's knees began to tremble, his abdomen grew taut. She moved halfway up, and just before his eyes rolled back she moved down again, her tongue and throat fluttering wildly.
"Lizzie!" The shout was ripped from him as his entire body tightened. Each nerve thrummed with delight, light exploding behind his eyelids. His balls clenched, and he felt his cock start to throb. She began to draw back and, powerless to do anything else, he whined, only to shout when her tongue and lips gave all their attention to the sensitive tip. He forced his eyes to open, watched in delight as she parted her lips, holding the tip just inside her mouth as he began to cum.
A lifetime later, when his senses began to return, he pulled her up to her feet. His lips met hers in a gentle kiss and he sighed into her mouth, letting his hands trail down her wet back. She sighed in return, hands on his cheeks. The drone of the water falling was the only sound and he enjoyed the silence, carefully placing his reverence and appreciation in the kiss.
"You're amazing," he whispered after several moments had passed.
"If you insist." She reached behind him again, then motioned to the showerhead. "Fix that for me?"
He did so, then remain half-slumped against the wall. Looking on as she washed then conditioned her hair, simply enjoying the show, he waited until he was sure he could stand upright without looking like a newborn jackass. Even then he tested himself before remaining standing, and slipped the shower gel bottle from her hands. He eyed the label, then shot her a quick grin. "Thank you for not having something that smells like fruit. Or cookies."
"I have some of that," she laughed, pushing her wet hair out of her face. "But this is what I grabbed out of the suitcase."
"Turn around," he instructed, squeezing some of the gel into his hand. When her back was to him, he set the bottle down and stepped forward, smoothing his palm from her hip to just beneath her breasts. He then used both hands, spreading the gel and working it into a full lather. He kept his attention on her abdomen, stomach, and sides, his chin resting on her shoulder so he could admire his work. Her hands rested lightly on his wrists for a while. Then she scooped some lather upward, covering her breasts with the bubbles. Whether it was an attempt to get him to pay attention to that part of her body or not, he enjoyed the show, biting his lip while her fingers slipped and stuttered over her hard nipples. His hands glided up to take hold of her breasts, and he gave the puckered flesh several hard strokes while nuzzling her neck. She leaned back against him, starting to breathe harder, only to groan when he held out one hand. "Gimme some more gel."
She did so, and he made a show of rubbing his palms together before once again sliding his hands along her stomach and abdomen. This time, though, he didn't stop. One hand moved up to toy with her breasts, the other down. Cupping her, he worked his lathered fingers back and forth over her mound, enjoying the eager sounds she made.
"I told you, we have to get your pussy clean," he whispered in her ear. He could feel the desire start to churn within him again. It was a low pulse, though, and he was secure in the knowledge that he could spend a long time working to please her. Spreading his fingers, he teased her clit with his thumb.
"Shit," she growled when he stopped.
"Open your legs a little more. Just like that," he encouraged. Releasing her breast, he lightly patted her thigh before holding onto her hip to keep her still. She had a tendency to wiggle quite a bit. Spreading her with his fingers, he massaged her gently, ignoring the pleading sounds she made. He worked slowly, methodically, until nearly all the soap was gone from his hand. Then he held it out again, the hand on her hip moving forward to cup her. "A little bit more."
Chest heaving, she did so, dropping the bottle with a shriek when he began flicking her clit rapidly with his middle finger. She grabbed his arm with both hands, nails biting into his flesh. The hand full of soap slipped between their bodies, and either she didn't notice or didn't care when he began to rub her ass. If anything, she seemed to move to grant him easier access. He continued to work hard on her clit, occasionally dipping his finger inside her, while he used the lather to aid his exploration of her backside.
His fingers found the puckered hole and he lightly caressed it, starting to finger her pussy in earnest. Pressing down on her clit with his thumb, he turned their bodies to the side so the bubbles would wash away. Elizabeth leaned forward, fingers splaying on the tile wall, causing his heart to lurch at how trusting she was of him. His desire grew tenfold, but he continued his ministrations, pulling his hand away from her ass so he could make sure all the bubbles were cleared.
Her thighs began to shake. Over the water he heard her breathing become sharp, disjointed. He kept up the rhythmic pumping of his fingers as he stared at the muscles on her back ripple. She went up on her tiptoes and her body went rigid. A deafening cry filled the shower. He kept going, amazed by how tight she got while she came. Urging his fingers as deep as possible, he stilled, free hand on her hip to hold her upright when she seemed ready to crumple. He moved his thumb in slow, fluttery circles over her clit, hooking his fingers inside her. A scream tore from her. Her back arched. Her hands slapped against the wall. She squirmed, tried to get away, then screamed again as her body writhed.
