24. Aubree
24
AUbrEE
EGGS AND AN ULTIMATUM
“ H ow do you feel?”
Tim is nothing if not a multifaceted man. He wants to dominate me. He wants to hurt me. But hell, when that’s done, he’ll tend to me with gentle hands and loving touches. He runs a warm, wet cloth over my thighs, cleaning up his mess and drawing a million goosebumps to my skin when the cold air chases the warmth of the cloth. “Pain?”
“The good kind.” I burrow into his pillows and open myself up to the man who, a month ago, hadn’t even seen my bare stomach except that one time we were on a yacht in the Caribbean Ocean.
Now he gets to tend to my most private areas, and that’s after he messes those places up with his tongue. His fingers. His cock.
“I like it when it hurts a little,” I admit in the quiet. The only sound beside us is Capone’s rhythmic breathing. “I like hot apple pie and ice cream, too. The contrasts are what makes it delicious.”
Humored, his lips curl into a smirk, almost hidden behind his beard. “Pleasure and pain. Did you know that about yourself before the weekend?”
“Nuh-uh.” I allow my eyes to drift closed for a beat, because post-orgasm relaxation is different from any other kind of relaxation I’ve ever experienced. “Learned that little tidbit while you were stealing my virginity. You’re no better than a pirate on the wavey seas.”
“And you’re the ship I wanted to conquer?” Chuckling, he strokes my leg and inches close enough to my core to make it tingle anew. “Odd analogy, but okay. You still haven’t had dinner.”
“No.” I crack my eyes open and yawn. “And I’m hungry, too. But you’re not going downstairs to cook me a meal. You’ll sneak out and visit with people I said you’re not allowed to visit.”
“Controlling already?” He leans over and presses a gentle kiss to my belly. “Red flags, Emeri.”
I choke out a laugh, only to cringe when the action pushes a glob of cum onto my thigh. “Ew.”
“Not ew .” He wipes up the mess and follows it with his tongue. “Delicious. I’m gonna save you in my phone under ‘the most infuriating red flag I’ve ever known’ .”
“Says the guy who forged a marriage certificate and didn’t tell me.” I move to my elbows and hold his eyes when I know he’d prefer to look away. “That line you gave me at Felix’s wedding, about the guards protecting Minka and Christabelle, but not me…”
His lips flicker with the ghost of a smile. “Lie.”
“And you asking me to marry you after that. All to cover your tracks.”
“Damage control. You announced in the bar we were engaged.”
“I was trying to distract them from other things! You want to buy a house?”
“It’s the logical next step. I won’t entertain a conversation about divorce, and I can’t have my wife living above a bar. We can have kids whenever you’re ready, too.”
“Tim!”
“Timeline is your choice, so long as the first baby is in your belly before next Christmas.”
“Dude.” I scramble up to sit and cross my legs, despite how crass the position is when I’m not wearing underwear. “You need to go wayyyy back to the part where you ask me to marry you. Date me like a normal human being. Buy me an engagement ring, and invite my parents to a real wedding.”
“But we’re already married.” He sets the rag down and crawls along the bed. Flopping down and stealing my pillows, he drags me back until I land on his side, my cheek on his heart and my leg riding high on his thigh. But I guess that’s not good enough, because he grabs my hips and pulls me up until I’m on top, my legs framing his hips and his cock, dangerously close to filling me once more. “We can do the ceremony again, I suppose, and let your parents think it’s the real thing. But I’m not divorcing you just so you can have a redo.”
“You’re lucky I’ve had a couple of weeks to work through my anger over this.” I rest my elbows on his chest and feel no remorse when the bony tips dig into his muscles. “The choice you took out of my hands, the event you robbed me of, the dress shopping and bridesmaid traditions and all of that craziness. I have sisters who would have liked to stand up with me, and Minka, who deserves to be forced into another gown and the salon chair for a day.”
“That makes you spiteful.” He tucks my hair behind my ear and grins. “She hates that shit.”
“Yeah, and that would have been my gift to myself. But you stole that from me, too. Now here we are, an unhappy married couple, and I don’t even have a pretty dress hung in my closet to commemorate the event.”
“You have the dress you wore to Felix’s wedding. And the one you wore to Minka’s.”
