Page 2 of Hostile Vows
Arms the color of silky cream show splashes of fresh bruising. A pang of remembrance slams into me. It’s not the first time I’ve seen her skin decorated in violence.
Silently, I swear an oath—no man will ever hurt her again. Unless that guy is me.
Unable to hear my approach with the music blasting from the Bluetooth headphones she’s borrowed, she pretends to be oblivious to my arrival and continues to focus on the small screen. Tangles of damp raven hair tumble over the armrest as she lies on her back, legs crossed at the ankles, and dainty toenails varnished in emerald-green paint.
Unashamedly stark naked, I prowl closer, roll back my shoulders, fold my arms, and wait for her to notice me.
Her left foot jiggles, a telltale sign she’s aware of my presence and doing her best to ignore me. Bitch. Right now, I have the upper hand in this dynamic and she’ll learn to respect me.
Expending the short span of my patience, I skirt the golden equal-sided coffee table and bend over her plump tits, so my face is right up close to her makeup-free complexion. Close enough to count every tiny freckle on her high cheekbones and sense raw stubbornness. She smells just like me; the shampoo used to wash away gore still holds its scent.
My pulse thrums until long lashes drift up and she spears me with a mesmerizing greenish-blue gaze. Then the rhythm goes fucking nuts. The striking tint of her irises is so unique it deserves its own position on the color chart. The color’s semi-translucent. More turquoise than cerulean, but one hundred percent spellbinding.
In one swipe, I drag the headphones off her ears and recognize Fifty Cent’s, “In Da Club” playing. It’s on my personal playlist too. We always did have the same taste in music.
Straightening, I chuck them onto the adjacent tan-colored daybed. “So you finally unlocked the bathroom door and made yourself at home…Wifey.” I wink just to piss her off.
Exquisite shapely brows nip together, not from confusion since that ship had already sailed when she repeated her vows a few hours ago, but more out of sheer annoyance.
“You been waiting to call me that all mornin’, Hotshot?” Her sexy Irish lilt entices my dick and offers it countless hours of satisfaction.
Our gazes clash like swords. A green halo circles wide; flaring pupils and long lashes blink while she takes a detectable deep breath. “Just because we’re married doesn’t mean I want to be anywhere near your dick again.”
White teeth sink into her naturally red bottom lip, her eyes jumping from my boner to my abdomen, and ending with a notable gulp.
“You weren’t complaining when I was fucking your throat with it.”
Nonchalantly trying to hide her flushed reaction, she grabs a powder-blue cushion and wallops my thigh with it. When I catch the corner with my tattooed hand and let it hang by my side, she adds, “You tricked me. And if you want me to call you my husband, you can go to Hell.”
I stare at her for a silent beat and watch a flustered wash of regret creep up her neck. If she continues to disrespect me, I’ll choke the word from that pastel-pink-colored throat while my cum clings to her cheeks.
“Heaven and Hell are all around us,” I begin, my antsiness supercharged by her brazen attitude. “They’re just a clusterfuck of highs and lows. I can easily take you to Hell with me, right here, in your new marital home.” The cushion drops to the heated tiled floor. “Do you want that, Sin?”
“Don’t you dare call me that,” she growls with gutsiness, jackknifes to sit, glances at my dick again, squeezes her eyes shut for a second, and then growls again with a sexy throatiness. “Did you seriously think marrying a woman against her will was a decent thing to do?”
“Who said I was trying to be decent?” I remain stoic in my posture, my jaw tightening when she flicks a ribbon of hair away from her perfectly symmetrical oval face and sighs with animation.
“Right… you get off on being immoral,” she mumbles under her breath, notably having more to say this morning than she did last night.
Even though she’s challenging me, I like it. However, the sassy grit woven into her spirit tests my threadbare restraint to stay levelheaded. I’m finding it exceptionally difficult when all I’m imagining are scattered, horny visions—biting, sucking, screaming. And how hot she’d look gagging on my dick again as I pump her husband’s cum down her throat in a lesson on manners.
When the tip of her tongue skates between plush red lips, my pulse skyrockets. I wasn’t prepared for this. Not forher.
“My middle name is immoral,” I deadpan. “I’ve never won a wife before, so this will be an interesting adventure. Saves us from all the bullshit of dinner dates and elaborate proposals—that’s all hugely overrated. I’ll enjoy telling my brothers about this unique arrangement of ours.”
She rolls her ethereal eyes. Had it been anyone else, I would have strangled them for much less and with my bare hands, but her—her eyes have my balls in a clamp.
“I’m not okay with this, you know… With my life being controlled by a bunch of mobsters. You’re just as narcissistic as that dickwad, Frankie.”
“You mean your father?”
My pointed question has her bristling. “By DNA only. A sperm donor. Nothing else. Having met the prick for the first time a few weeks ago, I’m relieved he was never around.” A small hand slides across her belly and stays there.
“Yeah… and that same guy sold you off to a New York suit. Show a little more gratitude, Sin. I saved your ass.” I smirk. “Just like you asked me to.”
“Saved me? Jesus, Dré…” she says on a gusty breath, simultaneously tucking a lock of hair behind an ear, her lashes flicking to the ceiling as she tries to find a safe place to focus on. “You played me. Instead of marrying one stranger, I was forced to marry another. You said you’d take me home.”
“You’re not married to Acer and when you walked in through that door…” I jab a finger in the direction of the entrance. “You came home. I stuck to my end of the deal. Which means I saved you.”
