Page 93 of Seizing Control: Part One

And there’s the clarity I sought…

Ugly as it may be.

My confession soothes my nerves.

Peace descends as my warring desires call a ceasefire.

Temporarily, at least, since my muddled head likes to regularly circle back to my issues.

As I begin to contemplate returning to my wedding party, the door is crashed into from the other side. I stop rocking, adjust my skirt, and wait for whoever Crystal’s sent to talk me off the ledge to force their way inside my sanctuary.

Once.

Twice.

On the third bang, the lock splinters.

I smooth my fingers along the skin under my eyes as Nadia shrieks, “Slash!”

Damn it.

Crystal’s unleashed the big guns.

My husband moves the bureau out of the way with one hefty shove. I watch him with appreciation as he pushes through the gap and slams the door shut behind himself. He yanks the dresser back into place and chuckles to himself when my best friend pounds on the door.

Ever my protector, Nadia shouts, “Fuckin’ hell, Slash.” Bang. Bang. Bang. “She doesn’t want to see anyone.”

“She’s right, you know… I asked for some alone time before the ceremony.”

“So—” Slash shakes his head at me as his long legs eat up the space between us. “—the barricade was what then?”

“Insurance.” The humourless laugh that I offer him dies when he reaches me. The look in his eyes is new, very Zeke-like. In the time we’ve spent apart, he’s found the resolve to make his demand, and it scares me as much as it thrills me. “Not that I expected you to be the one to go all Neanderthal on the door... figured they’d send one of my uncles or Toker in to talk sense into me.”

“For better or worse, duchess.” My husband lowers himself to his knees in front of me. When his thick fingers collar my throat, I’m instantly taken back to the shower this morning. My heart starts to race. I’m light-headed, filled with misplaced lust, unable to meet his searching gaze as it tracks across my face. “Pretty sure you meant those words when you said them to me... ’cause I know I fuckin’ did. You falter, I catch you.”

As my body betrays me—and Zeke—I clench my thighs together.

In a mild voice, I suggest, “You should go. It’s bad luck to see me before the wedding.”

“That’s not really a problem for us, is it?” The taunt in his next words is mean-spirited and very un-Slash-like. “After all, we’re already married. I put a ring on your finger, and I sealed the deal with a hot as fuck kiss. You’re mine, wife... in every way bar one.”

“Slash.”

My warning is clear.

I want him to leave before we do something I regret.

The stark truth is that I’m scared of allowing him inside me the first time in front of an audience. But, being alone with him, being vulnerable with him, is even scarier. I want Slash. Physically. It’s a betrayal of Zeke’s sacrifice. A traitorous desire. One that can only occur when I have plausible deniability.

Like a ritual.

Or the need to cement our union with a child.

Any carnal contact outside of those parameters is dangerous.

It’s too risky—for my heart, for Zeke’s pride, for Slash’s ego.

I can’t give my husband what he wants.

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