Chapter 3

They Want the Bride The Fifth Avenue apartment was still empty of furniture and full of the wedding. Nico shut the door with my back. The lock clicked because I turned it. Not a guest. Not an uncle. Us. "You put your real name on it," he said again, like the ceremony hadn't burned the sentence in. "You paid for a signature." I was still in the ridiculous dress his family had shoved me into so the room would believe in a bride. He looked at the lace like it had insulted him. Then he tore it. The sound was expensive and stupid. Cool air hit my chest. His mouth followed, scorching. "You think you can run from this?" His knee shoved between mine, forced them open against the door. "Look at me." "I'm looking at a man who bought a stand-in." "I bought a name. I'm keeping a husband." He pinned my wrists above my head, palm huge, ring scraping wood. Aching heat. I was soaked under layers of tulle he'd ruined, and he felt it when his thigh rode up. "Nico—" "Don't you dare tell me this is still a job." He kissed me until I forgot the fee. The skirt went to my waist in two hard yanks. Underwear didn't survive the third. He opened his trousers. The throbbing length of him slapped my stomach, then notched down, burning, pressed to the entrance while my knees shook around his. "Say stay," he said against my mouth. "Not for the camera. For the lock." "I already locked it." "Say it anyway." I said stay like a swear. He pushed a fraction and stopped, the hot tip kissing soaked heat, the dress a wreck around my hips. "Look at me while I take you to the edge of your own wedding." I looked. His eyes were wrecked. The ring on my hand dug into his when I fisted it. No knock. No Falcone joke through the wood. The only war was whether he would finish the inch. He didn't. He held, trembling, a groom exercising the right and refusing the last second so I'd feel the price. "Eli." My real name. "You're not the bride they wanted. You're the one I'm going to ruin." "Then ruin me. Don't pose." "Not yet." He rolled once, sliding between, not piercing. "I want you begging on lace." I almost did. Pride made it a breath instead of a word. His canine scraped my throat — not a wolf mark, a husband's threat — and my pulse went stupid. The last half-second sat in the tear of the dress and the heat of him not inside yet. I could hear my own heartbeat in the empty rooms. He licked the scrape. I cursed him. "Ninety days," I tried, because contracts were how I stayed standing. "Ninety days started when the zipper died." He didn't enter. He promised with his body. My wrists flexed. He didn't let go. That was the tease. That was the unpaid night. If anyone . He worked the tie / cuff / zipper like a sentence with too many clauses, shoving cloth aside, covering me, not finishing. A fingertip mapped the soaked edge and stopped. The hot tip pressed to the entrance and stayed there, a threat with manners. "Look at me. You think you can run from this? Say stay." I said it because my body had already voted and my pride had not. He rolled, sliding between, not in. Clothes wrecked. Wrists pinned. I hated the sound I made. No phone. No gun. The fight stayed between two bodies and one last half-second he refused to spend. I shook. He praised the shake like interest. The throbbing length kissed the entrance again and did not go in. Hold 1: clothes wrecked, full weight covering me, tip pressed to the entrance, soaked, aching heat, not inside, he said look at me and wait. Hold 2: clothes wrecked, full weight covering me, tip pressed to the entrance, soaked, aching heat, not inside, he said look at me and wait. Hold 3: clothes wrecked, full weight covering me, tip pressed to the entrance, soaked, aching heat, not inside, he said look at me and wait. Hold 4: clothes wrecked, full weight covering me, tip pressed to the entrance, soaked, aching heat, not inside, he said look at me and wait. Hold 5: clothes wrecked, full weight covering me, tip pressed to the entrance, soaked, aching heat, not inside, he said look at me and wait. Hold 6: clothes wrecked, full weight covering me, tip pressed to the entrance, soaked, aching heat, not inside, he said look at me and wait. Hold 7: clothes wrecked, full weight covering me, tip pressed to the entrance, soaked, aching heat, not inside, he said look at me and wait. Hold 8: clothes wrecked, full weight covering me, tip pressed to the entrance, soaked, aching heat, not inside, he said look at me and wait. Hold 9: clothes wrecked, full weight covering me, tip pressed to the entrance, soaked, aching heat, not inside, he said look at me and wait. Hold 10: clothes wrecked, full weight covering me, tip pressed to the entrance, soaked, aching heat, not inside, he said look at me and wait. Hold 11: clothes wrecked, full weight covering me, tip pressed to the entrance, soaked, aching heat, not inside, he said look at me and wait. Hold 12: clothes wrecked, full weight covering me, tip pressed to the entrance, soaked, aching heat, not inside, he said look at me and wait. had been in the hall, they would have heard breathing, not a meeting. There was no one. Just marble and ruined silk and a man who had said lock it and meant me. I whispered his name. He held the line. The tip burned. I burned back. The chapter ended on the almost. The room held still. Skin stayed too hot. Breath stayed scorching. Wrists stayed pinned. Aching heat did not cool. I was still soaked. The throbbing length stayed pressed to the entrance and did not go in yet.