Page 25 of Darkness Tempt Me (Bloody Desires #7)

Chapter twenty-two

Peyton

S unlight streams through the windows. For some unbeknownst reason, I reach my hand out, looking for my husband. It’s been six days since we got married, and five nights since I started sleeping in the fucking guest room.

Yeah, I’m still salty that I didn’t have sex on my wedding night, or hell, I haven’t had sex since getting married.

Memories of our wedding night come to mind.

Oh god. I can’t believe I confessed some of my fantasies to him.

I remember how hard he was with me in his lap, so he’s clearly attracted to me.

Maybe he isn’t into any of the things I said?

Flushing with heat, I groan, covering my face with a pillow. I mean, I was practically dry humping his cock. It was probably just basic biology that he was hard. Maybe he isn’t into me at all.

Memories of him whispering to Hunter that night fill me with rage. What were they talking about? Why are there still so many secrets between us? Six days and we don’t share a room. Mavik has snuck out of the house at least three times since we got married, and I have no idea why.

My phone vibrates with a notification.

Mavik: I had to head into work early.

Of course he did .

Mavik: I can’t wait to see you. I have a surprise for you.

I jerk upright in bed and reread the text. Shit. I’m so pathetic. One little text and I’m buzzing with happiness. Screw it. No one has to know how lame I am.

Spotting the shimmery white box that was supposed to be reserved for my wedding night, I tug the lid off and smile down at the lacy material.

As I get ready for work, I convince myself that our marriage might just be a way for him to easily secure his company.

It might be fake, but there’s nothing stopping me from trying to make it real.

I mean, isn’t that what his uncle wanted?

For Mavik to be happy for a year? Why can’t I try to make him happy?

We’re leaving for our honeymoon next week.

Maybe by the time we leave, I can have him convinced that we could have a real honeymoon together.

I’m so excited to see Mavik that I skip my usual trip to the café. Sorry Billy. Not today.

That text apparently worked better than a shot of caffeine.

When I step onto the elevator, I’m still buzzing.

By the time I get to my desk, I’m so excited I almost walk right by it, eager to get to my boss.

Instead, my mouth falls open in shock when I take in all the balloons and presents sitting there.

Iris nudges me playfully. “Looks like you got yourself a hubby that likes to spoil you,” she teases.

Tears spring to my eyes. My whole desk is decorated.

It must have taken him a while to put this together.

“Oh my gosh,” I say, connecting the dots.

“It’s why he left our place early.” I pick up the large gift in the middle of my desk.

It’s a stunning, high-quality leather bag with a ribbon on top of it.

I remove the ribbon and gasp, my hand flying to my chest. Engraved on the leather in pretty script is: Peyton Blackwood .

With trembling fingers, I unwrap the straps and open the bag. Inside are several wood chisels, carving knives, whittling knives, a polishing compound, and a leather strop. The tears spill onto my cheeks. No one has ever given me something this thoughtful.

Iris peers over my shoulder and scrunches her nose. “Is that some kind of kill kit?”

I burst into laughter and wipe my eyes. “What? No, you’re crazy.

It’s for my wood carving. These tools are going to make it so much easier to carve with.

Oh my god, Iris. This is probably the best gift I’ve ever gotten.

” I place the bag carefully on my desk. “Will you take my calls for a bit? I need to thank my husband properly.”

Iris giggles, eyes wide. “Sure thing, honey.”

After wiping away my tears and making sure I look presentable, I walk into Mavik’s office, locking the door behind me.

He’s on the phone and looks up at me briefly before holding up his index finger.

I hear him say Hunter’s name, and I hate the jealousy that fills me, but I can’t help it.

Hunter is gorgeous and rich. Not to mention, they have a history together.

Mavik is practically vibrating in his seat.

He’s usually always so calm and collected; his only tell is the way he drums his fingers.

But right now, he seems anxious, almost jittery, like he’s filled with pent-up energy.

Fuck, almost like he’s filled with the pent-up energy that comes from needing to get laid.

Why else would he be this jittery? It’s how I was sitting on Mavik’s lap, all desperate with need.

My phone is in my hands, and I’m half tempted to text him, demanding he get off the phone. As soon as Mavik hangs up, I storm over to his side. “Are you sleeping with him?”

Mavik’s head jerks up. “What?” he snaps.

