Chapter 2

Slightly 18+

Rain

I wake up feeling… different. I stare at the ceiling for a while, then sit up and take a deep breath.

Alex isn’t beside me. He must’ve gotten up early.

I stand and walk over to the window. The sound of waves crashing on the shore is soothing, almost like a piece of art. Why do I always feel like I have questions I can't answer? Is this real? What am I looking for? Why do I question everything?

I walk into the bathroom and freshen up, taking my time with my morning routine. After washing my face with a refreshing cleanser, I apply a thin layer of CeraVe Hydrating Serum and follow up with Neutrogena Hydro Boost Water Gel for moisture. My skin feels soft and rejuvenated. I add a light layer of Fenty Beauty Pro Filt'r Soft Matte Longwear Foundation to even out my complexion, then finish with a sweep of NARS Orgasm Blush and a touch of highlighter to give my skin a dewy glow.

I glance at the mirror as I dab on a bit of mascara and a nude lipstick from Charlotte Tilbury’s Pillow Talk collection, just enough to enhance my natural features without overdoing it.

Heading into the closet, I’m relieved to see it now has a selection of women’s clothes. Thank goodness—I’m not about to wear his oversized shirts and sweatpants again. My eyes fall on a cute, simple blue floral dress that hangs delicately from the hanger. It’s soft and airy, the perfect balance of casual and chic for a day out. The light fabric sways gently as I pull it from the closet. It fits just right, hugging my figure without being too tight, a subtle V-neckline that adds a touch of elegance.

I pair it with gold hoop earrings from Mejuri, and a dainty gold chain bracelet with a small charm that’s both delicate and modern. I opt for a white leather crossbody bag to keep things simple, and finish the look with a pair of white sneakers for comfort.

I feel put together, but not overdone—just the right amount of casual with a hint of style, perfect for whatever today brings.

I slip it on and head downstairs toward the kitchen, where I find Nanny Lori cooking.

"Good morning, Nanny Lori," I greet her and sit down. I notice food already laid out on the table, so I wonder why she’s still cooking.

She turns to me with a smile. "Ah, you're up! Hungry? I'll be done in just a second."

"Why are you cooking? There's food already," I ask, curious.

"Request from sir. He said your favorite is avocado toast with poached eggs and some roasted potatoes on the side," she says.

After she sets the plate down, she adds a side of fresh fruit—mangoes, strawberries, and blueberries. "Here you go, ma’am. Sir said to finish everything."

This is my favorite food? I don’t even remember saying that. But I don’t want to seem rude, so I take a piece and some fried rice. Does he want me to gain weight or something? Maybe this is his plan to fatten me up and sell me at the market.

"Where’s Alex?" I ask, my curiosity growing as I eat despite not really enjoying the taste of the avocado toast.

"He’s out for a bit," Manang Loti answers, not giving too much away.

Where did he go? Why do I keep asking about him? Am I trying to figure out if this is real?

"Manang Loti, is there a town nearby?" I ask.

"Yes, there’s a town," she replies.

"Where exactly? I might want to go for a little walk sometime."

"I’m heading there later. Want to come along?" she offers.

I nod, silently appreciating her kindness. It’s a little weird how quiet I’ve become since waking up. Maybe I’m just overwhelmed.

"Do you need water?" she asks, but I stop her before she gets up.

"No, it’s fine. Thank you."

After finishing breakfast, I move to the living room, the soft hum of the house enveloping me in its quiet stillness. The space is cozy yet elegant, with sleek mid-century modern furniture—a velvet blue sofa, and a polished oak coffee table with a few books stacked neatly. There’s a large glass vase on the mantel, holding freshly cut flowers that add a soft burst of color to the room. The walls are decorated with warm, earth-toned art pieces, and the light from the windows fills the space, giving everything a golden hue.

