Broken (Manhattan Ruthless Book 1)
Chapter 18

Drake wraps an arm around my shoulder. “I think you need to take your wife home, brother.”

I glance at Mel, who’s wearing a grin while watching her sister carry on what looks to be an animated—if a bit one-sided—conversation with Mason.

I wince. Why am I so fucking nervous about being alone with her? Because I have no idea how to play this. We should have had sex before tonight and taken the pressure off, then this would be a whole lot less awkward. But this entire situation has been far outside my comfort zone. I’ve done my best to be respectful of her wishes to wait until after we got married, but now it’s our wedding night and I want to consummate our marriage more than I’ve ever wanted anything. And given the way she was rubbing up against me earlier, I think she does too.

Drake slips away to talk to our father, and I watch my wife for a few moments. She laughs at something Mason says, and fuck me, but she looks so damn beautiful. Then her expression changes on a dime, and her gorgeous smile disappears. When I look to replace the source of her mood change, I see Bryce closing in on her. She visibly bristles when he pulls up a chair beside her. What the fuck is their deal?

I march over to her. “Mel, it’s time to go home.”

She blinks up at me, her eyes full of trust and longing—either that or she’s completely tanked. Or maybe I am. But I reach for her hand, and she curls her slender fingers around mine. After giving her sister a sideways hug and a kiss, she says goodnight to Mason, and with barely a nod to her own brother, she stands and allows me to pull her against me. I slide an arm around her waist, and her body molds into mine like it was made to fit there.

“Will you look after Ashley?” I ask Mason. The girl looks no more comfortable with her older brother than Mel did.

Bryce snorts, but he’s too wasted to argue. I guess the half-dozen bottles of Scotch my father laid out for today got put to good use.

“Course I will.” Mason gives me a reassuring nod.

Teddy’s waiting outside by the car, and Mel cheers when she sees him. “Tedward!”

He beams at her, and I can’t blame him. Her joy is fucking infectious. “Mrs. James,” he says with a polite nod before he opens the rear passenger-side door.

Holding a hand to her mouth, she snickers. “Mrs. James.”

“That is your name.” I lightly swat her on the ass. “Now get in the damn car.”

Mel snuggles into me the entire ride home, her head tucked into the crook of my shoulder and her legs curled up on the seat. I try to stop peering down her dress and staring at her amazing tits, to stop fantasizing about biting into them like ripe, juicy apples, but I fail miserably. By the time we get back to the penthouse, I’m harder than stone and so desperate to fuck her that I can barely think straight.

But one look at her face when the car rolls to a stop tells me she’s way too drunk for anything like that. Teddy opens the car door, and I climb out, beckoning her to follow. She just smiles at me.

With a grumbled curse, I scoop her into my arms and carry her bridal style to the elevator, which I suppose is only fitting.

“You’re so romantic,” she says, her voice a soft purr.

“I am not. You’re just too drunk to walk, Mrs. James.”

Sighing, she rests her head on my chest. “I like the sound of that name.”

Yeah, so do I. I rest my lips on the top of her head, inhaling the now familiar scent of her shampoo, and carry her to bed. Not to mine, as much as I’d like to, but to her own room. The one she picked out and the place she’ll sleep every night. The realization that she won’t be sleeping with me makes a lump form in my throat, but I swallow it down.

When I lay her on the bed, she flutters her dark eyelashes and wraps her arms around my neck. “It’s our wedding night, Mr. James.”

“I’m well aware of that.”

“So …” She sinks her teeth into her luscious bottom lip, and I have to close my eyes to stop myself from doing the same. “Aren’t we supposed to do something? Isn’t it true that a marriage isn’t legal until it’s consummated?”

I open my eyes and roll them at her. “Not exactly, Spitfire.”

“I think it is, Ice.”

“You’re way too drunk to consummate anything.”

“Am not!” She juts out her bottom lip, but then she scrunches her face and groans. “But your brothers and your dad and all that whisky.”

“Yeah, I know. If I’d known you couldn’t handle your liquor, I would have told them to take it easy on you.”

She snorts. “I can drink you under the table, Iceman.”

I press a kiss on her forehead and unwrap her arms from around my neck. “Yeah, sure.”

She blinks at me, her eyes brimming with sadness. “I’m really not that drunk.”

“Way too drunk for my liking, sweetheart.” I brush a lock of hair from her forehead.

“I’m not too wasted to know what I want. I can give my consent.”

I swallow hard. Holy Mother of God, give me strength. “Call me old-fashioned, but I’d prefer you remember our first time.”

She hums and bites down on that lip again. My cock twitches, trying to break through the zipper of my tuxedo pants. I need to get the fuck out of here.

“Can I at least kiss you?”

I close my eyes and stifle a groan. “Sure.”

She giggles. “There are three of you. Which one should I kiss?”

I sigh. “The middle one, Spitfire.”

She pushes herself up to her elbows and presses a soft kiss on my lips. Her taste is all Scotch and sweetness and sin, and I’m desperate to slide my tongue inside her mouth and kiss her properly. Aching to take what’s mine. But I pull back, leaving her gasping and me leaking precum into my boxers.

“Can you at least stay until I fall asleep?” she whispers, nestling into her pillow.

Fucking hell. I’m gonna need the patience of a goddamn saint tonight. With a groan, I fall into bed beside her and roll onto my back. Snuggling against me, she rests her head on my chest and murmurs, “Goodnight, husband.”

“Night, Mel.” I choke out the words while my cock throbs painfully in my pants. It doesn’t take long for her to fall asleep, and as easy as it would be to let myself doze off right beside her, I roll her off me. She mumbles a sleepy protest, but she doesn’t wake.

I crawl off the bed and stare at her for a few moments. Her chest rises and falls to a steady rhythm, and the contented smile on her face has me smiling back. I contemplate taking her dress off so she’ll be more comfortable, but I don’t trust myself to have my hands on her when I’m this hungry to fuck her.

That’s exactly why I can’t stay. If I do, I will definitely wake her in the night and convince her to let me bury myself inside her. And that contented look on her face right now, the one she never seems to have when she’s around her brother, lets me know that she trusts me. Whether she has reason to or not, she does. And to my surprise, that’s worth more to me than the brief, albeit sweet, relief—not to mention immense pleasure—that would come from sliding inside her.

With one more glance at her sleeping form, I switch off the light and head to my own room, resigned to spend the night tossing and turning to visions of her coming undone beneath me.