“That’s what they want. I didn’t say it’s my preference.”
Frustration ripples through me. I want to tell him off, but isn’t this the whole point of our arrangement? I give him what he wants and he gives me what I need. He gets a nice, submissive, meek little Italian wife, and I get money and a future for Gem. That’s how this works.
I just hate the idea of bowing my head and acting like a I’m some cute little mouse. Fuck that shit. I busted my ass for years to take care of my sister. Now some rich prick rolls up and I’m expected to be his pretty trad wife. I bet he’ll start requesting blowjobs while he’s watching football next or something.
I lick my lips, glaring hard. “It’s a game.”
“That’s right.”
“Nothing more. When we’re here, I’m myself.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything else.”
“Good, just so it’s clear. I might play a part, but if you try to bring that crap home with us, I’ll put you right back in your place.”
He laughs darkly, but there’s no sparkle or humor in his eyes. “I love it when you act tough. But don’t forget, we need each other.”
“Unfortunately.”
I have some other choice words, but they get interrupted when the movers start bringing in my bags. I glare at Stellan, but he ignores me and helps place boxes into the closet and next to the bed. When that’s done, I wait to make sure everyone’s gone before I start to get ready for my diner shift.
Gem’ll stay at the apartment tonight. She’s still got a few things to pack. That’s good, since I’m not sure how I feel about her being alone in this house yet, even if she does have her own floor. I don’t think Stellan’s the kind of man who would go anywhere near my sister, but he’s clearly mixed up with some dangerous people. I don’t know what to expect right now.
I have to dig to find my diner clothes. When I finally get them laid out, I strip down to my underwear. I’m about to tug on my pants when the door opens and my husband steps into our room.
He stops short and looks at me. I glance back over my shoulder. My ass is practically bare. My panties are wadded up as I bend over and shimmy to tug my jeans on. His mouth opens and his gaze darkens as I get myself adjusted, humiliation burning in my cheeks. His eyes flit to my chest, barely covered by a black bra, and I yank my jeans up quickly before he can enjoy the show too much.
“I guess it’s too much to ask for some privacy?”
“You don’t live alone anymore. Besides, I don’t mind.”
“I bet you don’t.” I clench my jaw and face him. “We need ground rules. The biggest and most important one is I’m not your fuck toy. You need sex, you go somewhere else. That’s not me. Got it?”
“You’re not? I like the idea of you acting like a little slutty toy. Dripping wet and begging.”
“No, thank you. Cut that out right now.”
“Why are you changing, anyway?”
“I have a shift at the diner.” I hurry into the bathroom, intent on getting ready, and I really don’t want to show him how that brief bit of dirty talk threatened to completely unravel me.
Words. Just words. Meaningless words. Really hot, frustrating, sexy words, but just noises from his big, dumb face.
“You realize you don’t have to work anymore?” He watches me from the bed. He doesn’t seem angry. More curious.
I don’t want to admit that I hadn’t. The idea seems ludicrous. For years, that’s all I’ve done. Work during the day, work all night. Barely enough sleep. I’ve drifted in a fog of exhaustion. And now he’s saying I don’t need to do it anymore?
I could cry from the relief.
But not yet.
“I’m scheduled. I don’t want to screw over Pam.”
“You don’t owe them anything.”
“Says the man who’s probably never worked a real job before.”
“My job’s real. It’s just not traditional.”
