Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 121054 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121054 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
“Your wife,” I repeated, reveling in the words. “I am yours, Sir. All yours.”
He kissed me then released his hold and rested his forehead against mine, whispering, “No, Sophie. I’m yours.”
Mine. God, no wonder he loved hearing me say that to him. It was intimate, and powerful. In saying it, Neil made himself vulnerable to me in a way that he’d never done as my Sir. Granted, we weren’t playing hard, but I was still lying there, under a man to whom I willingly surrendered my body and mind, a man whose name was inscribed inside the collar I wore to mark me as his, and he was giving himself to me.
Tears sprang to my eyes. “It’s happy crying,” I blurted, before he could worry that we needed to stop. He sat up, pulling me with him, our bodies still joined as he sat back on his heels. He adjusted me in his lap, guiding my legs to wrap around his back as we rocked together. I pressed my face into his neck, weeping with the pleasure and joy I felt.
He caught my wrists and held them behind my back, and with a few more gentle strokes, he stilled inside me, hot and throbbing as he groaned beside my ear. He released me, and we clung to each other, sweaty and out of breath, our mouths meshed hungrily together, our hands in each other’s hair.
Sure, ours wasn’t a traditional love story. My handsome prince occasionally turned into the big, bad wolf, but I jumped whole-heartedly into the jaws of his Dominance. Neil had awakened my senses in a way no one else had, rousing me from my slumber with a kiss of pain and a gentle hand.
This was our fairy tale, at the beginning of our happily ever after.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
After two weeks of sun, sand, and way too much sex, going home was a vacation unto itself. I jumped back into work and enjoyed the bliss of returning relaxed and refreshed, for three whole hours. Granted, at least one of those hours was dedicated to showing Deja and Penny the safe-for-work honeymoon photos I had. With the wedding out of the way and a conflict-free schedule stretching out before me like a limitless horizon—that was probably just a hyper-realistic mural on the brick wall of reality that I would inevitably run into—I got to stress over life at work, instead of stressing over how to make work fit into my life.
Home life was so much better than expected. Neil and I had known that we would come back to the problems we’d left behind, but things just seemed different. Maybe the “boring” part of boring married life was why people found the union so appealing. There didn’t have to be any doubt, you were just kind of in…and that was it. No drama.
Until Saturday afternoon.
Splitting time between Manhattan and Sagaponack had turned the house into a kind of retreat, and we found ourselves becoming lazier every day we spent there. Neil and I were in comfy workout clothes we’d put on, but hadn’t any intention of exercising in, lounging in bed. Neil lay back on the pillows, one arm behind his head. I was crouched over, painting my toenails, when his phone chirped.
Of course, right when I was trying to catch up on season three of Hannibal.
“Oh, come on. Leave it,” I groaned, tearing my eyes from the screen. Damn. I’d way overshot my pinkie toe during the gory part.
He frowned at the screen and moved his thumb to pick up the call.
I exaggerated my sigh, hit pause, and grabbed a cotton swab to clean up my mistake.
“Neil Elwood,” he answered, still frowning. He listened for a moment. His body tensed, and he sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “How did you get this number?”
My ears perked up.
“Baby? Who is it?” I asked, carefully screwing the lid back on the nail polish remover. I’d already ruined one duvet, and for that reason, Neil hated me doing my nails in bed. This time, I’d promised not to spill a drop of anything smelly.
“No,” he said firmly. Then, more forcefully, “I have no comment at this time.”
What the hell was going on?
“May I have your name again?” Neil strode from the room, his repeated, “How did you get this number?” fading down the hall.
I jumped up to follow. Hobbled by my wet toes, I had to clomp along on my heels. By the time I caught up with him in his study, he was practically shouting into the phone, “If you or anyone from your publication phones me again, you’ll hear from my attorneys.” He ended the call and tossed his cell onto the blotter on his desk. It immediately rang again, and he snatched it up, threatening no one in particular, “If it’s that same bloody—”