Page 140 of Mine to Ruin

“And you not touching, fucking, and kissing me will be yours.”

I press her to me. Like I am possessed, I don’t leave her side while we dance. Even in the lounge, I place her in my lap, while I play with the ring on her finger. She sips from a flute of champagne and the girls shoot off a hundred questions.

“I couldn’t let anyone else plan my wedding,” Aubrey says.

She avoids my gaze. “I just care about marrying him.”

“Plus, she has the most important thing, the dress. I bet you can’t wait to see her,” Tara says.

Words I have no control over slip free. “I am sure she will look beautiful.”

“What about children? How many do you want, Kian?” Tara asks.

All eyes are on me, and I force my voice to remain steady, “However many she wants.”

“But we have a lot to do before even thinking about babies, right?” She bats her lashes at me in the fakest sweetest way.

“Anything you want,” I counter back, sweetness rolling from my mouth, I should check my teeth for cavities.

The ride home in the elevator is filled with a piercing silence. This night couldn’t end sooner. Her presence tears at my composure. With every new floor, the button blinking mocks me as if testing my control with her so close to me. Her eyes glare a hole in my side, and I lose the silent war by opening my mouth.

“I can hear you thinking. Say it.”

“One day I will want children.”

“Make sure they are mine. One bastard in the family is enough,” I spit out.

“What is that supposed to mean?” she asks, raising her hands in exasperation.

I shove my hands in my pockets and mumble, “Nothing. I don’t want children.”

She raises a brow; it reaches her hairline as if asking me how that goes with going bare inside her.

“I do.”

I run a hand through my hair and she narrows her eyes at me.

“We’re not even married. Why are we talking about children?” I mumble and step out of the elevator.

When we enter our home, she says, “Can you help me with the dress?”

Can someone bring me a damn rope already?

“Of course.” It’s not like I haven’t imagined tearing it off her all night. I unzip her dress, and her soft, smooth skin gives way, and my finger traces her collarbone. She shudders under my touch. It would need a team of dozens of men to keep me from having her right now. She twirls on her toes, bites that carnal lower lip, fake innocence plastered on her face.

“Thank you. Good night.”

Oh no, this night doesn’t end with her in control and me suffering from blue balls. I chase her up the stairs, but she slams the door in my face and giggles. I pound on the door.

“Open the door.”

“What a pity, it’s stuck.”

I push at it, but it doesn’t budge. I slide down the door, and not even five minutes later, I receive a text from her, an image of her lying on her side, a hint of her breast and the indentation of her hip in plain view.

Wrong number. Oops.

I jump to my feet and scream at the door, and I hear her laugh.

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