The flood of hot juices practically pushed his fingers out of her, and it wasn't until he pulled them out that she began to quake. He moved to rub her clit again but she sobbed, shaking her head, trying her best to dodge his attempts.
Wrapping his arms around her, he drew her close, turned her around to face him, unsure what else to do or what he could say as more sobs came, muffled against his chest. He gently shushed her, lightly rubbing her back when more tremors rocked through her. "Sweetheart…" He pressed as gentle a kiss to her forehead as possible when she looked up at him. "You okay?"
"Mmm." Her smile was dazed, and her eyes still held the wild, sparkling aura of desire. Nodding, she cuddled closer to him, sucking in a deep breath. "Mm-hmm."
"You sure?" he chuckled, stepping back under the water to rinse anymore bubbles from their bodies as best he could.
"Mm-hmm." Her lips met his chest, right over his heart. With a blissful sigh, she raised her head to look at him again. "That was magnificent."
"I aim to please," he reminded, unable to keep the silly grin from appearing. "And," he added, reaching for the shampoo so he could was his hair, "I ain't finished yet."
"What time do you have to be at Headquarters?"
It was, possibly, the worst possible time to ask such a question. But the words were out now. And, at any rate, Dean didn't seem to mind. He held up a finger, lips still fused to her hip, then dragged his teeth over her flesh, eliciting a squeal. Lifting his head, he looked at the mark he'd created. He tapped it with his finger then met her eyes.
"After lunch. Why?"
Elizabeth glanced to the clock on the nightstand. "Just curious," she answered upon noting that there were at least three more hours before he had to go. Four if they were lucky.
"Hmm." His lips were on her hip again, sucking as one would a thick milkshake through a straw. The rasp of his facial hair sent a shiver down her spine. Shifting the leg that that wasn't pinned beneath him, she rested her foot on his back.
"Dean!" she yelped when he began to suck harder at her skin.
Breaking the suction, he traced the spot with his tongue. "Did that hurt?"
"It was starting to. Why are you doing that, anyway?" she asked, breath catching in her chest as his hand cupped her knee.
"I like to," he answered simply, turning to kiss the thigh of her propped-up leg. "It makes you squeal…" His breath fanned over her flesh, then his tongue traced a series of tiny circles. "It's a little symbol that I've been treating you right…" He pushed her knee so her legs were open wider. Heated breath fanned over sensitive flesh, and she glimpsed his pleased smirk as she moaned. "And it makes you so fucking wet, Lizzie…"
"You make me so fucking wet," she corrected. Leaning her weight onto one elbow, she reached down, dragging her fingers through his hair. One gentle tug had him rising. Already beyond ready for him, she bit her lip, dropped her hand, and wondered if he'd let her on top— "Dean!"
He didn't pause in his gentle lapping, but stayed there only a moment. Moving up her body, he kept his hand on her thigh, urging her legs further apart. "Couldn't resist," he mumbled just before kissing her. Tongue gliding over hers, he guided her knee to rest at his hip. "Taste that?" he whispered, moaning when she nodded. "See how damn good you taste?"
"It's… Almost sweet," she decided after another kiss.
"Almost, my ass," he muttered, reaching between their bodies. He spread her, rubbed his finger back and forth along her slit. Shifting so he lay on his side beside her, he brought his finger to her mouth. "Taste."
She did. Tentatively at first, her tongue barely touching the tip of his finger. Then, noting the way his eyes darkened, and realizing that it didn't taste half bad, she drew his finger into her mouth, sucking it clean. "Not bad," she whispered, pressing a kiss to his palm.
"Y'know…" He didn't object when she rolled to face him, nor when she managed to push him onto his back. Hands landing carelessly on her thighs once she straddled his waist, he gave a shrug. "I never would have thought you'd become so… Sexual."
"Sexual?" she repeated, raising an eyebrow.
"Yeah. I mean, I remember you getting pissed because the writers wanted Ziggler to smack you on the ass." He playfully tweaked a nipple.
"Yeah, well, two things. One: Ziggler's a scumball." She tweaked both his nipples in retaliation. "Two: When that happened, I was sexually repressed."
"Fair enough." He lightly slapped her ass, then gave it a squeeze, a chuckle reverberating in his chest when she gave a tiny squeal. "So I can smack your ass?"
"You already have, quite a few times." Leaning down, she propped her elbows on his chest. Sex in itself was great and wonderful and brought her unimaginable pleasure, but this… This carnival of kissing, touching, exploring, was nice too. More than nice, really. She had never felt as close to John as she did to Dean in these moments.
