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Wrecked.
Utterly owned.
She’d never looked more perfect.
Still regaining my bearings, I was caught off guard when Darla stretched forward and took my middle finger into her mouth. She repeated the process until every finger on my right hand was licked clean. I watched astonished, suddenly feeling out of my depth.
Darla winked at me with a coy glint.
She’s going to be my end.
I bent over to untie her wrists and Darla took the opportunity to lay a butterfly soft kiss over my left pec. Almost absentmindedly. Nearly destroying me with her gentleness.
I swept a thumb over her pulse point, satisfied that it was beating fast for me. “No snooping, wife. But if you want my secrets, all you need to do is ask.”
Darla moved her liberated hands over the groves of my abs and up my chest, looping them behind the nape of my neck. I stamped our mouths together. We kissed slow and lazy, devouring the taste of us.
The moment was cherished because at night our defenses lowered, and during the day our respective walls and weapons would rise once more.
We broke away when oxygen became a necessity.
“You said you never kiss.” Darla observed me with a strange look. “Why do you kiss me?”
I said nothing and wiped the drying cum off her body with her discarded robe. Then I carried her out of our sanctuary and back towards her room like a dutiful husband.
“Why, Zeno?” she ushered again.
Maybe it was the pull of nightfall. Maybe it was simply the presence of an angel in my arms, who didn’t seem to mind dancing with the devil. But I revealed what should have always been kept a secret.
“No one else makes me feel the way you do, Darla.”
CHAPTER 22
Bang Bang
Zeno
There was no denying it.
My wife was a talented writer who had the exceptional ability to weave romanticism with the perfect amount of filth in her works.
I sat in my car, stationed in the parking lot attached to Gustave Melrose’s office, killing time by reading Darla’s book while waiting for Romero to pull up. He’d decided to join me on this little crusade.
Engrossed in her book, the triple knock on my tinted window caught me off guard. I was at the point where the hero blindfolded the heroine and thrust home. I bunny-eared the page and placed it in my glove compartment.
Stepping out into the winter daylight, I faced Romero and his shit-eating grin. “What were you reading?”
“A book.” I adjusted my watch and smoothed a hand over my suit jacket.
“What kind of book?”
He wasn’t going to let me live this down.
“Romance. Unlike you, I read more than picture books.”
Low blow, considering Romero was a single dad and spent a decent amount of time reading bedtime stories to his adorable kid. But I wasn’t going to give my friends more ammo to tease me about being whipped for my wife.
Romero wasn’t offended. Instead, he fell into step beside me, raking gloved fingers into his wind-tousled hair. “You’re hopeless, Zeno. Reading her novels in your car with the biggest smile on your face. Admit it, you like her.”
