How the fuck did I wind up here?
“Hmmm. Okay, I think that should do it,” the tailor said as he removed his tape measure from the area of my junk, and got off the little dais he had me standing on. “We’re definitely going to have to let out an inch here at the inseam.”
“Sounds good.” No one liked having their cock strangled by their obnoxious dress clothes.
“If you’ll wait here, Mr. Price, we have the vest in the back.” The man took his flirty little assistant and headed for the back of the shop.
I wasn’t against custom-tailored suits. I owned a shit ton of them. My objection stemmed from the fact that my mother-in-law, as fake as that title was, currently occupied the fancy-ass couch behind me.
“Cannon, dear, do you have a preference between the notched lapel or the peak?” Mrs. VanDoren asked as she flipped through the tailor’s book of options.
“No, ma’am, I don’t,” I replied.
“Hmmm…” Her brow crinkled as she flipped between two pages. She reminded me so much of Persephone. She had the same willowy, petite frame and blue eyes, but she kept her silver-streaked blonde hair up in a French twist. The woman was classic, but even better, she was kind. “I think the notched will look better with those broad shoulders of yours.” She held the book up as if she could picture me in it.
“What are we discussing?” Andromeda flounced into the fitting area, flipping her gold-blonde hair over her shoulder.
“Oh, hello, darling. Why don’t you sit next to me?” Mrs. VanDoren patted the seat next to her.
“Hi there, Cannon. Don’t you look dashing in a tux.” She gave me an appraising look that made my skin crawl. I’d seen that look far too many times on the faces of women who saw me as a challenge. They wanted to climb Mt. Everest once in their lifetime, but it wasn’t like they wanted to set up a home at altitude or anything.
“Thanks, Anne.” She’d demanded I use the nickname on her second day in my home. We were going on day eight, and she had both Persephone and me on edge with her constant whining and demands.
How the hell had such a graceful, dignified woman like Mrs. VanDoren raised such different daughters? Then again, how could a woman with such life in her eyes be terminally ill?
Anne plopped down next to her mother and looked over at the book. “Such good options. You know, from what Sephie has told me, you’re not really a fan of tuxes.”
“I’m not a fan of anything tight around my neck,” I answered, glad that the tailor had given me an extra half inch at my collar when I’d asked for it.
“And you’re still willing to wear a tux for the wedding?” Mrs. VanDoren asked with concern in her eyes.
“It’s what Persephone wants,” I answered simply. If the woman asked me to show up wearing a G-string and pasties, I’d probably do it just to see her smile. She was so sad lately. Frustrated with her sister’s overwhelming presence and the doctor’s inability to find her mother a donor. I found myself joining her in that department.
“You two are going to have such a beautiful life together,” Mrs. VanDoren remarked with a little sigh. “I’m so glad you’re letting me do this—plan this little affair. It means so much to me to see my little Sephie walk down the aisle.” She smiled up at me with a slight tremble. “Now if she’d just make time to get to the tux fitting,” she teased.
“She said she’d make it if she could. Persephone is an incredibly busy woman,” I replied with a nod as the tailor came back in. “She loves her career and does a lot of good around Charleston with the foundation.”
“Aren’t we all just proud of her,” Anne quipped with a tight smile.
“Of course we are,” her mother said softly. “And Cannon, I really appreciate you letting us be here. Seeing as you don’t have your mother with you.”
“Where is mommy dearest, anyway?” Anne asked, taking a bottle of water from the end table.
My stomach clenched.
“She died when I was younger. Is that for me?” I asked the tailor, hoping the abrupt change of subject would signal that my mother’s death wasn’t up for discussion.
“Yes, Mr. Price.” The tailor handed me the vest, and I put it on, then buttoned the avocado green fabric over the tuxedo shirt.
“The color’s all wrong!” Mrs. VanDoren chided as she stood.
“This is the color you ordered, Mrs. VanDoren,” the tailor assured her.
“It most certainly is not. Maybe if this was nineteen seventy four, or we were looking for baby-vomit, but I assure you, that is not the color we ordered.”
“I have the order right here,” his assistant said, flipping through her notebook. “The color was called in last week by Andromeda VanDoren?”
Anne stood and folded her arms. “I ordered silver like you asked, Mama.”
