Marry Screw Kill

When I speak this lie, a fissure cracks open in my heart, pulling us further and further apart. I want to unravel under his touch, get lost in his love, but those feelings won’t surface no matter how hard I try. The want and yearning isn’t enough.

Bending slightly, he places his large hands around my waist and lifts me onto the counter as if I weigh nothing more than a feather. He tugs me forward to the edge and widens my legs, exposing me to him.

“Your breakfast,” I tilt my head toward the stove where his eggs sit in the pan, “is getting cold.”

“Before I eat the delicious breakfast you made me, I’m going to eat you.” Holy shit.

James genuflects like an act of worship before me and pulls my hips to him. He consumes me without hesitation, leaving me no time to think. I place my hands flat behind me for balance and drop my head back. Closing my eyes tight, I surrender. He takes command of my body while my mind centers on where he touches me. My surroundings fade away and the harder I focus, the more pleasure I eventually feel.

His touch will bring me to release, but if I have to work this hard, something’s missing. I wonder if he knows how I struggle, or if I’ve hidden it from him. If he does, he hides it from me, too. Frustrated, I concentrate harder, hoping a spark of deep desire ignites.

Slightly breathless, and guilty my orgasm took an eternity to materialize, I slip on my robe and return to my normal breakfast routine. James brings his laptop to the kitchen table and opens it to catch up on work before he leaves for the hospital.

No one would guess he’d had his head between my thighs a minute ago. Everything is back to normal as usual—James, the handsome doctor, planning his day, and me, the dutiful fiancée, tending to her man.

I pour him a cup of coffee, plate the now cold scrambled eggs I’d cooked to perfection, and place them down in front of him. Taking a quick glance at what James is working on, I see an open email on his laptop screen. I sit down at the table as he takes a bite.

“Fuck.” He drops his fork onto the plate and I raise my hand to my throat.

“What is it, James?”

“It’s Sinclair.” He pounds away on his keyboard and curses again before shutting his laptop in a huff. He looks up at me with anger in his eyes. “He’s not coming tomorrow.”

“I thought his clerkship at The Clinic started on Monday.”

“He’s coming tonight and I’m needed at the hospital until later in the evening. Dammit, you’ll have to meet him at the airport.” He pushes his plate away, stands up, and peers down at me, his jaw stretched tight.

“Sure. It’s not a problem.” I stand up next to him and rub his arm soothingly, although I don’t understand why this would upset him so much. “What do you want me to do? Just tell me.”

“I haven’t seen him in years, so I don’t want you alone with him.” His possessive side shocks me. He usually saves this display for his friends at the country club when they become too flirty with me. I’m surprised he feels this way with his own nephew. “Sinclair took a year between high school and college, a gap year. He lived up to his nickname, Sin, during that time. I don’t trust his womanizing ass for one second.”

“James, really, I’m sure it was just a phase. Look, he’s going to med school now.” He runs his fingers through his hair and gathers up his laptop. “Where should we go then?”

“God, I don’t even know.” He stuffs his laptop into his case, throws the strap over his shoulder, and pushes the chair back under the table, anger rolling off him with every movement.

He turns around toward me, his fists balled at his side. I understand him not trusting the forward, sometimes handsy men at his club, but the same reaction to his own nephew seems over the top and unwarranted.

“Don’t bring him back here for fuck’s sake. I need to get a read on him first.”

“Okay.” I nod and wonder what will happen if he doesn’t trust Sinclair. I thought James would let Sinclair stay with us during his time here, but now I’m not so sure. There are several hotels downtown, or maybe James’ apartment, but I was excited about having a guest here with us. It gets so lonely in this ten-thousand square-foot house by myself.

James glances down at his watch and looks at me. Stress shows in his stormy blue eyes. “Hell, I’ve got to run or I’ll be late for my first rounds.”

“What about your breakfast? And Sinclair?”

“I don’t have time to eat anything else.” I blush, knowing he means our diversion on the counter. “I’ll have my assistant pick up something from the cafeteria.”

“I’m sorry.” I run my fingers under the lapel of his suit coat. The hard muscles of his chest defy his true age with their strength.

“You can be so distracting, Harlow.” He shakes his head and glides a finger across my cheek. “Pick Sinclair up at seven. He’s flying American and connecting in Chicago. Take him to that new place downtown called Rogue. It’s two minutes from the hospital. I’ll meet you there as soon as I can.”

Liv Morris's books