If she does this to the people in our home, does it mean it also works on…me?
I gotta be careful, can’t turn into a fucking softy with her smiles and warmth all around me now.
Come on, who are you trying to fool?
“Is this…for me?” She points the bowl on the white counter, oat, and strawberries all over the fucking place, mixing with the yogurt as if someone had already dug a spoon in it.
I’m the President of a powerful MC club. I know how to hunt, chase, kill, torture, hide murders, and grease hands when I need to.
But making a cereal bowl for my wife? That I can’t even do correctly.
“It’s, Larry said, shit. It’s, um, he said you would like it.”
“Oh.”
“I can throw it and you can pick somethin’ else if you want—” Grabbing the bowl, I’m ready to throw the damn thing in the trash.
“No, no, it’s perfect.” She pulls a strain of red hair behind her ear. Her long hair is curled like loose waves, the silk of her blue dress revealing the shapes of her chest without it being over the top. She doesn’t even have makeup on. Stunning, so fucking pretty I could take a bite of her and never be satisfied.
“It reminds me of our wedding day,” she whispers, looking at her feet.
Nah, that won’t do.
Lifting her chin with my fingers, I take the opportunity to stroke her lower lip, reminding me of our kiss last night. I haven’t stolen another one from her since then, paralyzed between longing for more and accepting the truth behind it.
A four-letter word.
Four fucking letters eating me from the inside, tearing my black heart apart, making her the center of my universe, my greatest weakness, the target my enemies would now seek.
“You okay, princess?” Her lips part subtly at my touch.
She nods but something darker sparks in her eyes, something aching, spreading, consuming her. And fuck, I’d liketo say I’m the reason behind it, but I know better. My girl is probably terrified of what we’re about to do after breakfast.
Get to work, what are you still doing here?
If she needs me, I can’t be a fucking mile away.
If she needs me, I need to be there to hold her dainty little hand and tell her I got her back.
It won’t take long. I'll be back at the club in no time.
I show her the stool. “Sit, I'll bring your tea.” She sits on it and fidgets with her perfect pink glittery nails.
“Could you give me the jar of lemon water in the fridge, please? Larry always makes it for me, I—” she swallows, “I have to have it first thing in the morning, otherwise—”
“Hey, you don’t have to justify yourself, here,” I tell her, giving her the weird blurred water.Could never drink that. What’s even in that thing? But whatever, she wants it, she got it.
“Thank you,” she whispers. I turn around and grab a piece of bread, spreading peanut butter and jelly inside and digging in it while still standing, my cup of coffee in the other hand.
Mia pours the lemon thing in her glass, then drinks it slowly as if she’s expecting it to have a magical effect on her. Then she digs in her bowl, checking each bite before eating them, just like on our wedding day. My chest aches at the sight of her, looking at her food like she’s about to poison herself. The kettle stops and I pour hot water in her mug.
My girl got her little routine all set up, she’s really settling into our home and the thought of it makes me stand taller. She may not admit it now, but this house has become her home as much as it’s mine. I sit next to her, both of us eating in a comfortable silence until a small knock echoes from the hallway.
“Mrs Malone, Mr Malone, good morning,” Maria says with a warm and composed smile. “Sir, the doctor is here, I’ve asked him to wait in the living room just like you asked.”
“Thanks, Maria, tell him we’ll be there in a sec”. Maria disappears, discreet, always here when I need her but never when I want to be on my own. Mia spoon falls on the counter, her fingers stumbling to get it back. I reach out and put my hand on her. “You sure you’re okay? You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”
“No, it’s, um, are you going to the club now?” Her chocolate eyes widen with worry.
