Page 27 of The Retreat

“I’m not fucking wearing one.”

The grip in my hair tightens, sending shivers of pain mixed with pleasure down my spine.

“It’s a black tie event. You are wearing one.” That bossy tone goes straight to my dick.

My face heats, and I can see the color change in my cheeks in the mirror when my eyes meet his. “We’re the grooms. We don’t have to follow the rules. It’s a perk.”

“You’re wearing the fucking tie. If I have to staple it to your throat, I will.”

I lift an eyebrow and smirk. “Kinky.”

“Owen, are you dressed?” Oliver’s voice carries from the bedroom into the closet.

“No! He’s jacking off to pictures of my ass!” I yell before Owen can respond.

Owen sighs heavily. “Is this how you are before you have to behave? You have to get all the brat out first?”

A smile lightens my face. “There’s an easy way to get it to stop,” I tease.

“I’m not rewarding bad behavior. You’re like a puppy.”

He releases my hair and hands me the tie that’s hanging from my suit hanger. Rolling my eyes, I take it and tie the stupid thing. I really hate bow-ties.

Once it’s on, I turn to him with arms out to the side. “Happy now?”

“Not hardly.” He fusses with it, then drags a fingertip up my throat before turning and leaving me alone. Jerk. I’m not sure what happened since that night we spent on the floor, but he’s different. Maybe it’s having the security blanket of Oliver home, maybe taking care of him that night changed our dynamic, I don’t know. But it’s strange.

And it pisses off Oliver, which I am a huge fan of.

By the time we get to Gotham Hall, Owen’s nerves are starting to show. I reach for his hand and give it a squeeze.

“We’re a team. We’ll get through this madhouse together.” He nods and squeezes my hand back before dropping it.

Beatrice and the party planner snag us and drag us to the side, forcing Oliver and Isaac inside.

“We have to announce you.”

“Good evening to you too, Beatrice. You look lovely.” I plaster a fake smile on my face, but she waves me off.

“Remember, everyone will want to talk to you, congratulate you. No running off to get drunk. Oliver can’t get you out of this.”

“Yes, Mother.”

“You.” She points a perfectly painted nail at me. “You will not embarrass my family tonight, or so help me god, I will end you.”

The urge to fuck with her is so strong, it’s almost more than I can stand, but I school my face and my tone. “What part of, I’ll do anything to protect him, did you not understand? For what it’s worth, this is the last time you will strong arm my husband into doing something he doesn’t want to do. Do you understand?”

“You have some nerve to talk to me like that!”

“Mother.” Owen’s voice is sharp. “I will not tolerate anyone speaking to my husband that way.”

That will never not be sexy.

She lifts her nose and spins on her heel, nodding to the planner who has been pretending not to listen.

“Don’t talk to my mother anymore. No good will come from it,” Owen mutters as we follow the party planner out of the room and into the hallway.

“You’ll be announced, the doors will open, and you’ll enter. Have a great reception.” She smiles kindly at us and hurries off to attend to something else, I’m sure.

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