“I don’t wear dresses,” I say without turning around. “I prefer tactical gear. Weapons make betteraccessories.”
His laugh grows louder as he joins me and sinks into the couch like we’re a typical married couple.
“We’re dining with your in-laws tonight, princess.”
His fingers reach for my hair, and I swat him away before he finishes the gesture.
“Your spatial awareness needs work,” I tell him. “Stop touching me.”
He grins lazily. “Or what?”
“Like I said before,” I reply, finally turning to face him, “I’ll touch you and you won’t enjoy it.”
His smile deepens.
“You keep making threats you never follow through on,” he sighs. “Is that what Declan Blake taught you? How to bluff?”
Something in me snaps, and I lunge.
One second I’m on my side of the couch, the next I’m straddling him, shoving him flat against the cushions and pinning his wrists down.
I arch over him, knees braced against his hips, my hair falling forward in two curtains. My pulse thunders in my ears, and I know Bronx could overpower me in a heartbeat if he chose to.
Despite that, he doesn’t move other than his chest rising beneath me.
“Finally,” he murmurs, voice thick with something dangerously close to satisfaction. “There she is. I’ve been dying to meet my little hellcat again.”
My fingers tighten around his wrists.
“Don’t talk about my da like that,” I grit, dipping into his face. “Don’t even mention his name.”
Our bodies press closer from the movement, and the contact sends a pulse through me that has nothing to do with violence.
“If you wanted me on my back,” he murmurs, “all you had to do was ask. Would you rather I tell the family that my wife wants to play tonight instead of dining with them?”
10
BRONX
Heat shoots straight to my cock as she straddles me, pinning my wrists like she's planning to interrogate me instead of just threatening my life again.
“Don't you fucking dare,” she snarls, face inches from mine. “Don't talk about family dinner like we're playing house.”
“We're not playing house, princess.” I could flip her onto her back in half a second, but watching her lose control is too fucking entertaining. “We are house. My house, my rules, my family dinner.”
Her grip tightens on my wrists. “I’m not going.”
“The fuck you’re not.” My voice drops to the dark tone that makes smart people nervous. “You can walk in there on my arm like a good wife, or I can carry you in over my shoulder. Your choice. But you’re going.”
“Try it and see what happens.”
“Is that a promise?” Igrin up at her flushed face. “Because I'd love to see you explain to Ma why you're slung over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes.”
She releases one wrist to shove her hand at my chest. “I've met your family. I played a dutiful wife at the courthouse. That's enough performance for one lifetime.”
“Sorry, princess. Family dinners come with the marital territory.”
“Fuck your territory.” She spins around, eyes blazing. “You know what? One call to my da and that intel goes out to every?—”
