Page 186 of By His Vow
My ass is just about to touch the sheet when it turns into a loud growl and then something sharp and really fucking painful swipes across my stomach.
“What the fuck?” I bark, jumping out of bed and reaching for the light. “Shit,” I hiss as the room illuminates, making my eyes water and my head spin.
I’ve had too much fucking whiskey for this bullshit.
“What are you doing?” Tatum slurs, letting me know that I’m not the only tipsy one after the events of the day.
My vision clears and so does the ginger ball of fluff that’s sitting in the middle of my fucking bed, baring its fangs at me.
“Me? What am I doing? What the fuck is that doing?” I retort, pointing at the feral animal making itself at home where it doesn’t belong.
“That is my pussy.”
“No, Tatum. Your pussy has way less hair and is much friendlier than that thing.”
“Please use her name, she isn’t a thing.”
“Her name,” I echo as blood trickles down to my much-less-interested dick.
Funny how one type of pussy can make it deflate just as fast as a different kind can make it grow.
“Yes, asshole,” she seethes as she climbs to her knees and pulls the cat into her arms. “Her name.”
“I don’t fucking remember that.”
She glares at me, silently demanding I at least try.
I throw my hands up in frustration.
“Princess Sparkles Glitterpants?”
Her lips twitch at my stupid suggestion, but she doesn’t allow the smile to fully form.
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’d never call a cat that.”
“Oh, so her real name is so much better?”
“Her name is perfect for her. Isn’t it, my pwetty kitty?” she says, tickling the cat behind its ear.
“Right. Great. Can we go back to the part where she made me bleed?” I say, finally looking down at the very obvious scratches across my stomach.
Blood trickles from each one, racing down toward my pubic hair.
“Aw, she was protecting me.”
“You don’t need protecting from me,” I mutter, disgruntled. “You’re going to be my wife, remember? You’re going to be mine.”
Tatum grits her teeth, her jaw popping with irritation.
She doesn’t immediately snap back, and I’m not sure what to make of that.
“Whatever,” she mutters, placing the cat back down in the middle of the bed and climbing to her feet.
She stumbles, letting me know she’s drunker than I first thought before she stalks toward the bathroom.
My eyes follow her every move while the cat continues to snarl at me.
I might have signed up to marry Tatum, but I never signed up to house a feral feline. As if Tatum’s catty side isn’t enough…