Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 46926 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 235(@200wpm)___ 188(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46926 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 235(@200wpm)___ 188(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
“Yours,” I agree. “Now fuck me, Mr. Wolfe. Give me all you’ve got.”
With a growl that sounds like a wild animal, he pulls out and slams home. Again and again, he pounds into me mercilessly. All I can do is hold on for dear life as he claims his wife, leaving bruises I’ll wear proudly later. “Yes! Yes! Damien!”
I clench around him violently as I come, which seems to trigger his own release. With a growl, Damien empties himself deep inside me, hips jerking erratically.
We collapse in a sweaty, sated heap. Damien nuzzles my neck as we catch our breath. “Fuck, Francesca. I think I died for a second there.”
I stroke his hair with a satisfied smirk. “And my pussy brought you back to life? I’m amazing.”
He pulls back, his gaze intense. “You are absolutely incredible. Never forget that.”
Exhausted and sticky with sweat, I ask, “Can I take this dress off now?”
“No. Sleep in it.” His tone is firm, brooking no argument.
I blink, certain I’ve misheard. “What? You can’t be serious.”
His eyes harden. “I am. The dress stays on.”
What the hell? Who makes their wife sleep in her wedding dress? I open my mouth to argue, but something in his expression stops me cold.
This is a side of Damien I haven’t seen before. Not like this. I swallow hard, forcing a smile. “Okay, if that’s what you want.”
He nods, seemingly satisfied, and pulls me close. As I lay here wrapped in layers of tulle and lace, I realize I’ve just seen something significant about the man I married today.
And I pray I didn’t make a mistake.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Frankie
Everyone says there’s an adjustment period after marriage, getting used to living with another person, the constant compromise and the sharing of space. Maybe it’s because we were already living together because of circumstances out of our control or maybe we just fit so perfectly that the adjustment period isn’t as stressful as people make it out to be.
For the past week, I’ve come home from work and Damien is already here. There haven’t been many late nights at the office because he’s here, greeting me at the door. Maybe the jealousy I felt with Jess and the whole be careful who you trust was just my imagination. Because Damien is definitely not having an affair.
Tonight, when I step inside the house I inhale deeply, letting the scent of garlic and basil fill my nostrils.
“Frankie, is that you?”
I can’t help the warmth that fills me with the sound of his voice, and when he stands in the doorway between the kitchen and living room, my whole body heats up. “In the flesh.”
“What lovely flesh it is,” he shoots back with a teasing grin. “How was work today?”
“Fine,” I answer easily, because the last thing I want right now is to talk about work. The Butcher seems to have gone underground, or he’s in the middle of a major cooling off period, which is good for the citizens of Los Angeles, but it also means our chances of catching him are slim. “How was your day?”
“Better now that you’re home.” Damien’s long strides close the gap between us, and before I can react, his lips crash into mine—soft but demanding. His hands cradle my face, a mix of tenderness and ownership, drowning out the moans of pleasure that escape me.
My body lights up almost instantly. Every sweep of Damien’s tongue across my lips sends a spark of electricity through me. His touch awakens the darkest, hungriest parts of me and my hands go to his shoulders, tangling in the soft strands at the nape of his neck. Tugging them as I pull him closer.
Too soon, Damien pulls back with a slightly foggy expression. “Hey, Mrs. Wolfe.”
“Hey, Mr. Wolfe,” I reply with a shaky breath. “What smells so good?”
“I seem to recall you telling me how much you enjoy simple, classic Italian and I’ve prepared something for you. Garlic basil chicken with a butter tomato sauce.”
“You cooked?”
He nods. “I wanted to do something special for you.”
There’s no way my heart can get more full of this man. Every single day, I love him more. “Every day with you is special, Damien. But I appreciate the effort.”
“Do I have time to change? I had to track a witness down at Men’s Central and I’d prefer to wash it off before dinner.”
“You have plenty of time. Need help?”
“Absolutely, if you’re offering.” Indecision flashes on his face and I laugh. “I’ll get started without you.”
He groans but he doesn’t follow me, which doesn’t surprise me. Damien is a perfectionist with everything he does, and cooking is no exception. He’s impressed me with his own cooking skills, but every night it’s amazing. Something spectacular.
A master of French cuisine graced our table last night with a four-course meal and wine that sent my taste buds spiraling into heaven. The night before? A Greek masterpiece that was nothing short of culinary perfection.