Cruel Lies by Celia Crown

Cruel Lies by Celia Crown

Author:Celia Crown [Crown, Celia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-06-12T18:30:00+00:00


Even with how my body trembles under his hungry gaze, he immerses in the apprehension. His hand trails up to my jaw, stroking the curve attentively, and then he cups my cheek with a finger to my lips.

“You’re scaring me,” I whisper against his finger.

“Good,” he sneers. “You’re getting there.”

What is he talking about? I don’t have the strength to stop him as he skims his finger over my lips, his eyes trailing the motion meticulously.

“I—” I stutter.

“Let’s find something to eat,” he interrupts, the wicked glow in his eyes disappearing promptly.

He drops his hand and walks around, leaving me standing with a scrambled mind to understand what just happened. He was a completely different person, and I only saw this intimidating side of him when he was angry.

I turn, mouth dropping to talk when he pauses by the door. His stare drifts to the hamper filled with old clothes and a pair of bright pink panties.

Humiliation roars through my pumping blood, and I sprint towards him with hands slapping on his thick muscles. I push his back, ushering him out the door with frantic squeaks.

“I’m hungry!” I yell. “We have to eat, or it’ll be brunch! Hurry, hurry!”

Marcel is a big man with at least one hundred pounds on me, so he takes pity on my strength and walks out of the bathroom.

“I’ll buy you more,” he offers kindly.

I snatch back my hands and keep them by my hips. My head shakes, hair flying to my face as I fumble with words.

“No!” A cough interrupts, scratching my throat with prickling sensations and stinging pain.

He pats my back, rubbing circles and blaming my carelessness. His touch trails to the dip of my spine, guiding me out of the bedroom with a controlling pace.

“I don’t need more of them,” I assure.

I have to be clear since he might just come home with a box of panties. Marcel cares, maybe too much, but he only wants to make me comfortable living here.

We should talk about boundaries soon.

The massive kitchen serves as a desirable scenery change. The gorgeous sunlight beaming through the tall windows, the side door by the pool opened for air, and the endless ideas for food flood my mind.

Marcel pulls out the apron and comes behind to wrap it for me. Obediently, I raise my arms and wait for the knot to finish. I realize my action is too natural like I was trained for it.

Honestly, I woke up on the wrong side of the bed.

“Perfect,” he praises, his chest pressing on my back as his lips graze my ear. “A perfect little wife.”

It takes everything in me to not flinch.

I’m not asking much, but I’ll be grateful if I don’t set the stove on fire. He’s too dangerous in the kitchen.

“Put something on,” I mutter as I spin to face him.

I gesture to his bare chest, and the fascinating ink swells with his breaths. I wonder what it would feel like to run my hands down his chest, tracing the grooved abs, and dip a finger in his waistband.



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