“Oh,” the assistant’s brow furrowed. “Well, there’s only two numbers different from silver, so maybe I took it down wrong?”
“Of course you did.” Anne arched an eyebrow. “And you’d better get it fixed before the wedding.”
I would have bet my entire year’s salary that Anne had called in the number wrong on purpose. She’d been a bitter little witch the entire week whenever Persephone brought up the wedding.
“Okay,” Mrs. VanDoren put her hand out to her daughter to settle her down. “I’m sure something can be done. Let’s not panic. Claude, why don’t we step into the back and see what fabric you might have on hand. Cannon, do you mind waiting for just a second?”
“No, ma’am. I’ll be right here.” This entire shitstorm my life was wrapped up in was to make the woman happy, so I’d stand here until the shop closed if that accomplished the mission.
“Thank you, dear.” The three of them walked out of the fitting area, leaving me with Anne and a massive headache.
“Why don’t you call her Sephie? I’ve been meaning to ask you.” Anne asked as she walked closer.
“Because Sephie is the name of a child, and Persephone is a grown-ass woman,” I replied, examining the cuffs of the shirt.
“Hmmm. Is she, really?” Anne challenged as she walked around the dais, studying my pants. “The fit is good.” She grabbed a handful of my ass and squeezed. “Really good.”
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I seethed, stepping away from her. Was it the first time a woman had grabbed at me without my permission? No. Boundaries were something that some fans didn’t quite understand. However, it was the first time the sister of a woman I was involved with had done it.
Are you really involved with Persephone? Or just married to her?
“What does it look like I’m doing?” Anne stepped up on the dais and immediately came at me like I was going to welcome her advance.
“Back the fuck down,” I warned her as I stepped off the platform. “I’m married to your sister.” Jesus, Persephone was going to be crushed when I told her.
She scoffed. “Married? So what? Sisters share.” She shrugged.
“I’m not a fucking sweater from the GAP,” I hissed softly, hoping her mother wouldn’t hear. That would definitely fuck up mission Keep-Mom-Happy. I folded my arms across my chest and stood my ground. I wasn’t letting her chase me all over the goddamned shop.
“Like I’d shop at the GAP.” She stalked forward, eyeing me like prey. “And come on, Cannon. I know your rep, both on the ice and with the women. There’s no way a man like you could be satisfied with a frigid, fragile little princess like my sister.” She smirked. “Because I’m well aware that she doesn’t know how to please a man. And honestly, no man would look as frustrated as you do all the time if he was getting what he needed at home.”
“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Rage blossomed in my chest, fierce and undeniable. I’d never put my hands on a woman in my life, but I’d never encountered a snake like Anne, even living in some of the shittiest situations a kid could be put in.
“I’m sorry?” She looked genuinely confused.
“Holy shit, are you that used to getting your way that you can’t understand that I don’t want you? That there’s zero fucking chance I’d ever touch you willingly? Persephone is everything I’ve ever wanted. Everything I will ever want. So I’ll ask you again—are you out of your fucking mind?” It didn’t matter if I really was as sexually frustrated as she’d accused. Hell yes, I was on edge. I slept next to Persephone every single night, wondering if it would be the night I finally snapped and took everything she’d offered back in the library—took everything I wanted. My control was a single, thin, fraying thread when it came to my wife, but there wasn’t anyone else I wanted.
Anne’s eyes flew wide, but she stepped the fuck away from me, so I counted it as a victory.
“She sure as hell is!” Persephone stood in the doorway, looking furious as hell and all the more beautiful for it. And shit, her mother occupied the other.
“Sephie…” Anne turned with her palms facing outward. “You misheard—”
Persephone marched forward. “I didn’t mishear shit.”
“Girls,” their mother beseeched softly.
“No, Mama,” Persephone shook her head but didn’t look away from Anne. “She’s fucked up her last three marriages, and that’s on her. I’ll be damned if she’s going to try to come between my husband and me.”
Damn, my wife had bite. She wasn’t some docile little kitten, though her looks advertised otherwise. She was a full-grown tigress with the claws to match. She was holding her own in a situation where I would have stepped in front of her and handled a year ago. That emotion welling up through me? It was pride.
“That wasn’t—” Anne started.
