21. Royce
Your brother Byron wants to use this picture to announce the nuptials.
The text message was short, much like most messages from Willow’s parents. They weren’t tech-savvy, and they never would be.
The sun poured through the cabin windows of my makeshift office. The usual catamarans had to be navigated at all times. This one had a navigation system that was first class with an autopilot option, and a destination already programmed in it. It let me detour, but not change the end destination, which I found peculiar.
We were somewhere between Europe and the Americas, but the location wasn’t what had my interest.
It was the attachment Willow’s parents sent with the text.
The more I stared at it, the stronger this peculiar feeling of possessiveness gripped me. It was a photo that someone had snapped during our vows, the grandeur of the church behind us, but the most magnificent sight was Willow. Her, flashing a smile that could disarm armies, and me, with a look in my eyes that communicated only one truth: Mine.
Her bruises were invisible to the unsuspecting eye, and I was glad for the person who was proficient in photoshop. This would be a photo we’d show our children one day.
The next file contained the photo of us that was snapped when Willow graduated college. She wore her gown, and someone had captured the moment she’d taken her cap and thrown it up in the air, her free hand in mine.
My lips tugged up at the memory of how Willow panicked the next second, not wanting the hat to fall on the ground or get mixed up with someone else’s, so I had to jump up in the air to catch it. Fuck, I’d descend to hell and climb to the gates of heaven just to keep her happy.
My mind flitted back to the night a week ago when she caught me jerking off in my cabin. I hadn’t slept much since then, still tasting the disappointment I felt after returning to my room to find Willow gone. I couldn’t concentrate on work this morning, my mind completely stuck on my wife. I’d jacked off so much since then, my cock was painfully chafed.
I had to fuck her soon or I’d lose my goddamned mind. But I needed her willing and open-minded, and I suspected she still wasn’t ready, because each time I hinted at the incident, she’d change the subject, a sadness briefly crossing her features before she replaced it with a pleasant expression.
A text message popped up, snapping me out of my thoughts.
Byron: You could have told me.
Me: Tell you what?
Byron: Don’t be an idiot. The world thinks you’ve kidnapped her.
Me: And I care because…?
Byron: For fuck’s sake, Royce. We don’t need to stir shit with the Harris family. Not after what happened with Winston.
A frown touched my face. He was referring to the manner of our father’s death—to the way he died. We needed to keep the media away from the Ashfords, not draw attention. But there was no way it could have been avoided, not with Willow’s engagement to Stuart and his family’s connections.
Byron: When is your honeymoon ending?
My fingers drummed an absentminded rhythm on the desk.
Me: In a few weeks or so.
I was playing it by ear, but for now, I knew it was best to keep away from prying eyes—and any country with loose extradition laws. Stuart knew better than to go to the police, but unfortunately his parents didn’t. And with their connections, they could cause some serious damage. In fact, from the sounds of it, they were doing it already.
Ha, kidnapped. As if I’d ever cause distress to Willow. That was Stuart’s forte, not mine.
So Willow and I would remain off-grid for a bit. We’d try to remain on the boat, at least until Willow’s bruises completely disappeared. To avoid causing Willow additional stress after what she endured, I’d keep her in the dark until this situation was resolved.
When things were back to some version of normal, we’d go back home—wherever that might be. Willow was close to her parents, so Portugal might be it for us, especially since my siblings had relocated to Europe too.
“Yeah, things are great,” I muttered under my breath. Aside from the fact that I was constantly fighting the urge to fuck her. I pushed a hand through my hair, flicking a glance at the clock. It was ten a.m. and Willow was still fast asleep. She needed it, and granted, we’d been staying up late.
Last night we played Monopoly, and it turned out there were things I didn’t know about my new wife after all. She was an extremely sore loser. After I’d taken all her properties, she tried crying, claiming foul play, and then accidentally knocked over the board.
It was an unattractive trait in everyone but Willow. She was cute as fuck when she pouted.
