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As I peel the clothes off of her, every warm brush of her skin against mine feels like a new vow.
I vow to cherish her.
To ravish her.
To treasure her.
To give her everything she needs…
Whether or not she knows she needs it.
When she’s naked, I press my hand between her legs, stroking her gently as she bucks her hips against my fingers. “I have proof of your lie right here,roza,” I growl into her ear. “It’s dripping all over my hand.”
In response, she slams her lips against mine.
I taste blood. “Did you just bite me?” I ask her in amazement.
She arches a brow without a hint of shame. “Sure did. And you’re still here. What’s that proof of?”
“That marrying you wasn’t enough.” I slide my hand down her side towards her scar. “I still need to show you that you’re mine.”
Her chest shudders as my fingers trace the intricate line of her scar. All at once, she grabs my hand and lifts it to her chest. “Does that make you mine, too?”
In answer, I grip her waist and spin her around. Laila catches herself on the wall, understanding what’s happening enough to arch her back just as I drive my cock inside her.
This was supposed to douse the flames burning in my chest. It was supposed to make things easier. But with every stroke inside my wife—fuck,that word is tantalizing—the fire rages hotter, brighter.
I don’t belong to anyone. I never have.
But as I bury myself in Laila again and again, it doesn’t sound like the worst idea.
She stretches her arms above her head, her palms flat against the wall, and sinks back onto me. I slide deeper with a growl. “The license was for the law,” she gasps. “The vows were for the Lord.” She looks back over her shoulder, her periwinkle blue eyes gone glassy. “Who is this for?”
I ignore the answer that slips to the very tip of my tongue, and bury myself in her again and again.
I should’ve gone to my room.
I should’ve stayed downstairs.
Fuck, I should have locked my office door eight months ago and never let this woman walk into my life.
But it’s way too fucking late for any of that now.
My hand slips around her hip, and I circle two fingers against her, thrusting to the pace of her moans. When she leans her head back and clenches around me, I drive into her, spilling into her until we’re both breathless and limp against the wall.
Only when the last tremors have faded do I dare to breathe again.
It was for me,I say silently.Not the law. Not the Lord.
This was forme.
22
ARSEN
“Where is she?”
My voice is still thick with sleep, and the rich scent of espresso wafting from the kitchen is like a siren call. Still, there’s only one thing on my mind. Has been since the moment I opened my eyes and found Laila’s side of the bed cold.
