32. Blake

CHAPTER 32

Blake

S he’s mine. My wife. The realization hits me like a runaway freight train. Even my suspicion of her motivations, and her deceptive behavior, doesn’t overshadow the burning possessiveness scorching my veins.

Half an hour, that’s as far as I make it through our reception before whisking Gin away to our honeymoon suite. I may not be entirely happy with her right now, for keeping secrets, but I can’t wait to take Mrs. Baron to bed. She’s just become my wife and this new reality completely consumes me. She’s mine .

“This is rude, we can’t just leave all of our guests?—”

“Yes we can.” I pull her into our suite, kicking the door closed behind us. Then my lips are on hers, desperate and demanding. She’s mine for a year and I’m going to make the most of it each and every day.

If she is fucking Oz, I’ll have to remove him from existence, and that will solve that problem.

I lift her into my arms bridal style and carry her to the bedroom, peppering her with kisses. She clings to me, both of us lost in the moment, and we fall onto the bed.

“You need a safe word.”

Her eyelids flutter open. “I do?”

“Yes. I’m not going to risk you hurting yourself again. You’re my wife and I’m going to show you exactly what that means. So what is your word?”

“Um… cupcake?”

I stare down at her. “Cupcake? Why cupcake?”

“Because I like cupcakes.” She shrugs.

She’s so fucking sweet. I kiss the tip of her nose. My adorable, secretive little magpie. “Fine. Cupcake it is. Remember that. Now, I’m going to tie you up.”

She licks her lips, and nods.

I strip her out of the silky wedding gown until she’s only wearing a white satin bra and thong with her heels. She looks like an angel—I’m about to make her look like a fallen angel, sinful and satiated. I take one of my silk ties and secure it around her wrists, then loop it into small knots all the way to her elbows, binding her arms together. Rolling her onto her stomach, I sit on the bed and drag her pelvis across my lap. She wiggles her round ass.

“This is for being a naughty girl.” I bring my palm down on her exposed butt cheek, once, twice, three times, hard enough to leave red marks. Her body jerks and she cries out, but she doesn’t try to get away. I spank her again.

I know she’s my kind of kinky girl when I slip my fingers between her thighs and find her dripping for me. She likes the pain and loves the pleasure.

I tan her backside until she’s glowing red, her flesh hot, and her cries have turned to moans. When I finally find her clit, she falls apart for me with a long groan and shaking limbs.

Why does she have to be so goddamn perfect?

Flipping her over, I let her rest for a moment on her back while I undress. My gaze eats her up, from her flushed cheeks, to those delicious curves, to her soaked panties.

Dropping to my knees—because that’s what this woman does to me, even when I’m upset with her—I tongue fuck her through her damp underwear until she comes again. Then I slide the ruined material down her legs and toss it on my pile of clothes, so I can pocket it later. She usually doesn’t wear panties so this is a rare chance to collect a pair for myself, saturated with her scent.

I climb up her body, holding my weight on my forearms, until we’re face to face. She opens her thighs wide, lifting her hips in a silent plea for my cock. I oblige. Sinking in one inch at a time, it’s a slow torture for both of us. I groan, and her eyelids fall shut.

“Eyes on me, baby girl, I want to see into every corner of your soul while I fuck you.” Her hooded gaze finds mine. “Good girl.”

Once I’m buried in her sweet, hot pussy, I pull almost all the way out before slamming in—taking, claiming her as mine. My mouth finds her soft shoulder and I suck on her skin, leaving my mark.

Holding eye contact, I fuck her with wild abandon. My wife . Every single thought of her as my wife drives me higher and higher.

“What’s your name?” I pant.

“Gin.”

“Your last name.”

“Pon—Baron.”

“Say it. Say your name.”

“Ginevra Baron.”

Fuck yes . “Say it again.”

“Mrs. Baron.” She moans as I piston my hips, driving her into the mattress.

“Who are you to me?”

