Chapter Four
Nadia
The gold band on my finger catches the morning light again, and I still can’t quite convince myself it’s real. Every few minutes, I find myself twisting it absentmindedly, expecting it to disappear the moment I blink.
Instead, it stays exactly where River slid it, right in front of Royal. He’s wearing a suit that makes him look far more like an executive than a man who completed forty-five minutes of online certification last night so he could legally marry two people inside a tattoo shop.
“If anyone asks,” Roman had muttered during the ceremony, “I’m telling them this happened in Vegas.”
Royal hadn’t even looked up from the paperwork. “It happened in Atlanta.”
“They don’t need to know that,” Roman said. "
River had rolled his eyes. “They also don’t need to know you almost cried.”
“I had something in my eye.”
“It was both eyes,” River teased.
Roman lifted his chin. “It was emotional dust.”
Even now, remembering the exchange nearly makes me laugh despite the surreal weight of the wedding band on my finger.
If someone had told me a week ago that I’d be standing inside 4R Ink wearing a simple ivory dress I’d found with Elodie, while marrying the grumpiest tattoo artist in Georgia, I would’ve suggested they seek professional help.
Instead, here I am. Married. The thought still doesn’t feel real. Royal folds the signed marriage license before handing us each a copy.
“Well,” Royal says with an amused smile, “by the authority vested in me by the state of Georgia and approximately forty-five minutes of online training…”
Roman snorts.
“...I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
Silence fills the tattoo shop. My heartbeat pounds loudly enough that I’m certain everyone can hear it.
Royal smiles. “You may kiss your bride.”
I expect something polite. Something brief. A quick peck for appearances before everyone laughs and moves on.
Instead, River steps toward me with an expression I haven’t seen before, one that softens the sharp edges of his usually guarded face. His hand cups my jaw, thumb at the corner of my mouth, and he kisses me like we are alone.
Hard. Intense. The same heat as that first kiss a few days ago, the one I hadn’t stopped replaying no matter how many other fires were burning around us. His tongue slides against mine, and my mind goes blank. The shop, Royal, Elodie…everyone. It all drops away.
There is only the taste of him and the solid press of his body and the ring already warm on my finger. When we finally separate, I realize everyone in the room has gone suspiciously quiet.
Roman clears his throat dramatically. We both look at him.
“Anyone else suddenly feel like they’re interrupting something?”
Elodie laughs. “Definitely.”
Heat rushes into my face. River doesn’t seem nearly as embarrassed.
Royal claps his hands together. “Excellent. Now that our newlyweds have remembered we’re all standing here, I’d suggest getting Nadia moved into River’s apartment before someone decides to ruin everyone’s afternoon.”
Reality crashes back almost instantly. River quietly slips his hand into mine.
“We’ve got you.”
And the strangest thing happens. I believe him.
Four men I’ve spent a year keeping at arm’s length, and a woman who’s becoming a friend, standing in a closed tattoo shop with the blinds drawn because of me.
Over many years, my father instilled in me that being somebody’s responsibility and being somebody’s property were the same thing.
Now, with River's hand in mine, I understand for the first time that they aren’t.
???
By the time we get to River’s apartment, the sun has already begun dipping below the Atlanta skyline. His apartment is exactly what I’d expect from him. Clean, simple, and practical.
The furniture is comfortable without being fancy, the kitchen is spotless, and every surface is organized with military precision.
The only real decoration comes from framed tattoo sketches hanging neatly along one wall and a bookshelf filled with crime novels, history books, and enough coffee mugs to supply a small café.
“What do you think?” he asks.
I look around, suddenly and acutely aware that we are alone. “You have a nice place,” I answer as heat creeps into my cheeks.
He carries my final suitcase into the bedroom before stopping. “So.”
I peer around his shoulder. There’s one very large bed. I blink. “You only have one bedroom.”
“I do.” He looks back at me. “I’ll take the couch,” he says, already moving to set my suitcase beside the dresser. “You take the bed.”
I shake my head. “You’re huge. That couch will wreck your back. I’ll take it.”
“No. Absolutely not,” he says.
I immediately fold my arms as I shake my head. “I’m not taking your bed.”
“And I’m not making you sleep on the couch.”
We stare at each other for several seconds. Finally, he growls in frustration. “You’re not taking the fucking couch, Nadia. If you insist, then we can share the bed. I sleep on my side. You sleep on yours. And I won’t touch you unless you ask.”
