“Only the cap.” I shake my head. “I’d barely taken a sip.”
Jensen ignores my protest. Of course he does. He’s pissed—not at me, never at me—but at the man who thought he had a right to give me water, and more importantly, to fill his house with things my hands have touched.
“He’s a dick,” Jensen seethes.
That we both agree on, but the world is full of dicks. A proportion of them are wandering around my gallery, spending money that I can funnel into places it’s needed.
“Obviously,” I say, “but he’s one of my biggest collectors, Jensen. He brings in real money.”
His shoulders stiffen. “I’ll buy your pieces. Every single one.”
Of course he’d say that. “That’s… that’s deranged. You can’t buy my art.”
He leans in, his hand tightening on my hip. “It’s either that or I stop him filling his house with ‘Mia Rivers’ permanently.”
I groan at how dramatic he’s being. “He was talking about my paintings. It’s not like he’s planning on locking me in his penthouse.”
Wrong thing to say. Jensen’s eyes flash. “He was looking at you like he had a right to.” His jaw clenches. “No one looks at you like that. Not ever, Mia. You’re not an object for him to drool over. You’re brilliant, and funny, and smart as hell, and?—”
I roll onto my toes and kiss him, cutting off the spiral before it consumes him. It’s part desperation, part strategy to douse the fire scorching through him.
When I pull back, he’s a little softer. “I don’t like him,” he still grumbles out.
“You don’t have to,” I say, brushing my lips over his cheek. “I’m not inviting him over for dinner.”
“You’d better not.”
Oh, my poor jealous husband. “Let him keep my paintings, Jensen.Youget the real thing.”
He leans his forehead against mine. “I don’t like men trying to stake their claim on my wife.”
That shouldn’t be as hot as it is. My pussy gives a traitorous clench.
“As soon as we’re finished here,” I whisper, “you can spend the whole night proving you own me. It’s been at least ten hours since you last came inside me. My pussy’s feeling lonely.”
His lips twitch, and then he takes my chin between his fingers. “You’re my world, Mia, and I’ll destroy anyone who tries to come between us.”
I don’t doubt that for a second.
“He’s not coming between us.”
“Good. Because no one gets to have you but me.”
SIX
MIA
“You alright?”
I lift my head from the pancakes I’ve been pushing around my plate like they’ve offended me. Jensen stands on the other side of the breakfast bar, clutching a mug of coffee. He looks put together, alert. Unfairly so. I feel like shit.
“I’m just tired,” I grumble. “Last night was stressful and busy.”
The exhibition finished late, and we didn’t get to bed until the early hours—mostly because my husband fucked me senseless the moment we got home. He was still riled over Jacob Landry, and he made it his mission to leave his claim on me the moment we walked into the penthouse.
Not that I’m complaining. I love fucking my husband, and the way he’d peeled off my dress and thrust into me like he would die if he didn’t was insanely hot. After, we fell asleep tangled in each other, neither one of us moving until morning. And yet my body’s acting like I only had a nap.
I stifle my yawn, but Jensen notices anyway. If I’m being honest, I’d admit I’m so tired I could cry. My bones feel like they’re weighted, and my head is foggy. All I want to do is crawl back into bed and sleep for a week.