My eyes fall on a large wooden frame hanging on the wall, filled with several photos—our wedding, among others. I step closer and notice the silk wedding dress I wore that day, elegant and timeless, with delicate lace embroidery along the neckline. I remember how the fabric shimmered under the warm lights of the venue. Alex is beside me in his black tuxedo, looking dashing, his ivory shirt and black bow tie crisp and sharp. We’re both smiling, but the smile feels so foreign now, as if it belongs to someone else.

I stare at the pictures for a while, trying to feel something—anything—but it’s as if I’m looking at someone else’s life. The faces in the pictures, the smiles, they don’t feel real. Is this my life? Why does something feel off?

Then, my eyes fall on another photo—one of us kissing beneath a sky full of fireworks, the colors bursting in the background, lighting up the night. The image captures a perfect moment, full of joy and promise. I reach for the frame, my fingers brushing over the smooth glass, and flip it over.

A message is written on the back in familiar handwriting:

“To my love, the one who holds my heart forever. Every moment with you is a dream come true, and I can't wait to make more memories together. I love you, now and always. - Alex”

The words feel tender, genuine, but for some reason, I can't help but wonder if they still hold the same weight. Was this love real? Is it real now? The picture still shows that beautiful moment, but I’m left questioning what’s behind the smile and me.

I turn away after a few minutes, heading back to the bedroom to get dressed. I pick a fitted sky-blue crewneck t-shirt paired with high-waisted, light-wash jeans, a combination that feels effortlessly casual yet put-together. Slipping on a pair of white sneakers, I glance in the mirror and run a hand through my loose waves before heading downstairs.

In the kitchen, I find Nanny Lori bustling around the counter, preparing something in a basket. Her daughter, Dasha, stands beside her, bouncing slightly on her toes with excitement.

Nanny Lori is dressed in a floral-printed blouse tucked into a pair of dark jeans, her hair pulled back into a neat ponytail. Despite her age, her energy is vibrant, her eyes always sparkling with warmth. Dasha, about eight years old, is a miniature version of her mother. She has thick, curly black hair tied into a messy ponytail and wears a bright yellow hoodie with “California Love” written in bold letters and a pair of denim shorts.

“Hurry up, Dasha! We can’t miss the last of the California sourdough croissants from Maison Martin!” Nanny Lori says with a grin as she ties the basket shut with a ribbon.

“Ma, I want one too!” Dasha says, tugging playfully at her mother’s arm.

“These are for Ma’am only. Those croissants aren’t cheap!” Nanny Lori teases, glancing at me with a knowing smile.

Dasha pouts but quickly brightens up when her mom winks at her.

As we talk, I hear the familiar hum of a car pulling into the driveway. It’s Wart, their family friend and the town’s unofficial chauffeur.

Outside, Wart climbs out of his beat-up silver Subaru Outback, a car that’s clearly seen better days but still runs smoothly. He’s a burly man in his 50s with a salt-and-pepper beard and a wide-brimmed straw hat, his usual uniform of a plaid shirt and faded jeans giving him a rugged, friendly appearance.

“Nanny Lori, looking as young as ever!” Wart greets with his usual booming voice.

“Still as charming as always, Wart!” Nanny Lori shoots back, laughing.

“That’s not true!” Dasha chimes in cheekily, causing everyone to laugh.

Wart’s eyes fall on me, and his grin widens. “Oh, so this is Ma’am Rain, huh? Didn’t know Sir Alex got married. You’re as stunning as they come.”

I smile politely and thank him as I climb into the passenger seat. The Subaru smells faintly of air freshener and leather, a testament to Wart’s efforts to keep it welcoming despite its age.

“We’re heading to the market,” Nanny Lori tells him, settling into the back seat with Dasha. The little girl hums a tune as she fiddles with her pink plastic sunglasses, clearly excited for the outing.

The Subaru bumps along the coastal road, passing sprawling vineyards and fields of golden poppies swaying in the breeze. The crisp air smells faintly of salt from the ocean, and the view of the rolling hills in the distance gives the trip an almost postcard-perfect charm.