The phone buzzed again.
Byron: Let me know when you figure it out. The press will learn of your marriage today. I still want to know how in the hell you and Willow happened.
I ignored his message. It wasn’t as if the Ashford brothers were known for disclosing our objects of desire.
Anyhow, another few weeks on this boat might work out for the best. The frenzy would settle by the time we disembarked. Hopefully.
I turned my phone off and continued working. I had a business to run, a wife to feed and entertain. My brother and his twenty questions would have to wait.
It wasn’t long before a knock shattered the silence and I flicked my gaze up to find the only other passenger on the catamaran, and fuck was she a sight to behold. Wild hair. Sleepy expression. I dragged my gaze down her tank top to the shorts that clung to her hips and thighs, exposing her smooth, golden legs. She was barefoot, as per usual, and her nails looked freshly painted.
“Come in.”
Willow entered, stifling a yawn. “I can’t believe I slept in so long.”
“You’re growing a life,” I pointed out. “It’s hard work.”
I watched, mesmerized, as a light blush crept up her neck. I wondered if her skin would turn pink like that when I—no. I wouldn’t be going there again, not unless I wanted to walk around all day sporting a hard-on.
She took a seat in front of me and attempted to comb her fingers through her hair. “Honestly, I still can’t believe it.”
“You have to be a bit more specific. Believe what?”
She leaned back in the chair, her eyes meeting mine as she rubbed her flat stomach. “That I’m pregnant. That we’re married. That we’re in the middle of the ocean. Take your pick.”
I interlocked my fingers behind my head.
“Not a dream come true?” I asked coolly, the thought of her being unhappy sending a surge of irritation through me.
“Uh, well…” Willow ran a hand over her belly, a sheepish look crossing her face. “It’s definitely not the normal way things are done.”
A dark flame kindled in my chest before I smothered it.
“I told you already, fuck normal,” I retorted dryly. She studied me, and I lost myself in wondering whether her eyes would be more green or blue in the throes of an orgasm.
“It doesn’t bother you that people will be talking?” Willow asked, pulling me back to the present.
“No.” Rule number one of the wealthy: never appear weak. I’d made my choice and come out the winner over Stuart, and Willow was mine. If anyone even attempted to drag her name, I’d end them personally.
Maybe we could have gotten by without the pregnancy, but I already considered the baby as part of my—our unit. Just like I’d considered Willow. She was pregnant, and that was that. She was mine. The baby would be mine, all their todays and tomorrows.
“You know, many women will hate me for taking you off the market.”
I shrugged. “They don’t matter.”
“Won’t you miss sex?”
I swung back and forth in the chair, then propped my legs on the table. “If you”re offering something, just come out and say it.”
Her cheeks turned a deep shade of crimson. “Come on, Royce. Stop fucking with me.”
“Now there’s an idea.” I smirked at her. “I could bend you over this desk, gag you, and then fuck you while you’re choking on the arousal that’s currently drenching your panties.”
She shot to her feet, every inch of exposed skin flushing pink.
“Jesus, Royce. Give a girl some warning when you’re about to drop a bomb like that. Is that your jam?”
“My jam?”
“Your kink,” she clarified.
“And what do you know about my kinks?”
She shrugged. “Not much. Just rumors over the years…”
I gave her a sardonic look before saying, “If you think gagging you is kinky?—”
She put her palms up, silencing me.
“I can take a hint,” she murmured, her breaths coming in short pants. “You ready for breakfast? Kink talk on an empty stomach just won’t do.” I stood up, and her eyes dropped down the length of me. “I can’t decide whether this ‘rich playboy by the beach’ look suits you better than your usual all-black leather get-ups.”
I rounded the table and hooked an arm over her shoulders. “Wife.” Fuck, I loved calling her that a bit too much. “I’m anything but a boy.”
She shot me some side-eye.
“Funny,” she said flatly. “Who knew my husband had such a sense of humor?”
