Page 64 of Thorns of Deceit

My shoulders slumped, admitting defeat.

“If I’d fooled you, you wouldn’t be dragging me across Paris like I’m your prisoner,” I said, tilting my head while trying to mask the tremor in my voice. “Besides, don’t pretend you care.You didn’t want to marry me any more than I wanted to marry you.”

“Somehow I doubt it,mo cuishle.” I stumbled hearing that nickname, and I would have fallen on my face if he hadn’t caught me by my elbow. “Watch your fucking step. I won’t have you dying on me now that I found you again.”

His grip on my arm grew tighter with each word he gritted through clenched teeth, and suddenly I feared I might have made a mistake.

But it was too late now, because we entered his fancy penthouse, views of the glittering city greeting us as he locked the door behind us.

My knees trembled under the flirty dress that fell just past my knees. My heels clicked against the marble floors, and I squinted to take in as much as I could of the dimly lit space. Soft French music drifted through the open windows, carried on an autumn breeze. This place was the ideal bachelor’s seduction pad, and suddenly it felt like a stroke of luck that we hadn’t crossed paths before tonight.

“How long have you had this place?” I asked.

“Two decades.”

Jesus Christ.

Paris had been my home for five years. I’d walked these streets countless times and never once caught sight of him. And yet he was here all along, thriving and operating his criminal business, living in a penthouse, with a driver, living a life that should have never intertwined with mine.

“You’ll like it,” he continued wryly. “Most women do.”

I suddenly felt irrationally jealous and I shot him a look full of venom. “I’m sure they do, but I’m not most women, you asshole.”

“Don’t I know it, wife.”

God, I really wished he would stop calling me that. It grated every fiber of me, or maybe it was the knowledge of him bringing women here.

“So much for five years of abstinence,” I muttered. “Such a fucking liar.”

It didn’t matter to me what Aiden did or who he slept with.

He let out a chuckle that lacked humor. “Oh, I’d never lie about that, so be prepared to be thoroughly fucked.”

My cheeks burst into flames. My inner thighs pulsed with an ache I hadn’t felt in so long—not since I escaped him five years ago. And my stupid heart raced into overdrive.

Damn my husband and his straightforward, filthy words.

I refused to let them get to me or impact me in any way. I was doing this because… well, he’d found me, and I needed time to devise a plan.

Although a small part of me hated to admit it, I was tired of self-pleasuring. Besides, there was nothing unusual about a twenty-four-year-old having a one-night stand with her husband.

God, even I didn’t believe myself.

Before I could further ponder my feeble excuses, we entered a large moonlit bedroom with accents of mahogany everywhere.

In one violent movement, Aiden’s hand came to clasp around my neck. He then shoved my dress down my body, the sound of the thread threatening to burst at the seams echoing in the quiet.

Standing in nothing but a bra and panties, I stared at him. The darkness in his eyes threatened to swallow me, and something about the barely veiled wickedness had me shuddering. But much to my horror, it wasn’t in fear.

My inner thighs throbbed, my arousal soaking my panties.

Aiden abruptly pinned me to the wall by the shoulders. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done to me?”

“What—”

“I didn’t give you permission to speak.” His voice lowered to a frightening edge. “How dare you fake your death? How fucking dare you leave me like that? Do you have any idea what you’ve unleashed in me?”

“Th-that’s a lot of qu-questions,” I stuttered lamely. “Besides, what did you expect? You forced me, a barely legal adult, to marry you.”