“Ma’am, you’ll love the sourdough croissants. They’re a town favorite,” Nanny Lori says over the hum of the engine.

Dasha pipes up from the backseat. “And they’re super yummy! Maybe I can have a bite of yours, Ma’am?” she asks with a hopeful smile.

We all laughed, at Dasha cutness. He was to cute, he light the journey to the town. As we ride through the uneven roads, the scenery gradually shifts. We pass by rolling hills, dotted with rows of grapevines and wind turbines in the distance. The warm sun glows golden against the clear blue sky, illuminating clusters of wildflowers along the roadside. A handful of quaint houses with white picket fences and weathered barns occasionally appear, adding to the rustic charm of this small coastal town.

When we arrive in town, the Subaru rolls to a stop in front of Butter & Crust, a charming bakery known for its fresh pastries and iconic sourdough croissants. The aroma of baked bread wafts through the air as we step out. The shopfront is decorated with hanging flower baskets, and a cheerful chalkboard sign outside reads, “Fresh from the oven: Lemon-glazed brioche and chocolate chip scones!”

Nanny Lori heads inside while Dasha and I wait outside under the awning. The sidewalk is lively, with locals chatting, sipping coffee, and browsing through nearby shops.

When Lori emerges with a bag of goodies, we continue strolling through the bustling town square. Small boutiques line the streets, selling handcrafted jewelry, candles, and vintage postcards. Musicians play soft acoustic tunes near a café patio, adding to the laid-back ambiance.

As we pause outside a small shop displaying colorful ceramic pots, Dasha tugs on my arm. She holds up a bag of sourdough brioche buns, her wide brown eyes sparkling with excitement.

“This is for you,” she says with a shy smile, handing me the bag.

“Thank you, Dasha,” I say warmly, appreciating her sweet gesture.

While we wait for Nanny Lori, Dasha pulls out her iPhone XR with a glittery pink case, flipping through a colorful app. Suddenly, she bursts into song, “Baby Shark, doo doo doo doo doo doo!” Her small feet tap against the pavement as she starts dancing, waving her arms enthusiastically.

I blink in surprise, watching her carefree moves. “What’s that?” I ask, tilting my head.

“Tiktok, Ma’am!” she says, still spinning and clapping. “Come on, dance with me!”

Her phone screen shows a bright, looping video of her favorite catchy kids’ song playing on the app. The app interface is filled with playful stickers and emojis she’s added to her short video clips.

I laugh softly, shaking my head. “I think I’ll sit this one out, Dasha. But you’re doing great!”

Dasha doesn’t mind and continues dancing, twirling around with abandon. As I watch her, my gaze drifts to the town around us. A group of kids ride by on bicycles, their laughter filling the air. The scent of fresh coffee and vanilla drifts from a nearby café, blending with the saltiness of the ocean breeze.

It’s a scene that feels almost too idyllic, like it belongs in a postcard. For a moment, I feel a faint pang of something—nostalgia, maybe? Longing? I’m not quite sure. Something about this place, this life, feels strange yet comforting all at once.

As I watch Dasha spin and dance, a woman strides toward us from across the street. Her red stiletto heels click against the pavement, drawing attention. She’s striking, with a figure that could turn heads—tall and curvaceous, her skin glowing under the sun. She wears a tight black mini-dress with a plunging neckline, paired with a gold statement necklace and large hoop earrings. Her long blonde hair is styled in loose waves, cascading over her shoulders, and her makeup is flawless—bold red lips and dramatic eyeliner. She looks like she just walked out of a photoshoot.

“Dasha, who’s this?” she asks, her sharp tone making heads turn. Her perfectly manicured hand, adorned with rings, gestures toward me.

Dasha, still swaying to her TikTok rhythm, replies casually, “Sir’s wife.”

The woman freezes, her expression morphing into one of disbelief. “What!?” Her voice rises, drawing attention from passersby. People in the area start to slow their pace, their curiosity piqued. “That’s not true! I’m the one who’s supposed to be Alex’s wife!” Her voice drips with venom as her gaze flickers over me with open disdain. “She’s not even that pretty!”