"He's not allowed in here," Dean whispered. She jerked her head up and he kissed her chin. "You went… I don't know. Your eyes changed, or something. He's not allowed in here with us, okay?"
"Okay," she promised. "What is allowed in here with us?"
"Just you… Me… A few pillows… Maybe some music… Lube…" As he rattled off the answer, he began to alternate between squeezing and slapping her ass.
"Why do we need pillows and lube?"
"Pillows help support different positions. Like… Say I want to fuck you like this." He flipped her onto her back. Grabbing her ankles, he held her legs together and straight up, her back flat against the mattress. Kneeling in front of her, he indicated the disparity in the way their bodies were aligned. "So, we grab a couple pillows…" He leaned forward, taking the pillows from the head of the bed. Figuring out what he meant to do, she lifted her hips, and he grinned while tucking both pillows beneath her. "See?" he asked, voice ragged. Holding an ankle in each hand, he eased her legs apart, arching forward so his cock lay along her slit. "Less strain on me when I want to go balls-deep in that sweet little pussy of yours…" He released one ankle and reached down, spreading her. "Mm, you are so fucking wet for me…" He adjusted his cock and began to lightly thrust, sliding along her slick folds. Hand returning to her ankle, he closed her legs once again.
"Oh fuck," she blurted, the sensation familiar yet new to her.
"And say your legs start aching from being up… Or maybe you've already cum and I've got a way to go." His hands dropped to her waist and he guided her around, adjusting the pillows beneath her hips. She cried out, lamenting the friction, and glanced back to see him working his hand up and down his shaft. "This way you won't get achy and tired." He leaned over her, tip of his dick brushing against her entrance. "And I can fuck you all night long if need be."
"Can you?" she whispered, trying to move back so he would enter her.
"Can you handle it?" he asked, teeth scraping her shoulder.
"Yes," she decided firmly, muffling a growl against the comforter when he sat back. Forcing the haze of desire away, she rolled onto her back and stretched her arms above her head. "…And the lube?"
"What about it?"
"Why do we need that?"
"Well, you never know. You've got a cold and I'm horny. What do you do?"
She rolled her eyes. The man was always horny. So was she, now. "I take some non-drowsy medicine and have sex with you. Or at the least give you a blowjob."
"Really?"
"Isn't that what a good lover would do?"
"Fuck, in my experience, a good lover squirts a little lube on her hand and jerks me off. An okay lover doesn't bitch if I want to watch porn while I jerk myself."
"What does that make me, then?"
"It makes you… You." A shrug. "And you, Lizzie, are a great lover."
"So are you." Their hands met; their fingers twined. "Why else would we need lube?"
"You're horny and I'm sick," he answered.
"Please," she snorted. "Unless you were in a coma or at death's door, you'd power through just so you could get some sex."
His laugh was sudden, loud, and tinged with joy. "You're a smart cookie, Lizzie."
"I…" It wasn't the right time, but she had realized that when with Dean, there never was a right time to say or ask anything remotely serious. So it was always best just to speak the words. "I've decided to file for divorce."
"Yeah? Good." In a rare show of sweetness, he lifted her hands to his lips and pressed a kiss to each knuckle. "When did you decide this?"
"At the airport. When you were drooling on my shoulder." Smiling when he rolled his eyes, she waited until he'd moved up and was lying beside her again. "I did a little research, made up my mind, and here I am. I have to file from Massachusetts, so when I have dinner with Stephanie I'll see if knows of a good lawyer. Or maybe she knows someone who knows of a good lawyer that can help me."
"You're having dinner—"
"I mean, I'm not going to fight the pre-nup. I don't want his money. I hardly touched the allowance or whatever you call it, because I brought a little of my own money with me. And I've made pretty good money in WWE. Sure, I won't be flying first class all the time and won't have four houses to choose from, but I won't be destitute—"
"Wait," he grunted, gently clapping a hand over her mouth. "I have three questions."
Raising an eyebrow, she motioned for him to go ahead.
"You're having dinner with Stephanie tonight?" He moved his hand, but his fingers remained on her cheek.
"Yes. She invited me to have dinner with her and Trip-er, Paul." In her mind, Paul Levesque was, always had been, and always would be, Triple H. "Why?
"I was invited to dinner too." He shook his head, amusement lighting his eyes. "Tell me they're not matchmaking."
"I think Stephanie suspects already." At his look of confusion, she gave him a brief rundown of her conversation with the older woman the night before. "Which reminds me, I have to go talk to Travel. But—"
"Second question. You got an allowance?"
