Page 22 of Bona Fide

? Thong Song — Sisqo ?

Reagan being in my arms,is torture—pure and utter torment. But it's what I've been craving to do ever since I walked in here. From the moment my eyes landed on her, my body responded.

The black dress that she's wearing is tempting, and fucking alluring as all hell to every one of my senses. It wraps around her neck then plunges down between her breasts all the way to just above her belly button.

All I would need to do is grip the two pieces of fabric and yank to expose her breasts.

She’s a ticking time bomb to my chronic lust for her.

Every bit of the term beautiful. Every hankering that I've had in the last few weeks on alert for her. And it doesn't go unnoticed by me that so is every other straight man in this room.

But now she's in my hold, and all I want to do is apologize, even knowing it'll do nothing.

I've dug myself into a hole with no means of getting out. And she's the proof I need to keep myself sane. She's the fucking sun, and I need her rays on my face because it makes me feel human again.

I want to find an empty closet, and have a rerun of my birthday party. I want to clarify everything, tell her that I need her to understand, to know my past. It’s not your normal marriage. I hate even saying it. Demi was a con for position and power.

And now that I have both, she’s back.

“I’ll save the compliments and just get to it.”

Reagan keeps her eyes deflected. “Don’t bother. I’m deaf to comments from an assclown.”

“Good thing I’m just an asshole then.” Her nostrils flare, but I swear I see her lips quirk. “I’m not giving up on this shit, Shelton. Us.”

“You might as well.”

“You know how I am by now.”

“Not sure that I do, Governor.” My hand squeezes hers as a warning.

“If you’d let me talk, you’ll understand everything that—” Her head snaps in my direction.

“I don’t want to know about your wife, Lockwood. Go fuck the receptionist if you like the chase.”

“I only enjoy the hunt when you’re the prize,” I affirm. “Besides, no one wears dresses like you, Shelton.” Her pupils flare at me, an alluring deep plum color that reminds me of being balls deep inside her.

“I’ll give them a few of mine. Your wife already stole one.”

My brows knit. “What?”

I think back to what Demi was wearing, but can’t remember. Just goes to show you how much I give a fuck. I told her to stay the hell home with her little boyfriend from Paris.

Instead, she shows up here.

It didn’t matter how much I threatened her or told her that there would be consequences to pay if she left that damn apartment of hers. I’m not a complete fucking moron to know that she’s trying to publicize that she’s back. That we could be back together.

Now one of my bodyguards is on their way to her apartment to go break one of her boyfriend’s hands.

She wants to fuck around with what's mine.

I'll make sure I break all her toys.

"Didn't notice it," I deadpan, stealing a glance down her body.

"It's my dress." Her eyes narrow underneath long eyelashes.

"Reagan—” I shrug. “—what do you want me to do about it? I make laws, not the dress code."

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