“No,” I say again.
“You’d see it makes sense if you just?—”
“I didn’t say it doesn’t make sense.” That’s not the problem. “I just wouldn’t be able to stand it, Charlotte. You’re my wife. I’m not watching you with another man. And I’m not going anywhere near another woman.”
“It wouldn’t mean anything. He’d be nothing to me.”
I try to meet her where she is—practical, focused on solving the problem.
On paper, it makes sense.
In reality, I can’t get there.
What comes instead is the picture of it. Her laughing at something someone else says. Someone else’s hand at her back, guiding her through a room like she belongs there with him.
Something ugly twists in my gut before I’ve even thought it through.
I’m off the couch before I’ve fully decided to move. Charlotte lets out a small, surprised squeak as I lift her over my shoulder in one clean motion. Her stomach presses against me, sunglasses and cap slipping off somewhere behind us.
“Dane, what are you?—”
“Shut up.” I’m already heading for the bedroom.
“Put me down.”
“Not a chance.” My hand settles firmly across the back of her thighs, holding her there. “You want to talk about another man’s hands on you, I’ll remind you what my hands feel like.”
“Are you mad?”
I shove the bedroom door open.
“Am I mad?” I tip her off my shoulder and onto the bed. She lands on her back, breath catching, flushed, eyes bright. There’s no fear in them. Not even a hint.
“Am I mad?” A short laugh escapes me. “Yeah. I’m mad. I’m fucking furious.”
“Good. I like it when you’re mad,” she says, pushing herself up on her elbows, chin lifted, holding my gaze.
I reach down and yank one shoe off, then the other. They land somewhere behind me. My hands go straight to the waistband of her trackies, catching the fabric beneath and dragging both down her legs in one swift pull. A sharp breath leaves her, but I don’t stop.
“You like it when I’m mad, huh?” I move over her, one knee settling between hers as I push her back against the mattress. My hand catches the front of her zip-up, pulling her upright just long enough to shrug it from her shoulders. “What is it, exactly, you like about it?”
“The way all that control of yours slips.” Her voice is breathless but steady.
I hook my fingers under her sports bra and pull it up and over her head in one clean motion, tossing it aside without looking. She’s bare under me, chest rising and falling, watching me.
“You don’t get to say things like that and then not get railed.”
She doesn’t look away. “Promise?”
That hits.
“Every man in that store was looking at you. Every… single… one. And you’re talking to me about putting yourself next to another man on purpose. Letting him?—”
“Dane, I told you it wouldn’t mean?—”
“I know what it would mean.”
I yank my shirt off when she reaches for it, not breaking eye contact. She’s flushed now, breathing faster, and something in me finally breaks under the weight of the day.
