Chapter 15
Nathan
"I, uh, took it off earlier because I didn’t want it to get in the way of the baking."
Her explanation is perfectly plausible. And the ring is big enough to warrant getting in the way of her work.
So there’s no reason for me to be so upset.
No reason to justify the anger that filled me when I heard Knox’s voice, the rage that overcame me when I saw Knox step into the frame of the camera behind her, the desperation that squeezed my guts when I realized he was there with her.
Fact is, I was so overcome with jealousy on seeing Knox with her, I stalked into my grandfather’s office and demanded access to the private helicopter that’s always parked on the top floor of the office building.
I also had my security team radio the traffic police and pull enough strings so they’d cut off the traffic to the road and gave me special permission to land—now, and in the future.
I used the Davenport name to get my way, and no, I don’t feel an ounce of remorse about it.
If it means I could get to her in record time, that’s all that matters.
And then I felt that burn of possessiveness when I saw the empty ring-finger.
A coalescence of feelings stabs at my chest. Why am I so upset she’s not wearing my ring?
Why is it so important that the world know she’s mine? Mine. Mine. Mine.
Some of my feelings must show on my features, for she swallows. "Nathan," she whispers.
The shape of her lips forming my name is the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen. My balls harden. My cock thickens. I bend my knees and peer into her eyes. "I shouldn’t be this upset about you not wearing the mark of my possession, but it bloody hurts that you aren’t."
"I’m sorry." She raises her palm and presses it to my cheek. "I didn’t realize it meant so much to you."
"I didn’t know, either. And when I saw my asshole half-brother talking to you, it felt like my entire world had fallen apart."
"Oh…" Her features soften. "How… How can I make it better?"
I place my hand over hers, then turn my face into her palm. When I kiss the soft skin at the base of her thumb, she shivers. And when I wrap my other hand below her hips, straighten and throw her over my shoulder, she yelps, "Nathan, what are you doing?"
"I could say I’m punishing you for making me envious, but I’m not going to hide behind that excuse."
"You… you’re not?" Her voice is breathless.
I shake my head. "I simply want an excuse to do this." I bring my palm down on her behind with a thwack. The sound echoes around the bakery.
She gasps. "Oh, my god," her voice catches.
"You like that, hmm?"
"Of course not."
I slap her butt again, and this time, a whine bleeds from her lips.
The flesh of her arse jiggles, and fuck, if that doesn’t turn me on further.
I want to leave my mark on that creamy flesh.
I want to squeeze her behind and bury my face in the cleavage between her arse cheeks.
I want to bury myself in her forbidden hole and make her come so hard, she’ll remember the feeling every time she sits down for the next week.
The blood thuds at my temples. The crotch of my pants is so tight, I have to widen my stance to accommodate my arousal.
As if she senses my thoughts, she squirms in my grasp, and when I grab handfuls of her ample arse, she shudders.
"Still going to tell me you don’t like it?"
She draws in a sharp breath, then murmurs something under her breath.
"What was that?"
"I do like it," she says in a low voice, then yelps when I slap her left-butt cheek; then the right, then the left again.
"What was that you said?" I growl.
"I said I like it, you bastard,” she yells.
I laugh. And that makes her squirm even more. And when I trail my fingers down the fabric of her skirt, which covers the demarcation between her arse-cheeks, she digs her fingers into my hips. "What are you doing?"
In reply, I march behind the counter and into the kitchen. I pull out the only seat—a bar stool at the island in the center—with my boot clad toe and sit down, then lower her to my lap.
She yelps again, then grabs at my legs to right herself. "I… I don’t think the barstool can take both our weights."
"What are you talking about?" I cup the curve of one butt-cheek, and when she bucks, I know her skin must be smarting from my spanking and that my touch must send flickers of pleasure-pain sparkling over her nerve-endings.
"Don’t act like you don’t know," she scoffs.
"I have no idea what you’re talking about, especially not when your ripe-as-a-peach backside is all I can see."
"Don't you mean, my watermelon-shaped, fat arse, which is the reason they invented double doors?"
I pause, and this time, when I bring my hand down on her backside, she yells, "What in the ever-lovin’ Succession!"
"That was for insulting my fiancée’s gorgeous rear, and this"—my palm connects with her butt with enough force that her entire body jolts—"is because you put yourself down."
"That hurt," she yelps.
"Good," I murmur.
"What the—!" She turns her head and scowls up at me from between the strands of her hair that hang down over her face. "I can’t believe you said that."
"Better believe it. I’m not letting anyone disparage my future wife."
"Future fake wife…"
"There’s nothing fake about our wedding ceremony."
She shoves her hair back from her face. "But this entire relationship is a farce."
Is it?
When I don’t reply, her forehead wrinkles. "It is, isn’t it?"
"You tell me."
"You’re confusing me, Nate."
"Nothing to be confused about. As far as the world is concerned, we’re madly in love and getting married."
"Exactly, but the two of us know it’s not real."
"But we have to pretend it is, so it comes across as real to the others."
She opens and shuts her mouth, then shoves at me. "Can you let me go, please, so I can stand up and—" I grip her waist, then haul her to sitting position, so she’s straddling me. There’s a ripping sound, and she glances down at her now torn skirt. "Oh no, that was my favorite."
"I’ll buy you ten more."
She scowls up at me. "I like this one."
"I’ll get it mended for you."
"You’d do that?" Her features soften.
I’d do that and so much more, if you gave me a chance. I flatten my palms over the flare of her hips and fit her over my crotch.
"Oh!" Her eyes round in an expression of surprise.
Which also means her mouth is open in an 'O', which makes me wonder how it would feel to have her lips wrapped around my cock, which causes the blood to drain to my groin, and my cock to extend, and the tent over my crotch to grow larger and wider and fit snugly in the space between her thighs.
And she must feel it for… "Oh, my—" She blinks. "I… Is that… I think that's—"
"My dick stabbing into your pussy?" I pause for effect. "It is."
Her cheeks redden. "No need to be so explicit."
"But you blush so prettily when I am."
"I’m not a prude." She tosses her hair over her shoulder.
"Is that right?"
She raises her fingers, then grips my shoulder. "It is." Using me for leverage, she grinds down on my already swollen cock, which instantly fights to escape the confines of my slacks.
"Fuck." I grit my teeth. A bead of sweat slides down my temple.
Her lips curve in a small smile of victory, then she begins to rub herself against the column in my pants.