Chapter 28: Empire of Desire: Chapter 27

I’m in a courtroom.

I mean, yes, I’ve been inside one before when Dad takes the lawyer mic. He’s a witty but very sharp lawyer, the type whom everyone pays attention to when he speaks.

But I haven’t done it since I became Nate’s intern. He said I wasn’t ready back then, but today, he just stood beside my desk and said, “You’re coming with me, Shaw.”

It’s kind of hot when he calls me by my last name at work. They still don’t know we’re married, because I kind of begged Chris after I apologized for what I did to him and Alex that night a week ago.

He totally spilled it to Jane, though, albeit accidentally. She looked at me weird, but she promised to keep my secret, too. Now, I feel a bit more at ease that I can talk freely with them without feeling like I hold the keys to some intelligence stuff.

Chris still doesn’t understand why I even have feelings for Nate, but Jane does, and that’s okay. It’s also okay if no one else understands, like Nate warned me.

The morning after the hot drunk pool sex, he sat me down, put my comfort drink in my hand—my vanilla milkshake—and told me that his mother is possibly right and that this whole thing will backfire. He said I should be prepared for that and that he won’t let me take the fall.

Nate said he’ll let them paint him whichever way they wish, because he couldn’t care less what they think about him.

I heard what he wasn’t saying, though. That he cares about what they say about me. He doesn’t want them to come near me and even has a press statement ready, which is very stern—like him—and doesn’t touch my name even one bit.

Nate doesn’t know this, but things won’t go his way if—when—our relationship becomes public. For the millionth time, he and everyone else will learn that I chose this and I’m old enough to make my own decisions.

There are a lot of things that I want to shout at the top of the world. Like how much Nate and I are compatible and how much we can easily do an activity together without clashing. I want everyone to see that I belong with him, that I never felt as peaceful as when I’m lying in his arms.

That I never felt as beautiful as when he fucks me like a madman.

Sometimes, I take sneaky pictures of him; of his nude back when he cooks naked—yes, he totally does that sometimes, and he sleeps naked, too, because clothes bother him, or more accurately, his cock. My perverted side kind of wished I knew that information before.

But I digress. Slightly.

Those aren’t the only pictures I take of him, though. I’m a collector of everything Nate, remember? That means I have a collection to keep alive and happy. So I sneak a selfie here and there when I’m lying on his lap and others when I sleep on his chest.

My personal favorite, however, was when I woke up and he had his hand around my throat. I was so wet that my fingers shook when I took the picture.

“Are you posting any of these?” he said in a half-sleepy voice while his eyes were still closed.

I startled, throwing my phone under the pillow. “W-what?”

His eyes met mine and there was so much light in them considering how dark they are. “The pictures you take religiously, Gwyneth. Do you post them?”

“You…knew?”

“Of course, I knew. You’re not exactly subtle.”

My cheeks and ears burned. “And here I thought I was being sneaky.”

“Not enough.” His hold tightened on my throat. “You still didn’t answer my question. Do you post anything?”

“Maybe you should get a social media account and see for yourself.”

“Gwyneth.” His voice hardened, taking on a warning tone. “If I find an inappropriate picture of you anywhere…”

“I wouldn’t do that. Besides, there’s something we do now that’s more fun than inappropriate pictures.”

Her narrowed his eyes and I could tell he was getting impatient by the way he held me by the throat. “And what is that?”

“Thirst traps.”

“The only thirst trap you’ll be posting is my hand around this fucking throat.”

I don’t remember the rest of the conversation because he mounted me and fucked me hard and fast—without releasing my throat.

Despite my big talk, I never posted any of our pictures together, though. Not only am I paranoid about the press hurting him in any way, but I’m also kind of selfish. I don’t want to share anything Nate with the world.

Sue me.

Anyway, I’m now at a hearing where he’s the attorney in a civil lawsuit and I’m sitting a few seats behind him because he already has one of his associate lawyers with him. That’s okay, though. I’m here, and I’m watching Nate be a lawyer. That’s such a rare occasion nowadays since he deals with large corporations behind the scenes.

So seeing him in his sharp suit in the middle of the courtroom makes me a little giddy. Okay, a lot. I helped him put on that suit this morning—the tie, to be specific. I might have an unhealthy obsession with it.

And all of him, actually.

He’s been fucking me more than anyone should and in positions I didn’t even know existed. Sometimes it’s on the kitchen counter when I’m trying to bake cupcakes. Other times, it’s in the shower, where he’ll come in unannounced and take me against the wall. Oftentimes, it’s in his office, on his desk, on his sofa. Anywhere, really.

I’m as unsatiated as he is, because whenever he’s not touching me, I act like a brat just so he’ll order me to sit on his lap or bend over on his desk.

It’s a high and I don’t want to reach the peak. But it’s not only about the sex. It’s how we eat together, cook together, and he indulges in all the activities I come up with to find him a hobby.

He doesn’t even tell me the music is loud anymore. He just stands there and watches me dance before he scoops me up and fucks me.

And it’s not fair that my favorite band is now associated with him. Whenever I hear my playlist, I think of Nate fucking me. Whenever I eat my ice cream or drink my milkshake, I think of him bringing them to me.

