Page 25 of Satin Empire

Because it’s not mine.

My routine is smashed to smithereens and I have no clue how I’m supposed to get to sleep. I take longer in the bathroom than usual, hovering at the sink and fretting near the tub, wondering if maybe I can just run away, book a hotel, and pretend like none of this is happening.

Except the gorgeous man out there is my husband, whether I like it or not, and Orsino will drag me back if I try to escape.

When I finally emerge, feeling awkward and naked even though I’m wearing a pair of shorts and an old t-shirt, nothing sexy about it, he’s sitting on the end of the bed with a book open in his lap. He looks up, and for a second, I swear his face transforms. He was bored before; but now that his eyes roam over my body, lingering on my chest—fuck, this shirt is actually thin as hell and I’m not wearing a bra and yep, my nipples are hard now that I’m looking at him—he’s suddenly ravenous with the sort of hunger that can get a girl in a lot of trouble.

It’s the same look he gave me as he prowled up onto the stage moments before I bared my tits to a crowd of sleazeballs.

“I didn’t know which side you wanted to sleep on,” he says and I’m struck by how surprisingly considerate that is.

“Don’t you have a side already?”

He shrugs and gestures at me. “Everything’s different now. I assumed we’d start over. Maybe we can flip a coin?”

“I’ll take the left,” I say, since it’s closer to the bathroom and I tend to get up at least once every night. My baby bladder makes sure I can never get a perfect night’s sleep, which isn’t normally much of a problem, but now I have to worry about waking him up too.

“Fine with me.” He closes his book—it’s a biography about some guy named Admiral Nelson—and walks around to the right. I hesitate at the side of the bed, and suddenly the sheets look like a trap, the comforter too heavy, everything all wrong. I’m a total mess, but this shouldn’t be a huge deal. It’s just going to bed—I do it every night—except I’ve never done it with a man before.

The thought sends a jolt down my spine.

“You okay?” he asks, staring at me as he sits up against the headboard.

How am I supposed to tell him that I’ve never shared a bed with a man before? I’ve had boyfriends, I’ve had sex, but I’ve never done a sleepover. He already thinks I’m a freaking child and this isn’t going to help my case at all, but I’ve always lived at home. I never had the opportunity. Now I’m alone in a room with a man I don’t know, standing next to his bed, wondering how the hell I’m supposed to fall asleep next to him.

I don’t answer. I can’t bring myself to talk. Instead, I just slip under the covers and curl up into a tight ball, squeezing my eyes closed. I’m not reading tonight. Forget scrolling the socials. If I can just pass out, then maybe I can get through this nightmare.

He’s quiet for a little while, and I’m not sure how much time passes before he sighs, closes his book, and clicks off the light. The room drops to darkness, and I’m starting to think I can survive all this, when his voice comes through the night, silky and low.

“You mentioned rules,” he says, and I swear he’s talking right into my ear. I flinch and roll onto my back—but he’s firmly on his side of the bed.

“You want to hear them right now?”

“It might make you feel less stressed out if I’ve been properly briefed. For example, am I allowed to come over there and help you fall asleep?”

“Definitely not,” I say quickly even though the idea makes my heart race like I’m mid-marathon. “I’m fine, okay? I’m basically about to pass out any second now.”

Another low, sinful chuckle. How does this man manage to make even a normal laugh ooze with sex? There’s something about him, and it’s not only his looks—it’s partly his confidence, but mostly it stems from the way he looked at me that night at the strip club when he stormed onto the stage. He was a savage, a total beast come to claim what was his and protect his woman from the gazes of all those rival men. I bet he would’ve beaten them all senseless if given the chance and claimed me right there in front of a dozen or more strangers, which is wildly exciting for some crazy reason. That’s a feeling I’ll have to investigate further at some point.

But right now, it’s his possessiveness that’s driving me wild. He dragged me off that stage, and now he’s making me sleep in his bed, all because I’m supposed to be his.

A more normal, rational girl would be scared as hell. That should freak me out given everything I’ve gone through in my life. Except it doesn’t. For some reason, it only makes my pulse skitter up into my brain.

“You seem very relaxed right now, baby,” he whispers, and I close my eyes, doing my best not to imagine his hands on my body, riling me up only to give me what I really want.

“You want the rules? Okay, how about this one. No talking at night. Only sleeping.”

“Rejected. Next.”

I snort-laugh and roll onto my side to glare at him. He’s smiling back, his eyes amused by his own response, which annoys the hell out of me. I bet he’s the kind of person who thinks nobody’s funnier than him.

“You can’t reject my rules. That defeats the purpose.”

“What’s the purpose then, baby?”

“Rule two. Stop calling me baby or any other diminutives.”

“Diminutives? That’s one hell of a word, baby.”

---