An hour later, after we’ve each taken turns getting ready for bed, I stand alone in the bathroom staring at my reflection. The plain gold wedding band catches my attention again, and I slowly rotate it around my finger while trying to process everything that’s happened over the past few days.
I spent two years running from one marriage only to willingly step into another, even if this one began as nothing more than a carefully constructed plan. Only it doesn’t entirely feel like pretending anymore.
River has never once made me feel trapped. He is bossy, but he has never demanded anything. Never expected more from me than honesty. He treats every decision concerning my life as though it belongs to me, something my father never did once.
I take one last look at my reflection before opening the door. When I come out, River is already in bed. Bare chest, dark ink crawling over it and down his arms, with the sheet low on his hips. He looks up when I hover in the doorway, and his eyes darken.
“In,” he says softly. An order wrapped in care.
The single word lands somewhere low and unfamiliar, and my whole body tightens around it. I quickly slide beneath the blankets, feeling strangely aroused and shy. The space between our bodies feels charged, like the air before a thunderstorm. I lay on my back and stare at the ceiling.
I can hear his breathing and, at the same time, feel the heat rolling off him.
“You’re thinking too loud,” he says.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re shaking.”
I don’t realize it until he says it.
He rolls onto his side, facing me. One big hand resting on the sheet between us, not touching, just there. Now that we are finally alone, with nowhere to hide, the heat of attraction I’ve always felt around him permeates the room. It sinks into my skin and pools low in my belly.
In the ensuing silence, I take in his sculpted but lean face.
My eyes shift away from his dark hazel ones to his beard-framed lips, and I’m reminded of the kisses we’ve shared and how he brought me to orgasm.
My nipples draw up tight, and I feel myself go slick and hot as I slowly inhale his manly scent.
“Talk to me,” he commands in that brash way of his, and my whole body vibrates in response.
I turn to face him, throwing caution to the wind. “Everything is happening all at once. There’s an ache in me, and I don’t know what to do with it,” I whisper, feeling a desperate need to move closer to him.
He takes in a swift breath. “Nadia.” His voice is a thick growl that sends shivers down my spine. “I’m holding on to my last shred of control,” he warns.
I don’t know how I feel. I only need the ache between my thighs to subside. I let out a soft moan as I rub my thighs together.
“Fuck, angel,” River groans. Then he shifts closer until I feel the heat of his skin touching mine. “Tell me to stop.”
I don’t say a word. I want him. I can’t pretend anymore.
He leans in and melds his lips with mine, and this time, there is no audience in sight. Just us and the dark and the way my body opens for him like it has been waiting. I moan into his mouth, sliding my hands over his chest.
His hand slides under my shirt, palm hot on my stomach, then higher, cupping my breast, thumb dragging over my nipple until it peaks and I arch into his hand.
“Fuck, look at you,” he mutters against my lips. “All soft and shaking for me already.”
“River—”
“I’ve got you.” He strips my shirt off carefully, then the shorts, until I’m bare under his gaze. He looks at me like a feast he’s been starving for. “Pretty little wife. Let me look at what’s mine.”
The word mine does something to me. I shouldn’t want it, shouldn’t respond to this possessive bullshit, but my body doesn’t care about should. My body wants. He slowly sucks my hard nipple in his mouth, deep and hard. I arch into him as my body trembles with arousal.
He alternates between both nipples until I’m panting hard and whimpering.
Then he starts moving down. His mouth drags over my ribs, my stomach, the crease of my hip, unhurried.
Like he has all night and intends to use it.
His hands push my knees apart, and he settles between them.
I have just enough time to understand what’s about to happen before he licks me, leans in and licks me, one long, slow stroke from entrance to clit.
My head falls back with a moan. His hands grip my thighs, holding me open, and he does it again, more focused this time, circling my clit with the flat of his tongue.
“Oh, God.” My fingers find his hair, gripping tight. “Please.”
He makes a satisfied sound against me and doubles down, licking and sucking with relentless precision. His beard scrapes my inner thighs, the roughness contrasting with the wet heat of his mouth, and I’m already climbing, already close.
“River, I’m going to—”
“Not yet.” He pulls back just enough to speak, his lips shiny with me. “Ask permission.”
“What?”
“You heard me.” He blows a cool stream of air over my wet, swollen flesh, and I whimper. “Ask me if you can come.”