Page 177 of Meet Me In The Dark
She didn’t even look up when I leaned against the counter.
“Celeste,” I said, “I could write a check right now and make all this someone else’s problem.”
Her pen scratched furiously over the paper. “It’s fine.”
It wasn’t fine. She was two seconds away from tearing her hair out.
I pulled out the chair beside her and sat down. She glanced at me, her eyes tired and bright with frustration. I could see it—the edge of a breakdown.
So I reached over, closed the laptop, and took her hand.
“I don’t think it’s supposed to be like this,” I said.
For a moment, I worried she was about to admit she’d changed her mind. That she was getting cold feet. That all of this—the fights, the fire between us, the obsession—had burned too hot to last.
But then her voice went soft. “What do you want, Julian?”
That answer was easy. “I want you. I don’t give a shit about a seating chart. I don’t give a shit about colors or centerpieces. I just want you.”
Her eyes filled, her mouth trembling as she whispered, “I want a marriage. Not a wedding. I want a life with you.”
That was it. That was the turning point.
Two weeks later, we disappeared into themountains. No guest list, no ballroom, no flowers arranged within an inch of their lives. Just a lodge with views that took your breath away and a local officiant who gave us vows as the sun went down.
The only thing I asked for was to watch her walk toward me.
I needed it. Needed to replace all the years of looking over my shoulder with something better.
When she came across the field, hair pinned back, dress whispering around her legs, her eyes locked on mine—Christ, it was like breathing for the first time.
I’ll carry that image until I die.
The bathroom door creaks.
Finally.
I sit up straighter, tapping my fingers once against the arm of the chair before stilling them completely.
Celeste steps out of the bathroom in white lingerie that makes my cock twitch instantly. Silk cups her breasts, lace tracing down her stomach, delicate straps hugging her thighs. The kind of outfit designed to ruin a man.
Designed to ruin me.
My jaw locks tight as I take her in. My wife. My beautiful, infuriating, impossible wife.
“Jesus Christ, Celeste.” My voice comes out rough.
She smiles, the kind of smile that reaches every corner of me, and walks slowly toward me, her hips swaying with deliberate cruelty. “Worth the wait?”
“Get over here,” I rasp.
She straddles me, settling on my lap, and I grip her thighs like I might leave bruises.
Then she lifts something between us. “My turn.”
A silk blindfold.
“For me?” I ask, though my cock already knows theanswer.