She blinked in surprise, then nodded. "He arranged it shortly after we got married. A few thousand a month is automatically deposited in my account. I only use it in an emergency."
"Is it yours if you divorce?"
"According to the pre-nup it is." Distracted by the way his thumb smoothed over the back of her hand, she sighed. There were far better ways they could be spending their time together. Yet there she was, lying naked in bed discussing her pre-nuptial agreement and upcoming divorce. "Didn't you have another question?"
"Why four houses?" he grumbled.
"Well… The main place is in Boston. It's close to his family. There's the house in Tampa, which we got when I started spending a lot of time down there for training."
"They trained you? To wrestle?"
She laughed, shaking her head. "No. They suggested it when I was signed, but I said no. The training was mainly interview tactics, facial expressions, color commentary, and ring announcing. I still go down there a couple times a year to talk shop with Regal or sit in on some training for announcers."
"Where are the other two houses?" he murmured.
"LA. He was going to be a big movie star, you know. And the penthouse in New York." Frowning when he released her hand, she swore she felt a chill when he slipped off the bed. "What?"
"Where are you going to live?" He crossed the room, unashamed of his nudity, and plucked the room service menu off the small desk.
"I haven't thought about that. I have to talk to a lawyer first, then discuss things with Stephanie. If nothing else, I can crash at my parents' house the two or three days a week that I'm not on the road." Realizing that sex was probably not going to happen anytime soon, she began pulling the loosened top sheet around her naked form.
"You can crash at my place if you're in that area."
"Really?"
"Yeah. It's just the place I shower in a couple times a month." Perusing the menu, he began chewing on the complimentary pen. "Just don't fill it with your shit or move my stuff around."
Awed, she simply stared at him for a moment. Then the worry began. It created a knot in her belly, and she began chewing on her thumbnail.
"Now what?" he asked.
She glanced up, surprised to see he was standing by the bed again. "What?"
"You look like someone kicked your puppy."
"I just… You… And… We…" Groaning, she rubbed a hand over her face as though that would clear her muddled thoughts. "What if something goes wrong?"
He blinked, the pen hanging from the corner of his mouth. "…Such as?"
"You deciding you don't want me around anymore."
"Well, if that happens, then I ask for your key back and we both go on about our lives." He bent down, brushing a kiss over her frowning lips. "But that's not going to happen tomorrow, or the next day, so stop worrying."
"But, what if—"
"What if you just say 'thank you, Dean' and we order an early lunch?" he suggested, kissing her again.
"It's not eleven yet, why—"
"Ugh. Women. Always asking why. What if. How. Christ on a cracker, can't you just accept some things and move on?"
She scowled. "That was a pretty heavy generalization there, Ambrose."
"Yeah? What are you gonna do about it, Lizzie?"
"I still fucking hate that," she grumbled, lightly swatting his arm.
"Too fucking bad," he grumbled in return, gently tapping the pen against her cheek. "'Cause you know what?"
"What?" she asked, snatching the menu from him so she could make a selection.
"Women always love my nicknames for them." He poked her collarbone with the pen. And, when she shrieked, he grabbed the menu.
"You don't give them a chance to say they hate your nicknames," she retorted, yanking the menu back.
"Quit stealing my shit!" He made to grab for it, but she scooted across the bed, holding it behind her back. Kneeling on the edge of the mattress, he tilted his head.
"My room, my shit," she announced defiantly. "So technically, you stole it first. Now back off, or—"
"What?" he pressed when she stopped. "What are you going to do, Lizzie? Run?"
She latched onto that idea. "Yes! I'll run!" Clutching the sheet to her, she continued to back up. He shook his head, grabbed the corner of the sheet. Gasping when he began to tug, she pitifully attempted to kick his hand away. "Stop!"
"Nope." He gave a good, hard yank, successfully dragging her to the middle of the bed.
"This isn't fair. You're stronger than I am." She tried again to kick his hand away, only to have her ankle caught in a firm grasp.
"You're stronger than you make out to be." He guided her leg around his waist, did the same to her other leg, and reached for her hands.
The menu dropped to the floor as his lips crashed against hers. "I'm not," she argued, not objecting when he stretched her arms above her head.
"Still want me to stop?" he whispered, pinning her arms with one hand as the other began to pull at the sheet.
In answer, she tightened her legs around his waist, wriggling to free herself of the cumbersome sheet. Once it fell open and he lay over her, she sighed blissfully. She arched, hopeful.
"What do you want?" His voice was still a whisper, his breath hot against her ear.
"You," she breathed.
"Oh, you're getting me, Lizzie." He pushed up a little, spreading the menu open across her chest. "I'm talking about lunch, though."