Page 236 of By His Vow

“W-we’re married,” I whisper.

“Right?” His voice is calm, thoughtful, as if this whole thing hasn’t affected him or his life in any way. It’s not true. I know it’s not. I’ve seen his moments of vulnerability. His concern over letting me into his apartment and sharing his life with me. I swear I have.

“Doesn’t this…terrify you?” I ask, hating how open and vulnerable I feel.

“Why should it? It’s just a year, right? We do our time, and then we return to our lives as we know them.”

My brows pinch.

“And you’re okay with that?” I ask.

“Of course. I wouldn’t have agreed otherwise.”

“Right. Yeah,” I mutter, feeling like an idiot.

Of course, none of this really means anything to him.

It’s just a business deal.

“We should probably get ready. They’re expecting us for breakfast. We already ducked out of our reception early.”

“They can wait,” he rasps.

The hand that’s not around my throat drops to my hip once more and he pulls me back from the counter, positioning me exactly as he wants me.

He releases me in favor of rubbing his hardness through my folds, testing to see if I’m ready.

“Tatum,” he groans.

I should be ashamed of how wet I am for him. But I’m not.

We might be the unlikeliest of couples after we’ve spent most of our lives hating each other, but something magical happens when we collide. Something I’m quickly becoming addicted to.

Happy that I’m ready for him, he pushes just slightly inside me.

I gasp at the intrusion. As always, it feels incredible, but it also stings.

We really went for it last night and my body is feeling it. I just hadn’t realized how much until this moment.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear.

“Y-yeah.”

“Liar,” he hisses before biting down on my earlobe and sending a rush of heat to my pussy.

“Isn’t going to stop you though, is it?”

He chuckles as he pushes deeper inside me. “You know me so well.”

He fucks me slowly—so fucking slowly it makes my head spin and my body yearn for more.

Fuck being sore. I need him to unleash on me just like last night.

“Please,” I whimper, my grip on the granite counter so tight my knuckles are white.

“Please what, baby?”

“Fuck me, please. I need more.”

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