“Your wife.”

Damn right you are. “And who am I to you?”

“M-my husband.” She groans. “I’m so close.”

“Beg me for it, magpie. You know I love to hear you beg.”

“Please, please make me come… husband.”

Fucking hell . She’ll be my ruin, that’s for sure.

I adjust my angle, hitting her g-spot just right and she shatters, taking me with her as her pussy milks my cock.

Pulling out, I empty myself on her stomach and tits. She jolts at the unexpected warmth of cum coating her body. Before it dries, I write in it with my finger, spelling out: Mrs. Baron. If I could, I’d have that tattooed into her flesh. Now that I think about it, that is a possibility. Dimitri tattooed his name on his wife, so…

If only our time together didn’t come to an end in a year. But after that, her contract is fulfilled. She has no reason not to sign the divorce papers and run as far from me as possible. Any woman in her right mind would do just that. I’m hardly husband material.

If there’s one thing I know about myself, it’s that I’m not lovable. Not in the slightest.

So, we’ll live out this fantasy until we either ruin it or our time together comes to an end.

T he property acquisition is almost a done deal. So much so that Yve has taken a step back and seems to be relatively content. By that I mean she didn’t try to sabotage my wedding, or interrupt our short honeymoon while we’ve been in London. I’m not sure if negotiating the contract has been keeping her busy, or if there’s another reason she’s not her usual, vile self.

Either way, hopefully the sale will go through by the time we’re back in New York and Liam will take his place within the company. All is looking up on that front.

Which brings my attention back to Gin. If she’s hiding her connection to Oz, what else is she untruthful about? Have I misjudged her after all these months together? Or is she really that talented of an actress to show me a complete facade that I unwittingly fell for?

Maybe she really is the gold-digger I thought she was in the beginning. Her past trauma, her sweetness, the way she looks at me like I can save her from her demons, is any of it real?

The way her presence is a ray of sunshine in my world of darkness… is it all a lie? A carefully crafted story to get under my skin? Perhaps.

Two can play at this game though. I aim to tear apart my new wife until I can decipher reality from fiction. I need to understand her motivations. I’m going to figure out who she truly is. Starting now.

She comes out of the bathroom, cheeks flushed and hair wrapped in a towel. My heart stops for a moment. She’s so fucking beautiful. Too bad she’s a liar.

“I have something for you, magpie.” I set the small, matte black box on the table. Her gaze lands on it and lights with excitement. I hate how much that brightness in her eyes warms my chest.

“For me? What is it?” She approaches and I reach out, snare her, and reel her into my lap. Even though she’s lied to me, I want to feel her body against mine.

“Open it and find out.” I can’t resist licking up a droplet of water on her neck. Her soft moan goes straight to my cock and I’m hard for her in an instant. Maybe the sex is what’s clouding my judgement. She’s a siren and I’ve fallen victim to her sweet, deadly song.

She lifts the box into her small hands and removes the top. A sharp gasp falls from her parted lips as she picks up the thick black credit card. There’s nothing on it except her new name stamped on the back. Ginevra Baron.

“This is…” My wife is speechless for once.

“Without a limit,” I tell her.

“But we signed papers, a prenup to make sure I don’t get a single penny from you. Why would you give me a limitless card?” She frowns up at me, and I smooth away the crease between her golden brows with my thumb.

“Because while we’re divorcing in twelve months’ time, right now you’re my wife and you deserve to be treated as such, with all the perks included.” What I’m not telling her is that this is a test. If she’s a gold-digger she won’t be able to resist the urge to spend as much as she can as quickly as possible.

Take me for all I’m worth, little magpie, and prove to me that I’m right about the worst version of you. As much as that pains me, I must know the truth.

“Oh,” she says, her features caving, which is not the reaction I expected.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. This is very generous of you.” She slides off my lap, taking the card with her, and continues getting dressed before packing up. By tonight we’ll be back home.