“Y-yeah.” She covers her face and then looks back down at me and up at my mouth. “So, question of the night?”
“Yes?”
“Will you split me in half?”
“Guess you’ll have to find out, but Del?” I walk toward her, then pull her against my body and whisper against her neck, “I think you’d enjoy the splitting…”
Chapter Sixteen
“The ninety and the nine are with dreams, content, but with the hope of the world made new, is the hundredth man who is grimly bent on making those dreams come true.” —Edgar Allan Poe
Del
Shock. Terror. Confusion. Anger. And finally, arousal.
Yup, that’s what I’m currently dealing with.
I couldn’t even find my phone if I wanted to. Did I put it on the counter? Did I even hang it up? Did I bring enough underwear? And what the hell is my name again?
He’s not just huge.
He could have been a porn star and made a killing just for taking off his stupid pants!
He’s pressed up against me now; I can feel him despite the fact that I still have my corset on. He’s hot, so hot that it burns every part of my body and also my soul.
I want to cry.
I feel the emotion rushing up in my chest. The need to cry, flee, tell him everything, and confess all the guilt I have while standing there.
And. Yet. I. Stand.
Tears start to stream down my cheeks.
He’s naked.
For tonight I’m his. He’s mine. It’s us right now, here. And I feel so much guilt that I do want to lay down with him; I want to hold him close while I hold someone else close in my heart.
A tear falls.
And another.
I’m doing this. I am. I’m doing this with him. My enemy. My friend. My curse. My salvation.
I reach out, my hand shaking, and then I pull back and lift my chin. “This is only for now.”
His eyes flash. “I have you for seven days.”
“Maybe I’m bad at counting.”
“Seven.” He grins. “Seven, seven, seven.”
My body coils up in this weird warmth that has me ready to shake, and then I want to lean toward him despite Roman. Despite the fact that I’m Roman’s, not King’s.
Never King’s.
Right?
“Seven,” I reply.
“Not a fan of Friends?” King’s still freaking naked and standing in front of me, his smile so gorgeous I want to die. “Not even a little bit? Smelly cat, smelly cat.”
“Stop singing!” I slap a hand over his mouth. “Worst timing ever.”
His eyes linger for a bit, and then they lower from my face to my legs. “You feeling nervous because of…” He pauses. “Your cat?”
I literally almost slap him. “Take it back.”
“Take it all,” he counters, not looking away. His eyes lift. “Because I get to take it all.”
I gasp.
He takes that opportunity to drink in a kiss that has my knees shaking as I cling to him with my hands. His biceps are strong, firm…
I’m holding back tears, and yet I still want to deepen the kiss, so I do.
I kiss him harder, thinking it’s a punishment when my body knows it’s a reward. I suddenly feel like I’m begging him to set me free.
I don’t recognize myself anymore.
Let me be.
Yet set me free.
I’m confused.
I’m alive.
He grips my scrunchie and tosses it to the floor. I imagine a scenario where his teeth dig into the back of it and tear it to pieces.
I imagine a time when I have rules when I tell him how to proceed.
Instead.
Here we are.
I open my mouth to reestablish our rules, and he dominates with this tongue, with the way his body presses into mine. He’s hard. Huge. He’s everything I didn’t expect, but my body needs as I moan against his mouth.
My brain screams I’m cheating.
My body screams that I’m finally home.
His tongue dives deeper.
My body presses closer.
He’s so hard.
I feel dark. Dangerous. Sweat drips down my temples. This is different. This is not what I expected.
He turns down the lights with one hand, and suddenly it’s darkness. It’s just us—both broken, both tasting, needing, sinning.
What do we do?
He stops.
My heart pounds against my chest.
His mouth comes back down against mine.
I meet it.
My body arches.
He is my husband, after all.
“What,” he finally says, “do you want?”
You. Freedom. Him. More.
More than I’m allowed to ask for, between two men who I don’t even know how to deal with.
One I love.
While the other tempts, more than he should, more than I should even acknowledge.
“I don’t know,” I say, striving to keep my voice from shaking and failing.
“Will you,” he breathes against my neck, “at least accept me, for now.”
“I have no choice.” I meet his gaze, level my chin, and try to stand strong as he stares down at me. His face is set in stone almost, not granite but fine Italian marble. His dark and dirty hair mixed with glints of red, his clear green eyes, and his full lips.