“I heard it all!” Persephone snapped. “Now in the interest of our mother, I’m telling you to get in my car so I can take you back to my house, where you will promptly pack your shit.” Even with her sweet, southern drawl, the words packed a punch.
A corner of my mouth lifted at my wife’s use of shit, fucked, and damned in front of her mother.
“Oh…but…” Anne looked at her mother, who shook her head. Then she turned to me.
“What? Like I’m going to help you? What my wife says goes in our home.” I shrugged.
Defeated, Anne raised her chin in the air, plucked her bag off the couch, and walked out of the shop ahead of Persephone.
“I’ll see you at home?” I called out.
She turned and offered me a sad smile. “Don’t stay out too late.”
“I’m right behind you.”
With that promise, Persephone left the shop. The silence was broken by Mrs. VanDoren’s stuttered sigh.
“Don’t worry about them,” I assured her, sitting her down and cracking open a bottle of water for her.
She sipped at the water with a straight back and a shaky grip. “I’m so sorry, Cannon. Andromeda…she’s…” Her eyes squeezed shut.
“You don’t owe me an apology.”
“I do. I just…I love both of my girls. I need you to know that.”
“I do. They know it, too. And they’ll work it out. Don’t worry.” I spotted her driver lurking near the doorway.
“How do you know?”
“Well, first, Persephone agreed to drive her home. She’s not making her walk, and second, they’re sisters. I would do anything for my sister.”
She pressed her lips in a thin line but nodded. “Right. You’re one of the good ones, you know that? Persephone’s own knight in shining armor.” She patted my cheek, and I let her.
I muttered my thanks and made sure she got to the car safely with her driver, keeping my thoughts to myself.
I wasn’t Persephone’s knight. I was her personal devil.
I ditched the tux, then picked up takeout from Persephone’s favorite comfort food restaurant and headed back home. It had to have been about an hour and a half after she’d stormed out with Anne, which meant she’d had an hour to deal with her sister.
Carrying the takeout bag in one hand, I walked into the house through the garage, unsure of what was waiting for me.
The smell of bleach stung my nostrils as I hung my keys by the door. But it wasn’t Monday or Thursday, which meant Margaret, our housekeeper, hadn’t been here.
“Persephone?” I called out as I walked into the kitchen, where the bleach smelled the strongest. “Are you trying to get rid of a body? Because I’ve heard lye is the way to go.”
“Right here.” She was scrubbing the shit out of the counter in the corner of the kitchen.
“Everything okay?” I set the food on the counter and approached my wife carefully. For all the time I’d known Persephone, I’d never seen her so…frenzied.
“Of course, everything is okay!” she snapped, working an area of granite so hard I wondered if we’d have a permanent divot there. “Why wouldn’t it be okay?”
“Princess…”
“Don’t call me that! Not after she called me…what was it? A frigid, fragile little princess?” She moved slightly to her left and started scrubbing even harder.
“You’re not any of those things,” I said softly.
“You should have heard her once we got home.” She shook her head, flipped the sponge over, and started again. “Saying that I’d never keep you. That a man like you needed more than a woman like me. That I should have let her have you, because then at least you’d be satisfied enough to stick around with me, and the worst part is maybe she’s right!”
I reached my arms around her and captured a wrist in each hand. “Drop the sponge. You’re murdering our counter.”
“It’s not our counter!” she cried as the sponge slapped against the granite. “It’s yours because we’re not really married! I don’t care what that license in the safe says!”
My heart didn’t just hurt. It ached at the raw pain in her voice. I made quick work of removing her rubber gloves, then turned her in my arms and caged her against the counter so she wouldn’t run off before I’d had my say.
“Persephone.”
When she wouldn’t look at me, I tipped her chin up and found her blue eyes sparkling with tears and rage. Now that was a feeling I knew all too well.
“I don’t want your sister.” She looked away, and I waited until she dragged her gaze back to mine. “I wouldn’t want her even if I wasn’t married to you.”
“I appreciate that.” So ladylike.
“We’re legally married. That counter is half yours. It’s going to be all yours if you keep scrubbing it like it’s personally offended you.”
Her lips twitched in a smile, but it faded fast. “I’m just so mad. So fucking mad.”
“Damn, it’s hot when you swear,” I muttered with a grin.
