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Run. I could go for a run and burn off this unexpected and inconvenient tension. It was late and I didn’t want to leave her alone on her first night in the house.

“Fuck it.” I toed off my boots, slowly at first but by the time I got to my clothes I moved like a man possessed, straight to the built-in bathroom and into the shower. The water was hot, and instantly my shoulders relaxed from a long day at Iron Works Auto Shop, one of the club’s many businesses. The water helped.

For about three goddamn minutes.

And then a pair of familiar green eyes were there, staring at me. Her lush pink lips parted into a slow, teasing smile as she dropped to her knees. My hand fisted around my cock, hard and aching for something it shouldn’t want. I tightened my hand around my cock just as fantasy Ivy wrapped her lips around my shaft, and I stroked. And stroked. Hard, eager strokes. Determined to forget about my wife on her knees taking my cock into her mouth. Down her throat.

I was powerless against the smile in her eyes as her nails dug into my thighs and pulled me closer, deeper down her throat. I wondered if she was a moaner, or a choker. Or, holy fuck, a gagger. “Shit,” I whispered in the steamy shower, imagining her sprawled out on my bed with her legs parted, her pretty pink pussy dripping down her thighs for me.

My cock was so hard it fuckin’ hurt, but I fucked my hand, imagining myself plunging in and out of Ivy’s mouth. Her pussy. Her ass. Every hole of hers I’d mark as mine. “Oh fuck,” I growled my orgasm, coming through gritted teeth with one hand flat on the shower wall.

I breathed heavily while my orgasm swirled down the drain.

That was a bad fuckin’ idea. I said that to myself over and over as I cleaned my body and then dried off, thoughts still on Ivy.

Was she awake?

Was she thinking about me and touching herself?

Fuck, was she thinking about whatever plan Rex had forced her into?

And just like that, I was angry and suspicious, and hard all over again.

Chapter Six

Ivy

Iwoke up the morning after my wedding with a plan. I needed to test the walls of this marriage, to see how far I could push before it was dangerous. I needed to know where Knox’s line was so we could coexist peacefully, or with as few bruises, sprains and breaks as possible.

On the first morning, I drank his coffee. He’d poured a full mug and set it on the counter before he disappeared back upstairs for his phone. I stood at the counter and stared at the steaming mug with one thought on my mind. What if I just take it? With Rex, best case scenario was a backhand, though Knox was bigger and stronger, I knew I could take it.

So I wrapped both hands around the mug and drank it down while it was still hot.

Knox came back, looked at the empty mug, and made himself another without saying a single word.

I clenched my teeth and decided to keep going.

On the second day, I stayed in the shower until the water ran cool. I just stood there well after my body and hair was clean, past the point of any reasonable justification. I waited to hear footsteps outside the door, a fist banging against the wood, a voice raised in irritation.

Nothing.

He was completely silent.

I made my way downstairs and put on a pot of coffee, leaving his mug beside the coffee pot, and sat at the table and waited.

And waited.

Knox came down and stood in the doorway, looking at me with a studious expression before he spoke. “Maybe we need a bigger water heater now that two people are living here.”

That was it. That was all he said.

I didn’t know what to do with that, so I just nodded and drank my coffee. From my own damn mug.

On day three, I burned the chicken I graciously decided to make for dinner. It wasn’t burned beyond saving, but just enough that it was obvious it was cooked a little too long. It wasn’t blackened, just dry. Really dry.

Still, I set the table as if it was a culinary masterpiece and took my seat, watching his expression closely to see if he was just good at hiding his monster.

Knox took a bite, paused for about two seconds and then sighed when his gaze met mine. “A few minutes less the next time.” He reached for the fridge without leaving his seat, grabbing a big ass bottle of barbecue sauce, which he poured liberally over the tough bird.