used to that. It’s how we’ll spend much of our time together. Her lids are low but her eyes focused. “Cameron Kidwell. I’ve known you since you were twelve years old.”
And I’ve loved her as long as that. “Yes.”
“You aren’t only talking about tonight, are you?”
“You’ve been engaged once before, Briana.” I pump my fingers in and out of her, dragging her mercilessly to the edge. “You should recognize a marriage proposal when you hear one.”
EPILOGUE
Briana
As I stared at the text message from my husband and light reflected from my beautiful three-carat diamond wedding ring, a smile crept upon my lips.
For nearly nine months, I’d been Mrs. Briana Kidwell.
Not Mrs. Curtis Kidwell.
No, Curtis was back in Michigan, awaiting trial for illegal activity connected to his appliance empire. While I never asked my husband if he had a hand in Curtis’s fate, I suspected that he had. Cameron believed in justice. Curtis’s financial and ethical downfall was his repercussion for tricking me. Auctioning me was supposed to save his businesses. Instead, it was the cause of their demise. All of his stores were currently tied up in litigation.
Thankfully, I wasn’t married to him.
I was Mrs. Cameron Kidwell.
The twelve-year-old boy I’d once known did more than save me over a year ago on Malaking Kuta. He used, ravished, and broke me, only to rebuild me. The result of his both painful and pleasure-filled devotion was evident by the twisting of my core as well as the ridiculous smile upon my face brought on by a one-word text message.
“PREPARE.”
Doing what he did for Gabriel Miller sometimes took Cameron away from home. For three days and two nights I’d been on my own with only our house staff, to do as I pleased. That wasn’t completely accurate. I could lunch or dine with friends, shop to my heart’s content, read or watch TV. I could spend time working on any aspects of the boutique I was about to open in the town where we lived. It would be Tanglewood’s exclusive supplier of Sinful Threads accessories and apparel. There was one exception.
My husband was lenient and generous with most things.
He’d set the rules the night he’d bought me.
There was one place where everything was different.
The memory of his deep voice sounded in my mind, scattering goose bumps over my skin as it had nearly a year ago. “I’ll give you everything you want, anything you want. Travel, purses. I don’t give a fuck what you buy or what you do when I’m at work, but when we’re in the bedroom, you submit to me. Whatever I say goes.”
My sexual pleasure was to come only from him. I wasn’t allowed to spend our nights apart with the help of a vibrator or even my own touch. If I did, I’d be punished.
The idea of lying over his strong legs, his erection probing my tummy as he reddened my ass didn’t deter me. No, Cameron knew I enjoyed that too much. My punishment would be denying me sexual pleasure. I’d be denied his cock and orgasms. No amount of begging, no matter how demeaning, would change his mind.
The text message I’d just received meant he would be home soon.
With the smile still secured to my lips, I released the house staff for the night and hurried to our master suite.
Nearly forty minutes later I was prepared and anxiously awaiting his arrival.
My heartbeat kicked up a beat as the alarm system’s beep informed me that the time had come. My husband was home.
Would he look for me elsewhere or know I’d obeyed?
I was completely nude, wearing only my wedding ring. The bath I’d taken covered my skin in lavender oils as I meticulously prepared, washing, shaving, and trimming, exactly as he liked. My long dark hair was piled high on my head in a messy bun. And with each passing second, my nipples grew tauter.
It could appear that I was the one making all the concessions.
That would be wrong.
I was simply doing as I’d agreed the night I’d been purchased.
Submit.
Lowering myself to my knees with my toes bent, I sat back on my heels. With my back straight, I placed my arms over my legs, palms up, bowed my head, and waited. Even the opening of the bedroom door added to the growing wetness of my empty core.
My husband didn’t speak as he came closer. Only his Italian leather loafers and the cuffs of his designer suit pants came into view.