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“Did you buy a tight one?” she whispers, looking at me over her shoulder. “Are you going to keep me, Daddy?”
Not again. She can’t go there again.
I love it, but it’s wrong. It’s right. It’s everything.
My balls seize up automatically at the implication that I’ve adopted her to be my sex toy. It’s not true, but something about it is twisted just enough to wake up something indecent inside of us both.
“Hell yeah, I got a tight one. The tightest. I’m keeping you. Forever.”
Once again, her pussy starts to spasm, but I feel it in a new way now. From the untouched end of her. It’s more powerful than an earthquake and I am unable to do anything but throw her up against the door and bury myself balls deep in her ass and shatter. I shatter like fucking glass, shards raining down everywhere, my wife convulsing in front of me, taking my come hungrily, squeezing her butt cheeks together rhythmically and working my spend out of me, like she wants to save every drop.
Before I’m even finished, I’m planning the next way I’m going to fuck her.
On the floor of my office. In the shower. Under the stars in Tahiti.
She has satisfied me beyond my wildest dreams.
Yet deep inside of me, there is a longing that hasn’t been quenched—my desperate desire for Blessing to love me back. I don’t think I’ll be able to think straight until I have her heart. But what if God’s way of punishing me for my life of greed is to give me this girl…without giving me her love, too?
Chapter Ten
Blessing
It’s Christmas morning.
I settle my feet onto the floor and stand, only to stumble sideways. My left knee dips and I wobble, my head momentarily dizzy before the bedroom very slowly comes into focus.
I have been mauled. By my husband.
Manhandled.
All night.
And my throat is sore from screaming at him to keep going.
When we arrived home from the opera, Edison was still suffering from the delusion that people were after me, determined to take me away from him. I couldn’t calm him down. Not with kisses and whispers and cuddles. Not even the security team flanking us on the way home was enough to give him peace of mind. It took hours of lovemaking to free him of the paranoid glint in his eyes—and I’m not sure I’ll ever be the same again.
My husband is obsessed with me in a very unhealthy way.
In between bouts of sweaty, animalistic sex, he rose from bed to check the windows to make sure they were locked, he pushed furniture in front of the door to keep intruders out. All while muttering, “They won’t take her from me.” After which he would come back to bed, roll me onto my back and bring me back to the brink of ecstasy with his tongue between my legs. By the time he mounted me, he was in a fury, growling his possessiveness while the headboard slammed against the wall.
This morning, I can barely walk.
And I feel like a queen.
With a grinning yawn, I stretch my arms up over my head.
As obsessed as my husband is with me…I’m pretty sure the feeling is mutual.
Pretty sure.
I’m not sure what puzzle piece is missing, but we’ve been married such a short amount of time. Surely, I will figure it out in due course. Or the worry will correct itself.
I pause in front of the mirrored armoire, noticing the squiggly line between my brows. Ignoring it, I open the door and remove a big, fluffy robe and wrap it around myself, belting the sash. I slide my feet into slippers that somehow already have my initials monogrammed into them and leave the bedroom—
Laughter.
My feet shuffle to a stop.
I know that laughter.
It belongs to the children.
What are they doing here?
A smile blooms on my face and I start to run down the hallway, holding onto the banister as I speed down the staircase and throw open the front door of the house. Christmas explodes across my vision. Snow falls from the sky, all of the trees in courtyard are decorated with lights that shine in the dim morning light. Somewhere in the distance, bells jingle merrily…
And there is Edison.
Having a snowball fight with the children.
His hair is a mess and he hasn’t shaven. He’s wearing his dress pants from last night…with snow boots. And a big overcoat.
One of the younger children hits him with a snowball, square in the forehead.
I hold my breath.
And he laughs.
It’s the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard in my life. Deep and booming and a little bit rusty. Now my legs feel like they are going to collapse for an entirely different reason. He shapes up a snowball in his gloves and lobs it carefully at one of the younger girls, obviously being careful not to inflict any damage, but she collapses in the snow giggling, like she’s been hit by a torpedo. I start to worry that she’s going to catch a cold, until I realize all of the orphans are wearing coats. Brand new ones. Gloves and hats, too.
