Chapter 6
LIZA
After our late lunch, Danyl says he has to do some work.
I’m disappointed but also a little relieved. Things got very heated in the kitchen and I haven’t quite processed the unfamiliar feelings that arose in my body. Or more accurately, the unfamiliar way in which my libido rose.
Holy hot hormones.
I’ve never reacted that way to a man before. Is it because he’s older? Or because of how safe he makes me feel?
Do I have daddy issues? I snort. Of course I do. With a father like mine, who wouldn’t?
I head up to the bedroom to continue pack away my clothes. But someone has already organized them all in Danyl’s drawers and closet. They must have done it while we were in the gym. I didn’t even notice that someone else was in the apartment.
My new husband is right. People get used to having staff really quick.
Husband. I giggle over how insane it is that I married someone the same night I met him. The same night I killed a man.
Nope. Shaking my head, I refuse to go down that path. There lies madness.
A familiar chirp interrupts my thoughts and I look around for my phone. It’s charging on one of the nightstands. I grab it and hop onto the giant bed. Whoever unpacked for me also made the bed.
The chirp announced a text message from my dad.
Call me.
Cryptic as always. I frown as I scroll through my contacts to his name.
We haven’t spoken for almost two months.
He called to tell me he had a hot tip on some new scheme.
I tuned out when he went into details. It’s always the same story.
This time it’s a sure thing. This time he’ll make so much money he’ll never have to work again.
At least he no longer asks me “to invest” in his grifter shit.
He learned after I said I wouldn’t talk to him if he asked again.
But I do remember he said the latest opportunity meant he’d be out of town for a while.
“Dad,” I say when he answers on the first ring. “What’s up?”
“Hey, how’s my baby girl?” He sounds suspiciously cheerful, like he’s drunk.
“You’ve never called me that before.”
“Can’t a father give his only daughter a nickname?” he slurs. Yup definitely drunk. I sigh inwardly. At least he sounds like he’s happy drunk. Often it’s argumentative drunk dad that calls. I hang up on him when that happens.
“Sure,” I say, playing along to keep him happy. “Are you still out of town?”
“No, no. I’m back now.” Something loud bangs in the background.
“Where are you?”
“Just with some friends,” he says. “They’re renovating.”
Weird. I didn’t know he knew people who owned their homes. Most of his social circle are small-time crooks like himself. They usually rent. “Okay. What did you want to talk about?”
“Nothing really. I just wondered how you are.” The words surprise me into silence. He’s never wondered how I am. We always talk about how he is. Usually how someone’s wronged him, or doesn’t appreciate him.
“I’m good,” I hedge. I should probably tell him that I’ve gotten married. It seems like something a daughter would tell her father, especially if he’s her only living relative. But I learned a long time ago to keep personal details from my dad.
When my second-grade friend got a new bike, I told my dad about how pretty and pink it was and that evening, it disappeared from her yard.
My fifth-grade friend showed me her new iPad while playing at our house, and it somehow disappeared from her school locker the next day.
My first boyfriend broke up with me because every time he came over to our house, someone would syphon the gas out of his car.
No way am I telling my dad that I married someone who lives in a penthouse and has staff.
It’s safer for my piece of mind that he doesn’t know how wealthy Danyl is.
And it’s safer for my dad’s physical health, that he doesn’t try to pull a fast one on a member of the Kedrov Family.
Dad is not smart enough to play in the same league as the Bratva.
“We should get together soon. I miss you,” he says with that same fake cheeriness, not even slurring a little this time. Maybe he’s sobering up.
“Sure,” I say.
“Okay. Let’s make that happen. I’ll call you in a day or two.
” He hangs up before I can answer. Leaving me staring at the phone.
Our conversations are often weird, but that was more bonkers than usual.
Then again, they often end with him wanting to get together to catch up.
That’s code for he hasn’t eaten a real meal in a while and needs me to buy him one.
And that makes me think about Meridian.
Will Danyl’s guard watch me during my shift? Will I be able to work there without running to the bathroom to throw up every time I think about what happened in the parking lot?
I pick up my e-reader to distract myself from questions I can’t answer.
But my tempting collection of smut doesn’t have the usual effect of letting me escape from my doldrum life. Instead, it makes me think about the man with who I now live.
My body buzzes, my heart beats loudly, and when the characters in the story touch, I feel Danyl’s hands on my hips again. The way he held them when we spared in the gym. The way he gripped them in the kitchen.
