Page 28 of Shattered Hearts
I kissed her like she was mine.
Even when I married Brianne, I didn’t tongue her in front of a room full of people.
Guilt bobs up to the surface in my floating state.
At the reception, I found every possible excuse to touch Riley, even though I fucking knew better.
The smeared frosting on her lips tempted me to silence her sarcastic tongue with my cock. And when I told her it was her turn to feed me, she froze like a computer at my choice of words.
If I talked dirty to her, she’d probably faint.
Meanwhile, every time she cursed at me, every time she talked back, her defiance turned me on. Maybe I have a medical problem.
I’ve never been so simultaneously thrilled and pissed off by the same woman before in my life.
The one-two punch of her proximity and her sharp tongue pushed me so close to the edge, I almost kissed her again at our table. But despite Riley’s outspokenness, I caught glimpses of fear in her eyes.
Is she afraid of me? Or does she fear being back with the Kings? A little bit of both?
Agitation and discomfort tumble in my gut.
Why does her wariness bother me? It proves she’s a woman who knows what’s good for her. The likelihood that she’ll survive me is higher this way.
I’m a damn hypocrite if I want everyone’s fear except hers. Besides, if I don’t want her fear, what the hell do I want from her?
And when she told me she was going home, why did disappointment ravage me? I’ve been dreading this honeymoonnight for months,and just hours ago, I was actually upset that Riley wasn’t going to come here with me.
It took every ounce of my self-control not to shove her down onto the limo’s long, carpeted floor and drive my dick into her until she screamed my name. I practically salivate when I imagine the taste of her sweet nipples between my teeth…
I want to feel the vibration of her moan against my tongue as I pummel her G-spot.
I glance down at my throbbing dick and realize I’ve turned the blanket into a damn tent. Perfect.
After groping the nightstand for the complimentary body oil, I lacquer my fingers and start stroking myself. While my hangover’s going to be a bitch, at least I won’t wake up withblue balls.
When glaring sunlight pries me awake the next morning,I feel like someone split my head open with a pickaxe while I was asleep.
I drag myself up into a sitting position and instantly regret the movement.When I check my phone, the text message I sent to myself from Riley’s phone.Riley.
Shit. I’ve got to pick her up this morning.
With a groan, I force my sorry ass across the arctic marble floors of this suite to the bathroom big enough to be a one-bedroom apartment all by itself. As I shower, my thoughts linger on the woman who’s turned my life upside down in the last twenty-four hours.
I made her cry yesterday.
I’m not in the habit of caring whether someone cries, screams, begs, pleads, or bleeds out in front of me. But I feel shitty about this. Riley stepped in yesterday for a mob she’s no longer a part of.
Hell, she stayed my execution. The only thing I wanted on my wedding day was not to get married, and she made thatpossible. And all I did was interrogate her and cause her day to become more difficult.
A sticky, disgusting sensation spreads inside my chest, which must mean I owe her a thank-you. Not that she’d accept the gratitude of some sleazy asshole who put the moves on her despite being betrothed to her twin.
As soon as we get back to the mansion, I’ll give her my gun and let her shoot me once. One good bullet, and we can call it even, right?
After I dry off and dress in the clothes I stuffed into an overnight bag, I bid good riddanceto this honeymoon suite and check the hell out of here.
“Do you need a cab, sir?” The valet smiles at me when I step into the crisp midmorning air.
I should get a cab, but after all the cake I ate at the reception, the quart of whiskey I drank last night, and the five a.m. workout routine I didn’t do this morning, I elect to walk. A good five miles will sober me. I run farther than that on the treadmill at the estate most days.