My heart squeezes, and I give him a quick kiss on the cheek before saying softly, “I don’t need to, baby.”
He cocks an eyebrow, his delicious lips twitching. “You sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure, asshole.” He chuckles. I reach up to run my hand over his stubble. “I chose us. I chose you.”
Something fierce and tender flashes in his eyes. He leans in and kisses me hard. I moan into his mouth.
When he pulls back, he’s full-on grinning, and it’s fucking devastating. My poor ovaries…
Crabby meows, annoyed that we’re moving and disturbing his nap.
“Sorry, buddy,” Zak tells him, scratching behind his ears, and the traitor purrs.
* * *
Two hours later, there’s a moving truck in the driveway, and men in black, carrying boxes into the house. They’re professional, efficient, and a bit scary.
I’m standing in our bedroom watching them stack boxes along a wall.
“Where do you want these, ma’am?” One of the men holds a box labeled BOOKS.
“Um, just set them anywhere, please. Thank you.”
He nods, placing it carefully with the others.
Zak’s leaning against the doorframe, still in his jeans and t-shirt from earlier, with his yummy arms crossed over his giant chest. Watching the whole thing with a satisfied look on his face.
“You look happy with yourself,” I tell him with an eye-roll.
“I am. My wife’s in our house, with all her shit. I got this locked down.”
I giggle, shaking my head.
* * *
The men finish and leave, leaving me staring at a mountain of boxes.
“Need help unpacking?” my husband asks.
“Youare going to help unpack my stuff?”
“Of course.”
“Really, Mr. Moneybags Bratva Boss?”
He chuckles, pushing off the doorframe to walk over. He wraps his arms around my waist from behind. His chest is solid against my back. I can feel his heartbeat. God, I love how big, warm, and strong my man is.
“I want to know everything about you, baby,” his voice rumbles in my ear. His breath, hot on my neck. “The books you read. The clothes you wear. What makes you smile.” He kisses me below my ear, making me shiver. “So, yeah, I’m helping.”
God. This man.
* * *
We start with my clothes. I unpack and he hangs my things in the massive walk-in closet. My regular, store-bought wardrobe looks ridiculous next to his perfectly tailored suits and designer everything.
“We need to get you more shit,” he grumbles, frowning.
“I have plenty!”