I blink, stunned by her hostility. Before I can say anything, Dasha, unfazed, snorts, “Really?”

The woman’s head snaps toward Dasha. “Shut up!” she barks, her tone icy.

Her eyes, dark and full of rage, lock onto me like I’m her mortal enemy. She steps closer, her perfume—something sickly sweet and overpowering—lingering in the air. “You,” she hisses, pointing an accusing finger at me. “You have some nerve, pretending to be Alex’s wife. You’re nothing but a—”

“Stop! —” I finally manage to say, but she cuts me off with a slap that lands so hard it echoes. The sharp sting radiates across my cheek, and for a moment, everything blurs.

Gasps ripple through the small crowd that has gathered nearby. A middle-aged woman clutching her purse murmurs, “Did you see that? She just slapped her!”

“What’s her problem?” another whispers, shaking their head.

“Isn’t that Alex’s new wife? Poor thing!”

Ignoring the onlookers, The woman smirks, her lips curling in satisfaction as she towers over me. “Stay away from Alex,” she spits, her voice full of venom.

“Sister gwen! Enough!” Dasha exclaims, pushing herself between us and gripping my arm protectively. “Ma’am? Are you okay?”

I blink, but the world around me begins to tilt. Dasha’s voice grows distant, and the last thing I see is the woman smug face before blackness consumes me.

I woke up, realizing it was already nighttime. The room was dim, lit only by the faint glow of the moon streaming through the large window. What happened? Right—I was slapped.

I sat up in bed and immediately felt the sharp sting on my cheek. My fingers brushed against it, and I winced. Reaching for the mirror on the bedside table, I examined myself. My cheek was red and slightly swollen.

Anger flared within me as the memory came rushing back. That woman—Gwen—had no right to treat me like that. Who did she think she was? My fists clenched as frustration simmered under the surface.

"Finally, you're awake."

The low, familiar voice startled me, and I turned quickly to see Alex. He was seated on the couch near the window, half-shrouded in shadows. The moonlight caught the shine of his polished black leather shoes, and his dark navy suit fit him perfectly, emphasizing his broad shoulders and sharp features. The top button of his white shirt was undone, and his tie hung loose around his neck, as though he'd been sitting there for hours.

He rose from his seat with a calm grace, picking up a tray from the bedside table. On it were a glass of water, a small bottle of ibuprofen, and a cold pack wrapped in a soft towel.

"Did it hurt?" he asked as he handed me the glass of water. His voice was measured, but there was something in his gaze—a flicker of anger he was trying to suppress.

I took the glass and drank, the cold water soothing my dry throat. Still, my heart raced as the silence stretched between us.

"A little," I admitted hesitantly, unsure of what else to say.

Alex took the glass back from me and set it on the tray. Picking up the cold pack, he sat on the edge of the bed, his presence close and imposing.

"Here," he said softly, gently pressing the cold pack to my swollen cheek. The coolness eased the pain, but the warmth of his hand against mine sent a shiver down my spine. His touch was careful, almost tender, as though he was afraid of hurting me further.

"I'm sorry for what Gwen did to you," Alex said after a long pause. His voice was low, laced with an edge of anger that made the air feel heavier. His dark eyes flickered with intensity as he continued, "She's obsessed. Always claiming I'm hers. But don't worry, I don’t believe her—never have, never will."

He paused, his gaze locking onto mine. "My real wife is you, Rain."

I swallowed hard at the weight of his words. Something about the seriousness in his tone and the way he looked at me made my cheeks flush with warmth. But was it real? Or was this just another layer of a life I couldn’t fully remember?

"Rain," he murmured, his voice softening as he leaned closer. I instinctively looked away, embarrassed by the intensity of his gaze.

But Alex wouldn’t let me retreat. "Rain," he repeated, his hand tilting my chin up gently, forcing me to meet his eyes.

