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A quiet laugh escapes me. "We’ll see about that."

After ending the call with Maxim, I head straight for the shower. The hot water beats down on my shoulders as I stand under the spray, but my mind is nowhere near the present.

It keeps drifting back to that kiss. Even though Aurora tried to act unaffected, I know better.

The way her body melted against mine, the soft, involuntary moan that escaped her lips, the way her fingers clutched my jacket. It all betrayed her. That kiss affected her just as deeply as it affected me.

Fuck. I can’t wait to make her my wife. I can’t wait to have her completely.

There are so many things I’m going to teach her. So many ways I’m going to ruin her. I can’t wait to sink my cock into her tight, virgin pussy and claim every inch of her.

Just the thought makes me instantly hard. My hand moves down, wrapping around my thick length. I close my eyes and imagine it’s her soft hand instead of mine.

Her pretty lips wrapping around me, taking me deep into her warm mouth, those eyes looking up at me while she sucks.

A low groan escapes me as I stroke harder, faster, picturing her on her knees, my hand fisted in her hair, her tongue working me until I lose control.

The pleasure builds quickly. With a harsh groan, I come hard, spilling over my hand and onto the shower wall as her name rips from my throat.

I stand there for a moment, breathing heavily under the spray, then wash myself clean.

Soon. Very soon, I won’t have to imagine anymore.

❦ ❦ ❦

Two days after the engagement, I receive a call from the wedding planner. We’re supposed to meet to finalize certain details for the wedding. Something about the menu and seating arrangements.

I couldn’t care less about any of it. But it’s an excuse to see my bride-to-be before the wedding day.

For the past two days, Aurora has haunted my dreams. I’ve jerked off to her in the shower every single morning, imagining her on her knees, under me, riding me.

I’m counting down the hours until she’s my wife. At this rate, I feel like a fucking teenager again.

When I arrive at the private event suite inside the Hotel de Russie, Aurora is sitting at the far end of the table, flipping absently through a binder filled with fabric samples and seating charts.

When I see her, I immediately notice something is wrong. Her cheeks look slightly more hollow than they did two days ago. Faint shadows sit beneath her eyes, and the color has drained from her face.

She looks exhausted, as though she hasn’t slept or eaten since I last saw her. She doesn't acknowledge my presence, just continues flipping through the binder.

The wedding planner launches into his spiel about how rushed the timeline is and how many decisions we still need to make.

I don’t hear a word of it. My eyes stay locked on Aurora. Why does she look like this? What the hell is causing her this much stress? Whoever or whatever is responsible, I want to handle it. Permanently.

“Are you alright?” I ask her quietly during a pause.

She gives me a surprised look before responding, “Yes.”

I endure a few more minutes of the planner’s droning before my patience snaps.

“Enough,” I cut in. “Meeting's over.”

The planner looks flustered. “But sir, there’s no time—”

“Get the fuck out,” I say calmly. “Pick whatever centerpieces and flowers you want. I don’t give a fuck. This meeting is over.”

The man doesn’t argue. He quickly gathers his papers and files, his assistant scrambling after him as they hurry out of the room.

Now it’s just me and Aurora. I turn to her fully, my voice low. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”