Chapter Thirty-Four
Huxley
I head to the foyer with Grace, who straightens her dress to look presentable. I shed my wrinkled tux jacket and pull the cuff links out of my sleeves so that I can roll them up.
“He’s taking too long to get here from the gates,” I grouse. “It’s getting docked from his five minutes.”
She just hugs herself and shivers. I pull her toward me and put my arm around her, lending her my warmth. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s just… Something feels off. Adam wouldn’t be like this if it wasn’t important. What if Mom’s doctor contacted him?”
“Why would he do that?”
“Adam is listed as an emergency contact. In case Nelson or I are unavailable.”
I grudgingly admit that that’s reasonable. Still, the fact that Adam has that connection with her and could use it to get her to see him regardless of the time of day is infuriating. I’m going to replace him with myself on the contact list.
Finally, Adam shows up. His suit is wrinkled, the tie pulled down to mid-chest and half undone. Red rims his bloodshot eyes, and he smells like alcohol. Helped yourself generously to my liquor, didn’t you? His hair stands up like a bird’s nest after a hurricane. There’s a grayish-green tinge to his already substandard complexion. If he throws up, I’m going to call the police and bill him for the cleanup.
“What happened to you?” Grace’s voice is all sympathy and concern.
She makes a move to go to him, but I tighten my arm around her. She isn’t touching that rabid shit. Look at him. He’s diseased. Unhinged. Possibly both.
“I tried to be open-minded. Really. Be happy for you,” Adam says, somehow managing to stand upright.
“Thank you,” Grace says awkwardly.
“But… You married a violent man.”
Is this fucker serious?
He continues, “Are you really okay?”
I start to step forward to give him a demonstration of just how violent a man I can be, but Grace leans into me. “I’m more than okay, Adam. Huxley has been very good to me.”
Her words soothe my temper somewhat.
“But what about Nelson—”
“He slapped me first. My husband did what he had to do.”
“You’re alone in the world because of your mother’s bills! Is he”—Adam points at me—“using them to control you?”
“No.” Grace sounds pained, and maybe a little bit embarrassed and exasperated. “Adam, please. You’re drunk and don’t know what you’re saying.”
“Hear that? Now get out,” I say.
He turns to me, his gaze burning with grievance.
I mentally shrug. The world is unfair, and he should blame himself for not doing everything in his power to protect and woo Grace before. The only reason he’s angry is because he had no capacity to do so and wants to blame somebody else for his failure.
“You don’t deserve her,” he spits out finally. “She’s too special for someone like you.”
I shoot him a cool, triumphant smile. “Yet I have her in my home and in my bed. It’s my ring on her finger. She bears my name. She is Mrs. Huxley Lasker, and she will be the mother of my child.”
He turns red as I speak, but then smirks when I mention the baby. “Who cares about all that stupid shit?” He laughs unsteadily. “A ring. That doesn’t make her yours.”
“You dare covet my wife?”
“And your child?” he continues, sneering. “The doctor thought it was mine.” Another laugh.
“What doctor?” I frown.
“Her OB-GYN. Didn’t you know? I was the one who held her hand when she went in for her appointment. I heard the baby’s heartbeat for the first time with her, shared that special moment with her. Not you, Mister Woman-Owner.”
Grace tenses next to me. It’s all the confirmation I need.
“Tell him, GG,” Adam says, his insolent eyes on mine.
GG? The nickname is like gas on the fire.
“Adam, you need to go,” Grace says. “Now.”
I add nothing, since he doesn’t belong in our discussion.
“Why? Because you still cling to the hope that he can be good to you?”
“You’re going to be embarrassed tomorrow when you sober up. Just go,” she says, her voice tight.
He gives her sad puppy-dog eyes. He must use that expression to his advantage to get what he wants. “Fine. But only because you’re upset.” He turns around.
“Show your face around my wife again, and I’ll break it.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’d make a better father for that baby than you’ll ever be,” he says over his shoulder, then stumbles down the long driveway toward the main gates.
