Page 43 of Possession

He doesn’t whisper secrets that no one can hear but me.

He takes my mouth with such ferocity, it’s like he actually wants to kiss me and can’t wait another moment to thrust his tongue in my mouth.

This kiss isn’t chaste, nor is it gentle. It reminds me of the way he consumed me after I was forced to sayI doin front of God and drug lords.

I’m pressed to his every muscled plane through my wet towel as his hand on my face tightens to tip my head for better access. His tongue presses through my lips as I gasp for air.

He tastes like mint and danger.

I’m bound tight where he has me confined. I shouldn’t want him to kiss me. The man makes my head spin.

And not in the flowery, romantic way that makes a woman’s knees go weak and causes her to view life through rose-colored glasses.

No.

Boz Torres makes my head spin in frustration and anger and confusion.

Just this morning he told me to expect a celibate marriage. That the last thing he wants to do is fuck me, let alone do other things to me. That for my own safety, I’d better act like I’m gagging for him.

But evidence proves otherwise. I feel it—long and hard—pressed into my stomach through his trousers and my wet towel.

And if this kiss doesn’t affect him the way it does me—because I’m very much wet, and it has nothing to do with my abysmal attempt at swimming laps—then the man deserves an Oscar, because he sure has me fooled.

His tongue gives mine one last swipe, and his lips are still on me like they’re begging for just one more moment. My body is overheated, but it has nothing to do with the warm afternoon sun.

It has everything to do with Boz Torres.

And then just like before, those skilled lips find my ear. “Give me a break, chica. I’m doing the best I can. But the thought of these men jacking off to security feeds of you wearing scraps of material is something I can’t deal with on top of everything else.”

I tip my head back far enough to look at him through the bright rays. If his lips are any indication of what mine look like after that kiss, I can’t imagine the expression on my face right now. His tone is frustrated with a hint of desperation.

“You’re serious?” I mutter.

He nods.

I know he’s serious about the guys. Guys are like that.

I lick my swollen lips. “No. I mean about it making you crazy.”

His lips purse into a line before answering. “Baby, I’m not sure how I can put it any more bluntly for you—I’m always fucking serious. No more parading around in bikinis by yourself.”

I narrow my eyes. “So my ass can hang out as long as I’m with you? What’s the difference?”

“There’s a huge difference. For one, I’ll be with you. No one will jack off to the sight of you if I’m around.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I’m a hot-blooded man and know anyone like me would jack off to the sight of you. But not if I’m here.”

I let that sink in. I should keep my mouth shut, but I am me. He might have me bound in this towel, but I press my stomach into his long erection. “Doyoujack off at the sight of me?”

One side of his full lips tip to the sun. “I’m your husband.”

“That’s evasive and not at all romantic.”

“I’m the least romantic man you’ll ever meet, Landyn. The funeral home is on hold for me, and we’re standing in the hot ass sun talking about me jacking off. This conversation is over.”

“This conversation is on hold, my dear, complicated husband. I can’t exactly move while you have me tied up in a straightjacket.”

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