Her narrowed gaze finds mine. Enchanting turquoise meeting curious black. “Winning me in a game of poker is not saving me. You literally dragged me back to your fuck pad and ruined my future. Miami is not my home.”
The creases on her forehead suddenly soften. My new wife crosses her arms and stands, elevating onto her tiptoes to gain more height—or courage. Even at that, she’s still petite next to my six-foot stature. “I should have taken my chances with Acer.”
Her audacity makes my hackles flare. Wrath seeps into my bones and colors them with darkness.
“You’re burning up my short fuse, Sin.” When she bites the edge of her lip, boldness flashes across her expression. “We have history,” I add.
“Seriously?” Her brows fly up and her dainty little hands shelve on her hip bones. “That was decades ago, Dré. We were children. I don’t know who you are now and after last night, I’d rather not be in the same room as you.”
“Well, that’s a pity, Wifey…” I rake my fingers through my hair, weirdly getting into this tug-of-war game between us. “Because we’re about to make some big fucking history together. You’ve got the rest of your married life to figure out what I like… and what I don’t. For starters, that motherfucker Acer won’t be sniffing around my wife, or I’ll cut off his hands and smack his own face with them,” I say matter-of-factly. “I’m sure he’s a boring fuck, anyway.”
“Are you…?” she drawls, hitching a brow.
“The man who married you.”
Her piercing gaze sharpens. “I was going to say delusional. Whatever hero status you’ve credited yourself with is a lie. I didn’t choose this. I didn’t chooseyou. This…” She waves her dainty hand back and forth from her chest to mine. “This is bullshit. All you want is an association to the Sapori name… something I’ve never used and refuse to accept. And stop calling me Sin. I’m not that little girl anymore. I’ve grown up.”
My friendly smile dies. “And I’m not that starry-eyed fucking kid, either. So listen up, Sinéad Sapori-Souza—you’re mywifenow. Neither of us expected this commitment. But guess what? You said the vows and signed the papers. We both did. If you run, I’ll drag you back. If you try anything stupid, my men will inform me, and you’ll be dealt with accordingly. The only way this ends is if I put a bullet in your heart. Till death do us part, Wifey.”
2
ANDRÉ
“Wifey…” she snorts. “Ever heard of a divorce? Or maybe I’ll become a widow, Dré…” The wicked bitch smirks. “How about that—huh, Hotshot?” Her voice thickens to a sexy rasp as she emphasizes the nickname she’s created for me.
I kinda like it. My cum will decorate her slapped tits when I shoot my load all over them. That would be one hell of an ace shot.
We stare at each other, both of us silent. I know her comment isn’t a threat; it’s self-defense. Only the same sassy survival attitude that had won me over once before.
But like my new wife had already pointed out, our best friend status was short-lived and too many years ago to mean anything these days. The tides of change have turned us into different people.
All I want is more control.
She quietly chews whatever insult she considers fitting and raises her chin in defiance. Although we’re both older, our dynamic still feels the same. Except this time, it blazes and crackles like a risky chemistry experiment.
Her left brow feigns coolness as it rises. “You’re not the only one who can fire a gun.”
My hand jumps to her elongated proud neck before my mind has time to think it over. The flutter of a quick pulse next to my palm adds to my addiction.
Christ.
“You belong to me in every way possible. Perhaps you actually think Acer would have been a good match. Next to me, his millions are like dimes. I have infinite funds, boundless power, and supreme authority that stretches across the world. I’m not just wealthy; my brothers and I reign over a global empire. The Souzas could crush Scott Acer’s family a thousand times over and no one would bat an eye. And now I have a beautiful wife from the Sapori bloodline. So, don’t fucking threaten me,” I warn, my insatiable impulses clawing for freedom just below the surface.
The intensity of the situation has my senses burning like Icarus’ wings too close to the sun. One stupid move and this woman could get the upper hand. I shake off the notion, instantly correcting every bone in my spine so I’m skyscraper tall and she’s involuntarily positioned to stare up at me.
“Or what?” she challenges, her breath coming fast.
“I guarantee you won’t cross me again… unless you enjoy pain as much as I enjoy unleashing it?”
She freezes, her throat the only thing working as she swallows. “You really are just like them now, aren’t you?” Her voice wobbles a fraction. “Greedy and corrupt.” Her nails scratch at my hand in the hope of a quick escape, but I’m too strong for her. “Get your damn hands off me.”
Back when we were kids, it was never about stolen kisses or secret touching—we were too young. Just close friends. The closest I’ve ever been with the opposite sex. Period.
That nine-year-old boy didn’t get a stiff dick when he hung out with her. And I sure as fuck never thought about stripping her clothes off and replacing them with ropes.
But right now, Jesus fuck, it’s all I can think about. And staring at the matured face of my childhood friend—I’m about to shoot my load all over her stomach.
Her scowl hardens as if the sight of me turns her to stone. “Don’t touch me, Dré.”
