Page 108 of Bad Little Bride

As if he pulled some Houdini shit and said the magic words, I come on command, my greedy cunt sucking him deeper.

The orgasm is swift and sweeps through my entire being, and the wave keeps rolling, his fire and need and then his release consuming me, stretching out my own.

And then I pass out in my husband’s arms.

Chapter

Twenty-Two

Boston

“So.”Enzo lifts his head, looking out at the mess I made on the balcony. “Do we skip breakfast and go straight for lunch?”

Rolling onto my back, I let out a faux sigh. “And here I was, momentarily believing you knew me better than I realized.”

He leans up on his elbow so he’s above me, raising a dark brow. “That sounds like a challenge.”

“You’re the one who asked such a ridiculous question.”

He cocks his head, his hair falling over his forehead slightly. It’s the first I’ve seen him like this.

Messy, sleepily sated.

Naked.

He’s even more handsome outside of his suit than he is in it.

He regards me and I swallow my thoughts, anticipating a silky comeback to my remark.

He doesn’t keep me waiting long. “I’ve sat through several breakfasts with you, distantly served you three times as many when you were here the first time, unbeknownst to you. Even when I couldn’t be, I was eating alongside you from a differentroom, through a screen you didn’t know I was watching you on that did your beauty no justice. All those mornings, not once did you ever choose a food option I would classify as breakfast. You always go for fruits, yogurts, and on the rare occasion, granola, but never once bacon or eggs, pancakes or waffles…not even so much as a pastry. Allthatsaid, I can’t count the number of times you have opted for a fresh cappuccino in place of something else, not only at lunch, but dinner as well. Most of those times, fruit was also involved. So, no. The question is not ridiculous. In fact, I’d say it’s the opposite.”

Enzo smiles down at me, a sort of ease on his expression I’ve yet to see, and there’s an air of boyish charm exuding from him he’s never revealed, if he’s even conscious of it.

It’s as if he’s comfortable and this is normal. He stares as if we’re having any other conversation, or as if we’ve had many or any of these moments at all.

Meanwhile, my pulse seems to have slowed, or perhaps that’s time itself, which is odd given my mind is racing.

He was watching me. He told me as much the other night, but I didn’t think it was like this. I assumed he wanted to keep me in line, to learn all the ways he wished to change me, but not this. Not as a way to…get to know me.

Maybe that’s not what he wants.

Maybe it’s something else entirely, but right now, I’m going to pretend that it’s true.

That he does want me for me.

I realize it’s a terrible decision, throwing caution to the wind and allowing myself to get comfortable. To want. To…look forward to, well, anything at all.

I thought I knew what I was getting into.

I expected there to be desire between us and yes, in time, the semblance of a real marriage, even if the dutiful parts were absent, but Katana has flipped all of that upside down.

There’s a constant timer ticking away in my mind, and I’m continuously waiting for it to ding. For my time to be up.

For him to bedone.

And where will that leave me?

I’m not sure I want to find out, but some part of me must not be computing properly with the other, because right now, tomorrow doesn’t matter.

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