Page 14 of Say I Do

“Were you saying anything worth listening to?”

Harlow’s features twisted into a mask of anger so quickly it surprised me. He’d been teasing, flirty, annoying. However, that new look was altogether something more dangerous.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a dick?”

I lifted my mug to my lips and took a sip before I nodded. “Better men than you.”

The wooden spoon sailed across the room as the sound of shattering filled my ears. My mug crashed to the floor as hot coffee splattered up my pant leg. I stared down at it for a while, watching the puddle of coffee expand as it wrapped around bits of porcelain.

I picked up the spoon Harlow had thrown and crossed the space between us in three short strides. He stood his ground, the glare on his face withering.

“That was stupid,” I said.

“Fuck you.”

My hand shot out and wrapped around his long, silky black hair. I moved on auto-pilot, dragging him across the room as he fought me. Every hit he landed hurt like hell, but I didn’t give a damn. I sat on the couch, dragged him over my lap, and yanked his pants down his slender hips.

“What the fuck do you think you’re— Ow! Hey!”

I raised my hand in the air and delivered another hard swat of the wooden spoon against his pale ass. Harlow tried to twist in my arms. I raised my right leg, laid it over his back, and held him in place as I struck him again.

“You can’t just… hit me! Do you know who the fuck I am?” he growled.

“I know exactly who you are,” I said as I slapped the other cheek harder. “You’re a spoiled, annoying pain in my ass that happens to be my husband. We both have reputations to uphold.” I slapped him as he tried to wriggle free. “I don’t have time for anyone to ruin everything I’ve sacrificed for.”

“Fuck you and your sacrifices,” he snapped.

Heat flashed up my spine as anger settled in the pit of my stomach. I spanked him harder and faster than before, mesmerized by the way his skin went from creamy pale to splotchy red. Little welts appeared, mimicking the shape of the spoon in my hand. His skin jiggled, the reverberation of wood against flesh almost intoxicating.

The fighting, squirming mess of a man trapped in my thighs went quiet. He didn’t fight as much, either. Instead, he stayed still, breathing quickening. I didn’t know if he was admitting defeat and I had gotten him to submit or if he had something up his sleeves.

“Shit,” he bit out.

My hand stilled as a moan followed. For the first time, I was drawn into the surreality of what I had done. Harlow was draped over my lap, his skin red and bruised as his cock poked against my leg.

Why did I lose my temper like that? Why the hell is he hard?

Harlow attempted to shove away from me. I released him and watched as he fell to the floor in a ball of limbs and long hair. He pushed his locks from his face and narrowed his eyes at me.

“What the hell is your problem?”

I didn’t have an answer for him. Maybe it was the fact that I was hungover, and he’d spilled my coffee. Or it could be the stress I was under. Maybe I was having a mental breakdown, Giancarlo style. Whatever it was, shit wasn’t good. I pinched the bridge of my nose.

I’m always in control. I don’t give in to anger. I think before I act.

Every word I repeated in my head helped center me as Harlow scrambled to his feet. He tugged his pants back up before he stared at me as if he was still waiting on an answer. I had nothing. The worst part was that I was acutely aware that my cock was hard. How fucked up would it be to screw my husband?

A knock on the door drew our attention. I was up and off the couch before Harlow could say another word. Once I checked who was in the hall, I let Tony in. He sat a white bag on the counter, probably containing a bagel with cream cheese, and froze. Tony sniffed the air.

“Boss, is something burning?”

“Shit,” I grumbled as I made my way to the stove and ripped the smoking pan off the burner. It clattered to the ground. I narrowly avoided it before I stepped on a piece of broken mug. “Son of a bitch!”

“You all right?” Tony asked.

“Yeah, I’m fucking great,” I muttered as I picked out the chunk of porcelain from the soft flesh of my foot. Blood dripped onto the floor as I limped, using the side of my foot to get around.

“That’s karma,” Harlow muttered.

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