“You mean the first time you tried to marry me, but the captain wouldn’t sign the paperwork?” Again, I surprise the man who thinks he controls the world. Odd, considering he controls nothing without me knowing about it first. “You thought you’d sneak that past me without consequences?”
“How do you know this stuff?” He fists the back of my hair and holds me captive. “Dammit, Aubree! Who is in your ear? Because they’re way too fuckin’ close, and I won’t tolerate any motherfucker stepping where he’s not supposed to be.”
“I feel no need to name my sources. But beware there’s nothing you can do, no move you can make, that isn’t already communicated to me before you take the first step.”
“Name names,” he growls. “Or pay the price.”
“What are you gonna do? Have sex with me until it hurts?” I drag his hand from my hair and roll off his chest. He reaches for me, but I’m faster, and my stomach growls to the point of pain. “What do you have in your fridge? I’m starving and we don’t have the option of burgers.”
“We could call the bar and have Daisy bring something up.” He stays on the bed, naked and hard. Always. “Or you can order anything in from anywhere. It’s our money now, babe.”
I head into the hall and all the way to the fridge, then I yank it open and break out in goosebumps when the cold air hits my bare skin. I still need to wash my hands. Clean up before I handle food. But I peek into the depths of a bachelor’s fridge and find staples that somehow call to me with a fierce intensity. “Eggs. Bread. Butter.”
“Are you creating a shopping list?” he calls out. “Good wives actually go to the store and buy the things, too. Then they cook.”
“That shit’s gonna wear out really fast, Malone. Then you’ll be crying into your cereal while I sip Mai Tai’s with my second husband and we joke about how you screwed up the first marriage.” I leave the fridge open and turn to pump soap into my hands at the sink. I flip the tap on and let it run until cold water turns warm, then I scrub. Because, well… gross. “Can you please bring me a shirt? I don’t wanna burn myself while performing my wifely duties.”
“Here.” Surprising me, he pops up at my back, his chest warming my skin and his hand wrapping around the front of my throat. Then he pulls me back and forces me to look up into his perfect eyes. “We must be in sync on a cosmic level or some shit, because I saw, in my mind, you burning yourself, and knew I had to get you a shirt to save you from the scars.”
“Princely of you.” I grab the back of his head and drag him down until his beard tickles my chin and his lips latch onto mine. “Always protecting me.”
“It’s my thing.” He plops a shirt over my head and drags it down to cover me up. “I was put here to protect you. It’s my lot in life.”
“You make it sound like a chore. And yet, you’re the one marrying people in secret.” I stab my arms through the sleeves and turn back to grab things from the fridge. “Do you believe in the cosmic stuff?”
He moves to the long counter in shorts I didn’t realize he’d pulled on, and pushes up to sit on the crappy laminate top.
“What do you mean?”
“You mentioned being in sync and seeing me burn myself. Was that your protective side catastrophizing things, or do you believe people can have a connection beyond the normal?”
“Like, soul mates?”
“There’s that.” I grab the carton of eggs and weigh it in my hand to make sure we have enough. “But I guess I mean, on a spiritual level. A little like how some twins can feel whenever the other is in pain. How do we explain that phenomenon?”
“We don’t.” He leans to the left and snags an apple from the fruit bowl. He’s starving too, it seems. “Science is unable to prove it. In fact, a bunch of twins have gone on the record to disprove it. ”
“So you don’t believe in the possibility that people who share a certain emotional connection can feel the other’s pain? Or happiness? Fear, even.”
He considers for a beat, taking a bite of his apple and mulling over his thoughts while he chews. “I guess I haven’t put a lot of thought into it. I don’t have a twin, and my brothers and I were often in pain when we were children.”
“But you said yourself, more often than not, any one of you would accept a beating over watching one of the others take one.”
“So? No one takes pleasure in watching someone they care about piss blood for a week.”
“Have you not considered the possibility that you preferred the physical pain over the spiritual ache of knowing one of your brothers was hurting?” I snag a pan from a lower cupboard and set it on the stove, lighting the flame beneath and spraying cooking oil to make sure our eggs don’t stick. “Archer ran a cop-killer case recently; you risked your entire life and relative anonymity in this city by approaching a suspect. Because you’d rather hurt yourself than risk him being in pain.”
