Page 77 of Bound in Debt
“Why?” she mutters against our joined mouths. “You’re my husband. Take advantage of it.”
Absolutely not.
I meant what I said about mediocre sex. Victoria seems like a real pillow princess, the type of girl who always likes to be on the bottom and taken softly, reverently.
I hate that shit.
“I’m not taking advantage of you,” I assert as evenly as I can. She’s not making it easy, but I’m not looking to make me any harder.
“I want you to.”
Fuck me.
Pulling away from her sweet and intoxicating lips, I take my first deep inhale since she first began kissing me.
I’m not going to break this girl’s heart. That’s not to say I’m some conceited asshole that’s used to women falling at my feet, but Victoria is young and optimistic about life.
I want her to stay that way.
“Listen, princess,” I start, not knowing what else to say. I have no wise words to share and my thoughts feel too…mushy…to share. “You don’t have to do anything?—”
“It’s got nothing to do with obligation,” Victoria replies, her eyes clouded with a lusty haze, “and everything to do with having a little bit of fun while we’re in this.”
Now I’m starting to feel used.
“I’m not going to be your boyfriend after this,” I remind her, making the words sound firm and just a bit mean. “And you need to get to school.”
“I’m not going to school,” she argues again. “But, if you’re really so set on me learning something today, you could always instruct me?—”
“Go take a shower. We’re leaving in fifteen minutes.” I cut her off, pointing toward the bathroom. I cannot possibly be expected to ignore her continued begging for me to fuck her senseless. Not when she’s inches away from me, her lips swollen from my kiss.
I honestly expect her to put up more of a fight, but she promptly rolls out of bed, her back to me. And then she raises her baggy t-shirt over her head and lets it drift to the floor.
The swath of smooth, sun-kissed skin proves she’s not wearing a bra. Her light shrug as she lifted the fabric over her head proves she gives zero fucks that I know it.
That I saw it.
And that I just told her to cool down while I try to do the same because I’m not trying to make shit more complicated than it has to be. At the end of the day, we have different goals and aspirations. The last thing I need right now is her crying over some imagined romance, not when I already have a mob leader riding my ass and watching my every move to see if he should put me at the top of his hit list.
When the bathroom door finally clicks closed and I hear the shower running, I finally adjust the bulge inside my pants and fish out my cell phone to check for any helpful messages to set my mind on the present.
I find none.
My hopes of Enzo—my potential two-million-dollar loan—answering my messages are beginning to dwindle down into a fantasy that’ll never come to fruition. He must be on an assignment and unavailable to help.
And that’s it.
I can’t wait on him. If Lombardi tweaks the agreement by so much as a week, we’re fucked.
And speaking of fucked, that means Victoria needs to get pregnant ASAP.
Or fake pregnant?
I don’t know all the exact terms of that shit from her trust. But if her mother or lawyer is looking for a positive pregnancy test, I can get that any damn day. Cash is king, after all.
Maybe we got married because Victoria is pregnant.
Getting out of bed, I begin planning my next move. We need to deceive everyone and get as much of that trust fund in her account as we possibly can. I’m sure there’s someone at Thronewood University who got knocked up, but I can’t have a bunch of gossip girls blabbing about a professor asking for a pregnancy test.
