: Chapter 6

I flip on the lights to the entryway of my midcentury home and allow Sloane to walk in front of me.

“Wow, so this is where the beast dwells,” she says, taking in the newly renovated open space of the dining, living room, and kitchen. Fresh oak flooring, dark gray walls, white furniture, and floor-to-ceiling windows that look out toward the bay. “Fancy.”

I set my keys down and move to the kitchen, where I take a highball glass off the shelf and pour myself some water because my mouth is dry as fuck.

Ever since Sloane showed up to my office wearing that fucking white dress that squeezed every curve of her torso but flared out at her hips, hitting her midthigh, I needed a drink—something much stronger than the water I’m currently consuming.

I kept telling myself over and over again, Don’t do it.

Leave.

Run.

But as the reverend checked the time and I sensed something was going on in the bathroom that didn’t deal with any sort of plucking, I knew she was getting cold feet—like me. And internally, that fucked with my pride.

I’m ashamed to even admit it.

But something inside me, a protective side, told me I needed to soothe her. So that’s what I did, which of course set me on the straight and narrow to holy matrimony. Because once I saw the trust she had in me, I was a goner.

And now…well, fuck, now what the hell am I going to do?

My lawyer, Frederick Steinfeld, the fucker, told me that I needed to put in that agreement that we would live together. The man didn’t bat an eyelash about the entire thing; it was as if it wasn’t his first time drawing up a marriage contract because he spoke from experience. He told me she needed to live with me, that if we were going to be married, we needed to go all in, in order to convince people. At first, I didn’t think it was necessary because we were just doing this for business, but the more I thought about keeping it a secret, the more I thought: What happens if it gets back to Jude?

If he ever finds out, I want to at least be able to tell him that I treated his sister like a queen. That I was a model husband. That I never let anything bad happen to her. That I could look him in the eyes and say I took the vows seriously.

And that’s what I plan on doing.

Sloane is my wife, plain and simple; therefore, she will be treated like my wife.

“You know, I never pegged you as a white furniture kind of guy.” She sits down on the couch and bounces a few times. “More comfortable than it looks, still in pristine condition. Do you even sit in here?”

“Rarely,” I answer and fill up my glass again. “Do you want some water?”

“Don’t mind if I do,” she says, coming into the kitchen.

I grab her a glass and fill it up for her. She takes the drink from me, then holds it up. “To wedded bliss.” She clinks my glass with hers and chugs her water until it’s all gone. “Ooof, that tastes good. Even your water is fancy.”

She drags her fingers along the marble countertops, observing my place, while I stand there, dumbfounded, observing her.

Jude is going to murder me.

Decapitate me.

I will have no head.

No balls.

No dick.

He will rip me to shreds with his bare hands.

Yet here I am, not doing a damn thing about it.

“So, where is the room where all the magic happens?” she asks, twirling around just enough that her short skirt lifts in the air and I catch a brief glimpse of the bottom of her left butt cheek.

Christ, it’s going to be a long couple of weeks.

“Upstairs, to the right,” I answer.

“This girl is exhausted. Getting married really takes it out of a lady.” She starts climbing the stairs, then pauses. “You know, we didn’t get any pictures. We should have posed at least in front of your desk. Think of all the bonding memories we shared there while we were courting.”

“We never courted.”

“Sure felt like it.” She winks and keeps walking up the stairs.

She’s too much for me.

There is no way I’m going to be able to handle her, not this…this new side of her that I never knew existed. She used to be so quiet, so demure, so…yes, sir, and now she’s mouthy, confident—which isn’t a bad thing—and by no means ready to submit. Not that I need her to, but Christ, might be slightly helpful.

I set my glass down in the sink, turn off the lights, and head upstairs, where I find her in my bedroom—well, I guess our bedroom—making snow angels on the king-size bed.

This is what I’m talking about.

This is what I can’t handle.

She has too much fucking energy, and I know I’m not a grandpa, but she sure as hell is making me feel like one when she does shit like that.

“For a place this large, I’d expect there to be more guest rooms.”

“Can you stop that?” I say as she opens her legs and shuts them. I avert my eyes, trying not to see anything…too private.

She sits up on the bed. “Am I messing up your bedding?”

“No, you’re flapping your legs open, and I…I don’t need to see that.”

