Page 35 of Stealing His Cupcake (Stockholm Syndrome for the Win #2)

Amy

I must have nodded off for a few minutes.

The car coming to a stop jolts me awake, and I blearily squint around in the suddenly bright light.

We’re…in a garage? There’s a shiny sports car parked next to Wyatt’s SUV.

Not knowing anything about cars, I can only say that it’s red, sleek and modern.

Probably expensive as hell but hey, we’re millionaires, right?

I smother back a slightly hysterical chuckle.

Damn, this is going to take a while to get used to.

Cursing myself for not being awake when we approached the house, I get out of the car and stretch my arms up and out.

Pops and cracks echo along my spine as it rearranges itself to its original shape.

After I’ve sat inside for over eight hours, Wyatt’s car doesn’t seem that large or comfortable anymore.

Carefully stepping around the sports car, I meet Wyatt by the door at the back of the garage, wondering what the house looks like and whether I’ll ever be able to see it from outside. Damn me for sleeping!

Wyatt’s smile is a little strained. Is he nervous? “Ready? ”

I’m not, but I nod anyway. The door opens to a dark room.

Reaching into that scary darkness, Wyatt flicks a light switch.

Soft light spills from functional fixtures on the ceiling, revealing a tidy utility room.

There’s a washing machine and a tumble dryer and a lot of shelves with various supplies.

Gardening equipment, tools, a mop. My hitman husband owns a mop.

I really am strung too tight at this point, because it makes me laugh.

Fortunately, Wyatt doesn’t take offense and joins me.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “This part is a little underwhelming. I should have taken you through the front door.”

“You have a mop,” I point out like an idiot.

“Yep. Gotta keep those floors clean. Also, there’s a blade hidden in the handle.”

I look at the mop again, then back at Wyatt, just in time to see the corners of his mouth twitch. “You!” I smack the his shoulder. “You’re making fun of me! Right?” On a second thought, it wouldn’t surprise me if there really was a blade inside the damned mop.

“A little. You’re absolutely adorable when you’re flustered. The mop is just a regular mop. I wouldn’t look behind that loose panel behind the washing machine if I were you, though. Come on, let’s see the actual house.”

Walking through a short corridor, we emerge in a massive, spacious living room.

It’s open floor, flawlessly transitioning into an enormous kitchen.

Floor-to-ceiling windows form one entire wall, but I ignore them, as they currently only show darkness outside and my less than flattering reflection next to the always-perfect Wyatt.

I move past a large seating area to explore the kitchen, my eyes watering for the umpteenth time today because it’s sheer perfection.

I’ve always wanted a big kitchen and in my dreams, it looked like this.

Spacious, uncluttered. Modern but not sci-fi ultramodern.

Functional but also homey. Wyatt’s kitchen is all that.

There’s even a crocheted doily under a bowl of fruit on the kitchen island and several other knickknacks that make the space look less like a showroom kitchen and more like an actual home .

Home. According to Wyatt, this is my home, and it’s lovely.

“Should have known that’s what you’d be drawn to,” Wyatt chuckles from behind me.

“You know I didn’t bring you to chain you in my kitchen, right?

I’m an equal opportunity guy and I can actually make my own food.

Won’t stop you from making more of those heavenly pastries, though, if that’s what you want. ”

“I don’t think I would have minded being chained in this kitchen,” I blurt out, slapping my hand over my mouth when I realize I’ve said it out loud.

Wrapping his arms around me from behind, Wyatt laughs, and the vibrations travel through my body to the most inappropriate places.

My pussy clenches, demanding attention, and I can’t decide if I’m more aroused by the perfect kitchen or my equally perfect husband .

Based on the hardness pressing against my spine, Wyatt is also admiring the kitchen .

Brushing his hands against the underside of my breasts, he lets out a shaky breath. “Can I give you the full tour of the house tomorrow? Right now, I just want to show you one room.”

“The bathroom?” I’m only half-teasing because I need to pee again and also possibly take a shower, especially if we’re moving to the bedroom next. My pussy is totally on board with the idea. After all, we just got married, which means tonight is our wedding night.

“Right. This way.” Wyatt’s voice is perfectly steady, but from the way he withdraws his hands from me, I sense his disappointment. Does he think I’m going to say no to him like I did yesterday? God, was that only yesterday? It feels like a million years have passed since we met.

As he leads the way out of the spacious living space, I reach out to take his hand.

He looks surprised, like he didn’t expect me to touch him unless I have to, which is something I’ll have to change.

I’m done being afraid of him or feeling guilty about being attracted to him.

Now I want him to fuck me until I pass out and yes, that’s definitely not a normal or healthy response, but I’m letting myself feel, just like Miranda advised.

“Then we can go to bed,” I tell him, “but right now, I’m all sweaty and sticky, and I’d really love to take a shower. ”

His expression lights up with a seductive smile. “I don’t mind you sweaty or sticky, cupcake. I could hold you down and lick you clean.”

My breath catches at the intensity of his gaze, and I take an instinctive step back.

Except there’s a closed door behind me and now Wyatt cages me against it.

Heartbeat picking up, I stare into his eyes, reading the promises in them, suddenly not so sure I can handle everything he has in store for me.

To my surprise, that thought only makes me wetter.

Do I have some weird fear kink? Do I actually like it when he scares me?

Just a little fear, not the full-blown he’s-going-to-rape-and-murder-me terror, but the bit that has my heart racing and hands trembling, the part that tickles my lizard brain with a promise of danger.

Maybe I’m possessed. A demon inhabits my body, making me crave all these immoral things.

Maybe I just need an exorcism to be a good, law-abiding girl again.

Or maybe that’s a convenient excuse. Maybe this is how I’m supposed to be.

Free to feel whatever the hell I want to.

Damn, Miranda really is good. I have to tell Kayla.

Later. Now, I have to succumb to the devilish wiles of my husband.

Not because he’s forcing me to, but because I want to.

“Lick me clean?” I repeat his words, cringing only a little. “That should sound gross, not sexy.” But it reminds me of his tongue between my legs and my body reacts, ready to melt under his touch.

Lowering his head so that every breath fans my lips, Wyatt whispers, “Forget about should and shouldn’t , Amy. Such silly moral constructs don’t exist in this house.”

Maybe he’s the one possessed by a demon. The devil himself, tempting me, and I’ll happily let him. After I’ve taken a shower because I’m not a cat. Being licked clean just doesn’t work for me.