I slam the door shut and pull Grace into the living room. She expels a frustrated breath. Is she upset I found out how little she thinks of me? I was working my ass off and setting up the trust for her mother’s care, while she was seeing her doctor and sharing one of the most important moments of the pregnancy with another man.
What else did she share with him? Not her body—he would’ve thrown that in my face. But just because she didn’t let him get between her legs doesn’t mean she hasn’t cheated on me emotionally.
I never understood crimes of passion. But right at the moment I’d happily strangle both of them.
“I can’t believe you took that asshole with you to hear the baby’s heartbeat!” My finger shakes with rage as I point in the direction of the gates.
“You were in London.”
“But him ? You couldn’t have asked someone else?”
“He offered because you weren’t here. How is that my fault? Or his?” she says.
“Because you’re my wife. The baby in your womb is my baby.”
Her chin sets in a stubborn line. I liked her feistiness before, but not right now. She has no idea how close I am to the breaking point. “I wasn’t your wife back then.”
“We had an agreement! And you were wearing my damn ring.”
“You said you were too busy!”
I feel like my head will explode at her accusatory tone. “You never gave me a chance!” She never told me. Never said a word about what happened at the appointment. If it hadn’t been for Adam, I might’ve never found out my baby has heartbeat now. “I would’ve made time!”
“How? Would you have flown back home just for the appointment and then flown back to London?” Her tone says what I’m saying is nonsensical absurdity.
Except… That’s exactly what I would’ve done, I realize. “Meetings can be rearranged. I can lose a few hours’ sleep if I have to. But a milestone like the one that asshole got to witness only happens once. I want to be present for every big moment. The child won’t just grow up in material comfort. It will grow up knowing it’s important. That Daddy— me —has its back.”
“Then why did you say you were busy?”
Are we back to this, really? “Because I was busy. I’m always busy. I have to make an effort to free up time. It is your responsibility to tell me these things as my wife and the mother of my child.”
“You’re impossible!” she shouts.
“And you keep forgetting that every inch of you is mine, and mine alone .”
She glares at me, her eyes brilliant with furious tears. “Go fuck yourself.”
“How about I fuck you senseless instead? And fill you with my cum every time you forget who you belong to?”
Shock registers on her face, but before she can say another word, I crush my mouth against hers. The kiss isn’t gentle and playful like before. It’s raw, with teeth, to give her just enough pain to punish her.
She doesn’t take it lying down. She bites back, sharp enough to draw a bit of blood from my tender flesh. The feisty reaction drives me crazy, even more determined to tame her, show her who owns her everything.
If she meant to drive me insane with jealousy, she’s succeeded. I rip the zipper down her dress and yank it down her body, revealing her plump breasts. She crosses her arms to hide them, but I lower her wrists and hold them behind her with one hand.
Her chest shudders as air saws in and out of her. The pulse in her neck flutters wildly, and fire flares in her eyes—she’s turned on and angry at the same time.
I keep my eyes on hers. “My tits. Mine to touch.” My hand closes over one. The soft weight feels amazing, and I knead it, my thumb coming close but not touching the puckered nipple. Her cheeks grow rosy with heat, and she bites her lip, trying to contain a whimper. I angle her wrists so her back arches further, pushing her breasts toward me. “Mine to taste.” I close my mouth over it, sucking hard.
A soft moan tears from her. Her knees buckle, and I push her against the cool floor-to-ceiling window facing the dark garden. She throws her head back, resting it on the glass and thrusting her breast into my face.
Satisfaction glimmers, but it isn’t enough. I push the dress lower until it’s puddled around her feet and she’s in nothing but a garter belt and stockings, just like the first time we slept together. I turn her around, so her tits are pressed against the window, then push my hand between her and the cool glass and run my finger along her folds. They’re scorching and dripping. Her hot breath fogs the window.
