Married to the Bad Boy(65)
She turns her perfectly manicured face toward me. “I need a fucking drink.”
Good thing there’s champagne in the limo. I fish it out of the ice and pop open the cork, tilting the foam into a tall, skinny glass for her. She holds it daintily while I pour one for myself.
What should I toast to?
Elena seems to consider her glass before her cheeks flush and she extends it toward me. “I forgot—I’m pregnant.”
I take it from her, grinning. “No one’s here to see you except me.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t want to risk it.”
Risk what? I take it from her and grab the bottle of sparkling cider instead, filling her glass with that.
“To us.”
A weak smile flickers on her face as she bumps her glass against mine and drinks. “I can’t believe we actually did it.”
She shoots me a guilty look that makes my insides flip. We both said we would keep a distance from each other—we wouldn’t let feelings get in the way, but it already feels different. That small little band around her finger marks her as mine. She’s an extension of myself—my reputation, my pride, even my life.
No one can fucking touch her while I’m alive.
“I can’t wait to see that piece of shit’s face when he sees my ring on your finger.” My arm wraps around her waist and I pull her over my lap, running my hands over her bare arms.
“It’s not official until the marriage is consummated.”
Her voice is like a caress over my cock. It hardens between my legs, throbbing to life when she gives me that steamy look.
“Fuck, you’re right. No matter how many times I’ve filled you with my cum—”
Elena’s cheeks, already rosy, darken in color. “Tony, the driver!”
I grin as I glance at the partition in front of us.
“Do you think he’d mind if I fucked you in his backseat?”
Her eyes widen. “Tony, no! We still have the reception. Don’t you fucking dare mess my hair!”
“I don’t give a shit what your hair looks like.”
“Well, I do, and that’s one thing you’re going to have to learn as my new husband. How to compromise.”
Laughter shakes from my chest as her face burns with fury. “Compromise?”
“Yeah. You know, doing things you don’t necessarily want to do for the sake of getting along. Meeting each other halfway?”
It sounds like hell. How many times have I heard guys bitch about their wives demanding that they attend their father’s birthday party, or their sister’s baby shower?
“But you’re my wife. Aren’t you supposed to fuck me whenever I want?”
“Yeah, it doesn’t work like that. This ain’t the fifties.” This time she grabs my jaw and gives me a slow, burning kiss.
I pull back from her, breathing hard.
“What’s the point of being married, then?”
The dress sighs as she lifts her shoulder in a shrug. “Responsibility toward one another. Did you even listen to the vows?” she says with a laugh in her voice.
“I was too busy thinking about how I was going to consummate the marriage.”
The car rings with her laughter, which is a relief to see. Elena doesn’t smile often, but when she does it makes my heart pound.
I pull her into another kiss, sliding my hand under her dress to grip her smooth thighs. She traces my abs over the dress shirt, and then over the bunched-up fabric where my cock grows. Fuck. I make a fist in her hair. She makes a complaining sound, but I don’t give a shit.
“I’ve got all the cards, and I’m not sorry for it. I’m not going to compromise. I’m not going to change. You picked me, remember?”
Her mouth trembles. “I didn’t know this would happen.”
“Well, neither did I, hon. I didn’t expect your pussy to taste so sweet.”
“Don’t talk to me like that. I’m not just your fucking plaything.”
That word makes my blood scalding hot. She’s not just a toy. Not anymore.
“No, you’re my wife.”
She lays a hand on my neck and heat flares across my skin like a sudden burn. I can’t believe how instant it is—like an allergic reaction bursting all over me. It’s automatic, now. I have no control over my body. She launches herself at me, so quickly that I’m convinced she’s fighting me, but then she crushes her fiery lips against mine, and I free my cock from my slacks. I rip the pins from her hair and pull her tresses down until her beautiful, wavy brown hair spills over her shoulders and she shakes her head with a relieved sigh.
“I didn’t wear panties.”
I almost laugh out loud.