AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Back in the suite, I slip into my swimsuit, waiting for Ty to wake up. I’m hoping he’s refreshed and talkative tonight, so I can figure out what the hell is wrong with everyone. When I walk out into the living room, I notice Wells’s door is shut. He must finally be back.
As if he can hear my thoughts, his door handle clicks a moment later.
Holy hell. I’m not ready.
A swarm of deadly butterflies assaults my insides as I watch Wells swagger out of his room, freshly showered and scrumptiously casual—for him—in gray slacks and a black button-up, flawlessly hugging his trim, athletic form. My mind instantly swirls with questions about last night—the kiss, the orgasm, and the touches that keep floating over my skin and circling my being like a lost ghost. A haunting. I’m curious if that life was ever real, or if it was merely a vision of wishes.
A butterfly’s kiss.
But then, of course, there’s the question of where he’s been. Who he’s been with.
We exchange brief greetings, and I spit out my courage as I follow him back to his bedroom. “So, last night?”
He turns, cocking his dark brow at the same moment his lips lift at the corner, as if they were threaded together. “Yes?”
Voice steady and fingers pulling over the fluffy comforter to keep me grounded, I lock my eyes on his emerald gaze with feigned confidence. “I was wondering what happened.”
“Hmm.” That smirk spreads to a devious smile that would weaken the Devil himself. “With what specifically? The vile man who dared to touch you?”
“Sure.” Easing into the what-made-me-orgasm question is probably smart, and I barely remember that guy. “Start there.”
“Taken care of.” His chin dips while he relaxes into the leather chair across from the bed and casually drops a few Sour Skittles into his mouth, as if he’s daring me to continue, but wondering if I’ll back out now.
“That’s not exactly an answer, but whatever.” I wave my hand, shooing away the thought of that creepy man weighted at the bottom of the ocean as shark bait. Too many Mafia movies and darkromance novels have sullied my reality. “I’m more interested in what occurred after, in the room, when we were together.”
He tilts his head, and his tongue slips out in a captivating sweep of his lower lip, probably gathering up stray granules of sugar crystals. Lucky bastards. “You don’t remember?”
Flashes of him licking sugar off every inch of me batter my mind. Those Skittles could be downright filthy. Sweet and sour.Spicy.
“No.” I shake my head, crashing through my pornographic stupor to realize his answer suggestssomethingdid happen. It wasn’t all in my imagination. My thighs ache to squeeze away my need while my breathing becomes shallow. “Did we …”
He kicks his legs up onto the small table before him, ankles crossed, tongue seductively sucking the lifeblood from that damn candy while he studies me as though I were the answer to his most troubling issues. “Are you asking if we consummated our marriage, Ivanna?”
My full name on his lips should be annoying, and yet it’s the sweetest it’s ever sounded. No longer pretentious, but poetic, endearing.
Even though he tends to use it as a taunt or warning.
His warnings excite me more than they should.
My skin heats and flushes. Too mortified to verbally confirm that I am indeed asking if consummation took place, I nod, slack-jawed at his lewd tasting.
He springs up with the same intense resolution all his movements hold, coasting fluidly until he’s right before me, leaning down and tucking a wisp of my hair behind my ear, his lips following the movement. His rasp wets my lobe and neck and … bikini bottoms. “Trust me, Little Storm, if I fucked you, you’d know. You’d be feeling me for days. An experience you’d never forget.”
Good God.
A traitorous whimper escapes me, and aggravation boils in my veins that he remains cool and collected, unaffected, while I crumble in his essence. One deep breath and a bold move for the win.
“Good to know. Are you planning to? Just curious. You’re always so thorough, and it’s the only way to take annulment off the table.” That last part lands somewhere between a pathetic plea and an empty threat. Not what I was going for.
He chuckles, his arm wrapping around my bare lower back to draw me closer, as his thumb grazes over my lips and chin and jaw. Throat. There, he plants his palm, my erratic heartbeat thrashing to reach his fingertips, as though it were caged and he was freedom.
He tsks. “Greedy little thing, I see. That’s not generally how I complete mybusinesstransactions.”
Since the mere thought of him with another woman has bile burning my esophagus, that knowledge is quite comforting, as is this stronghold he has on me. I wish he’d tighten his grip, shove me against the wall, and make me his damn wife in the most depraved ways imaginable.
“Of course,” I whisper, peering at him from under my lashes. “It’s wise to stay in your lane, so you don’tdisappoint, especially since it’s something I’d most certainlyneverforget.”
That hand around my throat tightens as his eyes, which normally hold a twinkle of humor and humanity, grow cold and still. An eerie winter forest. My words may have hit a nerve. The questions—which nerve and why? His two-day-old stubble shadows the set of his flexing jaw, and I wonder how long he’ll stay like this, searing my soul with anger he chooses not to voice. There are plenty of other ways we could settle things, I’m sure. His hand on my throat and his sheer dominance have me cataloging several tantalizing avenues, but by his own admission, this is business. Finally, as if the silence he’s exhibiting is my fault, he rushes a breath, moves his hand to the wall behind us, and regains himself.
