Making Her Mine

She laughs a little. “Why ten minutes?”

“Because after ten minutes, I’m going to make love to you so your primary emotion then should be lust.”

Her cheeks turn pink. “And this?” She points at the plate of brownies.

“To make sure your other appetite is fed. Obviously these aren’t as good as you make, but they’re not terrible.” I place the cup of milk on the side. “My mom always made me hot milk whenever I felt sick and I hated it but never told her because I didn’t want her to feel bad. Don’t do that to me. Tell me if you hate milk or chocolate brownies or pizza.”

“Um, those are all my favorites but I’m going to spill the brownies on the sheets.” She slides into a seated position and accepts the plate from me. “What then?”

“Then we throw it on the floor, and it gets washed and dried with the rest of the stuff by the laundry fairy aka the person that Violet hired to do all the cleaning because we both hate it.”

“Okay then,” she laughs again. “I’m used to doing all the laundry and I guess it seemed like an extra task that I didn’t want to burden myself with.”

“Good news. There are no extra burdens in this house. You’re entering a period of rest. You’ve worked hard all your life to provide for you and Ryan, and now you’re going to take it easy. I’m going to find another job for Clare, so don’t worry about that either.”

She takes a bite of the dessert before saying, “I haven’t even given Clare a second thought.”

“When were you supposed to? In between worrying the Antonovs were going to slit your dad’s throat, assault you and end your brother, you were also supposed to plan out Clare’s retirement party?”

“I’m supposed to be feeling sorry for myself. This is part of it,” she says defensively.

Well, shit. “All right. I’m shutting the fuck up.” I brush away the crumbs that have escaped the plate.

“Ugh, I’m getting it everywhere.” She scrunches her nose. “I think I’m going to have to shower again.”

“Sounds terrible. Let me help you.” I scoop her into my arms and carry her into the bathroom immediately because a wet and naked Eden is my idea of paradise. Since all she’s wearing is my shirt, it’s easy enough to get her down to skin. I close my eyes for a second and pray for patience. She makes a small shy laugh that arrows straight to my cock.

Manfully, I gather my self-control and throw a towel over her. She bursts out laughing. “Really?”

“Yeah. I can’t look at your hot ass self and not want to violate you six ways to Sunday so wear the towel for my peace of mind.” I jerk my head toward the shower on the other side of the room. “We just had sex in there so that’s all I can think about.”

She sinks into the rising water. “I’ll try to be modest.”

“Appreciate the efforts.” I leave the tub and rummage around for a bottle of lotion. Violet keeps the house well stocked and I find something that doesn’t smell like it belongs on a lumberjack. "Sorry I don’t have anything prettier. This”—I sniff the liquid—“citrus and wood shit will have to do.”

“I’ll survive.”

I turn off the spouts now that the water is lapping close to the edge and pull the soaked towel out of the tub and toss it aside. I start with her feet, massaging them and running the soap-slicked towel over her ankles and up her calves.

“I like that you don’t have pretty stuff. It means that you didn’t regularly entertain women in here.”

“Sweetheart, there haven’t been any women in this tub. You’re it. You’re soaking in its maiden voyage.” She is the only woman that will ever be here. My wife. I finish washing her legs, saving her sex for later.

She sits up. “You’re serious?”

“Mmm-hmmm.” This bath thing might not have been the best idea. She’s naked and wet with little sudsy bubbles freckling her skin. Her tits bob like happy peaches in the water with her darker areolas enticing me to dive in for a suck. I run the rough washcloth around her shoulder and down over the tip of her breast. She stops breathing for a second. I drop the cloth in the water. “Time’s up,” I growl.

I sweep her out of the water, uncaring that it splashes everywhere. She releases a choked laugh and clings to me as I practically run out of the bathroom to the bed. I toss her down, naked and wet. My clothes go flying—pants on the end of the bed, shirt over a table, boxer briefs kicked who knows where.

I grab her thighs and spread her open. Her hand flies down to cover her sex. “No, sweetheart. Don’t hide from me.”