Page 145 of Vow to Claim You

He stares at me for a long moment before his lips lift in the corner. “I’m not an insecure man, Ayanna.” His husky voice sends shivers down my spine, no matter how many times I’ve heard it. “I can host a man who’d devour you with his eyes, even a hundred of them, and I’d enjoy the look of having you on my arm. Letting them see that you’re mine.”

One of my brows lifts, and the corner of my mouth curves. “Mm. That sounds wildly possessive, Mr. Vold.”

Aric drags his teeth over his bottom lip, almost involuntarily. “I am possessive. Fatally so.” He leans in to my ear, and I swallow as his breath fans across my neck. “But I know the world doesn’t stop finding you beautiful because you married me. Nor would I want it to.” His low growl reverberates through my body. “I trust you. I know you belong to me, and wanting you is the closest any of them will ever come to having you because at the end of the day, it’s my name in your mouth.”

He catches my earlobe lightly between his teeth, and my heart stumbles. Heat rushes through me.

“And I assure you, you have no reason to be insecure either. I belong to you, Ayanna.” His voice has dropped so low I can barely hear it. Or perhaps it’s the pounding of my own heartbeat drowning out everything else. “I’m yours, just as much as you’re mine.”

He leans back, just slightly, his thumb brushing my lower lip and setting every nerve ending in my body alight. I struggle to breathe because this man—this impossibly dangerous, maddeningly self-assured man—and the things that come out of his mouth are, quite possibly, the most devastatingly attractive combination on earth.

“We should go.” I clear my throat, though my voice comes out breathier than I intend. “Guests are arriving. I need to⁠—”

His thumb presses against my lower lip, his eyes flicking between mine, and the playfulness has gone out of them. He’s not looking at me like my husband anymore. He’s looking at me like a man burning with desire. All-consuming, feral desire.

“They can wait,” he rasps against my lips

“Aric—”

“Five minutes.”

“We don’t have five minutes.”

“Then we’ll be late.”

His hand slides to the back of my neck and grips, tilting my head back until our lips are almost touching. My pulse hammers, all thoughts of timelines and guest lists evaporating like mist.

“You can’t be serious,” I breathe.

“I’m always serious.”

“I spent two hours getting ready. My hair alone⁠—”

“I’ll fix it after.”

“My dress⁠—”

“Will come off.”

“My—”

“You can stop telling me what I am about to ruin, Ayanna. We both know I am going to ruin it.”

My breath hitches, and another wave of heat—desire—rushes through my system. My thighs press together involuntarily. I realize I am soaked through, and he has not even pulled the zipper down yet.

“The gala doesn’t start for twenty minutes.” His other hand finds my hip and pulls me closer. “And you walked into my office looking like you wanted me to bend you over my desk before the first guest arrived. So that is what is going to happen.”

We don’t have time for this.

That’s the rational thought. The sensible one. The one that knows there’s a ballroom full of staff waiting for my final approval and a timeline that’s already tight and a hundred things that could go wrong if I’m not there to oversee them.

But Aric’s mouth is on my neck now, and his hands are sliding down my body, and rational thoughts are becoming increasingly difficult to maintain.

“We’ll be late,” I manage.

“So we’ll be late.”

“It’s my event.”