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She’s a devil disguised as an angel.
“Dance, little Rogue. Or else your boss is going to be disappointed.”
Her lip disappears behind her teeth, and I want to smear the red lipstick off her lips in the worst way, because as sexy as she is like this, I liked her better with hardly any makeup on and wearing a faded Blue Devils sweatshirt.
“Sit,” I demand.
“No.”
Why is that word so enticing coming from her mouth? Her defiance is a tem...
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I’ve gotta admit, this is probably the most romantic way anyone has ever asked a woman to marry them. A forced lap dance in a strip club, with a prenup, NDA, and a contract waiting to be signed in my car. What can I say? I’m a romantic at heart.
“You want me to be your wife?” The word falls from my mouth like it’s poison. I can hardly say it. “Are you crazy?”
He smirks. “All goalies are crazy.”
“You don’t own her.” Russ looks at me over his shoulder before Emory chuckles and finishes his sentence. “I do.”
“You got something to say, Rogue?”
I quietly hiss. “You do not own me, Olson.”
“You’re kinda cute when you’re angry.”
I blink twice, and he’s already halfway down the hallway, walking toward the back door, leaving me standing there with smeared lipstick and spinning thoughts.
Scottie Olson. I guess it has a ring to it.
“Are you asking me if I expect you to put out for me when we’re behind closed doors?” My lips part, and nothing comes out of my mouth. He smooths his forehead and shows me that cocky grin of his. “Or are you asking me to touch you behind closed doors?”
“It’s Mrs. Olson,” Emory corrects him, as calm as ever. His fingers tighten against my biceps, and my heart does a weird flip. “I don’t want to hear you threaten my wife again.”
I’ll admit, Emory makes me a little nervous. He can be intimidating, and arrogance practically bleeds from his pores. But in the same breath, he intrigues me, and there’s a wild part of me that wants to push his buttons like he does mine.
There stands my new wife, bound by a feigned contract, wearing a wedding dress that accentuates every delectable curve of her body and highlights how tragically beautiful she truly is. With bright-blue eyes and high cheekbones that shimmer under the natural light of the room, I’m sort of at a loss for words.
“You want me to act like I’m kissing you?”
“Why not an actual kiss?” he asks, pulling me in closer.
“Too afraid you’ll like my mouth on yours, Rogue?”
Emory looks at me like he wants to devour me and take his time doing it too.
I drop my gaze to her bare legs, and she’s lucky that I get a glimpse of the tight black shorts she’s wearing underneath. Otherwise, I’d turn her right around and send her upstairs to demand she put some pants on. The last thing I need is my fake wife walking around the house without pants.
Her eye roll excites me. My new daily goal is to irritate her and watch her blue eyes fill with annoyance.
“I don’t remember seeing it in the contract.”
“If I’m paying for it, what does it matter?” I lean away from her because the longer I breathe her in, the higher I feel. “Not to mention, the contract says I’m responsible for paying the bills.”
“It’s my bill. No...
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“You’re on my plan now, baby. So, it...
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I’m not sure I have ever had a woman talk to me the way Scottie does. She looks so sweet with her sunshiny appearance. Her light hair and eyes are appealing and soft in ways that draw everyone in a little closer, but that mouth is going to drive me absolutely crazy.
“I have my ways of punishing you that have nothing to do with violating the contract,” I rasp.
“You’re tempting me to prove a point.” His answer snaps me out of my thoughts. “What point?” “That you’re mine.”
“I’m going to kiss you.”
My eyes widen.
“Prepare yourself because, remember, everyone in this club thinks I’ve fucked you, Scott...
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“If you don’t want me to touch you, tell me now. Otherwise, I won’t be able to stop.” His hand freezes, and I almost pout. “I’m a man, and you’re in my bed, wearing my shirt without any panties on, looking at me with those blue eyes full of want.”
Every single time I’ve caught Emory staring at me since I ended up in his bed, heat rushes to all the quiet parts of my body, and my mind fills with the most inappropriate thoughts.
This isn’t for her. It’s for me. I want to touch her even if I keep denying it. In fact, the more I deny it, the worse it gets.
I should stop, but I can’t. I deepen the kiss and open my eyes to watch. When my teeth sink into her plump bottom lip, her eyes flutter apart, and I can no longer deny the urge I have to make her mine. When I finally let up on her mouth, we both turn to look at our audience. It’s the cleaning personnel. I silently thank them for stepping in and giving me a reason to kiss my fake wife, because fuck, it felt so damn good, and I can’t find it in myself to regret it.
“I’m picturing my wife on her knees, sucking me off until I can’t take it anymore.”
His wife. Why do I love the sound of that?
“Like I said,” I repeat, “your secrets are safe with me. Who’s going to know that you came into my bathroom late at night and watched me fuck my hand at the thought of you on your knees and then got yourself off on top of my bathroom counter?”
“Hasn’t anyone ever told you how irresistible you are?”
“What can I say to get you to see what I see when I look at you?”
“The only desperation I see is how desperate you are for me to touch you again.”
I think my fake wife just became my vice.
There is something about her touch that calms my world, and the urge to pull her in closer is getting worse as each day passes by.
Because when she's in my line of sight, all I fucking think about is her.
“All the more reason for me to reserve my self-control.” I stare at her mouth, and mine waters. “So either get out of our bed or get over here and act like my wife.”
My thoughts are spiraling. My touches are lingering. My mouth begs to be on hers.
