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Blinking, I nod.
“Good. Then hear me and understand. I’m your husband. It’s my job to pay the bills, and it’s my job to take care of you in every way you need.”
“I can’t just not contribute,” I protest weakly, some of my heat fading in the face of his declaration.
“You’re giving me you, that’s the most valuable thing I’ll ever own.”
“It’s the twenty-first century,” I try to argue, but my words lack intensity, and instead of hearing me, he smirks.
“I don’t give a fuck what year it is. I’d rather you stop working so we could concentrate on making as many babies as possible,” he rumbles, his anger gone and replaced with seductive charm.
“I’m not giving up my job.” It takes every ounce of strength I have to force the words out of my mouth, but he needs to understand I have to work. I need and want to work, and even though I’ll allow him to control some of my life, I won’t allow him to control that.
His eyebrow arches, like he’s impressed with my bravado and challenging me at the same time.
“Oz, I need my job.” I know I’m pleading, but if he continues to exert that level of steely control over me, I’ll buckle, and I don’t want that.
“Fine. But when the baby comes…” he starts.
“I’m not pregnant.”
“Hmm,” he says, his lips tipping up into a coy smirk.
“Oz, I might never be able to have children.” Swallowing thickly, I dip my gaze to my hands in my lap, not wanting to see the disappointment in his face.
“I know that, Little One. If you can’t get pregnant, our lives will still be perfect because I’ll still have you. Baby or not, I’ll still fuck you and fill you up over and over. I’ll still breed you every night for the rest of our lives. Your sweet cunt will be so full of me that your body will take on my scent and you’ll get withdrawals if it’s been too long since I fucked my cum into you. I want you pregnant with my baby, but as long as I have you, I’m the richest man in the world.”
His words are so perfect, so filthy and depraved and wonderful that I can’t help but need to look at him. Lifting my chin, I search his face for lies, but the more I look at him, the more he looks less and less like the monster of my past and more like the man of my future.
How has this happened?
Maybe it really is magic or fate. Maybe destiny planted us in each other’s paths too early, and this is our second chance? Maybe the reckless, impulsive choice I made to say yes to him won’t be the stupidest decision I’ve ever made, maybe it’ll be the best.
14
OZ
Idon’t know which part of what I just said to her has lifted some of the fear and anxiety from her eyes, but whatever it was, I’m glad, because my wife has the ability to make me fucking crazy with just a few softly spoken words. Honestly, I thought it’d take a lot longer than this for us to have a level of comfort where we can annoy the shit out of each other and not resent the other for it, but apparently not.
Even when she’s pissing me off, my dick is still fucking hard, and my resolve to give her body some time to recover is weakening. I have never wanted someone the way I want Etta. The intensity with which I crave her would be disconcerting if I wasn’t so obsessed with her.
I pushed her into marrying me because I didn’t want her to think this was casual. I didn’t want to give her an opportunity to run or put distance between us. But Nero and Tori’s reactions have unsettled me. Will everyone look at us and see a brother and sister, not a married couple?
I’ve never considered her a sister. Truthfully, back when we first met, she was just a mousy little inconvenience. She was my target, my victim, my prey. In some ways, that hasn’t changed, only now she’s the target of my lust and obsession, she’s a victim of my single-minded devotion, and she’s still my prey. Only now I don’t want to hurt and upset her, I want to hunt her down and claim her in a primitive, animalistic way.
Until a week ago, I’d have considered myself a fairly new-age, woke male. Now, I’m ready for the Dark Ages again. Me man, her woman. Mine. Mine. Mine. The shift was so instantaneous that I’m not even sure if it happened the moment she stepped off that bus or the first time her eyes lit up when I called her my good girl.
Now, I want her tied to my bed, naked, wet, and waiting for me. I want her only priority to be me. I want all her thoughts to start and end with me. I want her to dream about me and obsess over me. I want her to be as mine as I am hers.
Reaching over the center console in my truck, I cup her cheek, then slide my palm down until my hand is wrapped around her throat, the rapid beat of her pulse beneath my thumb. “Who looks after you, wife?”
Her pupils dilate, and I feel her swallow against my fingers. “You do,” she breathes.
“Yes, I fucking do. In every way, don’t I, Little One? I feed you. I bathe you. I fuck you. I look after you and you like it, don’t you?”
She swallows again, and a silent little gasp pushes its way from between her lips.
“You like it, don’t you, Etta?”
