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Before I met Dom, when I’d go to sleep imagining a life where I had someone to share my bed, I’d picture myself cuddled cutely into the man’s side. His arm would be around my shoulders. I’d sleep with my head on his shoulder and my mouth closed, not drooling on his chest at all.
But no.
My sleep habits haven’t suddenly changed, so I’m still face down, probably snoring. And the mafia kingpin who drugged me into marriage doesn’t pull me into his side. He doesn’t spoon me with his arm around my waist. Nope. He starfishes his body over mine. Smashing me into the damn mattress.
And like everything else with Dom, I hate that I like it.
“Get off me,” I growl.
“It’s too early, Angel.” He nuzzles his face into my hair.
I can’t take it.
“Get. Off.” I twist and wedge my arms under myself, then push up with all my might, only getting up to my elbows.
Dominic groans but finally rolls off me. “Why are you up?”
I crawl out of the bed and turn my alarm off. “I told you. I’m going into the office today.”
“Right.” He drapes his arm over his eyes to fend off the morning sunrays.
I keep my gaze averted as I hurry around the bed and into the bathroom, shutting and locking the door behind me.
I’ve taken to sleeping in pants and long sleeves to minimize the chance of sex. But Dominic sleeps in nothing but his damn boxers. And I don’t need to start my day looking at our wedding vow inked above his dick.
Snatching my toothbrush off the counter, I accept that I’m in a bad mood.
Therapy always leaves me feeling a little wrung out. But yesterday was extra intense. And confusing. The discussion of trust and love really messed with my head.
Because I don’t want to trust Dom, just like I don’t want to like him. What he did to me was unforgivable. And it’s not like he’ll ever apologize. He told me he never does.
And looking back at all our conversations, with the privilege of hindsight, I see all the clues he dropped for me.
Little breadcrumbs for me to pick up and carry into his poisonous gingerbread house. The truth hidden behind sexy tattooed walls.
I brush my teeth a little harder.
He doesn’t deserve to have this hold on me.
It’s time for me to push back.
CHAPTER40
Dom
Valentine’s footstepssignal her approach, and I lower my coffee mug.
She’s holding her laptop in one hand and the railing with the other as she walks down the stairs. Her eyes are busy watching where she’s going, so I can drink her in.
And drink her in is exactly what I want to do.
She’s wearing another pair of those high-ass wedge heels. This time in a bright red. And her skirt…
I use my free hand to adjust my dick.
I’ve seen her dresses, but this is different. It’s shiny, like leather, and it’s hugging her like it’s fucking painted on.
It has to be stretchy—to allow her to walk. But it ends at her knees, and I want to shove it up to her hips so I can see if she’s wearing anything underneath.
