Chapter 32
CHAPTER
THIRTY-TWO
DARE
“I never thanked you,” Chassis murmurs.
I’m sitting across our table from her. Dinner together. I don’t know how we became a true married couple, but here we are. I don’t want to be away from her, and I hope she enjoys having me here.
For the first time as a married couple, she cooked me dinner. With my fork suspended in the air, I look into her eyes, my brows lifting as I watch her with a bit of confusion. I’m not sure what she’s thanking me for, and she doesn’t elaborate.
“For what?” I ask.
“For taking me on. For taking us on,” she murmurs.
“Chassis,” I warn.
But she shakes her head from side to side, her gaze focused on mine, unmoving, unwavering. Then she lifts her hand slightly, her palm facing me, effectively shutting me up as she sucks in a deep breath, holding it for just a moment before she lets it out slowly.
“I’m serious, Amos. You didn’t have to do any of this, none of it. But also, you bought me a car, a phone, clothes. I’m your wife, but not because you wanted me, and it’s not like my dad is reimbursing you.”
I wait for her to finish. Clearly, she’s still thinking about this shit, even though I’ve told her it’s not necessary to do that. She is my wife, and I fully expected to treat her as such from the moment I said that I would marry her.
“Your father is not reimbursing me for a single thing. I would be offended if he tried,” I state.
She opens her mouth, but it’s my turn to shake my head, signaling for her to be quiet. It’s my turn to talk.
And talk I will.
“I didn’t have to buy you a car. I wanted to. I didn’t have to buy you a phone. I wanted to. And I sure as fuck didn’t have to buy you clothes. I wanted to. And you let me. Why did you let me?”
She blinks a few times, then places her palms on the table. I watch her, wondering if she’s going to stand up. Maybe I went too far and I’ve pissed her off. It would be okay. We haven’t had make-up sex yet. I have a feeling that would be fun with her.
“I let you,” she whispers.
Dipping my chin in a single nod, I clear my throat before I speak.
I’m honestly not sure where I’m going with this, but she wanted to have this conversation, so here we fucking go.
And I don’t think my words are going to surprise her, mainly because she knows the score.
She knows what kind of man I am. I’m like her father, like her brothers—living the same life.
“Do you see a man when you look at me, babe?” I ask.
Her eyes widen, her lips part, and she doesn’t say anything immediately. Instead, she watches me for a moment, snapping her lips shut and then inhaling deeply through her nose, holding it, then letting it out of her mouth in a whoosh.
“You’re a man, Amos.”
“Am I your man?” I demand.
She sinks her teeth into the corner of her bottom lip, her mouth curving up into a smile before her teeth tug her lip back slightly before she releases it. She hums then dips her chin in a single nod.
“You are,” she whispers. “I don’t think anyone else exists anymore, Amos.”
“They better fucking not,” I bite, trying to keep the anger from my tone, but I’m sure it’s there.
I don’t think I could keep it completely masked. Imagining any other man even looking at Chassis makes me want to go on a rampage. Imagining one touching her would likely send me overboard and homicidal.
She reaches out, wraps her fingers around my forearm, and squeezes. I release my fork, letting it clatter onto the table. Chassis jumps slightly, but her gaze never leaves mine.
“There’s nobody else,” she whispers.
I don’t know if she’s scared of me, but her fingers grip me like a lifeline. I hope to fuck this ends up being a little bit of a fight so we can have a nice make-up fuck. Dipping my chin, I look down at her fingers, then shift my gaze back up to meet hers.
“Does the same apply?” she asks.
It’s my turn to look surprised. Not only does she know she’s not supposed to ask me those kinds of questions, but I haven’t had time to be with anyone else since we started together.
I mean, it’s been less than a week.
I don’t know when I’d have the time to be with a clubwhore, but I know what she’s asking. She’s not asking for the last few days. She’s asking about the future. I should tell her to mind her fucking business and know her place.
I should, but I never would.
Because the rules apply.
“Only you, sweetheart.”