Page 62 of The Unwanted Wife

"You’re a primal Dom," I try out the word in my mouth, and a buzzing sensation shivers up my spine. There’s something powerful about that word. Dom. Dominant. Husband.

"And you’re my prey.” He holds out his hand.

My pussy squeezes in on itself. My toes curl. I should not find that arousing. He’s saying he’s going to hunt me and… My scalp prickles, pins and needles dot the soles of my feet, and when he holds out his hand, given the glower he’s sporting, I decide not to ask any more questions. Not when I know I’ll love the answers he gives me, and then hate myself for loving them. I’ve discovered enough of that darker side inside of me for today. I place my palm in his.

He turns me around and proceeds to unzip me. He slides the gown down my arms, and then my hips. When it pools around my ankles, I step out of it. Thanks to the built-in bra, and since I took off my panties earlier, I’m naked. In front of my husband. For the first time. He applies light pressure on my shoulder, and I pivot to face him. He rakes his gaze down my face, my breast, my stomach. I begin to wrap my arms about myself, but he stops me with a touch on my arm. "Don’t hide that beautiful body of yours.”

I swallow. My cheeks burn. He’s been inside me. He’s touched parts of me, inside and out that no one else has. But standing without clothes in front of the gorgeousness that is Nate makes me feel so inadequate. "You’re so handsome, and I"—I look away and mumble—"I’m fat and ugly and?—"

"Hey, stop insulting my wife," he growls.

"You don’t have to be polite."

I try to cover myself with my arms again, and he wraps his fingers around my wrists to stop me.

I’m still not comfortable with him seeing me like this, so I try to explain. "I’ve been teased enough times in school, and then at university. Even my fellow bakers in the Master Baker Program couldn’t resist, pointing out that I was a big girl. Obviously, I like my desserts."

"They were stupid idiots who should be waterboarded, tied up in the dark, and not allowed to sleep for a week,” he snaps.

I crack a smile. "That seems a little over-the-top."

"They deserve worse. You’re gorgeous. Your figure is the kind the master artists drew on canvas and sculptors rhapsodized about in stone. You’re natural, and curvy?—"

"You mean, I’m fat."

"Lush and full-bodied and curvy."

"Gosh, who knew you had so many different ways of saying fat in a diplomatic way," I say lightly, darting my gaze around the room.

He makes a growling noise at the back of his throat, and my nipples perk up. Ugh. Also, my pussy clenches. Stupid pussy. My body hasn’t gotten the memo that I’m not supposed to react with such intensity to him. Although, what else can you expect me to do when he’s standing in front of me dripping sex from every pore and revealing his perfect V-cut abs? And then, there are those grey sweats, which ride low enough to show off that happy trail pointing to the promised land, a.k.a. his rather substantial prick. And what a surprise to find he’s not as much of a prick as he’d like to make himself out to be.

He notches his knuckles under my chin, so I have no choice but to meet his searing mismatched gaze. "You will not put yourself down. You will not say things which you and I both know are untrue. You are a gorgeous, intelligent, courageous, independent entrepreneur with more brains in your little finger than most people have in their heads."

"An entrepreneur who needed to barter herself for money to keep her business going,” I scoff.

Muscles work at his jaw. Those tendons of his throat I love so much pop out in such relief, I’m sure they’re going to snap. "Did you not want to marry me? Is that what this is about?"

I shake my head, then begin to brush past him. "I don’t want to talk about this."

But does he let me go? Of course not.

He circles my wrist with his fingers and pulls so I fall into him. He locks me in the circle of his arms, and glares into my face. "You doing a runner?"

"Just copying you, is all."

A nerve pops at his temple. His shoulders grow in size, and I’m sure he’s going to burst out of his skin, but then he laughs. I stare in surprise as his entire face lights up and makes him look so much younger.

Is this what he looked like before he joined the Marines? When he was a young man with dreams in his eyes and hopes of making the world a better place? Why is it that, from the time we’re born, we begin inching our way toward the cynical beings that life turns us into? Only on him, the grumpiness looks attractive. In fact, the more standoffish he is, the more I want to find a way to get close to him. And then, the fact that he didn’t have sex with anyone else after he saw me on my eighteenth birthday… Yes, he did let those women touch him... But he didn’t fuck them. A fierce hope pulses through my veins.

He walked away that day. I thought he hated me, but it turns out... He, too, harbored powerful feelings for me all this time. Everything I felt wasn’t one sided. My head spins. My scalp tingles. I place my palms on his chest, and his muscles twitch. It’s like touching a powerhouse of raw, steel cable, covered in flesh. My toes curl, and that pulse between my thighs spikes. I draw my fingers over the raised scars colored in by the jeweled robes of Goddess Justitia, up to her blindfolded eyes. "Is this tattoo to declare you believe justice is blind?"

"That’s a wrong preconception most people have. The blindfold represents that justice is impartial. I got the tattoo to remind myself death comes for all of us. Some, sooner than later. But Death is the ultimate equalizer."

“How long have you had it?”

“About a year,” he says.

I look up to find him watching me with curiosity.

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