“Yikes, not something a lady wants to hear on her wedding night.” She hops off the bed and asks, “So this is what we’re doing? Playing house?”

“We’re not playing anything,” I say as I move toward the closet, where I take off my suit jacket and tie.

She follows me and leans against the doorframe. “Okay, but you realize this marriage isn’t real, right?”

I start unbuttoning my dress shirt and her eyes immediately fall to my chest. “Sloane, it’s as real as they come.” I untuck my shirt, finish unbuttoning, and then throw caution to the wind and remove it entirely.

Probably a big mistake because she has no shame eating me alive with her eyes.

Nope.

Her gaze roams up and down, from my shoulders to my pecs and all the way down my stomach. And when I think she’s done, she goes for another pass while she very subtly wets her lips.

Fuck.

Me.

I clear my throat, which brings her attention back to my eyes. “Did you hear me?”

“Um, I want to say yes, but your perfectly proportioned nipple-to-pec ratio distracted me.”

Got to give it to her for being direct.

“I said this marriage is as real as they come.”

She folds her arms and takes one more gander at my stomach. “Sure, in the legal sense, but not on the emotional side. I mean, I’m not in love with you, although I could see myself falling after seeing what you’re currently offering.”

I unbuckle my pants and push them down.

“Oh my, tight thigh.”

I pull my pants back up and stare her down. “Can you please not ogle me?”

“Says the man who wants this marriage to be real. That’s what wives do; they ogle.” Then she walks into the closet and plucks one of my T-shirts off my shelf. She turns to me and says, “Be a lamb and unzip me please.”

“Can’t you unzip yourself?”

She scornfully looks over her shoulder. “Sir, this is what husbands do. If you want to play the doting roles, then snap into character. Now, unzip me.”

She’s got me there.

Reluctantly, I move behind her, grab the small clasp of her zipper, and slowly pull it down, revealing a white lace bra and the top of white lace underwear.

Fucking help me.

My mouth goes dry as I step back, and I’m about to turn around, but she lets the dress slide down her shoulders and drop to the ground where it pools on the floor. My eyes travel back up her luscious legs and right to the curve of her thong-covered ass.

Mother.

Fucker.

Round, thick enough for me to grab on to and fucking ride. Jesus.

Then she reaches behind her and undoes the clasp of her bra, and I nearly go hard right then and there as she lets her bra slide off her as well, leaving her back completely bare to me. I envision my hand sliding up her spine, to the nape of her neck, where I press her head into the mattress and prop that delicious ass into the air.

Just as the fantasy starts playing out in my head, she slips my shirt over her body and turns toward me as she pulls her hair out of the collar. She must catch me staring because a smile crosses her face. “Performing your husbandly duties with a little ogle yourself.” She walks up to me and pats me on the chest. “Well done, Hudson.” Then she makes her way into the bathroom, where she spots the basket of toiletries I had put together for her and sent to the house.

I take a few seconds in the closet to calm my body down—the last thing I need is to walk in the bathroom with a half-stiff cock.

“You even have the right facial cleanser. How did you pull that off?” she asks from the bathroom.

I take my pants off again, adjust myself in my briefs, and then move into the bathroom, where I say, “Your sister.”

“Huh, and she didn’t even tell me. She acted like she didn’t know I was going to sleep here.”

“She thought it was a wedding gift.”

Sloane’s face turns to disgust. “She thought you were giving me facial cleanser as a wedding gift, and she still let me marry you? Wow, what a sister.” She removes her toothbrush from the packaging, wets it, and places some toothpaste on it.

I do the same, and in silence, we brush our teeth. After we both spit, she says, “What a wedding night, right? Such magic, you and me, brushing our teeth in tandem. This is how I always envisioned it.”

“Are you always this sarcastic?”

“Yes.”

“You weren’t when you first started working for me.”

“Because I was trying to be a good girl.”

Why did she have to say it like that? Good girl. Fuck, I bet she’s a really good girl.

“So this is your true self?”

“Yup.” She rinses her mouth. “Consider yourself lucky. I only show people my true self when I feel comfortable.”

“Real lucky,” I say.

We spend the next few minutes getting ready for bed. We both wash our faces and apply lotion. She goes to the bathroom. I go after her, and once we’re all done, I shut the bathroom light off, and she stands at the foot of the bed.

