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“We postponed it for a while,” I answer when I reach them, and my mother sends me a disapproving look. I still have work to do, and I am not in the right state of mind to enjoy a fucking honeymoon when all my wife wants is to escape or plan my murder.
Kieran and Aurora are the last to leave, and after the women hug one more time, I place my hand on Chiara’s back, stepping inside the car.
“It’s finally over.”
“Just the day, cara. The night, not so much.”
Fire burns in her eyes, and I smirk. For every hour she ignored me, and every time she sent me an annoyed look, I will take it out on her pussy. The drive from the reception to my place is agonizing with my longing.
Inside my penthouse, she takes cautious steps, her eyes taking in the modern, decorated open space, the floor-to-ceiling windows. There is no way of escaping. She sighs as if realizing that, too. I snatch a bottle from the bar, and my eyes are on her. She’s here, not a figment of my fantasy, or an unattainable dream.
“Want something to drink?”
“No.”
I pour myself a glass, and she says, “How many rooms are there?”
“Five.”
“I am going to crash in one of those, then.” She takes a determined step when my voice stops her.
“Cara, if I don’t find your ass in my room, in my bed, I am dragging you there. All your stuff has been moved in there.”
She flips me off, grips the sides of her dress, pulling it above the floor, and marches up the stairs. This night will be fun; I almost anticipate her defying me and not leaving me any other choice but to make good on my promise.
I follow her delicate scent upstairs, and I step inside my bedroom to find it empty. No surprise there. Nothing gets my heart pumping like her challenges. I crack my neck and go find her, blood rushing through my veins at the chase. With every door I open, anticipation rings in my ears. I suppress a smile when I find her in the last room, her back to me, as she takes in the city bathed in lights through the window.
“You don’t like the easy way, do you?”
Her back stiffens, and she turns around.
I prowl toward her, and she straightens her shoulders. In one swift move, I lift her up, throwing her over my shoulder.
She pounds at my back.
“So nice of you to caress me. Such a loving wife.”
I place her in the middle of the bedroom, and she swipes strands of hair from her face. I turn her around and start unbuttoning her dress. “How many fucking buttons are there?” I mumble under my breath, and she giggles.
“I chose it for you.”
“So thoughtful of you. Do you like this dress?” I ask, patience vanishing as undiluted need courses through my veins.
“You could cut it to pieces.”
Good then. Fuck this. I yank out my knife, and she freezes when the cold blade touches her skin.
“What are you doing?” Her voice is just above a whisper, a whisper that rings of curiosity and something else. That something else I can’t wait to explore further.
I glide the knife down, her breath stumbling out of her, while she holds on to me. I throw the knife to the floor and slide the dress down her body.
She shimmies out of it. The only thing she’s wearing underneath is her white, lacey thong, and it undoes me. She’s pure perfection. An ethereal vision of beauty made to bring me to my knees.
My cock strains in my pants. Her flushed skin looks so ready for my lips. I take a step back and admire this woman I want more than I ever wanted anything in my life. The thought is staggering.
I trace a finger from her cheek to her lips, slipping my thumb past her mouth, and she bites it. Her eyes take on a wanton hue, while her brows pinch together, confused at her body wanting me while her brain and her heart are at war with it.
“I am already hard, cara.”