“You’re beautiful when you smile.”
I blinked. Gorgeous, hot, fuckable…those were the compliments I was used to getting. “You’re always beautiful.”
Her lips parted.
I cleared my throat and backed up. “I know how to work out the rage.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Does it include removing my clothes so I can prove I’m not frigid?”
Damn, that word must have really hit home for her to dwell on it like this. “No, but it involves you getting cold.”
Her brow puckered, and I motioned for her to follow me. I led us through the kitchen and down the hall toward the steps that led to the basement. I flipped the switch and shut the door behind us as we descended, then opened the door at the bottom of the staircase as we approached.
Cold air smacked us in the face as I shut the rink door.
Persephone’s jaw dropped as she saw why this house only had two bedrooms. The entire basement was a half sheet of ice. “This is amazing.”
“Cost me a pretty penny, but it keeps me from punching the shit out of people when I get mad, so I figure it’s out-earned itself bail money.” I led her down the rubber-floored walkway to the alcove that served as my personal locker room. It was lined with four giant, wooden lockers. “You never realized it was here?”
She shook her head as I handed her a pair of brand new skates. “When you gave me the tour, you pointed to the basement door and grunted, ‘mine,’ so I steered clear.”
Had to love a girl who respected a man’s privacy. Love? I wiped that thought straight out of my head.
“Those are your size. I had them made for you when you moved in.” I quickly got my skates and sat on the wide wooden bench.
“That’s so sweet,” she whispered, running her fingers over the lavender laces. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” I motioned to the locker behind me. “I have a clean sweatshirt in there so you don’t freeze.”
She glanced down at her yoga pants and tank top. “Oh. Right. I changed right after I threw Anne in a cab.”
I quirked a brow as I started lacing my skates under my athletic pants. “No driver?”
“Nope. She can kiss my ass.”
I laughed, then helped her get her skates tied once she had my sweatshirt on. “They’re stiff when they’re new. You’ll have to break them in.”
“Are you saying I can skate down here?” she asked as we walked toward the ice. Her steps were steady. Good, she’d spent some time on skates.
“Any time you want.” I grabbed one of my sticks and one I’d bought for her, then picked up the bucket of pucks and stepped onto the ice. “Can you skate?”
“A little.” She glided out onto the ice easily. “I’ve never been in hockey skates, though. Only figure skating ones.”
I dumped the pucks in a pile about ten feet from the net as she made a small loop around the rink, testing out her skates. My sweatshirt dwarfed her, almost reaching her knees. She was pretty much shapeless in that thing, and yet I’d never seen her look sexier. Her hair was up in a knot, showing off the line of her neck, and something primal sat up and took notice when I saw her skate away with my number on her back.
“Okay, get over here and vent your rage,” I ordered, holding out her stick.
“Oh, I’m left-handed,” she remarked.
“I know. It’s a left-handed stick.”
Her eyes flared. “You notice way more than people give you credit for.”
“Not really. I just happen to notice everything about you. Now start shooting.” I moved over and took a few shots myself so I didn’t have to see her face after that comment. I wasn’t even sure why I’d said it, other than knowing that she needed to feel desirable, to know that her sister was an evil, wrong bitch for what she’d said.
“Lower,” I pointed to her hand. “You can’t grip it like a golf club.”
She swung again, and I cringed as the thousand dollar stick struck the ice at the completely wrong angle. “I can’t even do this right!”
I skated over and stopped a few inches from her. “Let me help.”
“How the hell do you skate like that?” She shook her head. “I mean, I know you’re the fastest skater in the NHL or whatever, but you seriously move like those things are part of your feet.”
“Fastest skater or whatever,” I muttered with another grin as I spun her around. “Leave it to you to minimize my number one selling point.” Wrapping my arms around her from behind, I put my hands over hers to give her the right grip.
“It’s just never been what I think of when you come to mind.” She turned her head so her lips nearly grazed my cheek.
Fuck, she smelled like apple blossoms again, and the scent went straight to my dick. After living with the woman for the past six weeks, I’d hoped that her effect on me would lessen, but that wasn’t the case. I just found more things to like about her and had more chances to stare at her, which led back to finding more things I liked about her.
“Okay, then what comes to mind when you think about me?” I challenged her, working her arms through the shot.