“He’s my little brother. That’s got nothing to do with cosmic whatevers, and everything to do with the fact I’ll torch the entire fucking city to save him. You’d do the same for your family.”
“No, I wouldn’t. I mean…” I crack an egg into the pan. Then a second, third, fourth, and keep going until I use up the six he had. “I’m protective of my family, of course. And I would fight for their safety. But sometimes there’s a lesson they have to learn. Stepping in and taking that lesson for them only delays what was meant to be all along.”
“So your motto is: ‘ Fuck them. They’ll figure it out on their own ’?”
I snag the half-finished loaf of bread from the fridge and toss slices into the toaster. “More like, ‘ if a lesson is meant to be learned, but is not received, the punishment grows larger until the universe has said what she needs to say .’ It’s like a sliding scale, ranging from stubbed toe to permanent disability. Or worse. If someone is meant to learn to slow down, via a stubbed toe, but I force them into a pair of shoes to protect their feet, the lesson will come later, but worse. A car accident, perhaps. A speeding train, even.”
“So you let them hypothetically stub their toes even if you could save them from the pain?”
“Yes. Every single time.”
“And Duane?”
“Is the baby of the family,” I sigh. “He’s been shielded by seven older siblings and a pair of whacky parents who refused to let him go barefoot, ever. If he was at risk of being kicked off the football team because he was slacking off, or because his grades were slipping, Eli or Liam always stepped in and talked to the coach. If he was set to fail an assignment because he was too lazy to put in the work, Katie or I would stay up late and do it for him. He didn’t even ask. We just did . No one ever let him fail, because it hurts to watch someone we love struggle. But our actions were wrong, and the real punishment is still to come. Duane deserves a chance to learn, and we’ve constantly and obnoxiously stolen those lessons right out from underneath him. We’re long past stubbed toes, and cruising in speeding car territory now.”
“So you willingly let him ride in the car tonight? Despite the very real risk he’s gonna crash?”
“I want to go out there and make this better, but I know it’s not fair to do so. I should have stopped babying him years ago. If I had, he probably wouldn’t be in the situation he’s in now.”
“Nathan Booth’s people are looking for him, Aubree! But this is the day you decide not to give him shoes?”
“I can’t.” I draw a deep breath until my chest expands and my lungs ache. Then I release it again and stir the eggs until they scramble. “You have to know that much about me, right? I’m fiercely protective of the people I love. But love isn’t always enough, and robbing a kid of valuable insight into the real world serves no one except me and my ego. Would you stop Cato from making a small mistake, if you knew it would save him from something way bigger?”
“Cato has already learned his lessons.” He takes another bite of his apple and angry-chews so the sound almost beats out the sizzle of eggs in the pan. “You don’t live with Timothy the Second for seventeen years and come out the other side na?ve to the world. Whatever he does with his life now, it comes on the back of all the shit he went through in New York. However, I think you’re being na?ve.” He swallows and holds my eyes when I glance across, his stare beating a drum in the base of my stomach. “It’s no secret you come from a place of pretty flowers and giant rainbows. The shit you went through, and the shit we went through, are not the same. So when you think leaving Duane out there tonight to learn a lesson is all part of some greater plan, I worry tomorrow, when we get word back that your baby brother is in the hospital, or dead, you might regret how fucking nonchalant you are tonight.”
“You won’t even consider the possibility you could be wrong.” I shake my head and bring my focus back to the eggs, while on my right, the toast pops. “Flowers and rainbows?” I set the spatula down and head back to the fridge for butter. “You think so little of me?”
“I think the whole fucking world of you.” He takes another bite of apple, only to set the leftovers on the counter and lower to his feet. He stalks up behind me, wrapping his arms around my stomach and resting his chin on my shoulder. “I love that you don’t know the things I know. I intend to keep it that way. Innocence is not something to be ashamed of, and believing the best of everyone is nothing to be embarrassed about.”
“I didn’t say I was embarrassed.”
He leans to the left and studies the side of my face. “My point being, you’re allowed to be na?ve, Aubree Grace. Because I’m not, and where you have blind spots, I’ll have your back. I’m gonna smooth the way for the rest of your life, so your naiveté is completely fucking okay. But your brother isn’t safe tonight, and you’re making me choose between the woman you are right now, and the woman you become in the future, whose heart is shattered because her baby brother has been fed to a fucking wood-chipper.”
