Page 85 of Unholy Union
“So, I’m not the only one ready to go?”
I recognize the voice before even turning around. A smile comes to my face as I look over to find Cato a few paces away.
He’s as irritatingly handsome as he’d been earlier when we’d almost kissed, in a white shirt with sleeves pushed back and the top buttons undone and linen trousers that hint at how lean and powerful his thighs are.
His dark eyes glint, a lopsided grin playing at the corners of his mouth. He knows exactly what he’s doing to me.
I smirk back at him. “I thought you’d never ask.”
He doesn’t answer, simply offering me his hand.
My own slides into his, immediately feeling like it fits perfectly.
Together we weave through the garden crowd. Everyone’s still distracted, full from brunch and loose from bellinis. Their laughter trails after us as we slip out the narrow iron gate on the east side of the property, shielded by a wall of ivy and a weathered stone lion whose eyes feel like they’ve seen generations of secrets.
Outside, the city air greets us like a sweet balm. Downtown Manhattan is alive with engines, voices, heels clattering on concrete, and the occasional bark of a vendor shouting out lunch specials.
I glance at Cato as he tugs me along. “Do I get to know where we’re going?”
He swings his keyring around his index finger, the polished Maserati emblem flashing in the June sunlight. “What if I told you I’m kidnapping you?”
I laugh. “Is it still kidnapping if I’m your wife?”
“Technically not,” he says, unlocking the sleek black GranCabrio parked down the block. “You belong to me, remember?”
I gasp in mock offense. “You did not just say that.”
“Relax, principessa. You’ll like where we’re going.”
I hop into the passenger seat of the convertible.
The moment Cato shifts the car into gear, I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. Maybe I needed this more than I realized…
We pull out into the streets with a roar from the engine. The car glides through lower Manhattan, weaving past other cars with little to no effort.
Cato shifts gears with casual ease, the breeze tunneling through the open cabin, whipping up my dark curls. I glance over and find myself caught up in him again—by the sharp angle of his jaw, the focused set of his eyes, the way his thick fingers clench the steering wheel.
Even how his near-black hair looks being tousled by the wind.
I’ve always known my husband was an attractive man, even when I was convinced I hated his guts. But now that I’ve started hating him slightly less, he’s only grown immeasurably more attractive to me.
Sexierevery time I’m around him.
It’s gotten to the point where I’m catching a glimpse of his forearm and my pussy’s throbbing.
His hand on my waist makes me wet. A simple stare from him takes my mind back to our wedding night when I’d glaredinto his eyes and rode his cock as I grabbed a knife and pressed it to his throat.
All while he’ddaredme to do it.
…and then taken his own form of revenge right after.
I clear my throat, interrupting my thoughts and refocusing on the present. “No but seriously… where are you taking me?”
He casts me a quick, sideways grin. “Coney Island.”
“You’re joking?”
“I never joke about franks and rollercoasters.”
