“The only reason King Enterprises survives and thrives is because of successful heirs such as yourself. You’re telling me you don’t need one?”
“Not if it endangers you, no. I will not have children at the expense of your health.”
“Hence the pirate romance novels.”
“Not pirates. Bodice rippers.”
“Bodice what?”
“Rippers. You know because they rip bodices off their women? Hey! Sort of like you. They’re toxic, too. You should read them sometime and consider therapy.”
“No, thanks.”
“You’re no fun.” I pout.
“No idea how you could go several rounds and barely pant.”
“It’s called exercise. Something you should do more of.”
“The only exercise I like is opening my legs in bed and being a princess while you do all the work. So I’ll leave the stamina thing to you. Please and thank you.”
Eli’s talked about his childhood here, his bond with his grandparents, and the pressure he put on himself early on to be the perfect heir for the King's name.
The admission that these past few days were the only occasion he’d ever taken time off for himself made me feel so bad
I asked if he was okay with me cooking for him, he disclosed he knew all along it was me. He was the one who ate a slice of my cake before I doomed it to the rubbish bin.
I’ve been absorbing everything about him, imprinting every single detail to memory and hoping, praying that the stars collide and I never forget them this time.
“Hey, Eli?”
“Yes?” I face her, and for a moment, she looks so radiant, so fucking beautiful, pain explodes in the useless organ tucked behind my rib cage.
An organ she poked, provoked, and breathed life into, now it seems to only beat in her presence.
She wraps her frail arms around me, and, for a moment, we’re one.
For a moment, as we kiss and she snuggles against me, I choose to think we’re normal.
Ordinary.
Simple.
She can be so affectionate and often showers me with hugs and kisses as if she can’t get enough. My wife is definitely the type who loves to ‘cuddle’ and although I never cared for the act before, I do with her.
I love holding her.
She sighs contentedly as she kisses my throat, my chin, my cheeks, my lips, and even my nose.
Anywhere she can reach is hers for the taking, and she knows it.
Too well for my liking.
Ava is the most dangerous person I’ve ever come across.
She can break me even while she’s broken herself.
She can worm herself between my armor and my skin.
I slam into the beautiful chaos that is my wife. She makes me lose control. Willingly or unwillingly. She’s the exception to my rules. The discrepancy in my perfectly written novel. The mutation to my biology.
It started with a sense of challenge at uni, then it morphed into a bizarre obsession every time she pissed me off—and she did that a lot. Then it suddenly became a violent possession.