Marry Screw Kill(3)

I have no other family.

I am alone.





Chapter Two


“When drowning, one grabs the first lifeline thrown without regard to who holds the rope.”



Four months later…



James silences his blaring alarm clock in the early morning darkness of our bedroom. He falls back on the bed with a sigh as I face the wall, feigning sleep. Not moving a muscle, I wait for what comes next. He’ll either get out of bed or climb on top of me. When I sense a slight movement from his side of the bed, I hold my breath.

“Come here, Harlow.” His hand curls around my waist and he rolls my body over to face him. Morning sex it is. He pushes away the tangled bed hair covering my eyes as I blink the sleep from them. “There’s my beautiful girl.” He kisses my forehead with a soft brush of his lips.

“Morning,” I reply in a sleepy, hoarse voice. He pulls down the twisted covers and exposes our naked bodies. His gaze travels over me, lingering on his favorite spots—ones he knows very well.

“What a sight to wake up to.” He hovers above my body and looks down at me with hooded eyes. “My day is always better when I start it inside you. Now, spread those long legs so I can f*ck you.”

I part my legs and my day begins…

***

On the mornings James craves sex, he also craves a home-cooked breakfast. The exertion ravishes him, or so he says. I slip on the silk robe he bought from a Paris designer and head down to the kitchen, aiming straight for the coffee pot. A fitful sleep last night makes me feel more worn out than awake. I set the pot to brew and turn on the television to break the stillness while I get the eggs out of the fridge.

Fifteen minutes later, James walks into the kitchen, a transformed man after a shower and shave. Dressed to perfection in a suit and tie, he fits the stereotypical definition of tall, dark, and handsome. He’s definitely the hottest forty-one-year-old man alive—doesn’t look a day over thirty-five.

“Something smells good.” A teasing grin crosses his lips as he sidles up behind me. He slides his hands up my bare legs under my robe; his sexual desires are relentless at times. I spin out of his grasp.

“How about some coffee?” I open the cabinet to retrieve a cup in an attempt to divert his attention from my rebuff. When I turn around, he narrows his eyes into a scowl. I’m busted.

“When my hands are on you, don’t you ever move away from me.” He smiles calmly, though his words are threatening, and takes a step toward me. I scoot back against the counter to gain space between us. One more step, and the space disappears. “Understand?”

“Yes.” I nod, and he brings his face closer to mine.

“Let’s get one thing straight.” Staring at me with a look crossing between anger and passion, he parts my silk robe. It falls from my shoulders, exposing my breasts. Not satisfied, he pulls the sash at my waist and the rest puddles onto the floor.

I stand before him bare while his eyes burn my flesh. He touches my hands as they hang at my side and trails his fingers up my arms. Goose bumps run across my skin before he reaches my elbows.

“Mmm,” he hums, the sound of his desire vibrating between us.

“These lips are mine.” James brings his thumbs up to my mouth and traces over my lips, easing them apart. He inserts a thumb and I suck on it until my cheeks are hollow, watching his eyes grow darker. “You’re a naughty tease, Harlow. The innocence of an angel’s face, but the body and mouth of a vixen.”

James traces his thumbs down my neck and over my collarbone, stopping at my breasts. “Mine.” His fingers twist and pull at my nipples, and my eyes shutter. “Look at me, Harlow.” I raise my lids at his command. “I can’t get enough of you. Do you feel the passion between us?”

I briefly close my eyes, steeling myself for my second acting performance of the day. The feelings will follow, I tell myself, I just need more time. Naturally, my body reacts to his physical touch, but my passion is frozen away deep inside me.

Until the feelings surface, I’ve decided the truth would hurt him more than the lies, so I stuff away the guilt and hope he believes my words are true.

“Yes,” I breathe. “I feel it.”

When I speak this lie, a fissure cracks open in my heart, pulling us further and further apart. I want to unravel under his touch, get lost in his love, but those feelings won’t surface no matter how hard I try. The want and yearning isn’t enough.

Bending slightly, he places his large hands around my waist and lifts me onto the counter as if I weigh nothing more than a feather. He tugs me forward to the edge and widens my legs, exposing me to him.

“Your breakfast,” I tilt my head toward the stove where his eggs sit in the pan, “is getting cold.”

“Before I eat the delicious breakfast you made me, I’m going to eat you.” Holy shit.

James genuflects like an act of worship before me and pulls my hips to him. He consumes me without hesitation, leaving me no time to think. I place my hands flat behind me for balance and drop my head back. Closing my eyes tight, I surrender. He takes command of my body while my mind centers on where he touches me. My surroundings fade away and the harder I focus, the more pleasure I eventually feel.

His touch will bring me to release, but if I have to work this hard, something’s missing. I wonder if he knows how I struggle, or if I’ve hidden it from him. If he does, he hides it from me, too. Frustrated, I concentrate harder, hoping a spark of deep desire ignites.