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It’s just our room, but the fact that she’s made it a point to not allow anyone near her today after kicking me out this morning makes it seem like a witch’s coven.
I slowly open the door, half expecting her band of vigilantes—mainly Caroline, Martha, and Gwen when in the mood—to jump me, half expecting Aspen to finish the job.
Surprisingly, she’s not in the room. The bathroom door is closed, though, so I assume she changed locations.
I try the handle first, but the door is locked, so I tap on it, channeling the nonexistent gentleman inside me. “Aspen…open up, sweetheart.”
“Go away,” her muffled voice comes from inside.
“Not until I know what’s wrong with you.”
“Leave me alone, Kingsley!”
“Aspen,” I grit out, then force my voice to calm down. “I’m being nice here, so come out and talk to me. Don’t force me to bring this door down.”
She doesn’t reply.
“You asked for this.” I step back to break the thing off its hinges.
The sound of the lock tripping comes first, followed by the small creak of the door.
Aspen comes out, still wearing the blue satin gown from last night that molds against her gorgeous curves.
Her hair spills like red lava over her bare shoulders that are filled with red bite marks.
So I lied. Just because I married her doesn’t mean I’ll stop marking her whenever I fuck her.
There’s this constant need to put my hands on her, to chain her to me for eternity, so there’s no way out, no matter how much she tries.
She’s a witch, after all. Not only did she cast a spell on my soul, but she also imprisoned my heart and enchanted my brain.
I study her worn-out face that’s so pale, it could compete with the white tiles and force myself to ask with a calm tone, “What’s the problem?”
She releases a shaky breath that stabs straight through my chest.
“Whatever it is, you can tell me, Aspen.”
She remains silent, but her lips tremble. And Aspen doesn’t fucking tremble—at least, not outside of when I’m fucking her brains out.
Jesus Christ.
“Is it cancer or some medical shit?”
She shakes her head.
“Did you lose a case and you’re blaming yourself for it?”
“No.”
“Did your father possibly rise from the dead? Or is it your mother? Maybemymother? Did Susan show up from whatever hole she’s begging from and bother you?”
“No,” she says with slight exasperation.
“Now that the most unlikely is out of the way, let’s move to the more likely. Did you find out about the thugs I had Nicolo kill?”
Her eyes widen. “What thugs?”
“It’s a no then.”