My mouth tugged up while my heart somersaulted like an Olympic gymnast. If I loved calling her wife, hearing her call me husband was God tier. My obsession with her was quickly spiraling out of control, although it might’ve been there all along, lying dormant.
“What can I say, you bring out the best in me.”
She rolled her eyes, but I caught the way her mouth tugged up on one side. “Cut the shit, Royce.”
“But you love my bullshit.” We got to the small dining room area and I pulled a chair out. “I have breakfast ready. Let me serve you.”
Her eyebrows arched at my double meaning, but instead of taking the bait, she gave me a quick wink.
“It’s only fair. I am your new bride after all,” she said, mischief and something else glinting in her eyes.
A trickle of heat washed down my spine and it took me several beats to realize I was still standing there, staring at her. We were playing a dangerous game, one that would surely take us to the point of no return. I wondered if Willow was aware of that. She may appear gentle and sweet, but I’d been catching flashes of something darker in her eyes.
I knew once I had Willow, all of her, there’d be no going back.
Willow
Sunlight bounced off the ripples of blue water surrounding us, and even though I had sunglasses on, the glare was so bright I had to lower my head to avoid it.
Royce lay next to me on the deck, a foot casually hanging off the side of the catamaran. He was the poster child for billionaire playboys right now, his aviator sunglasses covering his dark eyes and his black swim trunks slung low on his bronzed hips.
My gaze locked on the hand he had nestled on my upper thigh, his wedding ring glinting in the sun. It wasn’t until I was leaving my parents’ place that I realized where the wedding rings had come from. The fact that my m?e had given Royce my grandparents’ rings spoke volumes.
It was her blessing—loud and clear.
My smile widened as I traced the band that marked him as mine. Despite the stress of worrying what Stuart and his family would do, I couldn’t help but enjoy this alone time with Royce.
We’d laughed and played tourist in some stunning places, but we hadn’t really discussed expectations. Celibacy was… hard. Especially now, as I leered at my husband’s strong, muscular body even a nun couldn’t resist.
He pushed his glasses up on his head. “What are you reading?”
I cleared my throat before replying, “Um, just a novel.”
Of course the novel in my lap wasn’t helping matters either. It was a retelling of Christian Grey and his sexual experiences prior to meeting the innocent Anastasia. The book was so hot I half expected to burst into flames.
But I couldn’t focus on the pages. I could feel Royce’s lustful gaze on me, caressing every inch that wasn’t covered by my bikini. I felt it roam over me, touching every crevice, stroking each sensitive spot.
He propped himself up on his elbow, never removing his hand from my thigh. “What kind?”
“The kind you read.” More like the kind you’ve probably lived, I thought with a smirk.
“Read me a chapter.” I could hear the devilish smile in his words. “Please.”
I started to sweat and it had nothing to do with the blazing sun.
“It’s not that interesting.”
“That’s okay.” He squeezed my thigh. “I could use a nap.”
I let out an incredulous breath. Either he knew exactly what this book was about or he was distracting me.
“I never took you for the napping type.”
“I could be.”
I faked a scowl, but it came out as a lopsided grin. “You’re not old enough for naps.”
“You’re right,” he agreed, threading his fingers through mine. “We could always try a different kind of afternoon activity.”
I pasted on an impudent smile. “Can you be more specific?”
His dark smile sent sparks through me, and sweat began to run in rivulets down my back.
“I want to fuck your brains out right now,” he said, his voice turning dark and smoky, “and have you begging for my cock like a good little whore.”
Well, it seemed like celibacy was being thrown right off that table we’d put it on.
“I want to be your whore,” I whispered after a beat.
Heat blossomed in the pit of my stomach, and the air pulsed with an electric current. Blood roared in my ears, drowning out everything but the promise in his gaze.
“No matter what?”
My throat squeezed at the raw lust I saw in his eyes.
A soft sigh drifted from my lips and I whispered, “No matter what.”
Victory flashed in his dark eyes.
He knew he had me.