Page 103 of Mangled Memory
Ren Gallo: Why me?
Me: Because I respect you and I know there are less than a handful of people who will lay out the truth for me, even if it’s ugly. And you’re one.
Ren Gallo: Thank you, sir. I’ll get back to you ASAP.
My wife silently sleeps. She slipped her head onto my lap, dangerously near my dick, at some point during my texts with Ren and hasn’t stirred since.
I finish the movie, though I can’t tell you what happened other thanTwist and Shoutbeing the most iconic filmed parade sequence in movie history.
The ending credits roll, and I sit through all of them. I power down the system from my phone and look at the red hair splayed along my legs.
This woman was scared, hurt, and nearly taken from me. She’s fought to return to normalcy, all the while not knowing that someone tried to kill her while I was failing to protect her.
My blood runs cold. Someone tried… and failed.
Which means the job wasn’t done.
And she’s still at risk.
30
euphoria
Ayla
“Wake up, Princess.” Warm fingers stroke my hair and down my neck to my shoulder before starting their trek again.
“Too comfy.” There. That’s a complete sentence. When my pillow bounces in time with the quiet laughter above me, I roll enough to look into Christian’s gorgeous face, chiseled and shadowed with two day’s growth of beard. “Yum.” Shit. I said that out loud.
Again, my head bobs, so I squint my thoughts at the man.
“Worst pillow ever.”
The hand stroking me stops and a strong thumb massages up my neck to the base of my spine. “Baby, it’s time for bed. Ferris successfully skipped school and didn’t get caught.”
It takes what strength I have left to shove my body upright and stand. I shuffle toward the door, darkness settling behind me as Christian turns off the lights.
He catches up, lacing our fingers together. By the time we hit the bedroom, I don’t care about brushing my teeth or changing clothes, so I dump my socks and sleep pants and pull the hoodie over my head, leaving everything on the floor, and slide under the covers. Within minutes, my husband joins me, his warm body sliding next to mine, turning me into him.
Sleep steals away as his hand trails my spine. “Is this better?”
“What?”
“I’d hate to be the worst pillow ever.” His voice is low and gravelly as if he used it too much today and it needs rest.
“Well maybe not the worst…” I let my words trail off as his hand makes a lazy circle from my hip to above my ass.
“I’m glad to hear it.” Another long, delicious stroke of my spine with his fingertips has me fighting a chill. “It’s always my goal not to be the worst.” His voice goes husky and drops to nearly a whisper. “It’s been a while, but you’ve said I’m the best you’ve ever had.”
“Pillow? Hmm. I don’t remember that.” I tilt my chin in the dark to see his dark eyes trained on me, needing to confirm he understands I’m not making a dig about my condition.
“I don’t think we were talking about pillows.” His arm scoops underneath me to slide me atop his hard body.
“You may have to refresh my memory about that conversation.” I drop my eyes to his lips and that ignites the passion in his eyes. The restraint and tension I see written all over him makes heat and wetness rush to my core.
Holding his eyes, I dip my lips to his for a kiss. He doesn’t deepen it. He doesn’t take control. His hands at my hips don’t move though his fingertips dig in in such a way as to reveal his struggle.
Since he’s letting me lead, I deepen the kiss. At his growl and reflexive hip thrust, I slide my legs to either side of his hips and roll my clit against his rock-hard cock. That buys me a growled “Ayla” that’s half warning, half plea and curls my toes.
