I almost break off the edge of the counter.
“Good morning.” She bites her lip and ducks her head. “Again.”
“Good morning.” I order myself to back up and refrain from kissing her. It’s painful, but neither one of us will ever make it out the door. “I made your cheese toast,” I say, triple-checking my handiwork, then handing her the plate.
My wife gives a little intake of breath. “Thank you.”
If she knew what I was, if she knew I was lying, would she love me?
Would she try to leave?
These fears echo inside me constantly. They probably will forever.
They might drive me madder than I already am.
Jolie leans back against the counter and takes a bite of her favorite breakfast. Multigrain toast with a slice of cheddar on top. “Mmmm.” She swallows, smiling at me while I watch her throat, mesmerized. “It always tastes better when you make it.”
“You didn’t realize you’d married a culinary master, did you?” I say, straight-faced. “Toast. Cereal. Putting ice cream in bowls. There’s nothing I can’t do.”
Her giggle sends my heart into a fit of skipped beats. “I like cooking, so you’re safe. Besides, you kill the spiders. That’s what really counts.”
I kill a lot more than that, honey.
For instance, the man who kidnapped you.
It’s good to have contacts on the inside.
I wasn’t always a killer. I grew up relatively normal in the suburbs, although I didn’t have a lot of friends. Relating to people never came naturally. My interest in books about the military history and war led me to join the army out of high school and there…there is where I was taught how to kill. How to compartmentalize and execute without emotion. When my tours overseas were over and I was at loose ends, I fell back on what I knew. Easy as that.
Now she is all I want to know. All I want to study.
I continue to do jobs, but my mind is always here now. On her.
“Are you ready for today?” I ask Jolie.
She swallows with a little more effort, her good mood dimming. “I don’t know. Maybe I could put it off until tomorrow?”
The quiver of nerves in her voice causes an anguished twist in my chest. What I wouldn’t give to take away her painful memories. Crush them like bugs. I can’t do that, though. So I can only do everything in my power to show Jolie how strong she is. It would be easy to protect her myself for the rest of her life—and that is my instinct. Wrap her up in my arms, hide her away, keep her in the shadows where she’s comfortable. But she’s capable of more. She needs more from herself to be happy. Making her happy is my job, but over the course of our first month together, I’ve learned we have to share the job, whether it’s hard for me or not. “There are only women in the self-defense class. It’s taught by a woman, too. It’s a well-lit studio.”
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.