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“Make me.”
I knew the slap was coming, but I allowed it this once so she can get it out of her system.
“Finished?” Pulling back her head, I lean down until we’re nose to nose. “Never slap me again. Your nudity is for me. It’s mine. I don’t want to share it. I’m selfish like that.”
“I’m supposed to be on display, I’m a trophy! Remember?”
Now I know she’s aiming to piss me off.
“My trophy! Not for the public! Are you okay with me walking around with no shirt on, thin pants, and no underwear with my dick print on display?” The thought infuriates her. Good. Now she can be on my level. “Do you want that? Do you want other women to see what you’re not getting?”
I suck her lip on her gasp and taste her surprise. It’s delicious, and my dick loves being pressed against her. She fights my kiss until her body gives in, moaning its appreciation of my tongue tasting her mouth. Her hands that were balling up my shirt at my chest relax and slide up my body then wrap around my neck. Her whimpers are non-verbal pleas for more. Releasing her neck, my hand roams the naked skin her dress once covered before I turned it into a useless rag.
The memory of her strutting in on fuck-me heels in a see-through dress that hugs every curve just right makes my dick twitch and renews my frustration with our situation. Karessa bucks against me when I squeeze her ass. The heel of her stiletto digs into my lower back when she tries to climb me. Helping, I wrap her legs around me. Ignoring the scrapes of the stone, I brace myself on the wall, grinding where we both want to be. I don’t care that we’re outside and the guys could return at any moment. I want to fuck my wife and not being able to kills me. Her hands found their way into my shirt. Her soft palms electrify me as my skin feels her in ways it haven’t. This is too much, I want to send her away for the next few months but can’t stand to be away from her. Damn that prenup.
“Karessa, we have to stop,” I whisper, reluctantly pulling her hands out of my shirt.
I push away from the wall, but she clings to me. Too tired to fight with her, I lie back in the chaise lounge with her on top of me. This ongoing cycle of raging hormones going nowhere is tiring.
Karessa cups the back of my head and rests her forehead on mine. Her eyes are squeezed shut like she’s trying her best to work out a problem. Her other hand cups my check, her thumb caresses my beard.
Once her eyes are visible again, the mossy orbs are beseeching.
“Promise me, Oran.”
“Promise you what?”
Her thumb slides across my lips as if she’s trying to memorize my features.
“That this is real.”
“This is real,” I assure her.
“Just to be clear. You’re saying you really went from Hell to the husband of my dreams with no motivation?”
Everything clicks. I know what she’s asking. What she needs.
“No. Making you happy is my motivation.” I wrap my arms around her waist before finishing my thought. “I told you, you’re stuck with me. I would not allow you to be miserable.”
“I still don’t know why you changed your mind and married me, but I’m willing to overlook it if you give me verbal confirmation that you understand my terms and conditions.”
“And they are?” Even if I were thinking about my dad, I wouldn’t kill the mood with his delusions.
“It’s more of an understanding. If I give you all my trust and you betray me, it’ll break my heart.” Her face scrunches in pain, and her eyes water. The hurt she displays from the thought of me hurting her ensures it’ll never happen. I refuse to be the person to hurt her like that. “Tell me you understand.” The next part comes out as a broken plea. “Please don’t break my heart, Oran.”
Now, I’m awash with enough emotion to make my chest hurt. Flustered, I blurt out my thoughts without filtering them in my head first.
“I love you too much to break your heart, Karessa.”
Her surprise pushes her into an upright position so she can stare at me properly. Hope and confusion are combined in her expression. I’m just as surprised as she is, but now that it’s out there, I refuse to take it back. Instead, I make sure she knows I mean it.
“You love me?” she asks, her voice soft and dazed,
“Why do you think I still call you Trophy?”
“Habit?”
“No. You are the most valuable thing I have. I haven’t worried about the prenup beyond how it makes you feel because I’d lose either way.” Both hands now cup my face. I wrap my fingers around one of her delicate wrists and kiss her palm before resuming eye contact. “To gain your assets, I’d have