The space between us seemed to shrink as the air thickened. His dark lashes framed his deep, searching eyes, and for a moment, I forgot to breathe.

Before I could react, he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to my cheek, lingering just long enough to send a jolt through my chest. His lips were warm against my skin, and the tenderness of the gesture made my heart skip a beat.

I closed my eyes, caught between surprise and the unfamiliar warmth spreading through me.

"Take this," he said after pulling back, handing me two pills from the ibuprofen bottle. "It’ll help with the swelling."

I took the pills and swallowed them with a sip of water. My cheek still throbbed slightly, but the pain seemed distant now compared to the pounding of my heart.

"Get some rest," Alex said, his voice softer now. He reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair away from my face, his touch lingering. "I’ll handle everything tomorrow. You don’t need to worry about her."

As he stood and adjusted his tie, I watched him, still trying to process what had just happened. The man in front of me felt like a stranger, yet his words and actions were disarming in a way I couldn’t ignore.

The night stretched on as I lay back on the pillows, my hand instinctively touching the spot on my cheek where his lips had been. Despite the lingering pain, a small part of me felt... safe.

I held the single rose in my hand, its velvety petals brushing against my fingers as I tried to calm the storm in my mind.

The ocean stretched endlessly before me, glittering under the warm sun. With nothing else to do at the mansion, I’d decided to escape to the beach, hoping the rhythmic crash of the waves would settle my thoughts.

But it didn’t. My mind kept replaying everything—the slap, the humiliation, and, worst of all, Alex’s heated gaze that seemed to both confuse and captivate me.

“Ma’am.”

I turned at the familiar voice. Nanny Lori stood behind me, her wavy chestnut hair catching the breeze. She wore a crisp white blouse tucked into tailored beige slacks, a perfect blend of professional and approachable.

“Sir is asking for you in his office,” she said.

I sighed and nodded, standing up and brushing the sand from my white sundress.

“Ma’am,” she called out again, her voice softer this time.

I turned back to her.

“Sorry about Gwen,” she said, guilt clouding her usually bright eyes.

I stepped closer and took her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Nanny Lori, it’s not your fault.” I handed her the rose with a small smile.

She hesitated, her brow furrowing slightly as if unsure how to respond. Then she smiled back, though there was still a hint of doubt in her expression.

Walking back to the mansion, I couldn’t help but admire its more grandeur. The sprawling estate overlooked the Pacific Ocean, its architecture a mix of modern glass panels and Mediterranean elegance. Palm trees lined the driveway, and the entrance boasted massive mahogany doors that opened into a vast foyer with gleaming marble floors. 

I paused outside Alex’s office, my hand hovering over the door. My heart was racing, each beat echoing in my ears. The memory of his intense gaze earlier made my palms sweat.

“Come in,” his deep voice commanded from the other side, as if he already knew I was there before I even knocked.

I pushed the door open and stepped inside. The office was both luxurious and intimidating, with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves filled with leather-bound volumes, a sleek black desk made of polished ebony, and large windows that offered a stunning view of the ocean. The scent of leather and a hint of cedarwood cologne filled the air, unmistakably Alex.

He sat behind the desk, his navy blazer draped over the back of his chair. He wore a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing his strong forearms. A black tie hung loosely around his neck, and his sharp jawline was dusted with just the right amount of stubble. His dark hair was slightly tousled, as though he’d run his hands through it one too many times while working.

His eyes lifted to meet mine, and I felt their pull immediately—intense, assessing, and undeniably handsome.

“What are you wearing?” His voice was low, almost a growl, as his gaze trailed down my body.

I blinked in confusion. “Clothes?” I said, unsure how to respond.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he leaned back in his chair, twirling a ballpoint pen between his fingers.

“Yes, I can see that,” he said, his tone laced with amusement. His eyes settled on my legs for a beat too long before flicking back up to my face.

I fidgeted under his gaze. “Then what’s the problem?”

He tilted his head slightly, his smirk growing. “Change,” he said simply, turning his attention back to the papers on his desk.