“Well, first impression was your reflexes.” She smiled, and I swore to God, I felt my chest crack open. “Because you caught me.”
“In the hallway. I remember.” I backed away after the second shot she took, letting her find her own rhythm.
“And then I realized how smart you are. Stubborn closely followed.” She shrugged at me, but she was still smiling when she turned to fire more and more shots at the net.
“Hmmm.”
“That’s a lie…” She turned to me, wobbling for a second on her skates, but catching her balance.
“I’m not stubborn?” I fired a puck at the net, hitting the top right pocket.
She followed my shot and rolled her eyes. “Oh, no. You’re as stubborn as a mule. I mean, I recognized your reflexes first, but then I looked up at you and thought you were the most beautiful man I’d ever seen.”
My grip slackened on my stick, and I nearly dropped it.
“I still think that.”
“Figured the tattoos would have scared you off.” My fingers spread over my sternum, trying to rub away the glow that her words sparked.
“Nope.” She skated closer, running into me slightly when she couldn’t stop. I gripped her elbows to steady her, then let go. “You’ve never scared me. Infuriated me? Absolutely. Frustrated me? Daily. But I’ve always known I was safe with you.”
“You are.” The words came out embarrassingly gruff.
“I know. The artwork doesn’t hide the man you are, Cannon.” She swallowed and looked away. “Thanks for bringing me down here. You definitely worked off the anger to a manageable level.” She gave me a half-hearted, fake smile, and skated off the ice.
We’d left a mess on the ice that I’d have to clean up later, but that little stomp of frustration coming from the bench area told me Persephone was the bigger mess, so I skated her way.
I came off the ice and propped my stick in the rack next to hers. “Why don’t we scrap the dinner I brought home and eat out—hey, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Go skate.” Her muffled voice came through her hands, where she sat on the bench, holding her head.
“Bullshit.” I dropped to my knees in front of her and lifted one of her skates into my lap. Her feet were so small compared to mine. “Start talking.” My fingers made quick work of the unlacing.
“Why?” She raised an eyebrow at me and pursed those kissable lips. “It’s not like you talk to me.”
“I’m also not the one who needs to do the talking.” I gripped her calf lightly and removed the skate.
“Because you’re such a well-balanced, open book.”
She had a point. Fuck, this was why I avoided relationships at all costs. I liked my life the way it was and didn’t want to drag out old shit by talking about it. But I didn’t mind her knowing a little more about me as long as she didn’t mind when she found something she didn’t like.
“Fine. I’ll answer one of your questions if you answer mine,” I offered as I picked up the next skate and put it in my lap.
“What was your first impression of me?” she questioned softly.
I glanced up at her, then focused on untying her skate. “That you were clumsy as hell.”
She scoffed. “Seriously? I give you beautiful, and you give me clumsy? This game sucks.”
I smiled as my fingers yanked her laces free easily. Then I did the same move with her leg, cupping her calf and taking off the skate, but this time I didn’t let her leg go when the skate hit the floor. “I couldn’t let you fall. You looked tiny and as delicate as glass, and I was afraid you’d shatter if you hit the floor. Irrational, but that was my first thought.”
I dragged my gaze up over my Reaper hoodie and found her eyes already on me, searching for something I didn’t know how to give her. But I wanted to. For the first time in my life, I wanted to please someone who wasn’t in a position of power. Old childhood habits died hard.
“Tiny. Well, I guess I am short.” She shrugged.
“You guess?”
“Anyone is short next to someone who’s six-five.” Her nose crinkled as a smile spread across her face.
“True.” It was the smile that broke me. “I thought you looked like an angel.”
She sucked in a breath, her eyes flaring.
“I got you back on your feet, and your eyes…” I slammed mine shut for a second, remembering the moment. “Everything about you cut me to the quick because I knew you were the kind of woman I could never have.”
The air between us thickened with that electrical charge I only felt around her.
“Okay.” She nodded, not asking why I could never have her. Somehow this woman knew exactly when to push and when to let something go when it came to me. “I was thinking about what Andromeda said.”
I nodded, figuring that had been it. “And?”
