Page 85 of Sins of Arrogance

Shock cour­ses through me. “Be­cause I want you too?”

“Be­cause you need it,” he cor­rects.

And he’s right. It’s not about a pref­er­ence but a ne­ces­sity.

Still, I can’t help point­ing out. “That won’t stop my grand­fa­ther or un­cle from send­ing some­one to pound on our door.”

“That’s what Conor is for.”

“Conor is out­side our door?”

“Yes. His in­struc­tions are not to in­ter­rupt un­less there is an emer­gency.”

“Seanathair won’t like that.” Nei­ther will my un­cle or dad, I don’t think.

Mick shrugs.

“That doesn’t worry you?” I ask.

“No.”

“Oh.” My thighs clench, but it’s the squeeze in my heart that wor­ries me the most. “Does, uh…does Conor know we’re go­ing to…” My voice trails off.

“Have sex?” Again, my hus­band shrugs. “Prob­a­bly. Does that bother you?”

Not as much as know­ing what he’s do­ing that I find so dev­as­tat­ing isn’t as im­por­tant to him. Only, maybe it is. If not for the same rea­sons.

Mick is a highly sexed guy. Get­ting off might be as nec­es­sary for him as be­ing treated like I mat­ter is for me.

He strips out of his clothes, his mem­ber jut­ting from his body like a flag­pole.

Ev­ery­thing in­side me clenches.

Then he picks up the cuffs and dan­gles them from his fore­fin­ger. “Aye or nay?”

“Y…” I clear my throat. “Yes.”

Green eyes flare with de­sire. “You’re sure?”

Un­able to say even one more word, I nod.

He turned off his phone for me. He put a man out­side our door to pre­vent in­ter­rup­tion. I might be a guar­an­tor to the con­tract, but I’m not unim­por­tant to the man I’m mar­ried to.

Present Day

Since that night, Mick al­ways turns his ringer off, if not his phone when we make love. And the times when he’s got me bound? He puts his phone in the drawer un­til we’re done and I’ve cli­maxed so many times my womb aches from it.

If that means be­ing sore the next day? It’s to­tally worth it.

But it usu­ally doesn’t be­cause Mick’s af­ter­care has grown by leaps and bounds in the seven years of our mar­riage. It used to em­bar­rass me when he mas­saged my in­ner thighs and but­tocks along with the rest of my body, but then I be­gan to equate his “af­ter­care” with ac­tual care.

And I looked for­ward to it.

I’m not sure any­more that it means any­thing other than keep­ing my body pre­pared for nightly sex, but I still en­joy it.

And tonight is no ex­cep­tion.

He re­turns to the bed­room and lifts me from the bed, car­ry­ing me into the bath­room where he makes sure I pee.