“Why?”

He sighed, his jaw tightening. Then he stood abruptly, his movements fluid yet commanding, and rounded the desk.

“Just. Change,” he said firmly, his voice dropping. There was a dangerous edge to it, and I felt the tension in the room thicken.

I opened my mouth to argue but froze when he suddenly closed the distance between us, pressing me gently but firmly against the door. His scent—cedarwood mixed with something darker, muskier—intoxicated me.

“You keep teasing me, doll,” he murmured, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear. His hand came up to rest against the door beside my head, his body impossibly close to mine.

My breath hitched as his lips grazed the curve of my neck, and I felt the heat of his breath against my skin.

Before I could respond, he pulled back, his expression unreadable. “Take the phone on my desk,” he ordered, his voice back to its clipped, professional tone.

It took me a moment to regain my composure. My legs felt weak as I hurried to his desk, grabbed the sleek black phone, and practically ran out of the room, my heart pounding in my chest.

What just happened?

I found Nanny Lori near the pool, the mansion’s outdoor area as stunning as the interior. The infinity pool shimmered under the sun, surrounded by white lounge chairs and lush greenery.

“Nanny Lori!” I called, trying to mask the shakiness in my voice.

She turned, her face lighting up with surprise.

“Ma’am, is everything okay?”

“Help me with this.” I held up the phone. She looked at it, then at me, and smiled.

After a few minutes, she had shown me the basics—how to unlock it, send messages, and make calls.

“Thanks, Nanny Lori,” I said, pulling her into a quick hug.

Her eyes widened in surprise, but she laughed softly. “Of course, ma’am.”

Back in my room, I sat on the edge of the plush king-sized bed, the phone in my hands. The room was elegant yet cozy, with soft beige walls, floor-to-ceiling windows, and white curtains that billowed gently in the breeze.

I stared at the phone, unsure whether to turn it on. My fingers hovered over the screen as I replayed Alex’s words and actions in my head.

Why did he have such an effect on me? And more importantly, why did a part of me not want to resist it?

Dasha had said there were apps on this phone I could use. My fingers hovered over the unfamiliar icons. One caught my eye: G****e. That’s what Dasha called it. Curious, I tapped it.

The screen blinked to life, and a white bar appeared, inviting me to type something. After a moment’s hesitation, I began to type his name.

Zivon Alexis Montelgo.

The results flooded in—images, articles, and links. My breath caught as I scrolled through photo after photo of Alex. He looked effortlessly commanding in every shot, whether it was a candid of him in a sharp black suit or a photo of him lounging by what appeared to be the same pool in our backyard.

One headline stood out:

“THE TWO BROTHERS WHO CONQUERED THE WORLD OF BUSINESS.”

I clicked on it. The page loaded slowly, and when it did, my gaze locked onto a picture of two men.

Alex stood on the left, his expression as sharp and calculated as ever. But beside him was another man, slightly older, with lighter hair and a cocky grin. 

The caption below read:

“Zivon Alexis Montelgo and Zackary Montelgo: Brothers and Billionaire Powerhouses.”

He has a brother?

I stared at the image, questions swirling in my mind. Why hadn’t he mentioned this? And why was his brother smiling while Alex looked so...cold?

My curiosity deepened as I scrolled further. That’s when I saw it—a thumbnail of a video with a title that made my stomach churn:

“FIVE ALIENS: RARE FOOTAGE FROM THE MONTELGO FAMILY.”

I hesitated before tapping play.

The video was grainy, clearly older, and showed a group of five people laughing together. My heart stopped when I recognized one of them. A woman stood among the group, her arms wrapped around the man who must have been Alex’s brother.

She looked exactly like me.

Her dark hair framed her face, her smile radiant as she laughed at something one of the others said. She leaned into Zackary, her hand resting comfortably on his chest. The dialogue was muffled, but I could hear snippets:

“Zack, you’re terrible!” the woman teased, her voice lilting and warm.