I roll my eyes and go back to stirring the eggs and breaking the clumps apart. “Like I said, you refuse to accept there may be a third outcome. And you insist on calling me na?ve. Yet I’ve known all week I was married to a mafia boss’ heir, just as I’ve known my little brother is flirting with trouble.”
He reaches over and kills the flame beneath our eggs, then he spins me and pins my body to the edge of the counter. “You knew? Because of the scuff on his jaw? You think that’s as bad as this is gonna get for him?”
“I’ve known for months that my brother has a gambling problem and a serious lack of card game skills. And I’ve wondered all along why he wasn’t learning his lesson.” I tilt my head and burn him with my stare. “Turns out you’ve been keeping secrets and stealing those lessons from him.”
“I was trying to do the right thing! I’m in love with a woman whose heart would break if she knew the shit he was into, so I pick him up and pat the dust off his shirt, and somehow, I’m the asshole?”
“Not an asshole. But certainly, a meddler.” I wrap my arms around his shoulders and step onto my toes. “You have choices to make tonight, and from where I’m standing, I consider the answer pretty damn clear. Stay here with me, or leave to rob my brother of a lesson he’s owed. But if you choose the second, don’t forget to swing by the courthouse on the way and have a judge sign our divorce papers.”
“We’re not getting a divorce.” He nibbles on my neck and grabs my hips tighter when I drop my head back to allow him more room. “It’s never happening.”
“I’ll file on my own.”
“Divorce requires both signatures, babe. You won’t get mine.”
“Funny, because marriage is supposed to require two signatures, also. But I have a friend named Cordoza, too, and I assure you, there isn’t a single cell in my body that doubts his loyalty sits squarely with me.”
Stunned, he pulls back and searches my eyes. “Over me? Oh, honey ,” he snorts. “You’ve known him for three minutes. I’ve known him my entire life.”
“Uh-huh. You can tell Archer and Felix what I said, too. Cordoza tolerates the Malones, because he must. He reveres the Malone wives.” I press a kiss to the underside of his jaw. “Because we’re divine. I’m starving, and you’re neglecting your husbandly duties.”
“You’re taking the news better than I expected.” He leans around me and picks up a piping hot lump of scrambled egg. He blows on the pile and sends steam billowing to the side, then he sets my dinner on my tongue and chases it with a kiss. “I expected knives and a fit at least as bad as the glueing my remote to the TV thing. Instead, I’m getting laid and a sleepover?”
“Like I said,” I hss-hss-hss around my food and swallow before I lose my tastebuds. Then I snag a slice of toast and take a bite of the corner. “I’ve had time to process. I won’t be doing your laundry, by the way. Ever. And I expect credit cards to be issued in my name. Minka is sending me broke with her coffee consumption, and my husband is, understandably, loaded.”
“Your husband is tired,” he chuckles, snagging a lump of egg for himself. “And worried he may live to regret marrying you in secret. Why do I feel a heavy ball of dread in my stomach? That shit typically precedes disaster, so forgive me for thinking my instincts are warning me about something.”
“They are. But you were brave enough to get the certificate. Now you’ve gotta be brave enough to accept the consequences.” I grab some egg and turn back to place it, and my fingers, on his tongue. “And don’t even think of sneaking out to save the city while I sleep, Batman. I’ll know.”
“Dammit!” He nips at the tips of my fingers. “How’d you know? No seriously,” he adds seriously . “How did you know?”
“You’re an open book, and I’m fluent in Timothy Malone.” I flash a playful smile and take another bite of toast. “When we do eventually decide to invest in the property market, which will be with your money, by the way—the city pays me in trauma and Posturepedic office chairs I rarely have time to sit in—can the new house have a tub? Showers are fun and all, but I’d kill for a long, luxurious bath right now.”
“Anything you want, dear.” He slips a hand beneath my shirt and grazes my peaked nipple, the breath I had sitting in my lungs emptying on a gasp. “But until then, I’ll hold you up. It’s not the same as a bath, but when I’m fucking you against the tile and you’re screaming my name, it’s kinda same same at that point, ya know?”
“Confident.” But I spin to the eggs and shovel them in before I leave this kitchen. Because once we do, I doubt we’re coming back. “Do you have salt?”