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“Naturally.” We walk through our home, and I can tell she likes the décor by the way her eyes seek out the art and glittering lights.
Stopping at the base of the stairs, she turns her head toward the formal sitting room, then gasps. “Is that …” She pulls away from me and hurries into the room. “It is.” She stands and looks up at the artwork that takes up a good portion of the side wall.
“You’re a fan of Klimt?” I ask.
“I love him. I’ve stared at this painting so many times on the internet.”
I know. I’ve had access to her internet browsing for the good part of the last six months, ever since I first saw her at that dinner with her parents. I even know what porn she prefers, the way she likes her coffee, and the particular brand of face cream she favors.
“What do you love about it?” I can tell if something is beautiful, but I’ve never truly had an eye for art. However, I acquired Adele Bloch-Bauer I by Klimt at an auction, paying a hefty sum for the golden portrait. But I’d have paid double or more if it meant I got to see my vixen with wonder in her eyes.
“I love everything about it.” She speaks as if in a dream. “Every bit. The expression on her face, the necklace, the realism mixed with the fantasy of so much gold that it’s layered in different hues, as if they’re different weights.”
She has an eye. I store that fact away for later. For now, it’s time for bed.
“Come.” I take her hand again and lead her away from the painting.
“Can I look at it in the morning?” she asks.
“This house is as much yours as mine, and so is the painting. You can look as much as you like.”
“Thank you.” She seems to say the words despite herself because she quickly follows it with, “I mean, yeah, I can do whatever I want because you’ll be dead and all this will be mine.”
I smile and lead her back to our bedroom as Clayton stalks through the house, making sure the chef and his entourage leave and no one else enters.
Once I have her inside our room, I close the doors and pin her against them. “Wife.”
Her pupils widen, her body warm against me, and she kicks her chin up and says, “for now.”
I smirk. “Now is all I need.”
She gasps as I claim her mouth, and I intend to claim much, much more than that.
8
CASSANDRA
I’m in total control here, I tell myself. I’mlettinghim take my mouth in a deep, knee-weakening kiss. I could push him away if I wanted to, but I dig my fingers into his shirt. I’m totally the one who's driving this bus. I’m just making a detour. My new plan is to let himthinkhe’s in control. The more he thinks I’m willing to go along with this, the easier it will be to catch him off guard when he least expects it. This is my new attack strategy, I reason with myself. His attraction to me will lead to his death. I’ll use every advantage I can get.
I moan into his mouth as he lifts me from my feet. My back hits a bed.
“I’m allowing this only because it will please me. I’m still going to kill you after.” I try and make it sound like a command, but my voice comes out a little breathy and filled with need.
He’s kissing down my neck. I can feel his smile against my skin. As he tries to fight the laughter, his body shakes with it. Damnit. I need him shaking with desire, not laughter. I’m the one who’s going to be laughing. I’m like a female praying mantis. I’m going to let him pleasure me then make my kill. I’m not going to bite his head off, because that’d be gross, but I’ll think of something else.
My mind blanks as he nips at my neck than kisses that spot. “As my wife commands.”
One of his hands snakes up my thigh, the roughness of his fingers spiking my desire. He lifts a little to make room for his hand. I have to fight a cry to pull him back down onto me, needing the pressure between my thighs that his body was giving me. I could rub against him to try to get that friction that could temper the desire between my thighs. The throb of my clit is betraying me.What’s wrong with me taking a little pleasure for myself?my mind whispers, crossing over to the dark side with my body. Double crap.
I spread my legs wider to make room for his fingers as he traces the edge of my panties too softly. “Why are you going so slow?” I snip out.
His body shakes again.
“Are you laughing at me?”
“Never.” He nips my neck again. Why does it feel so good when he kisses me there? My hips rise, begging for more.
“I’ll make it better.” He yanks on my panties, ruining them. I don’t know what the man has against nice clothes, but he’s lucky he can afford to buy me more or I’d say something about it. Instead of complaining, I wiggle under him as he slips down my body and pushes my dress up as he goes. I grip it, pulling it over my head and tossing it away. He smirks at how quickly I gave in.
