Still, I paid for it with my own money. I wanted it to be my bike. Not that we really had “mine” or “his” after we got married, but he insisted that I keep part of my paycheck in a separate account. I’d never said anything about it, but somehow Ruger knew—instinctively—that I needed to feel like I could take care of myself.

Having my own money helped with that.


I planned to use most of it for school for the kids, but every once in a while I treated us to something special. I’d taken him to Hawaii for our second anniversary, which had been a good investment, because I’d come home with Faith as a souvenir. I’d wondered if having a baby in the house would distance Ruger and Noah, but if anything they’d gotten closer. Every day Noah turned into more of a young man, and Ruger was a big part of that.

After a few minutes, I reached the end of the road and considered whether or not to turn back. I hadn’t really put the bike through her paces—and she was definitely a she, I felt like we were sisters already—but I knew this was killing Ruger.

I smiled, feeling just a little evil.

Part of me wanted to just take off, feel the freedom and let him dangle for a while. It’d piss him off, but seriously … angry sex with my man was pretty damned good. I toyed with the idea, but turned the bike around and headed back toward the house instead.

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Baby steps.

No need to scare him too much in one day, after all.

Best to save something for tomorrow, just in case he got out of line.

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