“Maybe I am frigid. Maybe that’s how I wound up a twenty-four-year-old virgin.” She gave me a self-deprecating little chuckle. “I just never felt that hunger for someone before, you know? Not that I haven’t been to third base. I have. I’m not completely inexperienced or anything. But when my boyfriends would press me for sex, I’d just break off the relationship, because let’s face it. If you’ve been dating someone for six months and still don’t want to sleep with them, something’s wrong.”
Suddenly I wanted to know the name of the guy who’d made it to third base with her and permanently remove his hands. Jealous much?
“I agree. And you’re not frigid.” My hands moved to her knees.
“You can tell that from one little kiss?”
“Yes. But I knew that the minute you bought me at the date auction.”
Her cheeks colored. “Right. That. I was just trying to save you from—”
“From the hot brunette in the second row?” I teased.
“Was she hot?” Persephone blinked at me with mock innocence. “I guess I didn’t notice.”
“Right. Look, no woman who’s frigid or scared of sex climbs a man like a tree in her dad’s study and then begs him to keep going when his hand is one scrap of lace away from her pussy.” There. I said it.
Her jaw dropped.
“I couldn’t think of a less vulgar way to put it.” I shrugged.
“You put it just fine.” Her hands gripped the edge of the bench on either side of her knees. “I didn’t want you to stop.”
“Persephone.” It came out as a strangled plea. For what? For her to stop? Or for her to continue?
“Was my sister right? Am I keeping you from finding…satisfaction because I’ve got you tangled up in this marriage?”
“I haven’t been satisfied since the day I met you,” I admitted, knowing my honesty would eventually come back to bite me in the ass. “But if you’re asking if I’m going to lose control of my cock because I haven’t gotten laid in the last few months, then the answer is no. And as for what your sister said—I got more satisfaction from kissing you than I have from any sexual encounter I’ve ever had.” It was true. Sex had stopped being fulfilling once I’d laid eyes on Persephone. Once I started seeking out brunettes so I couldn’t give in to the fantasy and pretend I had her beneath me.
“I bought you because I didn’t want to see you leave with another woman,” she admitted in a whisper.
“No.” My hands flexed, sliding up to her mid-thigh as need pooled, thick and heavy in my dick. This was a bad idea. We had to put the walls up. Had to ignore the attraction. This could only end in two ways—badly or fucking horribly.
“It’s true,” she snapped. “I didn’t want to think about you on a date with someone else. Not that I didn’t hear about your escapades from the gossip mill, but that night I just couldn’t stand to know I’d sent you on a date with someone else.”
I rose on my knees, bringing us level. “No. You bought me because you couldn’t stand to think about me fucking someone else. It had nothing to do with the date.” I pushed her thighs apart and filled the space between them, leaving only inches between us.
“Maybe.” Her breath hitched.
“No maybe about it, Princess.” My hands rose on her thighs until I gripped her hips.
“Don’t—”
“I call you Princess because to me, you’re untouchable. You’re so far out of my fucking league that you might as well be royalty. Not because you’re cold or fragile, because you’re not. I’ve felt the passion in you, and you prove to me every single day that you’re anything but delicate. Don’t punish me for shit your sister says and stop letting her in your head. I call you Princess because you’re fucking flawless. That’s what I saw that day in the hallway. What I see every time I look at you. You. Are. Fucking. Flawless.”
Her mouth was on mine before I could comprehend what I’d just admitted to her. Her tongue licked at the seam of my lips, and I opened on instinct, then groaned at the taste and feel of her. Fuck, I hadn’t imagined it, hadn’t blown it out of proportion. Our chemistry was combustible.
I raised a hand to the nape of her neck, then slid my fingers into her hair, not caring that I was fucking up her little messy bun. Then I tilted her head and kissed her hard and deep, pouring every single ounce of my need and frustration from the last week into it. I kissed her like I’d wanted to when she’d walked out of my bathroom in that damned silk nightgown. Like I’d wanted to every morning when I found her sleeping peacefully next to me.
She gripped the back of my neck and held me tight against her, whimpering slightly when I’d pull back, just to fall into her again. How the hell was I going to walk away from this woman when I was already addicted to her?
I’d been addicted since the moment we met.
