I stroke a hand down her spine, my fingers tracing the floral tattoo curling under her shoulder, down to the Viper and roses circling her waist and hips.
I know every inch of her now. Every secret, naughty, sexy detail.
And still, I crave more.
God, she’s beautiful.
This wild, inked-up, pierced woman I married—this woman I once saw as a means to an end—has become my end. And my beginning.
I wanted vengeance.
I wanted blood.
I wanted to burn a legacy to the ground in my father’s name.
But I found her instead.
My kardhoúla.
My wife.
And if I’m honest, I don’t want to leave this bed, this house, this town. Not now. Not ever.
Not when the mornings look like this and the nights still echo with her cries in my ear.
I’d considered flying her to Fiji or Mykonos again for a proper honeymoon, but she looked up at me with those sleepy eyes last night and said, “You, here with me, it’s all I need.”
My father-in-law had said something to me before the wedding about always agreeing with her no matter what if I wanted a happy marriage.
"The wife is always right," he’d said with a shrug, sipping his scotch.
I think he meant it as a joke.
But the truth is—she is.
Every time.
Every fucking time, she is my salvation.
Her body shifts against mine, a soft press of warmth along my ribs, and I freeze for a heartbeat—listening, watching, terrified she’s still hurting, still haunted.
I shouldn’t have been so rough with her last night. But I can’t help it. My desire for her is like nothing I’ve ever felt.
When she touches me, I lose my mind. But I know she needs her rest, so I slow my breathing, and I stay as still as possible.
A moment passes, and she only sighs, a gentle, exhausted exhale, and burrows closer, her soft lips brushing my chest like a promise.
The pale morning light slices through the massive windows at the foot of the bed, spilling gold across the sheets.
It catches on the ring I slid onto her finger—our ring—an ancient piece of my family’s history reforged into something new.
Something ours.
It glints like fire and destiny on her hand.
And the sight punches a breath straight out of me.
That ring symbolizes something that matters more than the fortune I was raised to worship.