He hasn’t only robbed my body and attacked my soul, but he’s also coming after my heart. My stupid vanilla heart that loses flavor every time he doesn’t kiss me.

I try to pretend it doesn’t bother me and that I’m completely fine with just sex and companionship.

It doesn’t matter, okay? I’m using him as much as he’s using me.

Lie.

You’re a damn liar, Gwen.

I squash the voice and focus on Nate because he’s talking now, and holy shit, how can he sound even more authoritative than normal? Everyone’s attention is zoomed in on him and I’m definitely not the only one who’s hardly blinking. No one wants to miss a moment of his show—that’s what it feels like right now. A one-man show and we’re all witnesses.

He’s always had the type of blinding charisma that makes it difficult to look away.

Still, I force myself to open my notebook and take notes. I jot down points in his speech, the way he cross-examined a witness. One day, I’m going to be the one up there and he’ll be out here watching me. With Dad. When he wakes up.

Because he will.

I don’t care what the doctors say, he squeezes my hand when I talk to him. My dad will come back and tell me why he was looking for my mom.

After what I learned from the dashcam, I tried broaching the subject with Nate.

“Do you think Dad was searching for my mother?” I asked him once while we were watching a horror movie together. We do that now, watch movies and swim together—or he does while I hold on to him. I guess he’s insistent on us doing activities together since sex is always part of the equation.

But we weren’t having sex at that moment. We were merely watching a movie and making fun of how clichéd it was while I had my head on his lap and my legs up in the air, against the back of the sofa.

He stared down at me for a moment, then narrowed his eyes. “Why are you asking that?”

“I was just curious.”

“Don’t be. Whatever King has going on with your mother is between the two of them.”

“Umm, hello? I’m what came out of their union, so I think I have a say in it, thank you very much.”

“You don’t, and drop the sarcasm before I fuck it out of you.”

He totally did that, fucked me, but the sarcasm isn’t completely out.

So yeah, Nate isn’t my ally on this. The only person who can help me is probably Aspen since she’s the one who told me about the possibility of the actual cause of Dad’s accident. But I haven’t gathered enough courage to talk to her. Besides, she wouldn’t know about my mother. Aspen and Dad don’t actually sit down and share stories about their lives.

The judge informs everyone present that the trial will continue next week, and we’re done for the day.

I leave with Nate and the others from the firm, but I remain in the background while they talk in the elevator about a press conference and so on and so forth.

When we’re in the parking garage, Nate tells his associate lawyers to leave first.

I lower my head and go to the passenger seat of his car. I could’ve driven here myself, but he said I should come with him.

Nate gets in and I beam at him. “You were awesome in there.”

“And you were fucking distracting.” He leans over and pulls the seatbelt over my chest.

“I…was?” He didn’t even look at me, I don’t think. How could I be distracting?

“You were. Very.”

He’s still there, leaning over me, so his face is mere inches away from mine, and I’m breathing him in. God, when am I going to be desensitized to him? Ordinarily, I’d be over my reaction to certain words by now, but it seems that it’s getting worse, not better, when it comes to him.

But then again, Nate has never been a word. He’s a whole damn book.

“Does that mean I’ve been a bad girl, husband?”

“Extremely, wife.”

It’s a game of ours that usually means he’s going to fuck me until I’m spent and then start all over again.

“So let’s go home. You have nothing this afternoon. I checked with Grace.”

“You want me to go home early so I can listen to your loud music and watch you dance?”

“You can join in or whatever. And don’t call the loves of my life loud music.”

“The loves of your life?” He raises a brow.

“They are. Don’t be jealous.”

He is. Very. And possessive, too. He’s usually on the verge of losing his cool whenever I’m being touchy or friendly with any man, especially Chris. But even Sebastian, his own nephew who’s in a committed relationship, is a target as well.

I’ll never tell Nate this, but I love that side of him. It means he cares, in his own way.

“Why would I be jealous when you’re fucking mine, wife?” His hand trails down and he cups me through my pants. “My pussy agrees.”

My eyes bug out as I stare out the windows. “Nate! We’re in public.”

“So?”

“We…we can’t. If they find out, everything will be compromised and then…then they’ll attack you and my dad. I can’t take that…I can’t…”

“Hey…” His hand is no longer on my core, because he’s cupping my cheeks. “Fuck them, okay? Now, breathe. Relax. I won’t touch you in public if it freaks you out.”

I’m sucking in air as I wrap my hand around his. “It doesn’t freak you out?”

“No.”

“I wish I was as confident and assertive as you.”

“You are, baby girl. You’re strong. If anyone tells you otherwise, I’ll fuck them up.”

I can’t help but smile at that. “Does that mean you’re my personal caregiver as well?”

“Isn’t that a given?”

“Like my guardian?”

“Like your fucking husband, Gwyneth.”

I bite my lower lip, then release it. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Promise?”

I smile again. For someone who has asshole genes, he can be nice. “Promise. Now, let’s go home.”

“I have better plans.”

My heart skips a beat because Nate rarely has plans for us. Yes, we live together, cook and eat and fuck and sleep and fuck again together, but that’s all in the cocoon of the house.

And I don’t dare think that he’ll take me out. Otherwise, we’ll get caught.

But he has plans now.

“What type of plans?”

“I’m going to sweep you away, wife.”