I catch her as she steps off the stage. Literally grab and lift her, pressing her against my chest.
“Newlywed’s privilege,” I growl at her rabid fans, and as she hides her face, blushing and laughing, I do what I’ve been dying to do all evening.
I carry her off, to enjoy all on my own.
17
Peter
I restrain myself long enough to get us home, though each time Sara shifts in her seat and I catch a glimpse of her bare thigh under that flirty white skirt, I’m tempted to pull off the road.
The only thing that stops me is that I don’t want another quickie in the car. I need her in my bed, where I can feast on her delicious body all night long. Where I can show her that she’ll always be mine, no matter how many men salivate over her.
It helps that she’s talking nonstop, still riding the high from her performance. She’s telling me all about how Phil’s guitar needed a last-minute tune-up and how Simon almost didn’t make it because he has an article deadline. Focusing on her words keeps me from reaching under her skirt and trailing my hand up her smooth, shapely thigh before delving under the lacy thong she put on this morning and stroking her soft, silky—
“Can you believe Marsha is going out with Phil now?” Sara says, and I realize I’ve stopped listening, lost in the heated fantasy.
“She is?” I do my best to refocus on her words. “When did that happen?”
“Rory told me they hooked up the night of our wedding. Isn’t that funny? Marsha was apparently too drunk to drive after the ceremony, and Phil volunteered to bring her home. And the rest, as they say, is history.”
“That’s great,” I say, forcing myself to keep my eyes on the road instead of devouring Sara with my gaze. “Good for them.”
And I mean it, too. Maybe the flamboyant nurse will keep the guitarist occupied, and he’ll stop slobbering over Sara every chance he gets. And in turn, maybe he’ll keep Marsha distracted enough to stay out of our business.
Sara had told her a bit too much during my absence, and though Marsha doesn’t know for sure that I’m the man who stalked Sara and killed her first husband, she strongly suspects it.
“Yeah, I hope it works out for them,” Sara says. “They both deserve a good partner.”
I nod noncommittally and risk another glance at Sara. She’s looking at me with a smile, and then she kills me by casually laying her hand on my thigh.
My cock, already semi-erect from the X-rated images in my mind, snaps to full attention. The touch of her slender fingers heats my skin even through the thick material of my jeans. It’s as if a live wire is lying on my thigh, sending jolts of electricity straight to my groin. My heart rate spikes violently, and my jaws clench as the road ahead blurs for a dangerous second.
“Sara.” I all but growl her name as my hands tighten convulsively on the wheel. “Ptichka, if you don’t move your hand right now…”
Her breath audibly hitches, and she yanks her hand away, having finally realized what she’s doing. It doesn’t help, though. I can still feel her touch. It’s branded into my skin, my mind… my heart. Maybe one day it won’t feel like this, with her casual affection slaying me each time, but for now, we’re still too new, too raw. Not long ago, she’d feared and hated me. I’d been a monster in her eyes. And maybe I still am—but now she loves me.
She knows she needs me, dark parts and all.
When we pull up in front of our new house, I pause to make sure nothing sets off my well-honed sense of danger. Nothing does—not that it should. The place is now as secure as possible, with cutting-edge technology monitoring everything and my crew positioned in strategic locations throughout the neighborhood.
I won’t chance enemies from my past intruding on our peaceful present.
“Wow,” Sara exclaims as I help her out of the car. Her head swivels from side to side, her eyes wide in amazement. “Where did all these trees come from? And that fence? When did you have time to do all this?”
I spare a glance at what she’s talking about. I indeed had a tall fence put up, and I planted trees all around the property to provide privacy and obscure the line of sight for any potential snipers.
“Yesterday,” I tell her, placing a hand on her lower back to shepherd her to the entrance.
She can marvel at our new place tomorrow; tonight, all her time belongs to me.
We’ve barely cleared the doorway when my restraint snaps like a twig in a hailstorm.
Shutting the door with my foot, I flip on the hallway light and back her up against the wall, my hands going to the bottom of her dress. Hiking up her skirt, I find her lacy thong damp and her pussy soft and slick underneath it.