Page 41 of Malicious Wedding

“Husband,” he corrects, grinning viciously. Advancing on me. Now that the paperwork is over, he seems calmer, which does nothing to soften his edge.

“I want my contract still,” I say, backing up, hands raised.

“You’ll get it. I’ve never let you down before. I never will.”

I grunt, not sure what the hell that means. But before I can consider it, I bump up against a tree.

He’s on me then. Carson steps forward, crushing the distance between us, pressing his body into mine. I whimper, half in shock, half in desire. We’re lost in the thickets, in the shade of the tree, blocked from the house by a smattering of bushes. His fingers press against my throat as fear lances into me, fear mingled with that insane attraction again.

My brain must be melted and dotted with holes if this beast makes me this aroused.

“You are my angel,” he whispers, lips finding my neck. He kisses hard. I groan. “And I am yours.”

“Angel?” I croak. “You’re my—what?” My brain’s all fizzy from lust at his mouth moves closer, closer, finally finishing what we started earlier.

Something about what he just said doesn’t sit right.

Something feels off.

But before I can think, he crushes his lips to my mouth, and kisses me.

Chapter18

Carson

For me, this is everything.

I’ve denied myself this so many times. There were nights, dark nights, when all I wanted was to break down her door, storm inside, ravage her the way I’ve always needed. There were dark nights when I dreamed I followed her only to catch a whiff of her smell in the gap between aisles, where I’d wake up drenched in sweat breathing hard with the memory of the dream still torturing my mind. Dark nights when I’d close my eyes, picture killing her brother, strangling her father, murdering her entire family, just to drive her into my arms.

Dark thoughts that I’ve resisted.

Bad ideas that I’ve denied myself.

I’ve fantasized, obsessed, burned through mornings and evenings with my eyes closed picturing what it would be like to taste this girl.

My life has been one long test of my self-control.

A test that I’ve passed, again and again.

And now, after so much need, after so much pining, after so many lost hours, she’s here, she’s mine.

She’s my wife.

I kiss her and it’s the culmination of a decade. I kiss her, taste her, drink her in and, god, it’s so much better than I ever dreamed it could be. Her tongue is silken, minty, lemony, lovely. Her lips are plush and made for mine. Every little moan, every motion, every whimper, it only drives me further into frenzy.

I can’t hold myself back anymore.

Control, it’s always been control. I’ve been an ascetic, a monk, meditating on my need but never crossing that line into actually taking it.

Until Iain sparked a crisis.

And now?

Now I can’t stop myself.

Now I’m no longer a man—I’m her beast.

Her angel.

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