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“Tonight, they won’t be. I’ll take my suitcases then,” I tell Royce. “Point me in the direction of the nearest one, and I’ll get myself settled in, if that’s okay.”
Mona starts fussing—I’m betting she’s going to insist I stay in Link’s room—but, surprisingly, Royce comes to my rescue.
Grabbing a suitcase in each hand, he offers me an undeniably amused grin. “Don’t worry, Mona. I’ll show the new Mrs. Crewes where to go.”
She hesitates for a moment before her apple cheeks crease into a warm smile. “Of course, Mr. Royce. And I’ll go prepare Ms. Ava some tea.”
EIGHT
CONNECTION
LINCOLN
My bed is empty.
On any other night, that’s just what I would expect. But it’s not any other night. It’s my wedding night, and I’m missing my bride.
It’s closing in on five in the morning. I’m exhausted and I’m horny, and the only thing that got me through reports from the clean-up crew and a recap from Burns was the promise of returning to the penthouse and finding Ava Monroe curled up in my bed.
I know she made it upstairs to the penthouse. Before Mona turned in again for the night, she assured me that Ms. Ava was settled in, and Royce said the same before I relieved him, and my second shot straight for the elevator.
He was smirking as he left, but I was used to that from Royce. I didn’t even think about what he could’ve found so fucking funny, but as I walk into my bedroom and find the sheets not even mussed, I almost turn around and go after the prick. He must’ve known things didn’t go according to plan—I explicitly gave orders that Ava was to be moved right into my personal space—and got the hell out before I found out.
I want to drag Royce by the collar to explain himself, but I want my wife even more.
There’s no sign she even stopped in this room. The living room was empty, too, and when I throw open the bathroom door, she isn’t in there, either.
Where the fuck did she go?
I don’t know, but if I have to search the penthouse inch by inch to track her down, I will. She couldn’t escape my watching eye when she was living her life out in Springfield. She hasn’t got a prayer of escaping me on my territory.
If I’d been thinking rationally, I would have gone straight to the guest rooms. Since I wasn’t, it takes me four rooms before I open a door and find my Ava curled up in the middle of the guest bed, pretty brown hair spilled on the pillow, curvy body covered up by an oversized t-shirt with enough leg on display that my cock twitches.
I’ve been hard all fucking night. Taking her once in the bathroom—consummating our marriage—had done nothing to take the edge off of fifteen years of need, and I only added to my penance when I let her lay her head in my lap, centimeters away from my erection without tugging on the zipper and slipping the crown between her lips.
I would’ve killed to do that. Only knowing that I had to uphold my end of our bargain before I could enjoy my new wife kept me sitting still in the car, stroking her hair, fantasizing about making her mine again and again.
I did what I could for tonight. Burns made sure that he was the car called to check out “suspected gunshots” in Ava’s neighborhood, and my guys have already disposed of Maglione’s body. His car is already in a chop shop on the West Side, and by tonight, it’s parts will be scattered.
Her house is cleaned, and I’ve got two of my best soldiers packing it up so that she’ll be moved in to mine in no time. Just like I promised, it’s like tonight never happened.
At least, the part where Ava was forced to kill her ex to save herself. The part where she promised herself to me?
That definitely happened, and if she wants to pretend it didn’t… I’ll be happy to remind her.
She’s snuffling, fast asleep, and when I call her name, she doesn’t react. The Ava I knew was a light sleeper unless she had a little help, and I glance around the room, squinting into the shadows.
There’s a mug sitting on the nightstand beside the bed.
I pick it up. It’s half empty. Taking a sniff, I nod to myself when I catch a tiny whiff of the tasteless sedative I had Royce slip inside of the tea. Mona would’ve brewed her some on my orders, but despite the powder being tasteless, it has a faint nutty scent that I recognize over the floral tea.
Between how tired Ava must have been and the added boost from the sedative, she’s dead to the world. Her luggage is on the floor, next to the guest room bed. One of the suitcases is partly open—probably from when she traded the wedding dress for her sleep shirt—and I kick it out of my way.
My wife belongs in my bed. It’s as simple as that. No matter why she thought she’d get away with spending the night in one of my guest rooms, she better get used to the idea that, every morning from now on, she’ll wake up next to me.
Slipping one hand under her thighs, the other under her back, I heft Ava up in my arms. Her weight is nothing to me, and I smile to myself as I carry her sleeping body out of this room and into mine. It’s a bridal-style hold, and by the time I’m crossing the threshold with my new wife, I can’t wait to get inside of her again.
I spread her out in the middle of the bed. Quickly shucking my clothes off, I give my hard cock a few quick strokes, trembling with the desire running through me.
