Page 57 of The Black Wife Blessing

He grins, that dangerous smile that makes my heart skip. "The minute you're healed enough, I'm going to make you come so many times you'll forget your own name." His voice drops an octave, rough with desire, and I feel it like a physical caress down my spine.

I reach up to pull him down for a kiss, my fingers threading through his hair. The silky strands wrap around my fingers as I tug him closer. "I'm going to hold you to that promise, Blackwood." My words are breathless against his mouth.

"Count on it, Mrs. Blackwood," he whispers against my lips, the possessiveness in his tone making heat pool between my thighs all over again.

God, I can't get enough of this man. Henry Blackwood has become someone I can't imagine living without. His touch, his voice, the way he looks at me like I'm the only woman in the world—it's intoxicating. Every time he calls me Mrs. Blackwood, something primal and satisfied unfurls inside me, despite how our arrangement began.

And it makes me happy to know that he's all mine. Not just on paper or for show, but in these private moments when there's no one to perform for. Just us, tangled together, making promises with our bodies that our lips haven't quite caught up to yet.

38

HENRY

Iguide Monica through Flavor Fusion's entrance, my hand resting protectively at the small of her back. The past few weeks have been a goddamn rollercoaster, but seeing her walk without wincing makes my chest tight in the best way possible.

"Mrs. Blackwood," I whisper in her ear as we approach the hostess stand, loving how her body responds to the title with a slight shiver.

Olivia spots us immediately and rushes over, embracing Monica first.

"Look at you walking without that boot! Thank God." She pulls back, examining Monica from head to toe. "And in those heels? Damn, girl."

"Had to make up for lost time," Monica laughs, doing a little twirl that makes my mouth go dry.

Olivia turns to me with a knowing smirk. "You two are getting the royal treatment tonight. No arguments."

She leads us to the best table in the house—secluded corner, perfect view of the city lights, ambient music just loud enough to provide privacy without shouting.

"I've got a special menu planned," Olivia announces as we sit. "And Leo sent over a bottle of that Japanese whiskey you love, Henry."

"Shit, tell him thanks," I say, watching as a server appears with the bottle and two crystal glasses.

Monica raises an eyebrow. "Pulling out all the stops tonight, huh?"

"Only the best for my wife," I respond, enjoying how the word feels less like a performance now.

The whiskey arrives alongside a stunning plate of appetizers—delicate tuna tartare with wasabi cream, lobster bites with truffle aioli, and something with caviar that looks like it belongs in a museum.

"Olivia said these are all your favorites," Monica says, her eyes sparkling in the candlelight.

I take her hand across the table, running my thumb over her knuckles. "My favorite thing is seeing you happy and healthy."

She rolls her eyes but doesn't pull away. "Smooth talker."

"Only with you." I lift my glass. "To new beginnings."

Monica clinks her glass against mine, her smile genuine and open in a way I rarely saw before. "To us."

I savor the first bite of Wagyu steak, watching Monica's expression as she tastes the truffle risotto. Her eyes close momentarily, and that small smile appears—the one that makes my heart race.

"Olivia outdid herself," she murmurs, taking another bite.

"She knows we've been through hell lately." I reach across the table, brushing my fingers against hers. "You deserve this night."

The weight of the small velvet box in my jacket pocket suddenly feels significant. I've been carrying it around for days, waiting for the perfect moment.

"Speaking of deserving things..." I clear my throat, suddenly nervous. "I've been thinking about us—about this whole arrangement."

Monica's fork pauses halfway to her mouth. "What about it?"

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