She has me by both the balls and my heart.
* * *
“I’ll forget how to use my wings if you forever carry me everywhere.”
I grunt like I’m not opposed to the idea before I continue moving through her home, dodging Tempy’s excited twirls and begs. We fucked on the couch downstairs because we were too impatient to climb the stairs, and then Miranda rested while my sperm hopefully worked its magic.
I wouldn’t have moved her if it weren’t important.
“Do you want to shower before getting dressed? Or are you happy getting around smelling like my cum?”
I’m hard enough to drill the Antarctic when the lusty gleam in her eyes answers my question on her behalf.
I set her down in front of her walk-in closet before returning to the living room to collect Tempy. The deck outside catches as much sun as the one on the second-floor balcony, but the sun is dropping quicker now that Christmas has passed.
It’s colder than a witch’s tit—another strong point as to why I needed to wake Miranda.
“Where are we going, again?” Miranda asks from inside her closet, aware of my return from Tempy whining when I place her down. She’s as obsessed with licking my face as I am of licking her owner’s delicious pussy.
When I growl, Miranda pops her head out of the closet. “I was just asking so I can coordinate the perfect outfit. I don’t want to look frumpy.” Her last sentence is a whisper, but not even a tornado siren could have me missing it.
“What the fuck did you just say?”
She’d usually reevaluate her words when it puts me on the warpath to restore the confidence a worthless prick stole from her, but this time, she repeats them. “I don’t want to look frumpy.”
As I join her in the closet, I run the short list of people she interacted with today through my head. I don’t care that they’re a member of Nikolai’s crew. I’ll kill them without a second thought if they’re responsible for her dip in confidence.
“What was the name of that punk with the buck teeth who opened the door for you today? The valet.”
Miranda shrugs. “I don’t know.”
She’s lying. I know this, and so does she.
“Acting daft won’t save him from my wrath, butterfly. If he said something bad to you, he’s dead.”
“He didn’t say anything bad.”
“So he said something?”
“Yes, but it isn’t what you’re thinking.”
Ipfftlike I don’t believe her, and it makes her giggle.
I’m glad she’s amused. I am about to go on a fucking rampage, and she’s laughing.
What the fuck am I missing?
“He said that I was glowing.”
“Flirting withmy wifeis just as bad as insulting her.”
Miranda fans her hand across my chest, loving my jealousy, before she balances on her tippy-toes to brush her mouth against mine. She doesn’t kiss me. She simply hammers the final nail in the valet’s coffin. “Then he congratulated me. I assumed he was talking about our recent nuptials… until his eyes lowered to my stomach.”
I pull away, ready and willing to kill him. Insinuating that a woman is pregnant because she’s put on a couple of pounds is bullshit. Miranda has put on a little weight in the past six weeks, but that’s because she is eating three solid meals a day instead of sneaking downstairs after dark to consume something other than lettuce leaves.
Roy starved her—of both affection and food.
I refuse to be anything like that prick.
