Chapter 8
Eight
Nadia
I’m curled into Zak’s side on the massive sectional. Crabby’s sprawled across our laps like a furry heating pad. There’s a fire going even though it’s not really cold, but it’s cozy. Perfect.
I’m playing with the ring on my finger, the metal warm from my skin. The diamonds catch the firelight, throwing little sparkles across the ceiling.
“What about my place?” I ask without preamble because the question has been on my mind now that I’ve accepted there’s not going to be an annulment and this is real. We are real.
Zak’s hand stops tracing lazy circles on my arm.
“Babe.”
I look up at him. Uh-oh… His jaw is doing that tense thing. “Babe, what?”
“You live here.”
“I know, but… what about my lease? All my stuff?”
He shifts, turning to face me fully. One hand comes up to cup my cheek.
“Just need to pack and move it all here.”
I blink. “What?”
“Your stuff. I’ll have my men pack everything and bring it here. You keep what you want; donate the rest.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal. “We pay out your lease. Done.”
“Done?”
His jaw tightens. I can see the muscle jump. “Did you want to keep it?”
My heart squeezes, and I give him a quick kiss on the cheek before saying softly, “I don’t need to, baby.”
He cocks an eyebrow, his delicious lips twitching. “You sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure, asshole.” He chuckles. I reach up to run my hand over his stubble. “I chose us. I chose you.”
Something fierce and tender flashes in his eyes. He leans in and kisses me hard. I moan into his mouth.
When he pulls back, he’s full-on grinning, and it’s fucking devastating. My poor ovaries…
Crabby meows, annoyed that we’re moving and disturbing his nap.
“Sorry, buddy,” Zak tells him, scratching behind his ears, and the traitor purrs.
* * *
Two hours later, there’s a moving truck in the driveway, and men in black, carrying boxes into the house. They’re professional, efficient, and a bit scary.
I’m standing in our bedroom watching them stack boxes along a wall.
“Where do you want these, ma’am?” One of the men holds a box labeled BOOKS.
“Um, just set them anywhere, please. Thank you.”
He nods, placing it carefully with the others.
Zak’s leaning against the doorframe, still in his jeans and t-shirt from earlier, with his yummy arms crossed over his giant chest. Watching the whole thing with a satisfied look on his face.
“You look happy with yourself,” I tell him with an eye-roll.
“I am. My wife’s in our house, with all her shit. I got this locked down.”
I giggle, shaking my head.
* * *
The men finish and leave, leaving me staring at a mountain of boxes.
“Need help unpacking?” my husband asks.
“You are going to help unpack my stuff?”
“Of course.”
“Really, Mr. Moneybags Bratva Boss?”
He chuckles, pushing off the doorframe to walk over. He wraps his arms around my waist from behind. His chest is solid against my back. I can feel his heartbeat. God, I love how big, warm, and strong my man is.
“I want to know everything about you, baby,” his voice rumbles in my ear. His breath, hot on my neck. “The books you read. The clothes you wear. What makes you smile.” He kisses me below my ear, making me shiver. “So, yeah, I’m helping.”
God. This man.
* * *
We start with my clothes. I unpack and he hangs my things in the massive walk-in closet. My regular, store-bought wardrobe looks ridiculous next to his perfectly tailored suits and designer everything.
“We need to get you more shit,” he grumbles, frowning.
“I have plenty!”
“Babe, you have like ten things.”
“I’m a nurse. I wear scrubs, then jeans and yoga pants when I’m not working”
“You need more,” he deadpans stubbornly.
“Zak, baby…”
“We’re going shopping. End of discussion.”
I roll my eyes, but don’t argue. Pick your battles and all that.
We move to the next box, the one labeled BOOKS.
Uh-oh…
Zak’s already reaching for it.
“Wait…”
Too late. He’s opening it and pulling out the first book. It’s a romance novel with a shirtless man on the cover. Bulging muscles, suggestive title.
Oh God.
I hide my face in my hands, my skin flushing.
“Interesting,” he murmurs, reading the back cover.
“Give me that.” I try to snatch it.
He holds it out of reach, smirking. His stupid long arms making it impossible for me to grab the book. “Claimed by the Beast King… sounds intense.”
My face is on fire. “Zak, stop,” I whine.
He’s still reading, eyes twinkling with mischief, scanning the description. “A curvy human bride stolen by a feral beast shifter who claims her in every way.” He looks at me, grinning with all his teeth. “Every way, huh?”
“I’m going to die.”
He pulls out another book. This one’s even worse, or better, depending on the perspective. The cover is… explicit.
“The Savage’s Virgin.” His eyebrows shoot up. “Oh, this one’s good.”
“Please stop.” I keep pulling his arm.
He flips the paperback open, reading a random page. And I watch, mortified, as his eyes go wide. “Fuck, baby. This is filthy.”
“They’re just books!”
