“No need to get defensive,” I say, shocked by her choice of degree.
“Brielle,” Daniil calls out. “Do you want your jeans hanging or folded?”
“Hanging,” she replies with a huff. “Jesus, what crazy person folds their jeans?”
She disappears upstairs to no doubt redo everything they’ve done while I’m left wondering about the conundrum that is my future wife, starting with why a woman with her degree isn’t working for her family’s business.
Choosing to give her some space, I head to my office to get some work done and then to the private gym I had built in my house to get a workout in. When time has run out and I have to shower and get ready for brunch, I head upstairs.
When I walk into the bedroom, all the boxes are gone, and I think maybe I was wrong and she wasn’t trying to play games, until I open the closet door and find her shit has overtaken the entire room. Dresses, skirts, shirts, jeans take up every inch of space aside from the corner, where she’s pushed all my clothes together.
Above and below the hanging racks are hundreds of pairs of shoes—from heels to sandals to workout shoes. I count at least three dozen pairs of tennis shoes. Who the fuck needs this many pairs of workout shoes? Most of them don’t even look like they’ve been touched.
I close the door and walk into the bathroom so I can shower, only to stop in my tracks when I find shit all over the counters. Lotions, makeup, hair products. It looks like a fucking Sephora in my bathroom.
I open the cabinet, ready to shove it all underneath, only to find it’s full of her shit. The woman isn’t justa shopper. She’s addicted to shopping. Nobody needs this much stuff.
“Excuse me,” Brielle hisses, poking her head out of the shower, which I didn’t even notice was running, too distracted by my bathroom being overrun with crap. “Have you ever heard of personal space?”
Since my shower is doorless, with only a glass pane separatingher from me, I have the perfect view of everything from the waist up. Her hair is covered in product, her face free of all makeup. Her body is wet, water sluicing down her overheated flesh, and her nipples are erect from the cool air.
Every time I’ve seen her, she’s always been put together. Even when she works out, she has some kind of makeup on. But right here, she’s stripped down, all natural, and she’s never looked sexier.
I take a step forward, my cock guiding my movements, but I’m stopped when she says, “Don’t even think about it. I meant it—what happened this morning changes nothing and it won’t be happening again.”
My future wife clearly likes to play games, and while I’m not usually one to do so, playing with her seems like it could be fun.
“That’s fine,” I say, stripping out of my clothes.
Since the sight of her naked body has my cock hard, it springs out, bobbing and hitting my torso.
“Kane, what are you doing?” she accuses.
“Showering.” I step into the shower behind her.
It’s a large area that could easily fit several people, but I still purposely brush my front against her back, earning a hiss from her.
“Since we’re sharing a bathroom and I need to get ready for brunch, I don’t see any reason why we can’t share a shower.”
She turns and glares my way, her arms crossing over her chest to hide her pert nipples, only making her perfect tits even more enticing. The water is still dripping down her body, thanks to the ceiling showerheads, and my eyes can’t help but follow the drops as they slide down her toned belly and neatly trimmed pussy, disappearing between the apex of her thighs.
They clench in want, and I chuckle at how turned on she is.
“Sure,” she murmurs sarcastically. “Feel free to impose on my personal space. It is your home after all.”
The woman has made it her mission to hate me, but no matter what she does, what she says, her actions speak for themselves, and they’re making it clear just how attracted she is to me.
“It’s nowourhome,” I correct her. “And I’ll be quick.”
“This place will never be my home,” she mutters.
I go out of my way to ignore her the rest of the time we’re in the shower, soaping up my body and washing my hair. I make a show of washing my dick and balls, and the entire time, I can feel her eyes on me even though she pretends like she’s not watching me.
I finish before her and slide past her, once again rubbing my body against hers. She sucks in a harsh breath, and I smile to myself.
My future wife might like to play games, but she has no idea just how competitive I am. Challenge accepted.
All the clothesthe woman owns, and she’s wearing a pair of cutoff jean shorts and a tank top that readsSave a horse, Ride a cowboy, paired with brown cowboy boots. I haven’t the slightest clue why she owns an outfit like this, but regardless of her name, the country club won’t let her in. Which is precisely why she did this.
