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Chapter 45

Forty-Five

SCOTTIE

I'm going to regret this.

I know it.

When this is all said and done and we've made it to the end of our contract, I'm going to miss the way he makes me feel. I'm going to miss the fire in his touch when he grazes a hand down my arm. And I'm especially going to miss the eagerness in his eyes when he's taking care of me.

Not just in this way.

But in other ways too.

"You want me to treat you like my wife?" Emory's brow line deepens, and his jaw tightens. "You sure about that?" he asks.

Of course not.

I'm likely to regret this the second he's not on top of me with that look of obsessive desire in his eye, but God, what I wouldn't give to know what it feels like to be his wife in the real sense of the word.

Call it curiosity.

Or self-sabotage.

Either way, I want to know what it feels like to give in to Emory Olson.

"I want to know what it feels like to be a wife." I lick my lips.

Emory's hot grin sends my stomach tumbling. I trip over my thoughts when he sits up and gazes down at me like I'm all he sees. His calloused hand trails down my bare arm, and he sends me a look that steals my breath. "You want to know what it feels like to be my wife, you mean."

I try to swallow, but everything locks up. I nod, even though there's a super-vulnerable part of me that keeps tying my nerves together.

"Then get on your knees, and let me show you what you do to me."

The hunger I feel to please him is something I have never felt before.

I have never had a man talk to me like this, and if they tried, I would have given them the finger.

But there's a delicious pull in my stomach, and I think I surprise us both when I sit up slowly, swing my legs over the bed, and plant myself on the floor.

Emory inhales from up above.

His hand falls to my chin. "You keep fucking surprising me." I open my mouth slightly when his thumb rubs over my bottom lip. My tongue jolts out, all on its own, and he curses under his breath before staring at the ceiling.

Tired of waiting for him, I slip my fingers under the waistband of his boxers and free his cock. His hand lands on my head, and he backs away before shooting me a dirty look. I raise an eyebrow, like I have something to prove, and grip him hard.

He hisses, and I grow excited.

Seeing Emory—as rugged as a man that he is—try to hold back is addicting.

I want to make him buckle at the knees like he does to me, even if he's more willing to admit it than I am.

"Your wife is at your service," I muse from below, wrapping my hand around his hard length.

His fingers tangle in my hair, and he glares at me. "Don't say things like that to me, Biscotti."

I can't help it, I smile. I run my hand down his length and pull back, peering up at him. "Or what?"

With a look of pure passion on his face, he tugs on my hair, and my head goes backward. "Open."

I drop my jaw, and as soon as he's in my mouth, heat pours from in between my legs. Emory moves in and out of my mouth, and when I peer up at him from on my knees, he's staring at me like he's in a haze. I've never seen anything hotter than him losing control.

Watching him jerk himself off in the shower was one thing.

Feeling him fill my mouth paired with the tugging of my hair is on an entirely new level.

"You on your knees for me is the highlight of our marriage. Fucking hell ." His hips move faster and deeper, and I take every bit of what he's giving me. "Quit looking at me like that."

I don't know what he's talking about, but with the way he can barely get any words out, I think he likes the way I'm looking at him.

"You…" He pulls out for a second, and my lips feel wet and swollen. "You look so innocent, but you're so into this, aren't you?"

I nod.

Emory's jaw is as sharp as a knife. A faint growl leaves his throat when he tugs on my chin. I open my mouth again, and when he's inside, I taste the little bit of saltiness on the tip of his cock.

"I hope you know you're mine after this," he mumbles. "I know everyone else already thinks you're mine with that ring on your finger, but I need you to know it." He presses his cock against the back of my throat one more time, and that's when I open wider and let him empty each of his desirable thoughts he has about me down my throat until he finishes and pulls out.

I take the back of my hand and wipe my glistening lips, but my arm falls swiftly when Emory grabs me by the bicep and pulls me to my feet. My back presses backward with his palm being the only thing resting between me and the wall.

"Tell me," he demands.

His eyes drive into mine, and I blink several times.

My body curves toward him when he tugs me closer and hooks one of my legs around his waist.

I can't breathe with the feel of him pressing against me.

How easy it would be for him to just slip inside and really make me his.

"Tell you what?" I ask, slightly confused at how hoarse my voice is.

"That you're mine." Emory's eyes bounce back and forth between mine, and I'm stuck between admitting it and being too afraid to say it out loud.

Because we both know I'm not.

We both turn toward the noise coming from the hallway.

Oh my god. His parents.

I gasp, and he's insane, because my surprise actually makes him smile.

"Oh my god. Your parents are here. What if they heard us?"

"My parents…who are also your in-laws…" he adds with a hint of humor.

Does he think I forgot that we're married? After all of that.

"Don't sweat it," he coaxes, running his hands through my hair. "Of course I'd be in here shoving my cock down your throat. You're my wife." He winks at me and goes to step away but not before I smack him lightly in the chest. He catches my hand, and I tumble into his hard body.

"We do need to get downstairs. I put an order in for biscotti to be delivered this morning when I knew they were coming to visit."

Surprise makes me lose my train of thought, and my tense shoulders relax. He lets go of my hand, and I rush to beat him to the bathroom to make myself look presentable instead of like I just got fucked in the mouth by their son.

Through the closed door, I hear Emory say, "Our conversation isn't over, by the way."

With the little bit of distance between us, I shake my head and go to argue, but I already hear his bedroom door opening and his footsteps moving down the hall.

The conversation is absolutely over.

Because what happens when he discovers all the baggage that comes with having me around?

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