He looks at me. His gaze has turned hot and hungry. “Is this what you want?”
“I…” I chew on my bottom lip, my nipples standing to attention, my clit starting to tingle.
“You want this?” He steps closer, raising the book. His scent invades my space. Woodsy cologne and all Zak. “Wanna be fucked till you can’t walk?”
I swallow hard. My mouth is dry. “Maybe.”
His grin turns wolfish. Then he returns to the box, pulling out more books. All spicy. Some, darker than others. But they all have the same recurring themes. Possessive alpha heroes. Curvy heroines. Lots of hot sex.
“You have good taste,” he rumbles, setting a few on the bed.
“Can we please stop talking about this?”
“Not a chance, sweetheart.” He picks up one with a particularly sexy cover. A huge tattooed man looming over a plus-size black woman. “I want to know what gets you hot, wife. What scenes you read late at night.” He steps closer. Backing me against the bed. “What makes you touch yourself.”
Oh. My. God.
“Zak…”
His voice drops even lower. “Do you touch yourself reading these, baby?”
I bite my lip, not answering.
He chuckles. “I’ll take that as a yes.” He leans in to bring his mouth close to my ear. “Show me.”
I jump back. “What?!”
“Read to me and show me what you do.”
I shake my head. “Absolutely not.”
He tilts his head to the side, smiling. “Why not?”
“Because it’s embarrassing!”
He lets out another sexy chuckle. “Baby, this is us. You like this shit. I think it’s cool as fuck my wife’s into freaky stuff.” I moan, burying my face in his chest, and he laughs again, kissing the top of my head. “Read to me, sweetheart,” he asks again. Softer this time. “Please.”
Damn it.
“Fine,” I mumble.
His eyes light up, the boyish, excited grin widening, making me reluctantly smile back. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. But you can’t make fun of me.”
He squeezes me. “You know I’m just giving you shit. This is hot.”
I grab one of the books. Not the filthiest one, but definitely one of my five hot pepper ones.
Zak sits on the bed, leaning back against the headboard. His long legs stretched out and pats the space between his thighs.
“Come here.”
I climb on the bed and settle between his powerful thighs, my back to his broad chest. His body heat seeps into me; his arms come around me. One of his hands resting on my stomach. While the other one takes the book and flips it open to a random page.
“Read,” he rumbles, handing it back to me.
I take a breath and start reading. The scene is intense. The hero’s pinning the heroine against a wall, fucking her.
Zak’s hand on my stomach starts moving. He slides under my shirt, making me stumble over my words.
“Keep reading,” he rasps against my skin.
I do, but my voice is shaky.
His hand slides higher to cup my breast through my bra. I can feel the calluses on his palm. The heat of his skin.
I stop reading altogether, panting and wriggling.
“I said, keep reading, baby.” More kisses on the side of my face, on my neck.
“I… I can’t…”
“Yes, you can.” He squeezes my flesh, his thumbs brushing my nipples through the fabric. “Or I stop touching you.”
I whimper, but I start reading again.
His other hand slides down over my stomach to the waistband of my yoga pants. I watch him slide inside. The rustle of fabric, loud in the quiet room.
“Don’t stop,” he growls.
I keep reading. Even as he slips his hand inside my panties.
I gasp.
“Read, Nadia.”
I can barely focus. But I keep going. My voice is breathy, broken.
Zak’s fingers slide through my folds. Finding me wet. So fucking wet.
“Fuck, baby. You’re soaked.”
I can’t go on anymore. Can’t even think.
“Read,” he growls.
I try. Fumbling through the words.
He circles my clit. Slow. Teasing. Then he stops.
“Zak!”
“You stopped reading, baby.”
“I can’t…”
“Yes, you can.” He kisses my neck. His lips are soft, his stubble scratchy. “Read, wife. Make it to the end of the scene, and I’ll let you come.”
It’s torture. Pure torture. But I do it. Reading through the filthy scene. Stumbling. Gasping. Barely coherent.
His fingers work me. Sliding inside my pussy. Curling. Finding all my magic spots. His thumb on my clit. Driving me fucking insane.
The scent of his cologne mixes with my arousal. The room feels hot. My skin is tingling everywhere.
Finally, I reach the last line.
“Good girl,” he rasps. His voice is wrecked. “Now come for me.”
I let go, the book falling from my hands as I arch against my husband, crying out his name. He works me through it, drawing out every last bit of pleasure until I’m trembling and boneless.
“Fuck, I love you,” he whispers against my sweat-damp hair.
I freeze.
Wait. Did he just…
I turn in his arms. Looking at him.
He’s staring right back. With tender eyes. Still breathing hard.
I ask in a whisper. “What did you say?”
“I love you, baby.” He cups my face.
Tears sting my eyes. “Zak… I love you too,” I whisper, my voice cracking.
Then he’s kissing me. Deep, desperate, claiming. Like one of the unhinged heroes from my books…