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The dark that slashes across those eyes at themention of me being hurt kickstarts my heart. This man is my fake fian—husband—but there’s nothing fake about the intensity he seems to feel for me.
It’s conflicting. Confusing.
I don’t even know where the boundaries rest anymore. I’m not even sure we have any after last night, when the man shattered me in the absolute best orgasm I’ve ever experienced, before fucking my mouth like he was trying to brand me.
My skin heats at the thought, and the slash of dark in Kane’s eyes shifts, swirling into something else. Something more.
“What are you thinking, Sunshine?” His voice is husky.
My body responds to the sound—to the meaning of that pitch as though my soul has lived a thousand lives with this man, and it knows just what it means when he gets that tone.
His eyes track the tip of my tongue as I wet my lips, a shaky breath rattling from my lungs as I lie, “Nothing.”
He makes a noise in the back of his throat that plainly calls my bullshit before he reaches into the back seat for the superficial marriage certificate, (we still have to apply for the real one) flips me bridal style into his arms and carries me over the threshold into our home.
It’s well passed two in the morning, and we haveto be up early to surprise my parents, so I say, “We have an early morning. I really should get to bed.”
Kane nods, not bothering with lights as he re-arms the alarm system. Then he takes my hand in his again, leading me to the stairs where our bedrooms sit. Last night, after he thoroughly made me come and I returned the favor, he carried me to his bed where I fell into a deep, sated by orgasm, sleep. When I woke, I didn’t take the time to peek around before I escaped, heart thundering, into my own room before Kane woke and I had to face him in the light of day, naked.
I pause outside my bedroom door, the tug on my hand unquestionable as Kane stops with me.
“What are you doing, Sunshine?”
“Going to bed.”
His eyes darken again, and a slow, dangerous smirk touches his lips. “You’re my wife. You sleep in my bed.”
I swallow hard. “I’m your fake wife.”
I hate reminding him of this. I do it mainly becauseIneed the reminder. This man feels too real to me. Too mine. But I can’t forget that he’s not mine. Not really.
And we have an expiration date.
A single throb in Kane’s jaw precedes his very domineering actions as he twists his body to face mine fully, crowding into my space without ever releasing his hold on my hand. My back connects with the wall outside my bedroom door, and he angles his head tocage me into the prison of his massive body as the hand with the marriage certificate slaps against the wall on the side of my head. The scent of him, like sin and winter and seclusion invades me like a cool breath of awareness surging inside my lungs.
I’m not afraid of him, not even a little, and yet a tremble rolls through the entirety of my body.
His voice is deep, every word sharp as a blade pointed straight at my heart. “Iknow what you taste like, what your pussy feels like around my tongue as you come.Iknow that the tension in your body eases when my hands pull you close.Iknow that the darkness that haunts you in the night shatters to fucking dust when I touch my hand to your skin.Youaremywife, Nevaeh Isabella Volkov.” A shiver erupts across my flesh—a thousand tiny needles. “Mywife sleeps inmybed. Inmyarms. Every. Fucking. Night.”
Holy. Wow.
I swallow hard, not able to do anything but nod.
Kane watches me for another long moment, like he’s not sure if he should continue telling me how it is for the sake of ensuring I understand, before he pushes from the wall, pulling me from my room to his. To—ours.
He strolls inside, pulling me behind him before he swings the door closed. It clicks shut with enough of a bang to make me jump.
I’m uneasy. Unsure. This feels different from lastnight when I’d already been in bed and he’d been in his boxers, joining me.
This feels uncertain and a little uncomfortable. We’re both fully clothed and I’m not sure how to go about making myself comfortable in his space.
Kane drops the manila envelope holding the proof of my insanity onto his dresser before he turns to stare—orglareat me.
Oh boy.
“This is your space now. You’re free to make it yours any way you like.”
I shift on the spot. “This feels awkward.”
