We have sex every day and I can assure you it’s the best fucking sex I ever had. As for touching, I enjoy touching my husband immensely and even more when he is the one doing the touching. Especially intimately. Mikhail has very skilled fingers and an even more skilled mouth. But most of all, I love when he takes me against the wall, and I usually can’t walk after that.
Her eyes widen more and more as she is reading, and then she thrusts the phone into my hand as if it burned her. “You do not speak of such things to your mother, Bianca.” She squeezes her temples and shakes her head.
I start typing again, and when I’m done, I take her hand and smash the phone onto her palm, screen up.
And tell Allegra that if she keeps spreading lies about my husband, I will tell everyone I know that she has implants in her butt and breasts. I took pictures of the doctor’s report I found on her desk. Just one more word and I’m sending them to all her friends. Tell her that.
I knew those photos would come in handy one day. Allegra has been cultivating an image of a natural beauty. So, her friends finding out that she came home from Brazil with much more than just a tan a few years ago would be social suicide.
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Try me,” I sign.
My mother looks at me in surprise. “You really like him.”
I sigh. There is no point in telling her that I’m in love with my husband. My mother always had problems with understanding emotions, and I accepted that fact a long time ago.
We spend a few more minutes checking out the bags and then move on to the next shop, where Mom picks up a couple of dresses and heads into a changing room to try them on. While I wait for her, I take out my phone, trying to ignore the guy who has been sizing me up from the other side of the shop since we came in. I’m used to men looking at me. It happens all the time, but that doesn’t mean I like it. Just because I’m pretty doesn’t mean it’s okay for a random man to ogle my ass.
I’m scrolling through my phone when I feel a hand land on my waist. I squeeze the handles of my bag and turn around, ready to smash the idiot in his head with it, but I find Mikhail standing before me.
“I guess I should announce myself next time, or risk bodily harm.” His mouth curves up slightly.
I drop my phone into my bag. “Maybe.” I grin. “I thought you were working.”
“I tried.” He places his hand at the back of my neck. “I kept imagining men trailing after you like they were following a beacon. I couldn’t concentrate. I couldn’t think about anything else. It’s maddening, Bianca.”
“So, you have been stalking me around the mall?”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Three hours.”
“You have a problem, you know?”
“Yes, I do.” He bends down and whispers, “Some guys were watching you when you were trying on that dress earlier. When you came out of the changing room, they were eating you with their eyes and I had to intervene.”
My eyes widen. “Are they alive?”
“I threw them out of the shop when you weren’t looking. I won’t be so gentle next time.” He places his hand on my chin and tilts my head up. “No one is allowed to look at my wife the way they were doing.”
I close my eyes for a moment to compose myself because this is seriously turning me on. Should I be worried about the fact that I find his possessiveness hot? I am all for feminism and emancipation, and I feel rather guilty because just the thought of Mikhail scaring away men for looking at me starts a tingling sensation between my legs.
“And what would you do if one of them tried to touch me?” I sign. “Or kiss me?”
Mikhail’s lips tighten, his eye staring at me, as he bends until his mouth comes next to my ear. “If anyone dared to touch you, I would chop off his hand. Like I should have done with that idiot at your Nonna’s birthday party,” he whispers. “And if someone was insane enough to try putting his mouth near my wife, I would behead him.”
I suck in my breath as I feel myself getting wet.
“Bianca, do you think this color works with my hair?” My mom exits the changing room, and surprise spreads on her face at seeing Mikhail there. “Mr. Orlov. Did something happen?”
“Yes,” I sign quickly before he can reply. “We have to go. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Grabbing Mikhail’s hand, I drag him out of the shop and toward the narrow hallway on the right, where I saw the restrooms.