Valentine traces my smile with his thumb. “Our fathers saw our mother across a crowded room. The very next hour, they all snuck off and were bribing a priest to marry them before they packed under the rising sun. So, falling quickly—and hard—is in our blood. I’m not about to come up with one reason as to why this won’t work, but I will prove to you every moment I get that you are ours.”
I still can’t find the right words. The swelling of my happiness matches his sentiment, but that doesn’t stop lots and lots of what-ifs from swirling in my mind.
“Unless, of course, this isn’t what you want. Us, I mean.”
I meet his eyes and fall under the magic of them. “I want this. Very much.”
“Then, give us the chance to prove we are not going to disappoint you like the voice of your past promises.”
I close my eyes, surrendering to the fact he knows exactly what he faces. “There are things I want to do.”
“And you will.”
“You won’t make me a prisoner, because you’re worried about one of your enemies snatching me in their attempt to break you?”
“Wait”—he sits up, his expression somber—“you’re talking about leaving this apartment?” Before I can argue, Valentine dips back down and rubs his face all over mine, scent marking up. “Glad you brought up us going out. Let me freshen you up, but don’t you think for a second that I’m washing our scent and claim off your skin. Or we will be late for lunch.”
One blink, and I come face-to-face with his dominance. He pins me with the look in his eyes as he dips his fingers back inside my body, making me squeak and purr at the same time. I watch, fascinated and slightly obsessed, as he licks them clean before he rolls off the bed, twisting around in a flash and nabbing my ankle, tugging me closer to the edge.
Still not using his words—the heat and possessiveness in his eyes are easy to interpret—he lifts me to my feet, then directs me into the bathroom with his hands on my hips.
Dante’s bathroom is lush, with black and gold accents. I wouldn’t have thought it would be his choice in décor, but now that I’m standing at the door, I couldn’t imagine anything less. It is also toasty warm, like a hot summer's day, heat rising off the tiles, but also falling down from the heat lamps on the high ceiling.
Valentine slaps my bottom for me to move out of the doorway and farther into the bathroom. I make a beeline for the shower—because, holy shit, it looks incredible—but he grabs me mid step and lifts me off my feet, setting me on a pile of fresh towels on the vanity.
“You made us late, trapping us in bed with you.” He smirks. “And, now, you won’t have time to shower.”
I go to argue, but he stops me with a rumble of warning, then he proceeds to shave. I never thought I would find watching a man shave be a turn-on, but holy shit, Valentine unlocks a new fetish for me. The way he handles the old-school blade is nothing but pure smut.
“Spread your legs,” he says once he has used a piping hot cloth to wipe his face clean.
“What? Why?”
“Because I told you to.” He infuses the smallest press of his designation, and my legs fly open.
The both of us laugh at how responsive I am. Although the blaze of color in his eyes after they move off my pussy is a sign of how responsive he is too. As is the way his towel does nothing to conceal his hard-on.
Valentine fills the sink again and grabs a new cloth from under the sink before he holds his hand out expectantly, and I realize a little late he wants my foot.
“I can take a shower,” I offer, barely concealing the shivers his touches elicit.
“And I already said that wasn’t in the cards,” he says briskly before he finishes washing my legs and moves on to using some lotion on them. Leisurely, of course, like we have all the time in the world.
His every touch feels like a caress, and I keep having to shuffle around to stop him from seeing the proof of my arousal. When I go to cross my legs, he presses them open again. He packs everything away once my legs and feet are done, and I realize he’s adamant about me going out to lunch with their claims over my skin and inside my body.
“Is this a lesson in scent?” I ask as he lifts me off the vanity with such ease, I feel overly dainty. Which I am not.
“You were right about Claudia. She’s been out telling everyone our pack is a sham. So, now you’re married and so layered with our scent, there’s no mistaking the reason we actually will be late when we walk into the restaurant.”
“She told everyone we were fake after that kiss? What a bitch!” I scoff, rolling my eyes and being extra sassy.
Valentine’s shoulder braces as a shiver races down his body. My hand trails over his chest, like I’m trying to ease his tension while figuring out what happened. When I check his eyes, they’re back to blazing in color too.
He bares his teeth at me. “Look at you fighting for us already, wife.” Instead of trying to sort through the validity or reasoning of our instant connection, I feed it a little more.
“If I find out you ever went there, dear husband, my opinion of you will tank.”
His eyebrows rise as a seductive smirk dances over his lips. Belatedly, I think I may have just walked into exactly where he wants again.
