Page 63 of Devour
“We can’t,” she whispers. “Noah—”
“—is in his room playing,” I counter smoothly.
“Griselda—”
“I gave her the morning off.”
She runs out of excuses. And before she can come up with another, I press my lips to hers, silencing whatever resistance she might’ve had. But something’s off. Her lips don’t move as eagerly against mine. They’re soft, still—unresponsive.
I glide one hand down her waist, beneath her short dress, trying to coax a reaction. My fingers press gently over her panties, stroking her through the fabric but instead of leaning into it, she breaks the kiss. There’s a soft parting sound, like a muted muhh as her lips pull away from mine.
I try to kiss her again, but she turns her face aside. I stop touching her, though I remain leaning over her, close enough to feel her breath.
“What’s wrong?” I ask quietly. “And don’t tell me it’s nothing.”
“I…” she starts, then pauses.
“You know you can tell me anything.”
She takes a deep breath and exhales slowly, as if steadying herself for what she’s about to say. It almost amuses me how she still doesn’t realize the power she holds over me.
“The shooting at your club…” she begins softly. “My friend, Mai, was working there that night. And ever since it happened, I haven’t heard from her.” I pause, listening intently. Then:
“I’ll have my men find her.” She looks at me, eyes shadowed with something more than just sadness.
“You didn’t have your men kill the workers who saw you there, did you?”
“Hell no. I’m not a complete monster. If I kept killing my workers, I wouldn’t have anyone left to work for me.” Of course, I don’t tell her the whole truth—only what she needs to hear, for now.
Until she fully understands the world I live in, it’s better this way. That night was chaotic enough that most people wouldn’t have noticed I was there or if I held a gun. And if they did? I was protecting myself.
The workers who saw or heard anything were paid well for their silence. Those who refused… Well, they were reminded of the people they care about. But I don’t tell her that part. I see the relief on her face at my answer, her lips slightly parted so I lean in and press a soft kiss to them.
“Are we good now?” I ask, brushing her lips with another quick peck.
“Always tell me when something’s bothering you.”
“I will,” she murmurs.
A small smile tugs at my lips. “You know… I’ve been fantasizing about you in a wedding dress. Mrs. Ariel Lane, will you do me the honor of walking down the aisle with me?” She arches her brow.
“But we’re already married.”
“Yes, on paper. But I want the real thing.”
“You just want the wedding night.”
“And the honeymoon—days spent in bed.”
“Honeymoons aren’t just spent in bed,” she counters. “You’re supposed to go out, explore, do things you both love.”
She completely loses me at the part about not spending all day in bed. I nudge my nose against hers. “You still haven’t answered my question.”
“Yes,” she says softly.
“Louder, kitten.” She smiles and says it louder, more certain this time.
“Yes.”
