Page 70 of Wicked Sinner
The kind of man who takes what he wants without asking.
I’d never do that to her—to anyone. Butgod, the thought of her in the next room feels like a special kind of torture.
She’s mine, and I can’t have her. The dichotomy of it is painful.
I clean myself up and pull on a pair of pajama pants, then grab my phone from the nightstand. There are already three missed calls from Konstantin, wanting to follow up on the meeting that I walked out of. I consider calling him back, but send him a text instead.
Meet tomorrow.Let me know what time works for you. Will update you then.
Tomorrow,I’ll let Konstantin know that I’ve chosen my bride, and it sure as hell isn't one of the vapid socialites Konstantin has been pushing on me. It isn’t Isabella or Catherine or anyone else.
Bridget is my wife. And she’ll be my wife until she forces me to let her go.
I fall back into bed, clicking the button to close the blinds against the glow of Miami’s nighttime skyline and drench the room in pitch-darkness. What I need is a good night’s sleep. And, although I doubt at first if it’ll come, before long I’m dreaming of Bridget, her face and voice and perfect fucking body filling my dreams for the entire night.
—
I wakeup in the morning rock-hard from dreams of Bridget, restless from not sleeping well. I’m only half-awake when I wrap my hand around my cock, jerking off to a quick orgasm with every filthy thought from my dreams still running rampantthrough my brain. Only then do I manage to roll out of bed and make myself somewhat presentable, dragging on a pair of black joggers and a T-shirt to head down and see about breakfast. I swipe my phone from my nightstand, dreading what message I’ll see from Konstantin.
1 P.M. Don’t be late.
That’s all there is.It’s curt and to the point, which is a relief considering that I was expecting him to chew me out for walking out on the meeting before I ever got back to see him in person. There’s still plenty of time, though, and I’m not looking forward to the meeting itself in the slightest.
I make my way downstairs, resisting the urge to knock on Bridget’s door. To my surprise, I find her at the kitchen bar already, sitting there in a pair of workout shorts and a loose T-shirt, sipping a cup of tea. I can smell it from where I’m standing, but it only half-registers. I’m too busy trying not to stare at the length of her tanned legs, mostly visible in the tiny shorts, and sending blood straight to my overworked cock.
“Morning.” Bridget looks at me, a wary expression on her face, as if she’s expecting me to order her back to her room. “I ordered breakfast.” She motions to a box from a local bakery that’s sitting on the counter, and my credit card next to it. “You left your card out on the counter, so I figured—” She shrugs.
“That’s exactly what I left it there for, in case you got up first.” I’m pleased that she didn’t hesitate to use it.
Bridget’s eyes narrow. “You’re not mad?”
“Of course not.” I walk to the box and flip it open, taking out a bear claw, my favorite from that particular bakery—although Bridget couldn’t possibly have known that. “Why would I be?”
“Because I spent your money without asking?” Her eyes are still narrowed, pinned on me like she’s waiting for the other shoe to drop, and I chuckle.
“Bridget, trust me, a $10 box of pastries is nothing. Besides, we’re married now. That card is yours to do with as you please. There’s no limit on it.” I nudge it toward her. “Keep it with you, in case you need anything. Have whatever you want delivered. I don’t care.”
Her mouth curls up at the corner. “I’ll be sure to order several hot male dancers to keep me entertained while you’re gone, then.”
I almost choke on my bite of pastry. “Anything exceptthat,” I amend quickly, dropping the pastry back into the box. Before I can stop myself, I cross the space between us, resting one elbow on the counter as I tap one icing-coated finger against her lower lip. “The only man entertaining you,bellissima, will be me. And if you don’t want that, you’ll have to make do with your imagination.”
She goes very still, and something flashes in her eyes that makes me wonder if she’s done exactly that. The thought of Bridget in my guest room touching herself, making herself come, makes me instantly hard, and for a brief moment, I can’t take my finger away from her lips.
All I can do is brush it over the full curve, leaving a glaze of icing behind.
Her eyes fix on mine, and her tongue flicks out, touching the tip of my finger before I can take it away. That small point of contact jolts directly to my cock, and a groan slips from between my teeth before I can stop it, as I feel my cock throb and pre-cum slide down the shaft.
I want her so fucking badly it hurts.
“Bridget.” Her name comes out throaty and hoarse, and she freezes, her tongue flicking over her lip before disappearing again.
“Don’t touch me,” she whispers, sliding off the stool, her tea abandoned. There’s something frightened in her eyes, like she felt the same thing I did and was all too close to giving in to it.
“Why not?” I challenge, before I can stop myself. It’s the wrong thing to say, and I know it, but there’s not a drop of blood left in the head above my shoulders, it feels like. My cock is harder than it’s ever been, despite three orgasms in the last twelve hours, and all I want to do is fuck her on every surface of this house until I’ve rubbed myself raw from being inside of her.
“Because I said no!” she snaps, spinning on her heel and making a beeline for the stairs. It takes everything in me not to reach out for her, but I let her go, watching her rush up the stairs with my head spinning and my cock throbbing.
Her door slams, and I know it’s going to be a while before I see her again today.
