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Sabella rolls her eyes. “Cut out the territorial stuff, Mr. Russo. Fabien is our friend.”
Ourfriend. “And here I was thinking he works for me.”
Seemingly immune to my caveman vibes for a change, Fabien waves a hand. “Your wife is easy to like. What can I say?”
What can he say?One more word about my wife, buddy, and I’ll fucking cut out your tongue.
“What’s that smell?” he asks, sniffing with his nose in the air.
“Shit.” Sabella removes my arms from around her waist. “The waffle. It’s burning.”
I set her free with reluctance, lifting her to her feet as I stand. When she makes a beeline for the toaster, I hold her back. I don’t want her to burn her fingers. I go over and remove the charcoaled waffle before dumping it in the sink.
Fabien chuckles. I’m just in time to catch him making a funny face at Sabella when I turn around. He’s very fucking lucky he’s into men. Even so, I still feel like stabbing a knife into his kidney.
He plates the waffles and covers them with aluminum paper before sliding them into the oven. Of course he knows where everything is. He bought and unpacked the kitchen utensils. It irks me that he’s so at home here, but Sabella seems happy, so I tolerate a breakfast of waffles doused in syrup and topped with strawberries and cream with my personal shopper intruding on my time with my wife.
I stay to make sure he leaves. Sabella walks him out. When she returns to tidy up the kitchen, I corner her. She must see the darkness that’s clouding my reason on my face, because her brown eyes widen as I back her up to the table and pin her against the edge with the weight of my body while caging her in with my arms.
“No more impromptu visits with Fabien,” I say in a soft tone that nevertheless carries the violence surging through me.
She stares at me with parted lips. “Are you serious?”
“Dead fucking serious.”
“What am I supposed to do when he shows up? Chase him away?”
I let my gaze play over her stunning features. “Yes.”
“He’s gay,” she exclaims. “Not that anything would’ve happened if he was straight.”
“I don’t care.” I brush my lips over hers. “I don’t want him here when you’re alone.”
Her jaw hardens. “I’m always alone. Is that part of my punishment? You want to make sure I don’t see people and have no friends?”
“It’s not a punishment,” I bite out, leaning closer still.
She arches back. “Then what is it?”
“A precaution.”
She forces a laugh. “Against what? Being attacked by Fabien? Or to ease your jealousy?”
“Doesn’t matter,” I mutter, sliding a hand under her sweater and cupping her breast.
“You really don’t trust me, do you?”
Her nipple grows hard against my palm through the lace of her bra. “Should I?”
She gasps when I give a gentle pinch.
“I can ask you the same,” she says.
And the answer would be no. I fucked with her pills. I’m having her watched. I’ve got every corner of the house under camera surveillance. There’s a lot I’m keeping from her.
“Thought so,” she whispers, biting her lip as I massage her curve.
At least this is one thing we agree on. The lust. We’re like an explosion when we get together. She’s boisterous fireworks and gentle sparks and every other degree of raw desire in between, depending on how I rub her up, and how I want her now is with my mouth.
