Page 179 of Dirty Husband

"Princess?" He says it softly this time. Asking, again. Not just for me to sit. For something else too. Something deeper.

His fingers curl around my wrist. He runs his thumb over the outside of my hand. Then his other hand is on my lower back, pressing the smooth fabric into my skin.

I let him pull me into his lap.

My hands go to his shoulders. One curls around the back of his neck. The other finds his cheek.

He leans into my touch as I run my fingers along his chin.

My heart thuds against my chest. After two years, six continents, and countless orgasms, I still crave everything he's willing to give me.

His softness and his hardness. Not that I'm thinking about his hardness. Or his hands around my throat. Or his lips on my thighs.

I'm not…

Fuck, this is important. I need to concentrate. On something besides how badly I want him splitting me in half.

His fingers curl into my waist. He pulls me a little bit closer. Looks up at me with a little more softness. "I've been thinking."

"Did I drag you to too many plays?"

His smile widens. "There's such a thing?"

"Not everyone wants to spend every night of their vacation in a theater." I run my hand through his hair. It's a little longer now. The way he kept it when we were kids. That same gorgeous shade of brown. One that brings out his blue eyes. "I can't imagine it's your first choice."

"Are you in the theater?"

I nod.

"Then it's my first choice."

"But if you could take me anywhere—"

"Besides right here?" He pats the clean white sheets.

My cheeks flush. Somehow, the staff always knows when it's time to change the sheets. They always do it without alerting us. We fuck like rabbits, go out for tea, come back to the suite to fresh sheets.

After two years, I'm used to the conveniences that come with wealth. I'm even used to having a staff. It's nice telling KeyI can't think about dinner. You know what I like. Make something goodthen sitting down to perfectly steamed fish and vegetables an hour later.

It's nice never making my bed, cleaning my room, scrubbing the damn shower.

It's really nice knowing someone is taking care of my dad.

But it's also… weird. At heart, I'm a normal girl who fends for herself. I don't exactly miss washing dishes—or flying coach—but I still do double-takes over some of the prices Shep pays.

Even though…

He did make good on his word. After our honeymoon—two weeks in Thailand, half the time in bed, the other half lying on the beach, touring the city, eating enough noodles to burst—Shep transferred ten million dollars to my bank account.

I told him it was ridiculous. Unnecessary. He already took care of every one of my needs. What was I going to do with ten million dollars?

He insisted. Said he owed me the money. Said the contract was clear. He needed to pay me the ten million and terminate the agreement.

So the marriage was ours and ours alone.

No strings, no point to prove, no prenup.

A normal, healthy marriage.