“Do you feel better?” I ask him.
“I guess you fucked me okay,” he teases, but even as a joke, it pisses me off.
“Hush. You know I’m not talking about the fuck. That was a given. Now that we’ve eliminated Wilmore’s threat.”
“Yes. I’ll sleep a lot better knowing those fucks are dead. And I’m sure Malaki and Rory will be relieved they can get back to school. They’re both very social creatures, unlike me, and it must’ve been getting to them, being away from all that. Also, it’s for the best because if it’d gone on any longer, Wrath would have wound up sneaking off and getting himself killed.”
“That sounds like something he would do.”
We enjoy a laugh.
“Now the only thing left to do is set a date,” I say, eager to fully possess my Wilde man. “I would want to aim for next week. Maybe Saturday.”
His eyes widen. “Next week? Wow.”
“Too soon?” I press, anxious about his reply.
“No. I guess it’s better to get it over with.”
He’s not as eager as I would’ve hoped. If anything, he sounds resigned to his fate.
“Get it over with?” I ask, offended.
“No, I just…it’s obviously not how I imagined my wedding to be. Not that I’ve had much time to consider anything like that.”
It doesn’t bring me much comfort, and a part of me wishes I could be patient and give him the wedding he deserves. I grunt. I don’t like the thought of delaying this, but… “We could—”
“No, no. I want to be done with it,” he insists. “I’m sorry for reacting that way. Please, let’s do it next Saturday.”
Relief pulses through me. “It’s decided, then.”
His gaze drifts off as he seems to ponder some element of our wedding, maybe the timing or the practicalities.
Whatever it is, I want to know. “What are you thinking? Tell me.”
There’s a shift in his expression. This isn’t about the details or the resignation to the date. This is something else.What are you hiding from me, Log?
“Nothing,” he replies.
“Liar.”
“Really? After what we’ve been up to this week, you’re surprised I’m stressed?”
Despite the flurry of sensations in my belly from what we’ve shared and having him in my bed like this, there’s a sting of pain in my chest.
“You’re still lying.”
He’s quiet before saying, “Omitting.”
“If you were anyone else, I’d slap you right now for the way you’re hurting me.”
“Hurting you?”
I’m surprised by how thrown he appears to be. “I don’t like being lied to, and I don’t mind punishing those who hurt me.”
“Why don’t you just do it, then?”
“Because I only want to put you through the enjoyable kind of pain.”