Her hands slid down my torso, and I felt my shirt rise over my stomach. I broke our kiss and raised my arms as she took it off. She looked over my body with hungry eyes that showed nothing but appreciation. Then her fingers followed just above my skin, no doubt remembering how I’d reacted in the locker room, air-tracing my tattoos from the dragon that breathed fire from my left shoulder to the inked hands that looked as though they were reaching across my pecs to grip the flaming, crowned heart detailed in the center of my chest.
“It’s the only empty place,” she whispered as her fingers framed the colorless, empty heart. “Why?”
“To remind me that no one owns me.”
Her gaze flickered to mine, but I let her finish her exploration up my neck, where the tats ended until she cupped my face. “You are extraordinary.”
I kissed her in reply, pulling her against my chest, then lifted myself in the same motion to spin her back on the bench so she sprawled out beneath me. This thing was three feet wide, and I was suddenly thankful for every inch. She broke away, sending my hoodie, then her tank top to the floor, leaving her in a cream-colored lace bra that cupped her breasts.
“God. Persephone. Don’t—” I shook my head, but she was already tugging me back down to her mouth, to her kiss that stole my words away.
I trailed kisses down her jaw, then skimmed her neck, pausing just above that magical little place that had driven her mad in the study. I tested my little theory, kissing, then sucking lightly on the spot.
She arched beneath me as goosebumps rose down her arms, so I did it again and again until her fingers threaded through my hair, and she sighed my name.
One day I’d make her scream it.
Ignoring the caution lights in my brain, I kissed my way down to her collarbone, then to the valley between her breasts. Persephone might have been petite, but her breasts weren’t—they were the perfect size to fill my hands, but not overflow them. The pale, soft orbs rose with every breath, and my mouth fucking watered as I lowered my lips to the nipple that showed through the lace.
“Persephone?” I asked, hovering above her.
“God, yes!” She arched, bringing her breast to my lips. I licked and sucked her through the fabric while I palmed its partner, then groaned when she filled my hand exactly like I thought she would. She was so responsive beneath me, like a living flame, and I wanted to feel her skin under my tongue, not this lace.
I reached under her back and unfastened her bra with one hand. She stripped it off herself, leaving her bare to the cool air of the rink. Perfect breasts. Perfect, pink nipples. Perfect Persephone.
“I told you. Fucking flawless.” Our eyes locked for an instant, hers glazed with want.
She cried out when I sucked her into my mouth, my tongue swirling over her as her hips rose beneath me. I let myself rock against her once, my cock hard and insistent at the seam of her pants.
“Cannon,” she moaned, sending another jolt of white-hot need down my spine. Her hand reached across my abdomen, and I barely caught her before she got to my cock. “Please? Let me.”
I rose above her. “You touch me, and we’ll violate rule number five,” I growled against her mouth.
“Then fuck rule number five.” She stared up at me with heavy, crystal blue eyes. “Please, Cannon. I want you. I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you.” She nipped at my lower lip to make her point.
Her first time wasn’t going to be on a goddamned bench. It wasn’t even going to be with me. Pain, sharp and vicious, ripped through my chest at the thought, but it was true. The only way to get us out of this thing unscathed was to hold to that fucking rule.
“Please,” she repeated, rocking her hips so my cock gave her the friction she sought. “God, you feel good. You make me feel good. Please don’t stop.”
I groaned from both the pleasure screaming through my body and the heady nature of her words. Fuck, her breaths were coming faster, her thighs were tight around my hips, and she was flushed from cheeks to breasts. Getting her off would be so fucking easy, and then at least one of us would get some relief.
I sank into her kiss and sent my hand down her belly, savoring the dips and hollows of her curves until I reached her waistband.
“This is up to you,” I reminded her in the softest voice I could manage.
“Teach me.” She placed her own hand on top of mine and then guided me under that fabric, and then the soft lace of her thong. Holy shit, the woman wore garters and thongs. I wasn’t just fucked, I was royally, completely fucked.
“Take whatever you want,” she whispered in my ear as she slipped her hand free, then sucked on my lobe gently.
I shuddered at the simple caress. “I’m not taking. I’m giving,” I promised.
Then I braced my weight carefully on my elbow, rolling slightly to the side, and kissed her senseless while my fingers trailed down, down, and found her wet and slick.
