Page 75 of Devil's Iris
To love her. To protect her. To cherish her.
To kill anyone who dares try to harm her or take her away from me.
Then the officiant declares, “By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
Finally.
My world snaps into razor-sharp focus as I lean down and fuse my mouth to hers. I intended it to be soft, gentle, appropriate for the audience. But then her lips part, her tongue tentatively brushing mine, and all my good intentions fly out the window.
My hand slips into her hair beneath her veil, angling her head so I can deepen the kiss, claim her mouth the way I’ve been fantasizing about all morning. Our tongues tangle while my heart pumps furiously. And when she melts against me with a breathy moan that goes straight to my cock, I nearly forget where we are.
The roar of cheering penetrates the haze long enough for me to tear myself away. Leni’s lips are swollen, her cheeks flushed pink, and she’s looking at me like I’ve just rewritten her entire universe. Good. Because she sure as hell rewrote mine.
The reception that follows is pure torture dressed up as celebration. Every minute that drags by is another minute Ican’t have her to myself, another minute I’m forced to smile and make small talk and pretend like I don’t want to throw her over my shoulder and vanish into the night. But I hold on tight to my control.
Just a few more hours.
I’m grateful for my patience because Leni transforms during the reception, laughing harder than I’ve ever seen with my brothers’ wives. My lips curl up as I watch her, heat rushing hot and reckless through my veins. Should I be proud or terrified of how desperately I want to keep her smiling exactly like that?
Gianna and Elira pull her onto the dance floor while Emily slides up next to me with a drink, her expression serious. “Don’t mess this up,” she warns. “I like her, okay? So try not to hurt her.”
Too late for that.
I don’t tell her that there’s no stopping this train now, no way either of us is getting out of this unscathed. We’re both already in too deep.
The reception stretches on endlessly—untilfinallyI can’t take another minute. I get to my feet and catch my wife’s eye across the dance floor, jerking my head towards the exit in a clear signal that our public performance is over. The rest of them can keep the party going without us.
Her cheeks flush at whatever she sees in my expression, but she nods and begins making her way towards me, accepting final hugs and well-wishes from the women who’ve become her sisters.
By the time we slip out of the hall, it’s dark out. Late.
My car waits at the front entrance, headlights dimmed. I help Leni into the backseat, and she sinks into the leather as if her limbs are filled with concrete.
“I can’t feel my feet,” she groans, letting her heels drop to the car floor with muffled thuds.
As I get in next to her, I frown at her feet, remembering the angry blisters from her bachelorette party—just two nights ago. “Perhaps dancing for two hours straight wasn’t the wisest decision,” I tell her, loosening my tie because the cursed thing is still trying to strangle me.
“I regret nothing.” She shuffles over, making room for me.
I would grin if I could manage it, but I’m barely holding my thoughts in check. Barely keeping my gaze from drifting to her lips, to the tantalizing glimpse of creamy tits peeking out above the neckline of that sinful reception dress. “You shouldn’t.”
The drive to the private airfield passes quickly. My jet is waiting on the tarmac, engines already humming low. The pilot nods as we step out of the car, and the jet’s stairs lower in invitation.
Leni hesitates at the bottom step, her fingers brushing mine. “Where are we going again?” she asks with studied casualness, like this is information I might have mentioned before and she simply forgot.
Nice try,bellezza.
My heart thunders as the air between us crackles with tension. I meet her gaze, letting her see the hunger I can no longer hide. “It’s a surprise.”
27
LENI
The same jet that whisked us away to Vegas for my bachelorette party belongs to Romero.
Holy shit.
I’m still reeling from the revelation, my eyes sweeping over the lush interior with new eyes. Just how loaded is my new husband? Maybe I shouldn’t have been so quick to reject the monthly allowance he offered me.
