Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 23595 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 118(@200wpm)___ 94(@250wpm)___ 79(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23595 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 118(@200wpm)___ 94(@250wpm)___ 79(@300wpm)
Jolie nods. Says nothing.
“You can do it, angel eyes. I know you can.” I reach over and brush a hand down her ponytail. “I’ll be with you in spirit. And I’m one phone call away.”
Well. I’ll be parked down the block.
But she doesn’t need to know that.
“I guess if it goes terribly, my therapy session afterward will help smooth things out.” She comes off the counter and turns, looking at the clock on the stove. Her eyes widen. “Chris! You’re going to be late for work.”
I wince. “Shit.” I tug on the knot of my tie. “It’s a good thing I outsell everyone or they’d never put up with me.”
“You’re worth the wait.” She sets down the remainder of her toast and holds out her arms for a hug. “See you tonight.”
I panic.
If I put my arms around Jolie, I’m going to back her against the counter. Rip those thin, ass-hugging pants down her legs. Pound my cock into her until she’s screaming…and she’ll never make it to self defense class. Or her therapy session afterward. But the fact that I’m an insurance salesman will become even more unrealistic if I don’t adhere to the schedule.
I can’t leave her hanging, though.
She’s already beginning to look at me oddly for hesitating.
I bite down on my tongue as hard as I can and pull her close, settling my cheek on top of her head. Immediately, the beast inside me howls, my cock protesting being trapped inside my pants. Her lilac scent drifts upward and I drop my nose to the crook of her neck, inhaling roughly, my hands tunneling into her hair, fucking up her ponytail. I can’t hold the obsession at bay when we’re touching. My control withers.
My hips pin her to the counter. I dip my knees and grind up against her pussy, forcing a whimper out of her, her nipples turning to little torpedoes inside her shirt.
Stop. I need to stop.
I’m her husband, the one who does what’s best for her—and the best thing is to keep up the pretense of being a normal man. Not an obsessed stalker. Not a hit man. Just plain old Christopher. The best thing for her is to learn how to defend herself. Not because there will ever be a need, but because it’ll give her back the confidence she lost.
Her weekly therapy session is also a must.
It’s how I find out what’s happening inside of her head and compensate.
You have to back away.
I press my bared teeth to her ear. “No matter what happens today, remember your husband is going to fuck you so filthy tonight, your legs will be shaking for a week.”
Jolie moans, her fingers grappling with my belt, but I step away before she can get it loose, risking a kiss to her perfect mouth to ease the sting of leaving.
“I love you,” I say, looking her hard in the eye.
“I love you, too,” she whispers.
With the willpower of forty men, I turn and walk out the door.
Then I drive my car to the end of the block and wait for her to leave, so I can follow her.
When I found the self-defense classes for Jolie, I didn’t suggest them to her until the studio had been thoroughly vetted. I went at night and checked the locks. Looked through the private files of every employee, searched them online to make sure they weren’t hiding deranged boyfriends or shady pasts.
It’s squeaky clean. As close to being worthy of her as anything can be.
I also installed a camera and microphone in the corner of the room, so I could monitor every single second. This is what I do. I stalk my perfect angel of a wife.
There is no insurance to sell. My money is made at night, by the gun, while she’s fast asleep, exhausted from making love.
When Jolie first became mine, she didn’t leave the house very often. Only for therapy. Slowly, she started going to the store, clothes shopping, to the beach for walks. And so I began doing those things, too. She just couldn’t see me.
If I tried to explain this burning need to watch Jolie every second of the day, it would come out sounding unhinged. Maybe that’s what it is. I’m not the kind of man who could just go off to work and leave his wife’s safety to chance. I know more than anyone how dangerous this world can be—I am one of the dangers. She was kidnapped once. It won’t happen again.
Other men do not approach her without consequence.
It has happened once or twice and I have handled the situation.
And it is bound to happen again because she is not only fucking beautiful, there is a light inside of her that glows so bright, people can’t help wanting to get near the warmth.
It’s why I refuse to miss a single second of her day. I hold my breath every time she smiles, I groan when she discreetly fixes her bra, I hang on every word that comes out of her mouth during therapy. My dick is hard all day long as I miss her, need her, think of her.