Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 87005 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 435(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87005 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 435(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
“Patience, wife.” I smile at the beautiful woman in my hold.
She’s mine. That’s all I can focus on. No one else can touch her or hold her at night while she sleeps. At least not for the next year. That privilege goes to me, and fuck me, but I’m stoked about it.
I’m setting myself up for a crash-and-burn scenario when our time is up, but when I’ve got her like this, in my arms, holding onto me, smiling at me as if I hung the moon, well, I can’t seem to find any fucks to give. I promised her she would be my queen, and for the next twelve months, I intend to show her exactly what that means.
Consequences and pain be damned.
I make it to our room and step inside. It’s dark, but I’m able to make my way blindly to the bed and place her down gently before reaching over and turning on the bedside lamp. The first thing I see when the light illuminates the room is my wife’s smile. It lights up the room more than the lamp ever could.
“Is this how married life is going to be? You carting me around everywhere?” Her smile is radiant, and her question is one she already knows the answer to.
I shrug. “Probably.” I step in front of her and push her long, dark, curly hair over her shoulder. “You’re beautiful.”
A light pink blush coats her cheeks. “Thank you. You look handsome.” Monroe tugs on the hem of my untucked black dress shirt.
I stare down at her, and all I can think about is stripping her out of that dress. That’s what a man is supposed to do on his wedding night. I’m supposed to cherish my wife. The need to do that very thing is so strong that it’s like a tidal wave of desire pulling me under.
“Let’s get you out of the dress.” My voice is husky even to my own ears.
Monroe’s eyes widen just a fraction, but I notice. I offer her my hand, and she allows me to pull her to her feet.
“Turn around.”
She does as I ask, and I move her hair to the left so that I can have access to the zipper. Unable to resist, I lean forward and press my lips to the back of her neck as I start to help her out of the confines of the silky white fabric. I pull nice and slow, wanting to savor this moment. I’m halfway down her back when I realize she’s not wearing a bra.
Fuck.
“No bra?”
“N-No. It wouldn’t have worked with the low cut of the dress.”
Monroe’s explanation falls on deaf ears because my wife’s tits are bare beneath this thin piece of fabric. I can’t be expected to pay attention under these circumstances.
I keep tugging on the zipper, painfully slow, until I reach the end at the small of her back. A white lace thong with Mrs. Raines embroidered on the band greets me.
Mrs. Legend Raines.
My wife.
How am I supposed to ignore that? How am I supposed to walk out of this room to give her privacy to change when all I want to do is rip this dress to shreds and feast on her?
I settle for placing my index finger at the base of her neck and leisurely dragging it along the line of the zipper I just lowered. Her skin is soft like silk, and goose bumps break out across her skin. I want to trace each tiny bump with my tongue. When I reach her thong, I slide my index finger beneath the band.
“Are these panties for me?” My voice is gravelly. I can’t hide my desire for this woman.
Her chest expands with air. “They were a gift. From the girls at work.”
“You didn’t show me.”
“I-I didn’t think you’d see them.”
“You make them look sexy.”
She turns to look at me over her shoulder. Her electric-blue eyes are dark with desire. “You’re making me feel sexy,” she murmurs.
Abort.
I need to leave this room. I need to walk away and leave her alone. I’m crossing all kinds of invisible lines with this relationship. I have to remind myself that this is all for show. We’re pretending, and apparently, we’re damn good at it, because I can feel the need rolling off her in waves.
“Keep them on,” I say, my voice gruff. “I like thinking of you sleeping with our name on your ass.” I drop my hand and take a step back. My cock throbs against the zipper of my dark dress pants. I want her, but I can’t have her. “I’ll step out so you can finish.”
With that, I turn on my heel and rush out of the room, closing the door behind me. When I’m safely on the other side, I turn and rest my forehead against the door. My hand rests on the handle because the temptation to bust back through this door and ravish her is strong.