Chapter 31
I approached her silently, not because I intended to scare her, but because moving quietly is part of my nature.
I’m the kind of man who can never draw attention to himself, and it’s not something I can just switch off because I’m home—in your home, with the woman who will be your wife today, if the paperwork is ready in time.
She startles, almost like she did the other time, dropping the skillet with a loud clang.
Jackie’s wearing the T-shirt I had on yesterday, and my cock reacts when I look at her endless legs and see the marks from my hands on them.
She doesn’t turn around, even though she knows I’m here.
She brings her finger, probably burned, to her lips, still avoiding eye contact.
I move closer without a word, not playing the savior this time like I did yesterday.
Instead, I press my body to hers from behind, take her injured hand, and bring it to my mouth.
I know she’s showered, and I wish she hadn’t, because some primitive part of me wants her to smell like me.
Yeah, I know it’s fucking insane, but I’m starting to make peace with the fact that I’ve never been all that normal, and when it comes to Jackie, my madness hits dangerous levels.
She seems to have stopped breathing as I suck the burned finger, but that delicious body leans back into mine, her warmth spreading into my skin.
I wrap an arm around her waist, keeping her still against me, and bite her shoulder through the fabric of the T-shirt.
“Turn around and say good morning to me, Jackie.”
She hesitates before finally turning to face me.
“Good morning,” she says softly, then rises on her toes to give me a quick kiss on the chin.
“What were you making?”
“Food. I like to cook, and I’m starving. I… uh… figured it wouldn’t be a problem to use your things.”
“A little late to ask. You already made dinner last night. One that went to waste.”
Her cheeks flush.
“I need to clean the oven. I completely forgot.”
“Why are you nervous?”
“I’m not.”
Jackie’s lying.
Her eyes keep darting around, trying to focus on anything in the kitchen but me, and then a deeply unpleasant thought hits me.
“Did I hurt you last night?”
The flush deepens.
“What?”
“You heard me. I tried to be as gentle as I could, but I know I can be a little rough during sex.”
Her expression shuts down, and I have no fucking clue why.
Pushing at my chest, she moves away from me.
“You didn’t hurt me.”
“What did I say wrong?”
“You don’t need to throw your sexual experience in my face.”
“You’re pissed because I had women before you? I never said I was a virgin,” I reply, somewhere between irony and disbelief.
I’m thirty-five fucking years old! What did she expect?
Jackie
Right now, I feel like the biggest fool who ever lived. I should’ve enjoyed life more, get to know more men, the way he apparently has with women. The way he clearly always has. But deep down, I know it never would have worked for me.
I can’t picture myself in the arms of countless men without any real connection.
My heart has always belonged to him. I’ve never been able to separate sex from love, and because of that, being with anyone before was never easy.
None of those moments even came close to what we had last night…
and I hate how foolish that makes me feel.
I smell something burning, and even more irritated, I turn to shut off the stove, seeing the eggs I’d been making completely ruined.
“Okay,” he says, and I glance back, because if there’s one thing I know about this man, it’s that he never backs off.
I study him, trying to figure out his next move.
“Giving up so easily on something isn’t your style.”
“You’re right, but it makes no sense to talk about what’s already happened—or what might happen.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“We don’t need to plan the future.”
“We’re going to spend five years together,” I argue. “On some level, planning will be necessary.”
“Yes, only five, and then you’ll be free. We can live one day at a time until then.”
I leave the kitchen with a tangled mess of emotions spilling over, heading for the stairs because I don’t want to talk to him right now.
“Are you going to run away every time you don’t have an argument in a conversation?” he asks, sounding irritated as he follows me.
I stop in the hallway, hands on my hips.
“My problem isn’t having arguments. It’s the exact opposite, guardian, and you have my word you wouldn’t want to hear any of them right now.”
“Why don’t you try?”
“Where should I start? Oh, right, how about with the part where getting into a relationship that hasn’t even started, and you already seem eager for it to end, makes no sense at all?”
“Life doesn’t always have to make sense, Jackie. You should know that by now. But just so you know, I’m not eager for it to end. Why would I be? I’ll have you in my bed for the next sixty months.”
“Don’t think that just because I accepted to marry you, I’m locked in and you’ll have free access to me. I’m not one of your women.”