“I said, are you sleeping with Hunter?” Why else would he need to sneak out in the middle of the night? I slam my cellphone onto his desk just so I don’t have to hold it anymore.

Mavik scrunches his face. I’m embarrassed to admit just how satisfying it is to see that amount of disgust on Mavik’s face, almost as if the mere idea of sleeping with Hunter is that repulsive.

I sashay toward my boss, giving my hips some extra sway, and his heated dark eyes follow the motion.

I get so close to him that he’s forced to look up at me from his seat.

“I don’t care if this marriage is fake to you.

As long as you’re with me, you can’t see anyone else,” I growl, adding extra venom to my voice.

Hello, Jealousy, thy name is Territorial Husband, thank you very much.

I have no idea what on earth possesses me to do it, but the next thing I know, I’m rolling his chair back enough to climb onto his lap, straddling him.

Not wanting to push things too far, I place my knees on either side of his thick thighs, keeping enough of a gap between us to ensure a bit of distance. There’s no need for him to feel just how hard I’m getting just from the scent of him. He smells of citrus, pine, and a hint of vanilla.

Mavik’s fingers grasp my hips tightly, fingernails digging into my skin. Fuck, is it so wrong that I hope he leaves bruises? There’s something grounding about the pain. I love it.

“Who said I consider our marriage to be fake?” he growls back, his voice way more menacing and rough than mine.

My cock grows even harder at the sound. Okay, he’s way better at the whole growling thing than I am.

Fury and lust darken his eyes. “Remember when I asked you if you were sure you wanted to marry me? I told you that, ‘ You will not date anyone. You will not fuck anyone. You will not so much as look at anyone but me.’ You remember that, right?”

One of his hands trails up my back to my neck before his fingers settle in my blond curls. I nod, my breathing becoming labored.

“I asked if you were sure, and you agreed. I’m a wealthy bastard, Peyton. I own my own company and have more money than most people can dream of.” He tugs my hair violently, causing me to moan. “I didn’t make you sign a prenup, Pey. Does that seem fake to you?”

I gasp. “I-I-I didn’t realize. I would never take advantage of you.”

His grip loosens enough that it’s no longer painful, but still holds enough bite to keep me in place.

He kisses my jaw before nuzzling my neck.

His other wraps around my waist as he mouths at my skin.

Wet, sloppy kisses that feel more like he’s sucking marks onto my neck.

I don’t stop him. I’ve never been this hard in my life.

Never been so turned on. Holy shit. Is this finally happening?

And fuck, was my neck always this sensitive?

I whimper with so much need that tears spring to my eyes.

“Please, please, Mavik,” I beg, rotating my ass against his hard length.

Suddenly, I’m remembering our wedding night.

So similar, yet way more charged. He seems angry, and it’s still so hot.

His temper is nothing like my ex’s. This is measured and controlled.

Homed in and trained to focus on nothing but me.

I gasp when the realization strikes me. I trust Mavik; that’s the major difference.

I trust him not to hurt me. To keep me safe.

Mavik’s hand leaves my hair and trails back down my body in a seductive tease. His fingers slip under my waistband and freeze.

I shudder out a shaky breath. “I was supposed to wear them for you on our wedding night.”

Suddenly, he’s standing, practically shoving me off him.

“Strip,” he commands in a voice so rough, I would be foolish not to obey.

The bratty side of me wants to tease him, but the horny part of me needs to come.

I strip down to my lacy lingerie. It’s a shade of periwinkle blue with all the lacy bits that strap onto a pair of lace-edged stockings and frame a pretty blue thong, made specifically for a man my size.

Mavik sucks in a deep breath. “Fucking hell,” he hisses. He shrugs out of his suit jacket and unbuttons his dress shirt.

My mouth falls open. I expected the hard, chiseled muscles, but nothing could have prepared me for all the tattoos.

There are stunning tats all over his back, flowers on his arms, and clinging to his chest. He’s a fucking work of art.

I had no idea all… this was hidden under those sharp white dress shirts.

He’s so fucking hot, I could jerk off at the mere sight of him for the rest of my life. Before I can even register the move, he spins me around and bends me over the table. A loud smack echoes off the walls. I moan. “Oh god, did you just spank me?”

His chuckle is low and rough. “I did. I need to punish my boy for not believing in me or our marriage.

“Wait, what? No, I though—”