Page 41 of Broken Vows

I swallow back the heat in my throat and focus on the cake and wine. These thoughts are intrusive, dangerous and deeply unethical. I would never, ever act on this, but even thinking this way is wrong.

He removes his hand, but not his gaze. “From where I stand,” he continues, voice low and deliberate, “there’s nothing more beautiful than a woman who has a voice—and isn’t afraid to use it.”

My face flushes. I force my breathing to stay even while pretending this is a casual conversation and that I’m not feeling something dangerously stir low in my belly.

“That’s funny,” I say lightly. “Doesn’t that go against the whole I’m the one in control image you like to project?”

One dark brow arches, amused. “There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me,” he says. “Including how a woman’s pleasure is always my number one priority.”

“Oh, please.”

“You don’t believe me?”

I fall silent, realizing too late I’ve backed myself into a corner and don’t know how to get out of it.

“Well, if you were my woman,” he says, causing a flare of heat in my chest, “I’d start at your ankles, brushing my hands up the backs of your legs, cupping behind your knees, slowly opening them inch by inch.” I clamp my legs together, fighting the temptation to respond to his words. “Then, I’d glide my palms up between your silky thighs, higher and higher, until I meet your beautiful, quivering pussy, your panties doing their best to protect you from me. But they wouldn’t stop me. I’d slide them aside and take you in.” His voice drops. “Beauty like this must be cherished, not rushed. So, I’d trace the pads of my fingers just outside those sensitive places until your body grows so wet with need it soaks my hand.” He pauses, and I barely manage to hold back the moan threatening to break free. “By then, you’d be begging for my touch. And how could I ignore a woman in need?” His smile is pure promise. “I’d move down your body, spreading your legs as I go, breathing you in. My tongue would flutter over you—slow, reverent, worshipping—licking and sucking while you beg me to fuck you.” His eyes darken. “But I won’t. Instead, I’ll slide in one finger, then another, stretching you until your breath hitches and your moans fill the room. Then I’ll curl my fingers just right, finding that perfect spot, while my tongue teases your clit…”

He smirks before adding in a low whisper, “… until you’re screaming my name.”

Jesus fucking Christ. His words, combined with the stifling air, make the heat feel almost unbearable.

He clears this throat, before following up with, “And then I’d make you pancakes.” As if we’re just having a normal conversation at the table.

My throat rolls with a hard swallow, and I want to speak, but if I do, my voice will crack and I can’t fucking have that. I grab my wine and take another hefty gulp. I hate that he’s making me feel this way. I hate that he said what he said, and I hate myself for losing myself in this fantasy.

I set my glass back down and sharpen my gaze. “Wow,” I say as flatly and nonchalant as I can muster. “Annabelle’s a lucky woman, isn’t she?”

19 Theo

What the fuck am I doing? Did I really tell Lexie what I’d do with her beautiful, perfect cunt if she were my woman? My cock stayed hard for so long after I said that, picturing what she sounds and tastes like, that I thought I’d have to dump the ice water in my lap or jerk off in the bathroom.

I need to cut this shit out, immediately. I’m fucking engaged, to a woman I love, with what feels like the weight of the world riding on our nuptials. Not only that, Lexie clearly did not give a fuck. Her face conveyed little more than boredom and she immediately brought up Anna. What was I hoping for? That she’d realize what she was missing? That she’d drop to her knees and wrap her lips around my cock?

Fuck.

As we eat our way through the last of the samples, the chef stops by periodically with his assistant to clear plates and check in. I’m only half listening as Lexie chatters on about all the endless wedding details still left to finalize.

“… and I got the most gorgeous bouquet of flowers last week, which reminds me that I need to check with Annabelle about what she’s thinking for the bouquet.”

Now, she has my attention. “You’ll have to give her the name of the person who sent them, so she can get their recommendation.”

“That’s a great idea!” she says, clearly not suspicious about my comment. “Justin has great taste. I’ll ask him.”

“Justin.” So he’s the guy that stole her attention away from me that night. “Your friend.”

“Yes.” She gives me a faintly puzzled look. How many guys does she have wrapped around her finger? Does she play with all of them like she does with me? “I’m lucky to have him. He just gets me. I was having a rough day recently and he sent me the flowers and a gift to cheer me up.”

Fuck. How can she always make me lose control? It’s like she knows talking about other men is my weakness and I fall into her goddamn trap every time.

I hate the way she makes me feel.

“Are you sure it’s not Justin’s way of trying to get in your pants?” I mumble to myself, but Lexie hears, and she bursts into laughter. My annoyance grows.

“Well, I think Justin’s husband wouldn’t like that very much. And trust me, neither would Justin.”

Relief floods through me. Christ. I need to get my head on straight. This is what happens when she gets inside my mind. I stop thinking clearly. I stop sleeping. I teeter on doing some really fucked-up shit. Thank God I didn’t have to kill that Justin guy.

“Well, now I’ve got to know what the gift was.”