Chapter 9
Jema
Holy shit. Salvador has given me heated stares before, but this one is downright primal.
An aura lingers around my husband. No matter what room he's in or who else is in it, he's always the hunter. There’s a thrill inside me to run but not in fear.
No, the only thing I feel when I think about running is excitement.
I lick my lips, taking a step back.
"Kitten," he warns in a tone that makes my nipples instantly hard.
"Did I hurt myself running from you?" I ask, making his expression falter. "Not that I need to run from you.”
I don't want him to think that I’m afraid of him.
Salvador is taking such good care of me, and he goes above and beyond to keep me safe and comfortable.
If the roles were reversed and he was the one that forgot me, it would be a major blow to my ego.
Yet my husband seems to take it all in stride. He’s such a good man.
"Why are you asking that?"
"I don't know." I shrug and glance toward the exit. "I get excited when I think about running from you. And the thought of you hunting me down turns me on. Did we do that before?"
It dawns on me that I have no clue about my sex life. We haven’t done it since I woke up. My husband's hands are magical, and his mouth is even better, but I’m ready for all of him.
“You have always made me chase you down,” he says, his voice deep and growly.
“So it’s like our thing?” I wiggle my brows playfully.
“It is your thing.”
“Why only mine?”
“Because when you run...”
“You always chase,” I say, finishing his sentence.
He gives me a charming smirk, though his eyes still stay sharp. He’s watching me like he’s ready to strike. I’m beginning to understand that Salvador never loses sight of his target.
"Always," he repeats and takes another step toward me.
The energy in the room shifted as soon as I signed those papers. I probably should have read them, but I trust Salvador. Why wouldn't I? All the man cares about is keeping me safe.
"Did something change just now?"
"Why do you ask?" He’s not answering me but instead giving a question to my question.
"I don't know. You always appear ready to pounce on me, but this time is more intense, like we're about to go all the way." When we’re intimate, there’s a part of Salvador I can feel he’s holding back. When we get close, he always pulls back.
"All the way," he repeats.
"Yes. Is that what we’re doing now?"
"We can go all the way," he says while fighting a smile.
"I feel like a virgin,” I say while shifting on my feet. “It’s like I'm hopping into bed with you after only knowing you a short while." I have been wanting Salvador to go further. In fact, my body has been begging for it. It must remember all the things he can do to it.
“I promise, when I get my hands on you, you’ll be begging me to never stop.”
“Don’t get all cocky on me.” I laugh and shuffle backward a couple of inches. Of course he notices.
"Cocky?" He reaches between his legs and adjusts himself, and I let out a small gasp.
I’m sure my cheeks are bright red because I haven’t seen him completely naked yet. It’s highly unfair, but Salvador kept saying we needed to wait until I was healed. Every time he touched me, I would melt in his hands and beg for more.
"Salvy baby," I say sternly. I’m trying to use the same tone he gives me, but it doesn’t work.
"Salvy baby?" He chuckles, and while he’s momentarily distracted, I try to make a run for it.
“I thought having a nickname—”
"Don't even think about it," he says, cutting me off.
My plan was to bolt mid-sentence to catch him off guard, but he’s too quick. “Dang it. How’d you know I was going to do that?”
"You're my wife."
"Right." I huff out an annoyed breath, realizing that he knows more about me than I do.
"You want to run, kitten?"
"My toes are wiggling, so I think they're itching to run." His eyes drop to my feet, but I've got fuzzy slippers on.
"Maybe I should check them for you."
"Hey!” I hold my hands out because I know he's going to make a grab for me, and he's too quick for me to be able to dodge it. "You can inspect them after you catch me, then—" His hand wraps around my forearm, and he pulls me into him.
"Got you."
"That's not fair,” I pretend to whine.
"Oh, I’ve never claimed to play fair." He touches the tip of my nose. "Keep that in mind, kitten."
Is that a warning too? I often get this sense that the things he says have more meaning than I understand.
"So you'll play dirty to inspect my wiggling toes?" I snort a laugh as I say it because it sounds ridiculous.
"Yes." His short, quick response has me laughing harder.
"Do you have a foot fetish that I need to know about?"
"I have a wife fetish."
"Oh, really?" I say and lean against him. "Wait, a wife can be anyone.” I narrow my eyes and go back to glaring at him. “Have you been married before? Do you have kids?"
These questions come to me out of nowhere. Maybe I should have led with these days ago.
"You are and will forever be my only wife. And very soon, you’ll have my babies inside of you."
"Babies?" I lean back. "You're pretty damn big. Let’s start with one at a time," I say and pat his chest.
"We'll see." He says it with such confidence I almost believe he can actually control such a thing. I feel his fingers flex across my back. “Now does my kitten want to play?”
His eyes soften around the edges, and a mischievous side peeks out from him. It’s lighter and more playful, but I know once he catches me, it won’t be. I press my thighs together to relieve the growing throb of anticipation.
"I want to play," I say and lift up on my toes. Salvador leans down to meet me so that I can press my mouth to his. "With my husband."
Salvador sucks in an audible breath. He really does have a wife fetish if me calling him my husband gets him going.
"Don't run," he says, leveling a stare at me. I have to bite the inside of my cheek to avoid smiling because although his glare makes others scurry away, it only makes me want him more.
Salvador waits for a response, and I pretend to think it over.
"Fine, but I’ll walk quickly."
He doesn't appear happy with this compromise, but he releases his hold on me. It makes me adore him all the more. He might not want to do this, but he’s willing to do it for me.
"I'll give you a thirty-second head start, so you better get moving." He nods toward the office door.
"Thirty?" Why not a minute?
"One, two, three," he starts.
"Wait! You have to go ‘one Mississippi, two Mississippi.’ You're counting too fast!"
"Eight, nine," he keeps on counting.
“Mississippi," I shout at him before I spin around and take off.