“Do you think he’s still out there, watching?” I whisper into her ear.
She shudders, a flare of panic in her eyes. “You wouldn’t…”
“Why? You think I’m too possessive to let him see it?”
“Aren’t you?”
She’s right. Every glass pane in the house in specially treated to prevent anybody outside from seeing what’s happening inside. Her bare breasts might be pressed against the glass, but nobody can see them.
But instead of telling her that, I dip two fingers into her slick depths and move them until I find the bump that makes her feel extra good. She squeezes her eyes shut, every cell in her body tense.
“If he sees your pussy’s taking in my fingers, you think he’ll give up?” My words break over the pulse in her neck.
“Huxley, he’s not into me that way.”
“Hah. You think.”
“We shouldn’t—”
“We will. You said we could do whatever I wanted. This is what I want.”
I release her pinned wrists, and she spreads her fingers over the glass as though to find purchase. I knead her sweet ass as I finger-fuck her and tease her clit with a butterfly-soft touch.
Soon she’s moving to the tempo I set, pleasure winding through her. “Does he know what a greedy slut you are for me? That you only take your husband’s cock?”
She rests the back of her skull on my shoulder as she pushes against the glass, grinds against my hands. I cup a breast and tease the tip. A soft scream. She’s so damn responsive.
To my touch. To my hands. To my cock.
I undo my pants. Let my throbbing dick spring out. The tip is already slick. I hunger for her, and it still enrages me that she’s open to seeing Adam again.
Tapping the insides of her ankles, I spread her open. “Stick your ass out like a good girl for me. Show me how hungry you are for your husband.”
Expelling a shaky breath, she obeys.
“Pump your fingers into your pussy.”
“Huxley…” she gasps.
“Do it.”
She pushes two fingers into herself. I watch them disappear then move in and out. She’s trying to reach the spot I can, get the fullness I’ve given her. She can’t achieve either on her own, but it’s enough to keep her on the edge, frustrating her. She sobs softly. “Oh my God. I can’t.”
“What do you need in your pussy, wife?”
She shakes her head, and the motion makes her breasts swing. I pinch the nipples, tugging them. She arches her back, pushing her ass against my erection. A fine sheen of sweat glints on her beautiful body, and I kiss the lovely slope of her shoulders and back.
“Who do you belong to?”
“You,” she says in a breathless whisper.
I rub the tip of my cock against the opening of her pussy, then glide forward until the ring grazes against her swollen clit, earning a gratifying shiver from her. “Say it again.”
“You,” my wife chokes out. “I belong to you.”
“Don’t you ever forget it.” I drive into her, feel her muscles spasm around my thickness. She lets out a strangled cry, her head thrown back, exposing her vulnerable neck to my touch. I wrap my hand around it, feel her veins pulsing with life and need.
She convulses after only a few pumps. I thrust into her with more speed and power, making her whole body shake. My fingers dig into the sweet curve of her pelvis, and I cup her breast, teasing the pointed tip. She twists her head back, and I kiss her deep and hard, our tongues tangling.
Only one word pounds in my head as I pick up the tempo: mine, mine, mine.
And she whimpers, our mouths pulling apart. “Yes, yes, yes,” she chants to the beat of the word in my head. Or maybe I’m saying it out loud. Impossible to tell with blood roaring in my ears, pleasure tingling at the base of my spine, then pooling in my cock. It thickens and hardens further inside her, and she spasms around me, gripping me hard.
My control snaps. I drive into her one last time and shoot my cum into her, just like I promised. She goes boneless in my arms, resting her back against my chest and struggling to breathe. But the possessive, jealous beast inside me isn’t satisfied. Not really. It’s chafing that there’s a better way to mark her mine.
Warm fluid trickles down our legs, and I dip my fingers into it. Then I stand her up straight and write MINE down the front of her torso. The writing shows even in the dark window.
Better.
Then I spin her around, capture her mouth and start all over again.