“So this is really happening, huh? We’re doing this whole sharing-the-bed thing?” So it seems, and it doesn’t really make sense to me either. I have a large house. She could sleep in a different room. It’s not as if anyone will know she’s staying in my bed. I truly have no idea why I am subjecting us both to this. So I say the first thing that pops into my mind.

“You’re my wife, so yes.” Idiot.

“Mm-hmm, you keep saying that, so I want to be clear: Do wifely duties also include…other things?”

Fuck. No. Jude would make sure my body was never found.

“No,” I say as I move toward the right side of the bed, the one that’s closest to the door. It’s not my normal side, but also, she shouldn’t be the one that’s closest to the door; it should be me.

“So I don’t have to do any fondling or sucking or riding or faking⁠—”

I snap my head around to look her in the eyes. “You wouldn’t be faking it with me.”

“Ooh, looks like I pressed a hot button.”

“No, just making sure you have your facts straight.”

She slips into bed and sinks down onto my pillow. How is she not at all resistant to sleeping in my bed?

“How do you know I wouldn’t need to fake it? You might have been with girls with an easy trigger…or you might not have known if they were faking it because they were good actresses.”

“They were not faking it.”

She shrugs. “Okay, guess I’ll just have to take your word for it. And if we’re sharing, I’d like you to know that I’m amazing at giving head. It’s my specialty.”

Not something I needed to know.

“As for the orgasm department, I’ve only had one guy who could deliver. It was pretty good. Actually, I’m lying; it was really good.”

Foolish jealousy rips through me because that’s not something I want to hear. I don’t want to know that she’s been pleasured by another man. I don’t want to even know she’s been with other men.

“His name was Devin,” she continues. “He had the smallest curve in his penis, and he knew how to use that curve to his advantage.”

“I don’t need the details,” I say as I sink down into the pillow as well.

“I thought we were sharing.” She turns toward me. “Want to tell me the best sex you’ve ever had?”

“No.”

“Seems a bit harsh. I think a wife should know something like that.”

“Why?”

She shrugs. “Because I think it’s nice to know that my husband has been pleasured. I mean, what if you’ve never had an orgasm?”

I turn toward her and give her a look. “I came in the shower this morning.”

Her eyes widen as a small smile passes over her lips. “Oh my God, Hudson, I came in my bed before I got in the shower. Look at us doing the hard work on our own. Coming buddies.” She pushes at my shoulder, and I hate myself.

I hate everything about this.

Why? Why did I make this choice? I’m a smart man. I’ve been able to navigate life well up until this point, so why now? Why am I making decisions that are putting me in actual physical pain?

Some might say I’m a masochist.

Others might assume I’ve had a small crush on this girl the moment I met her and now I’m fulfilling a fantasy I have no right to even consider.

“So is that going to be part of your morning routine? A good stroke and scrub? Because if so, just let me know. I can be downstairs while you take care of business.”

“I don’t plan on doing anything like that while you’re here,” I answer.

“Oh God, is that going to be a rule? I sure as hell hope not because there is no way I’ll last. Which reminds me, do you have any vibrators? If I have one of those, thirty seconds and I’ll be good.”

I press my fingers to my brow and say, “Can we just not right now?”

“I can sense this is painful for you. That’s fine. We can come back to the topic when you’re feeling a little more comfortable.” She quiets, and I let out a deep breath because sleep—that’s what I need. I need sleep. “Can I just say how magical our first kiss was? A total inspiration for romances to come.”

I groan and turn away from her.

“I’m sorry. When I’m nervous I tend to talk a lot.” She’s quiet for a moment and then adds, “Did you mean to kiss my nose or was that a spur-of-the-moment thing? Bet it was the first nose kiss the reverend ever saw at a wedding. Should have told him it’s how I like it to really sell the connection.”

“You can stop talking.”

“Sorry. This is just weird, and I don’t do weird well.” She pauses. “But, I mean, are we nose kissers? I need to know because I’m going to need you to bend farther down if that’s the case. I’ll kiss your nose, but I’m not kissing your nostril.”

“Good night, Sloane.”

“So…is that a yes on the nose kissing?”

“It’s a go the fuck to sleep.”

“Sheesh,” she says as she turns on the bed. “Wasn’t aware you were a grump outside of work too.”

And I wasn’t aware I married a smart-mouthed chatterbox with the finest fucking ass I’ve ever seen. But here we are.