Page 21 of Bedeviled

“Everything I do is for you,” he says too fervently.

“Memnon.”

He stretches himself out next to me and takes the fork from my hands. “It’s true,” he says, spearing a slice of cake onto the utensil, “whether that unsettles you or not.”

He lifts the fork to my lips, and I let him feed me.

“That scares me.” It makes me feel trapped in Roxilana’s doomed life all over again.

“You don’t need to be scared,” he says softly, his eyes so gentle. In the expression I see a younger version of Memnon, one that had more of a conscience. It makes my heart constrict.

Taking the fork back from him, I scoop out a piece and lift it to his lips.

He shakes his head. “It’s too sweet.”

I set the fork down, feeling a little queasy myself from all the sugar. I roll onto my back, knocking into Memnon.

“My new husband,” I say, reaching out a hand and stroking his face. Maybe it is all the sugar and booze, but I don’t much mind that I’m married at the moment. In fact, a curious thrill keeps running through me each time I ponder it.

His expression gentles, as it always does.

I quirk my lips, then stroke his face again, and his eyes go molten.

“Say it again,” he pleads.

I push him onto his back. No sooner have I done so than I throw a leg over his chest and straddle him.

“My husband,” I repeat, watching him react to it. His grip on me tightens. “You’re my husband.” I really don’t know what’s come over me, but I am enjoying it a helluva lot.

My magic spills out from me and tangles in his hair before sliding down the front of his shirt. It undoes buttons as it goes.

“My scary husband.” I run my fingers over the few light scars I see on his chest. Leaning down, my lips replace my hand, pressing against each one.

I nip his skin lightly before peering up the line of his body.

“My…horny husband?” I lift an eyebrow.

At the sight, Memnon lets out a surprised laugh. “Is this you flirting with me, wife?”

My hands dig into him at the term, and my stomach does a little flip. Wife.

Then common sense catches up. “I would never flirt with you.” This is me beseeching him.

“Uh-huh.” He leans up to press his lips to my ear. “Because if I didn’t know better, I’d think you wanted me to spread these pretty thighs open, eat out your delicious little pussy, then sink my cock into you like I promised this morning.”

I pull away long enough to glance at him, parts of me heating up at his words.

“Hmmm,” I say. I grab my glass of champagne and take another drink as I stare down at him.

“There’s only one problem with that,” he says.

“Yeah?” I say, setting the drink back down. “And what’s that?”

“I want you to beg.”

I narrow my gaze, even as my lips quirk, a small smile spreading across my face. He thinks that’ll be difficult for me? The joke is on him—whatever pride I have when it comes to him, I think he fucked it out of me on Samhain night.

“You want me to beg?” I say. I lean forward, so close my mouth is nearly on his. “Please, dear husband,” I breathe.