“Alex is worse,” Zack retorted with a laugh, ruffling Alex’s hair in the background. Alex, younger but still brooding, rolled his eyes.

The scene was surreal. This woman—this stranger—looked so much like me that it made my chest tighten. Who was she? Why was she with Alex’s brother?

Before I could process what I’d seen, a hand shot out and snatched the phone from my grasp.

I gasped and turned sharply to see Alex standing there, his eyes blazing with fury.

“Alex, I didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t,” he cut me off, his voice dangerously low. It was a tone I’d never heard from him before, one that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

His grip on the phone tightened as he stared at me, his jaw ticking. “What are you doing?”

“I...I was curious,” I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes narrowed, and his lips curled into a cold, knowing smile that sent a chill down my spine. He stepped closer, the scent of cedarwood and musk enveloping me. His towering presence was overwhelming, each step calculated and deliberate.

"You think you’re entitled to dig into my past?” he asked, his voice a razor-sharp edge. “You think you can play detective and not face consequences?”

I opened my mouth to reply, but no words came out. The tension between us was suffocating.

His hand reached out, brushing a strand of hair from my face before trailing his fingers down to my cheek. The gentle touch turned rough as his hand cupped my face, forcing me to look up at him. His grip was firm, his thumb brushing over my lips, making them pout.

“No one touches what’s mine,” he growled, his voice a dangerous whisper. “And that includes you, doll.”

The pressure of his fingers was almost too much, and a tear slipped down my cheek. I stared into his intense, unrelenting gaze—his eyes seemed to pierce straight through me, drinking in every bit of my vulnerability. There was a hunger in them, a mix of desire and something darker, more dangerous.

"Calm me," he murmured, his lips dangerously close to my ear.

Before I could react, he let go of my face and grabbed my arm, pulling me toward the bed. He sat on the edge and yanked me down onto his lap with ease. My breath hitched as I felt the hard muscles of his thighs beneath me, and my body stiffened when I realized the intimate proximity of our positions.

I tried to pull away, but his strong hands settled firmly on my waist, holding me in place. His smirk returned, playful yet commanding.

“You can start now,” he said, his voice laced with amusement.

“Start...what?” I asked, my voice shaky, unsure of what he meant.

He chuckled, the sound rumbling from his chest as if I’d amused him. “My innocent wife,” he drawled, shaking his head slightly. “You know these things. You were wild at them before. But let’s take it slow tonight.” He leaned closer, his warm breath brushing against my neck as he murmured, “Let me start by tasting this delectable neck of yours. I’m feeling like a vampire tonight.”

My heart raced as his lips ghosted over my pulse point.

“No,” I managed to whisper, trying to squirm away. “It’s dirty—I was outside.”

His grip tightened, his hands digging into my waist as he pressed me closer to him. “Don’t stop me, wife,” he growled, his lips hovering over my skin. “I don’t care if you’re dirty or not. You’re mine, and your body is sweeter than any fruit out there.”

The possessiveness in his voice sent heat rushing through me. His lips finally made contact with my neck, his tongue darting out to taste my skin. I couldn’t suppress the shiver that ran through me.

“You’ll like it,” he promised, his voice a mix of seduction and dominance.

Despite my hesitation, I nodded slightly, surrendering to the overwhelming pull of his presence.

His smirk widened as he took my permission, and then he bit into my neck—firm, demanding, almost primal. A small cry escaped my lips, caught somewhere between surprise and pain. The sharp sensation quickly morphed into something else entirely as he pressed soft kisses against the same spot, soothing it with his tongue. 

His lips moved along my neck, kissing, biting, and sucking in ways that left me breathless. His hands—large and rough—guided my waist, pulling me down against his hardened length, rubbing against me with deliberate pressure. The friction sent sparks shooting through me, and an involuntary moan escaped my lips.

“This,” he murmured between kisses, his voice a low growl, “is to remind you.” He nipped at my skin again, eliciting another soft gasp.

“You are mine. Only mine.”