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This woman will really be the death of me, won’t she?
Not only did I let exceptions creep in because of her, but now, my brain is also bringing up the questions I never wanted to be answered.
The what-if kind.
27
Gwyneth
I’m in a courtroom.
I mean, yes, I’ve been inside one before when Dad takes the lawyer mic. He’s a witty but very sharp lawyer, the type whom everyone pays attention to when he speaks.
But I haven’t done it since I became Nate’s intern. He said I wasn’t ready back then, but today, he just stood beside my desk and said, “You’re coming with me, Shaw.”
It’s kind of hot when he calls me by my last name at work. They still don’t know we’re married, because I kind of begged Chris after I apologized for what I did to him and Alex that night a week ago.
He totally spilled it to Jane, though, albeit accidentally. She looked at me weird, but she promised to keep my secret, too. Now, I feel a bit more at ease that I can talk freely with them without feeling like I hold the keys to some intelligence stuff.
Chris still doesn’t understand why I even have feelings for Nate, but Jane does, and that’s okay. It’s also okay if no one else understands, like Nate warned me.
The morning after the hot drunk pool sex, he sat me down, put my comfort drink in my hand—my vanilla milkshake—and told me that his mother is possibly right and that this whole thing will backfire. He said I should be prepared for that and that he won’t let me take the fall.
Nate said he’ll let them paint him whichever way they wish, because he couldn’t care less what they think about him.
I heard what he wasn’t saying, though. That he cares about what they say about me. He doesn’t want them to come near me and even has a press statement ready, which is very stern—like him—and doesn’t touch my name even one bit.
Nate doesn’t know this, but things won’t go his way if—when—our relationship becomes public. For the millionth time, he and everyone else will learn that I chose this and I’m old enough to make my own decisions.
There are a lot of things that I want to shout at the top of the world. Like how much Nate and I are compatible and how much we can easily do an activity together without clashing. I want everyone to see that I belong with him, that I never felt as peaceful as when I’m lying in his arms.
That I never felt as beautiful as when he fucks me like a madman.
Sometimes, I take sneaky pictures of him; of his nude back when he cooks naked—yes, he totally does that sometimes, and he sleeps naked, too, because clothes bother him, or more accurately, his cock. My perverted side kind of wished I knew that information before.
But I digress. Slightly.
Those aren’t the only pictures I take of him, though. I’m a collector of everything Nate, remember? That means I have a collection to keep alive and happy. So I sneak a selfie here and there when I’m lying on his lap and others when I sleep on his chest.
My personal favorite, however, was when I woke up and he had his hand around my throat. I was so wet that my fingers shook when I took the picture.
“Are you posting any of these?” he said in a half-sleepy voice while his eyes were still closed.
I startled, throwing my phone under the pillow. “W-what?”
His eyes met mine and there was so much light in them considering how dark they are. “The pictures you take religiously, Gwyneth. Do you post them?”
“You…knew?”
“Of course, I knew. You’re not exactly subtle.”
My cheeks and ears burned. “And here I thought I was being sneaky.”
“Not enough.” His hold tightened on my throat. “You still didn’t answer my question. Do you post anything?”
“Maybe you should get a social media account and see for yourself.”
“Gwyneth.” His voice hardened, taking on a warning tone. “If I find an inappropriate picture of you anywhere…”