“Fuck,” I growled. “Persephone.” She was ready. So fucking ready. My cock pulsed in time with my heartbeat as I parted her, then slid my finger from her pussy to her clit.
She cried out, gripping my neck and my arm, her eyes flying to mine. “Again,” she demanded. “Do it again.”
So I did. I circled her clit and teased every nerve ending until she swelled beneath my fingers, and she soaked the fabric of her thong. Her hips rose and fell with my touch, trying to gain enough control to ride my hand. I gave her a touch then backed away, barely brushing her clit, then retreated as she started to writhe beneath me. Pure fucking fire.
“Cannon! Touch me!” she shouted.
“I am touching you.” I swirled two fingers around her opening, then dragged them up and around her clit. I could play this woman all goddamn night and never get bored. Fuck that, I could play her body for the rest of my life.
“You know what I mean!” She kissed me, and I nearly gave in as her tongue worked over mine. Her hips bucked under my hand, and I flicked her clit once. She cried out again.
“Tell me why you bought me.” I kissed the edge of her mouth. “Tell me why you didn’t send me out with someone else.”
Her eyes locked on mine, fierce and wild. Then she softened. “Because I wanted you, damn it! Because I didn’t want you to fuck another woman. I wanted you to fuck me, and it was the closest—”
I pressed down on her clit as satisfaction roared through my veins. She’d wanted me. Not the hotshot, douchebag banker. Me.
She moaned, loud and long as I stroked her over and over. “Yes. God, yes. More. Cannon, more.”
If she ever realized the power she held over me every time she said my name like that, I’d be done for. I circled her pussy, and slid one finger in slowly.
“Is that what you want?” I asked, sucking at that spot on her neck.
“Yes!” she shouted.
She was so fucking tight, her muscles constricting around that one finger. Virgin, I reminded myself, and slowed even more, stroking her walls as I began to pump her slowly while my thumb worked her clit. When she started to ride that finger, I nearly came in my fucking pants like a teenager. Her sensuality was off the charts. How could she ever believe she was cold?
I carefully added a second finger and ground my dick against the bench to keep myself under control. God, she would feel so good around me—all hot, wet silk when I—
No. Because I wasn’t ever going there.
Her breath came in stuttered gasps as she kissed me, her fingernails digging into my skin, reminding me that this wasn’t a dream. I had her beneath me. Her tongue was in my mouth. My fingers were in her pussy. For this exquisite moment, she was mine.
Her thighs began to tremble, and she keened a cry that was half pleasure, half plea. I found that spot inside her and rubbed at her while my thumb gave her the pressure she needed.
“I would have bought you, too,” I admitted in a harsh whisper before she exploded beneath me.
She screamed my name, her hands gripping me tight as her pussy convulsed around me, clamping down on my fingers as she rode out her orgasm. It was the most beautiful sight I’d ever seen.
I stroked her down until she was through the aftershocks. Then I slipped my finger free of her heat as she gasped for breath, going limp beneath me.
“Holy shit,” she muttered as her head rolled toward mine. Her eyes were even bluer, the shade somehow clearer as she looked at me.
I lifted my fingers to my mouth and licked the taste of her clean, knowing her in the only way I’d let myself. Sweet and salty and decadent, just like the woman herself.
She whimpered. “That’s really…God, that’s hot.” She leaned up on her elbows. “Now you.”
“No.” I stood, somewhat surprised that my skates were still on. “Never me. I won’t go there with you.”
“What?” Hurt flashed in her eyes. “Why?”
“Because it would ruin us both.” I found my shirt and pulled it on, not caring that it was inside out.
“That’s not true. You want me. It’s pretty damned obvious.” She looked at my cock, then looked again, her eyes widening.
“It’s not about wanting. It’s about making sure we both survive this…marriage.” I ripped my hands over my hair. “Now, please, for both our sakes, walk away.”
“I don’t want to walk away. I want you.”
She sat up completely, her perfect breasts swaying with the motion.
I groaned but managed to back up farther toward the ice. “I have never asked you for anything, Persephone, but I’m asking you this. Don’t push me. Have mercy on us both and walk up those stairs.”
I turned abruptly and skated onto the ice, grabbing my stick as I went. I slammed at least twenty pucks into the net before I found the willpower to turn around.
Thank God, she was gone.
But I could still taste her.
