Page 15 of Black Widow's Kiss

And, what was with him wearing that dress? Yeah, he looked as hot as fuck in it. But if I was marrying a man, shouldn’t he act like a man? I mean, having sex with a man is one thing. Guys have things that women don’t. But, weren’t men supposed to act like men?

Goddamn did he look hot in that dress, though. As male brides go, I must have had the hottest one to ever live. Unwrapping that gift would be the highlight of my life. I got hard just thinking about it.

“This is a marriage of convenience,” I told Lorenzo. “The whole point of it is to show that our two families are one. Living together would be the point.”

“Wow! My big brother just married a man,” Lorenzo said with a mind-altered chuckle.

“Don’t think that will stop me from kicking your ass if I have to,” I said seriously.

“Believe me, it doesn’t. If you’re willing to do to that, what other crazy shit would you be willing to do? Granted, the man you married is likely to kill you in your sleep before the cock crows. But still.”

“Don’t you worry about me. I can take care of myself. The day I let some crazy twink come between me and what I want would be a cold day in hell.”

“Twink?” Lorenzo asked surprised.

“That’s what you call guys like Kuroi, right? I mean, that’s what I’ve heard.”

Lorenzo looked at me suspiciously. Shit! I had been married to Kuroi for one day and I was already slipping up. Maybe us living together would be too much. I had to rethink this.

Marriage was one thing. Hell, back in the old days, royalty would marry their cousins. But that didn’t mean they lived together.

Yeah, that was what I was gonna do. I had already married him. There was nothing I could do about that. But I wouldn’t be living with him. Not today. Not ever.

And if Sato ever asked why, I was going tell him because his slippery ass tricked me into marriage. My family’s humiliation wasn’t going further than that.

So, that was it. Kuroi, no matter what, would never move into my place. Ever. It was decided.

Chapter 5

Kuroi

What did a boy wear on the day he moved into his husband’s house? So many options. Going through my closet, it was hard to choose.

“Let’s see,” I said fingering through my clothes. “Stella McCartney, Victoria Beckham? Armani would be a classic.”

When I saw it I knew. Alexander McQueen. Sleek and fierce. A girl had to make an impression on her first day. Would my new husband be there? Word was that he survived his little encounter with the deathies and was planning on heading home.

His new wife should be there to meet him, shouldn’t he? Framed in Alexander McQueen, I’ll greet him at the door, arms wide.

“It’s decided, Alexander McQueen. Pack up the rest,” I instructed my father’s men who insisted on seeing me off.

Choosing a pair of black panties from my drawer, I slipped into it and clad myself in McQueen. Being the diva, I made my makeup Douyin. And completing the look, I chose a selection of feathers for my hair.Staring at myself in the mirror, I wanted him to see me. This look couldn’t be wasted.

How many nights would we be able to share together before he was dead? He almost didn’t last our wedding day. It would have been a shame too considering our kiss.

And let me tell you, that kiss… My tongue has been down a lot of straight men’s throats. None of them made me feel like that. It was enough to give a girl hope.

Wasn’t that how all marriages should start, full of hope and promise. I was a blushing bride, after all. And he, my dear Dante, was my big bad husband.

Remembering the kiss again, I lost myself in the memory. How had he made me feel what I had? I had kissed him to unnerve him, to throw him off. Instead, I felt something.

Can you imagine me feeling something? Didn’t feelings things go out of fashion in the 80s? Then again, retro chic was all the rage.

With a trunk of my essentials packed, I was loaded into my father’s helicopter and flown to the city. Where did my betrothed live, I wondered? Landing on a downtown rooftop heliport, I was delighted to learn that it was in the city. I would have hated to have to scurry across town to go to my usually spots.

But now that I was a wife, perhaps my life would change. Would I still shut down Manhattan hot spots when I had wifely duties to fulfill? Perhaps instead, I would make him dinner every night losing myself in marital bliss. It would be me and my hubby together taking on the world.

My glorious fantasy ended when I arrived at his building looking like I stepped off a runway and the man at the building’s desk tried to stop me from getting onto the elevator. Did I think about cutting his throat as he droned on about not being on the list? Of course. Why didn’t I? Hello, Alexander McQueen!

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