Page 32 of Arranged Control

And such a freaking prick?

“Good morning, princess,” he says, not looking back at me.

How the hell did he know?!

I sink back down behind the couch and curl into a ball. I don’t bother to reply. I listen to him steaming milk and running water. The smell of coffee finally makes me open my eyes.

He puts a steaming latte down on the table in front of me and takes a spot on the couch, lifting my feet to put them in his lap.

The brazen asshole. There’s plenty of space at the other end!

He sips his drink.

“Our first morning of blissful matrimony,” he says with a big smile. “It’s going to be a beautiful day.”

I yank my feet away. I can feel his dick under my heel, and I definitely don’t need that right now. “What time is it?”

He checks his watch. It’s a Rolex. Who the hell sleeps in a Rolex? “A little past seven.”

“You’re the sickest man alive.” I groan and take my coffee in both hands, sitting as far from him as I can.

“I think it’s better to face the day than to hide from it.”

“I think it’s better to get a full eight hours of sleep. Ten if I’m in a bad mood.”

“Ah, how can you be in a bad mood with a view like that?” He stands and gazes out the big windows. The light streams around him, making his firm ass shine like the freaking sun. I stare at his body before curling up even tighter around myself.

It’s not fair. It’s just sinful to have an ass like that.

“I need to shower,” I say, leaping up. I drink more coffee as I hurry away. “You can be gone when I get out!”

“No thanks,” he says, still standing at the window, still nearly naked and godlike and beautiful. “Don’t busy yourself too much in there. You’re a married woman now. You have a husband to handle your needs.”

“I’m not going to—” He’s grinning at me, clearly just trying to rile me up. I hurry away, cheeks burning red, because it definitely worked.

What a terrible start to our marriage.

First, he runs my boyfriend out of town, then he comes over and we have sex, which was obviously a mistake.

Next, the wedding gets ruined by a murder, of all things.

And last, and maybe worst, he walks around my apartment wearing nearly nothing like he owns the place.

I don’t even know what I can do about it.

Technically, the man’s my husband now. He’s not breaking any rules. If anything, my family would encourage this behavior.

They want an heir.

Which means I have to get pregnant.

From Seamus.

And his huge dick.

God damn it.

I take a long, leisurely shower, hoping he’ll be gone when I’m done. Instead, I find him sitting in my living room, still shirtless, but mercifully with his rumpled suit pants on.