Page 29 of Souls and Sorrows

Stopping just behind her, I grind my teeth together until I’m certain the interior ridges have been razed. She’s virtually flawless, all tender, exposed flesh and soft, feminine curves with the exception of the light scabs lining the middle of her throat.

Evidence of the collar that kept her in place at last week’s auction.

My hand comes up of its own volition, reaching around her front. She watches, unflinching, as I drag my fingers over the small divots of tough, reddened skin, then down the slope of her shoulder.

I’ve never touched a woman like this before.

Never had the desire to do so.

And yet it’s as if I’m driven now by some unnatural force, incapable of keeping myself away. As if I need to feel the residue left from that fateful night in order to accept it in my brain once and for all.

Her skin is buttery smooth as I glide over it. My thumb hooks in the sleeve of her leotard, and both of us just stare at the fabric as it stretches with my knuckle, revealing more of her as it retreats.

“Your ex-fiancé no longer has anything that appeals to me,” I tell her. “It might be unconventional and not exactly what you were hoping for, but youwillbe my wife. I’ve already got your signature on the official documentation. I’ve just been giving you space to warm up to the idea.”

“Why?” She blinks up at me, curiosity lightening her features. “What do you get out of this? You’re not evenfromthis world. Why would you ever want to join it?”

“It’s not about joining. I’m merely preventing a monopoly of underground power that would certainly disrupt the fabric of our city, and taking the money and power and redistributing them to the people.”

And preventing anyone else from having you.

I don’t add that part though, even as it bounces around the recesses of my brain, a painful reminder. It doesn’t matter anyway—just because I have her in my possession now doesn’t mean I’llhaveher.

Not in that way.

I suspect sex would complicate not only the mechanics of the relationship, but likely also distract from my overall goal of seizing the Boston underground’s chain of power and exploiting it just to prove that I can.

With that thought, my hands fall away from her, and I move back a single step, putting a sliver of distance between us. The sleeve hangs limp on her shoulder, and she narrows her eyes, turning slowly around on the cushioned stool.

“For how long?” she asks.

I shrug. “As long as it takes. I get Ricci Inc., and you get your alibi whenever someone questions your whereabouts of the night the Tallericos disappeared. The marriage license is backdated, and I’ve got official witness testimony drawn up, confirming our union and subsequent out-of-town honeymoon during the time they went missing. Just in case.”

It all sounds standard boilerplate really, but I’m still not certain she’ll take me up on the offer. Not that she has a choice, but it would be easier to do this if she was willing.

Her knees knock into my shins, and then she pushes into a standing position, keeping her gaze locked on mine. One hand comes up, tugging the pink cotton down more, until she’s able to bend her elbow and slide that arm from the sleeve.

My tongue thickens against the roof of my mouth as she mimics the same movement on the other side, freeing herself from the confines of her costume. I watch, rapt, at the edges of my vision as she slips her thumbs inside the neckline, then begins pulling it down.

The soft, blurry shape of her breasts comes into semi-view next, though still, I don’t dare look for real. Their silhouettes look heavy, rising and falling with each staccato breath that escapes her, and she doesn’t even stop there.

“So… this has nothing to do with it?” she prompts, arching a delicate brow. “This isn’t what you want?”

I shake my head, and she makes a little sound of disbelief, bending slightly to continue exposing her body to me. Her stomach is next, the flat expanse of flesh taunting me, and then her hips and the paradise between them, pink and ripe and flushed, like the curve of her cheeks.

An ache spreads like wildfire across my jaw, flames threading in the roots of my teeth as I resist the urge to look.

Ariana’s tights and leotard pool at her feet, and she steps out of the pile, pressing herself into me. Her nipples, hard like diamonds, sear through the material of my dress shirt, and she pushes her hair over one shoulder, dropping her chin and fluttering her long lashes at me.

“If this was all you wanted,” she says, voice raspy, gripping my wrist in one hand and bringing it up so my fingers graze the underside of her breast, “I’d have given it to you for free.”

My fingers don’t move, even as she continues the forced exploration. “Is that so?”

She nods, letting out a little gasp when my thumb scrapes over a nipple. My stomach drops, anxiety weaseling its way into my bones.

“You should’ve followed me that night at the club,” she whispers, rising up on her tiptoes so her words ghost over my lips. “I might’ve let you push me up against the wall outside, slide your big hands under that tiny, tight minidress, and have your way with me.”

Jesus Christ.Part of me can almost feel the memory, as if she’d gone back and altered the timeline and replanted the sensation of my cock inside of her in my head instead.

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