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I nod as she begins to run me through all the various aspects she chose from each design. “You can have anything you want,” I cut her off.
She tilts her head to look at me and smiles. “Anything?” I nod, my breathing labored. “Thank you, Zane,” she says before pressing a kiss to my cheek, startling me. The gesture is so sweet it completely disarms me, reminding me of the way she used to smile up at me and kiss my face randomly as we both worked at night, distracting me until I was buried deep inside her on my sofa.
“I’m excited about this,” she tells Jill, who’s staring at me in disbelief. I suppose it’s odd to see me like this — completely at my wife’s mercy, when I’ve always been cutthroat and professional.
She nods politely and walks out of our office with a surprised but pleasant expression, like she’s happy with the progress she so quickly made with her designs, thanks to Celeste. The door falls closed, and Celeste tenses.
“What was that?” she asks, trying to push off me.
I hold her tighter and slide my hand up her thigh, underneath her skirt. “Indeed. What was that, Celeste?” I ask, my fingertips riding up slowly. She presses her legs together, a soft whimper on her lips. “You were jealous, weren’t you?”
She gasps, a denial no doubt on the tip of her tongue. I steal it away by trailing my fingers over her soaking silky underwear. She moans when I push the fabric aside and drag my index finger right up to her clit. “No,” she whimpers. “I wasn’t… wasn’t jealous.”
I chuckle and lean in, my teeth gazing her earlobe. “Liar,” I whisper, before pinching her clit softly, teasingly. She’s so fucking slippery, and fuck, I wish I could just bury my face between her legs right now. I’m so close to begging for it.
Celeste grips the edge of my desk and rises to her feet, wrenching herself away from me. I frown in confusion, certain she wanted this as much as I do. She straightens her skirt and takes a few steps away, her cheeks flushed beautifully.
“Is that how it started, Zane?” she asks, her eyes clearing of every last trace of lust. “With Lily. While you spent your evenings with me… were your days like this?”
My eyes widen, my shield dropping back into place as I grab my handkerchief from my suit pocket and wipe my fingers. I look up at her once I’ve regained my composure, my gaze level. “Does my answer even matter?”
ChapterFifty-Five
Zane
I sigh as I check my watch, noting the late hour. Normally, I’d already be in bed by ten, but these days, I often don’t even make it home until eleven. The only way I can ignore Celeste is when I’m not anywhere near her. She continuously provokes me at work, fighting with me over assets, hiring decisions, and even small details, like the way the slides for our next proposal should look. I’m not sure if she’s just trying to get on my nerves, but if she is, she’s definitely succeeding.
Three weeks of marriage, and I’m ready to walk away from everything if it means we’d stop fighting. She makes it so clear that she hates me, and at work that’s easier to deal with — at the office it’s easier to remind myself of all the harm she caused my company, only for it all to fall into her hands anyway. It’s inside our home that the lines blur, and my heart begins to guide me in a direction I won’t take. She fucking torments me, every single second of every fucking day.
I run a hand through my hair as I walk into the living room, only to freeze in surprise when she looks up at me from the sofa, where she’s lying back with a book in her hands, a sexy red nightgown riding up her body. Something tender tugs at me when I realize it’s the latest book in the endless series of romance fantasy novels that Sierra, Raven, and she’d been reading. Does she know Sierra and Raven still read them too? I got them both advance copies of the one she’s got in her hands right now, and each time I bribed the author, I thought of Celeste.
She tenses when I walk up to her, but she pulls her legs back to make space for me on the sofa. I hesitate for a split second before sitting down and grabbing the remote. I’ve been watching TV in here every evening, waiting for her to fall asleep before I join her in our bed. Somehow, going to bed with her is too hard for me, it makes the regret feel too heavy, the loss too debilitating. I usually stay here until I doze off and end up waking up again at around three in the morning.
She normally barely leaves the bedroom when she’s home, so I’m not sure why she’s here now. Did she figure out this is where I spend my evenings? Is this another attempt to annoy me? I sigh as I browse through the channels, knowing I won’t be able to focus on anything anyway — I never do. I end up thinking about her in my bed, wishing things were the way they used to be, and then I grab my laptop to drown her out with work.
Celeste’s feet brush against my thigh, and I glance down at her bright purple nail polish, wondering what she’s wearing tonight. It’s a cute habit I always loved, the way she’d frequently change her nail polish based on her mood.
She jumps when I grab her feet and place them in my lap, so she can lie back the way she did when I walked in. Neither of us says anything as I begin to massage her feet the way I used to, my thumbs circling the arch of her foot. She sighs happily, and I try my hardest not to react. For five years, I didn’t want anyone, yet the one woman my mind doesn’t want, my body can’t resist.
I see Celeste turn the page from the corner of my eye, and she repositions herself, the angle of her legs exposing her matching silk panties. I bite down on my lip as I imagine the way they’ll darken as I soak them through, and something twisted takes hold of me — a deep need to show her that despite all that hatred she throws at me, she still wants me too.
I stop massaging her feet and drape my left hand over her ankles while the other reaches for the remote again. She repositions herself, a soft gasp escaping her lips when her foot brushes against my cock. I tense, waiting to see what she’ll do, and sure enough, she rubs my cock slowly, the movement so subtle I’d have thought it was an accident if I didn’t know her so well.
I lean back on the sofa, my left hand drawing circles across the parts of her legs I can reach, almost absentmindedly. Celeste sighs and pushes against my cock harder, demanding my attention. I turn to look at her and raise a brow provocatively. If she wants something, she’ll have to ask for it.
Her gaze meets mine, and fuck, I’m enchanted. Seeing my wife spread out on our sofa in that silky red nightgown that clings to her body, the shape of her nipples visible through the fabric… It’s ridden up to her hips, her panties now clearly visible, and I don’t think I’ve ever been this tempted. Her book is now forgotten, its pages pressed against her stomach as she looks at me.
I lift my hand off her and drape it across the back of the sofa instead, putting the ball in her court. Getting involved with her again will do me no good, but I also can’t resist her when she looks likethat. Her foot rubs my cock purposely now, almost painfully so, and I need to get out of these fucking suit pants. I need her to touch me.
“Where were you?” she asks, her voice needy. “Where are you every night, Zane? You leave work before I do, and I don’t see you at home at all.”
I clench my jaw and stare her down, my heart aching. The distrust in her eyes is obvious, and it hurts, but it fucking enrages me too. I take a calming breath and grab her ankle with my right hand, leaving my other hand on the sofa. Her breath hitches when I bring her foot to my lips and kiss the side of it, before turning my head toward her and kissing her just above her ankle.
“Answer me,” she demands, her voice wavering.
I press another kiss to her skin, moving up her leg. “I won’t,” I tell her, before turning my torso to lean over her and kiss the inside of her thigh. My hand wraps around her knee tightly as I nip at her soft skin. “Just who do you think you are, Celeste? Just because you’re my wife on paper doesn’t mean you have any rights to me. I don’t owe you any explanations, not anymore.”
Her expression hardens as she hooks her leg around my waist. In one smooth move, she’s in my lap, straddling me as she steadies herself with her hands on my shoulders, her book falling to the floor in the process. “You’re wrong,” she tells me, her tone threatening. “You’remine, Zane. For the next three years, you’re mine.” Her fingers thread through my hair, and she forces me to face her, her gaze demanding and desperate.
