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“What’s all of this?” Riley asks as I follow the team of three who’re moving some of my belongings from my penthouse apartment to Riley’s place.
“What does it look like?” I say as I enter, scanning her place. Her furniture is decent. It’ll do for now.
“Take it all to the bedroom,” I instruct.
“Excuse you,” Riley says as she blocks the path to her bedroom for the movers. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I told you I was moving in today.” My tone is casual, as if we’re having a conversation about the weather.
“I thought you were joking.”
I stare at her. Bullshit she thought I was joking.
“Would I kid about something as serious as living with mywife?”
Her eyes widen for a millisecond. The same look she always makes when I call her that. Truth be told, the words startle me every time I say them. But I like seeing the reaction they elicit from her. I still haven’t made mention of the fact of our marriage at work yet. I know Riley hasn’t either because no one has said anything to me about it.
Riley has made a habit of not wearing her wedding rings when we’re in the office.
She sighs in exasperation when, on my cue, the movers brush past her to head toward her bedroom.
“When you said to make room in my closet, I hadn’t anticipated all of … this.” She stares at the suitcases and boxes being carried down the hall.
“You should’ve,” I say as I move to the kitchen island to set up my work laptop. “We didn’t have time in the office today. Do you still have it?”
She swings her head in my direction. “The …” She looks to the movers. “Yes.”
“Bring it to me.”
She plants on her hip. “I’m not your fucking gopher.”
A muscle in my jaw ticks as I look her up and down. She’s changed from the black pants and white silk blouse she wore to the office earlier. Now she’s dressed in a pair of loungewear shorts with a matching V-neck top. A pair of fuzzy slippers adorn her feet, and the pastel pink color of her toenails peeks out the top of the slippers.
“The thumb drive, Riley,” I say between gritted teeth.
“Say please.”
“The fuck?”
Her eyebrows lift. “You’re not about to boss me around in my own home.”
“Ourhome.” A condescending smile crosses my face.
“My name is the one on the mortgage.”
“And my last name is on the owner of the entire building,” I say casually.
Her mouth falls slack.
I turn away because those fucking thoughts of sliding my cock in between those plump lips continue to assault my mind.
“The thumb drive,” I say again.
Her mouth snaps shut. “Say please.”
“Fuck no.”
She folds her arms across her chest, causing her breasts to stick out more. That’s when I realize she’s not wearing a bra.