And he’d looked at me like he wanted to devour me. Like I excite him.
I’ve never had that effect on anyone.
I’m the girl who blends in, who gets talked over, who gets touched by drunk customers because I’m there. Not because I’m special
No one has ever looked at me the way Danyl does. Like he sees me. Like he wants me.
Remembering his heated gaze heats my core and I press my thighs together. I slip my hand below my waistband to relieve the ache between my legs. My pussy is already slippery wet. A moan escapes my lips as I slip two fingers inside myself.
But it isn’t enough. It’s not what I want.
I sit up, legs trembling slightly. I don’t want to be afraid anymore.
Not of men. Not of intimacy. Not of him.
And not of wanting things.
I inhale sharply and get off the bed to go find my husband.
He’s in the sitting room below the stairs, reading something on his tablet. Holding his shoulders rigid, he swipes his finger across the screen, jaw ticking like he’s forcing himself to stay calm.
I step down from the last step.
He lifts his head instantly. Like he senses me before I even made a sound.
“Liza.” His voice is low, warm, surprised. “Do you need something?”
“No,” I whisper, but that’s not true, so I try again. “Yes.”
He sets the tablet aside. Slowly. Carefully. Like he doesn’t want to startle me.
“What do you need?”
I swallow hard. “You,” I say.
His eyes darken, and I swear the air changes. Thickens.
I walk to him. Each step is terrifying, thrilling and dizzying. He rises from the couch and step toward me.
We stop a foot apart. The energy between us thrums like a live wire.
“I want you,” I tell him. “I wanted you before, but I didn’t know what to do. It frightened me how much I wanted you.”
His chest rises sharply. “You never have to be afraid of me. I will never hurt you.”
“I know,” I say, looking into his clear blue eyes so he can see the truth of my words.
He steps closer, but still doesn’t touch me. The heat from his body sears my skin. “Tell me what you want,” he growls.
“You,” I breathe. “I want you to touch me. I want you to… be with me. For real.”
His eyes shut for a moment, like he’s praying or cursing or both. Then he cups my face with both hands, thumbs brushing my cheeks.
“Liza.” His tone dark. “I need you to understand something. I won’t take you like a boy would take his girlfriend. I take you as my wife.”
My breath rushes out of me. “I don’t know what that means.”
“It means, I take you like you’re mine. Like I own you.”
The heat of the words drenches my pussy more and I grab on to his bicep to keep standing. “Okay,” I whisper.
His forehead rests against mine. “You want my touch.”
It’s not a question, but I still answer. “Yes.”
“You want me to take you to bed.”
“Yes.”
“You want my cock,” he murmurs against my lips, “to be the first to fuck you.”
My stomach flips. Heat coils low in my belly, warm and powerful. “Yes,” I whisper.
He groans softly. “Say it,” he demands, he’s voice hungry and pained. “Say you want my cock to be the first to fill your pussy.”
I have to swallow several times before I can get the words out. “I want my first time to be with you.”
He grabs a nipple through my shirt. “Those are not the words I told you to say.” He twists his fingers, just a little.
I sway toward him, wanting more of his touch. Wanting more of the pleasure that borders on pain. “I want your cock,” I whisper in his ear, “to fill my pussy with hot cum.”
He growls and then picks me up as if I weigh nothing, charging up the stairs.
I bounce as he drops me on the bed. Danyl leans over me, his hot gaze roaming over my body.
His hands hover near my waist but don’t touch, like he’s desperate but holding himself back for me.
“You tell me if you’re scared,” he murmurs. “Because I won’t be able to hold back.
“I’m scared,” I admit. “But I still want you.”
Some of the tension in his shoulders releases, just a little.
“Good,” he whispers. “A wife should want her husband.” He touches my cheek with the softest brush of his fingers. His thumb strokes my jaw, down my neck, and I shiver. His touch is careful but reverent, like he’s learning me one inch at a time.
He bends down to kiss me, slow and deep. This is different from the hungry kiss in the kitchen. This is deliberate, sensual, exploring. His lips move against mine with quiet devotion, coaxing my breath from me.
His hands slide down my sides, over my hips, and he pauses. “Still want this?”
“Yes. Please,” I say breathlessly.
He chuckles and trails kisses down my throat and to my exposed collarbone, where he sucks my skin. Every motion is controlled and restrained, but I feel his muscles tremble as I cling to him.