Page 112 of Unleashed

“Why six months?”

“Because neither one of us is getting any younger.”

“Slade Abbott, are you saying I’m getting old? You want to trade me in for a younger model?” I asked, feigning offense.

“Never. I’ve loved you for seven years and I’m not letting you go,” he declared, his gaze unwavering.

Slade’s kisses were soft and tender, trailing from my face down to my earlobe, which he sucked gently. Within moments, he was hard again, pressing me back onto the bed. “You’re so fucking hot. Do you even realize how much?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea,” I breathed, a shiver running through me.

Slade’s eyes flicked over me as he spoke, a teasing grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “I don’t believe that for a minute. I see men giving you the eye when we go out.”

“Does that bother you?” I asked, raising an eyebrow, my curiosity piqued as I shifted closer to him on the bed, fingers trailing lightly over his chest.

He hesitated for a moment, his gaze softening. “Sometimes,” he admitted, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “But then I realize you’re wearing my ring,” he said, his thumb grazing over the diamond on my finger, “and they have no chance.”

I smiled, leaning into his touch, letting my hand rest on his. “Exactly. You shouldn’t worry about other men.” My voice lowered, taking on a sultry tone as I ran my fingers along his jawline. “They have nothing on you.”

Unless their name is Michael Elliott. As Slade’s rhythm took over, my mind wandered to the man who had so suddenly reappeared in my life. The raw intensity of our previous encounters had left a mark on me that I was struggling to shake. Despite my decision to marry Slade, the echo of Michael’s touch and his confessions haunted me.

As Slade brought me to the edge once more, I reminded myself that I had made my choice. It was Slade I would build a future with, despite the turmoil in my heart.

Over the next three months,Slade and I meticulously planned the final details of our wedding. I threw myself into it, trying to focus on the excitement, the future we were building. Michael stayed out of my life, and for that, I was thankful—mostly.

His presence made me weak, and I knew being around him would unravel everything I was trying to hold together. Still, I couldn’t help but keep an ear out for what he was up to. He’d restarted his business, back in his old office at the Fox Building.I wasn’t surprised—Michael always had a way of landing on his feet.

Two weeks before the wedding, I saw a picture of him at a newsstand while I waited for my coffee. He was at a charity event, arm draped around a petite blonde, both of them looking far too cozy. My stomach twisted, the sight of him next to her igniting something sharp and hot in me. It made no sense, but the anger was there, festering. By the time I got to Slade’s place, it was like a storm brewing inside me.

I opened the door to find him sprawled on the couch, watching a baseball game. His feet were propped up on the coffee table, potato chip crumbs scattered across his t-shirt. I stood in the doorway, irritation surging through me.

“Are you serious right now?” I snapped, crossing my arms as I glared at him.

Slade blinked up at me, confused. “What did I do?”

“You’re a fucking slob,” I hissed, pointing at his shirt. “Look at you—crumbs everywhere.”

He glanced down at himself, then started picking the crumbs off with a wet finger, popping them into his mouth. “Gross. You’re disgusting,” I muttered, turning on my heel and marching toward the bedroom.

“Wait, what the hell is your problem?” Slade followed me, his voice rising with frustration.

“Nothing,” I said curtly, pulling open my dresser drawer. “Forget it.”

“No, we’re not just forgetting it,” he insisted, stepping into the room. “You’ve been snapping at me all week. I know you’re stressed about the wedding, but it’s not just you getting married, you know.”

“I know that,” I bit out, yanking off my blouse and tossing it aside, leaving me in my black lace bra. His eyes trailed over me, and I could feel his gaze heat up, despite the tension.

“Can you just try to be a little neater?” I asked, more out of reflex than anything.

“Funny,” Slade said, stepping closer, “my potato chip eating never bothered you before.”

I turned to face him, trying to hold on to my anger, but he was already stripping off his t-shirt, exposing that tanned, muscular chest. It had been four days since we’d had sex, thanks to my period. I knew he was waiting—he always did, even though he never cared about the mess.

“You’re sexy as fuck,” he murmured, his voice dropping an octave as he moved closer, his hands reaching for my waist.

“Is that what you’d like to do to me?” I asked, my tone laced with mock annoyance.

“Fuck you?” he grinned, his eyes gleaming. “Of course. I’ve been waiting for four days. You know I don’t mind during your period.”

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