By His Vow: A Billionaire Arranged Marriage Romance

I didn’t go home after dropping Aubrey off at her hotel. Instead, I made the possibly stupid decision to swing by Kian’s place.

I was already a few too many whiskeys in, and the second he saw the look on my face when he opened the door to me, he immediately passed me another.

He wanted details, but to my surprise, he never asked. Instead, I turned the conversation to work, and that was how it stayed as we worked our way through half a bottle of his finest.

It was good.

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But it wasn’t where I wanted to be. Not that I thought anything good could come out of thinking about being at home with Tatum after our interaction earlier.

I had more chance of her cutting my throat after what I did, than I did her wanting to jump my bones and give me a nice little repeat of our filthy weekend.

She’s furious with me. I saw that in her eyes the second I walked into her office.

But what did she expect? She knew the terms we’re bound to. Surely, she didn’t honestly expect the weekend to stay between us. Did she?

“Shit,” I mutter, resting my head back as Lewis drives me home.

“She’s home safe,” he assures me, his eyes meeting mine in the mirror.

I think of her getting drunk with him tonight.

The second she swerved Lewis when she finished work earlier, I was alerted to her defiance.

The need to leave Aubrey behind and go and find her myself was strong, but as much as I hated the thought of her being out with another man—a man who clearly wants her—I knew nothing good could come of it.

I was angry, and so was she.

My fists curl on my lap as I remember the way they danced together last weekend. So familiar. Too familiar.

Anger licks at my insides and I sit forward, already impatient to be home. To see with my own eyes that she’s there and untouched.

Fuck. I swear to God. If he touched her…

I fidget all the way back to my apartment. Lewis keeps one eye on me, but he doesn’t say anything.

He’s been with me long enough to know that no words will help.

I need action. And they can only happen with her.

The car has barely stopped moving when I push the door open and jump out.

“Is that⁠—”

“You can go home, Lewis. Thank you,” I state as I march toward the elevator that will take me to her.

My foot taps against the floor and my fingers drum on my thighs as the car moves slower than I’m sure it ever has before.

The second the doors part, I burst out, my impatience getting to be too much.

The door unlocks the second I press my hand to it, and I rush inside.

Her scent lingers in the air and my mouth waters.

The sweetness of it melts some of the anger that has me in its tight hold as I march through the living room.

The lights are off aside from a lamp in the corner, but I don’t need light to illuminate my way around my own home.

My foot collides with something on the floor that goes scooting across the wood flooring and disappears under the couch.

Before Tatum, I’d have had to find what it was and put it where it should be. But all I can think about right now is her. Fuck whatever I just kicked under the couch. If it were important, it wouldn’t be on the floor.

The huge clock on the wall catches my eye as I move to the base of the stairs.

It’s late. Too fucking late for a Monday night. But it’s a bit too late to do anything about it now.

I pause and weigh my options.

The hurt in her eyes earlier tells me that she’d have retreated to the guest room again.

But there was more than hurt. There was anger and frustration too. And those two usually lead to Tatum’s defiance.

Making a decision, I lift my foot and begin climbing the stairs, praying that I know my fiancée as well as I think I do.

Silence greets me when I get to the door, but I quickly find that the blinds have been closed, and upon closer inspection, there’s a Tatum-shaped lump in my bed.

I might still be frustrated by her actions earlier, but knowing she’s in my bed, waiting for me does things to my body.

In record time, I’ve shed my suit and thrown my boxers in the laundry.

She can be as mad as she wants, but I refuse to put a barrier between us.

I take a piss and brush my teeth. I want to say that my movements are fluid and easy, but honestly, the whiskey is hitting harder than ever.

I stare at myself in the mirror as I stand at the sink and smirk. My eyes are wild.

Fuck. I really hope my girl is about to be as wild in my bed.

My cock stirs as I remember how filthy she was this weekend.

Fucking perfect is what she was.

Annoying little Tatum Warner…who’d have thought it?

She grew up to be a fucking seductress extraordinaire.

Abandoning my toothbrush, I flick the light off and blindly make my way to the bed, my cock rising higher with every step I take.

Waking her up and pushing myself inside her feels like a year ago now.

I need it again.

I need to feel her tightness, her warmth wrapped around me, sucking me deeper.

Approaching the bed, I reach out for the covers and gently pull them back.

My knee hits the mattress, and I’m about to lower myself down when a weird hissing fills the room.

Too confused to register it, I continue.

My ass is just about to touch the sheet when it turns into a loud growl and then something sharp and really fucking painful swipes across my stomach.

“What the fuck?” I bark, jumping out of bed and reaching for the light. “Shit,” I hiss as the room illuminates, making my eyes water and my head spin.

I’ve had too much fucking whiskey for this bullshit.

“What are you doing?” Tatum slurs, letting me know that I’m not the only tipsy one after the events of the day.

My vision clears and so does the ginger ball of fluff that’s sitting in the middle of my fucking bed, baring its fangs at me.

“Me? What am I doing? What the fuck is that doing?” I retort, pointing at the feral animal making itself at home where it doesn’t belong.

“That is my pussy.”

“No, Tatum. Your pussy has way less hair and is much friendlier than that thing.”

“Please use her name, she isn’t a thing.”

“Her name,” I echo as blood trickles down to my much-less-interested dick.

Funny how one type of pussy can make it deflate just as fast as a different kind can make it grow.

“Yes, asshole,” she seethes as she climbs to her knees and pulls the cat into her arms. “Her name.”

“I don’t fucking remember that.”

She glares at me, silently demanding I at least try.

I throw my hands up in frustration.

“Princess Sparkles Glitterpants?”

Her lips twitch at my stupid suggestion, but she doesn’t allow the smile to fully form.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’d never call a cat that.”

“Oh, so her real name is so much better?”

“Her name is perfect for her. Isn’t it, my pwetty kitty?” she says, tickling the cat behind its ear.

“Right. Great. Can we go back to the part where she made me bleed?” I say, finally looking down at the very obvious scratches across my stomach.

Blood trickles from each one, racing down toward my pubic hair.

“Aw, she was protecting me.”

“You don’t need protecting from me,” I mutter, disgruntled. “You’re going to be my wife, remember? You’re going to be mine.”

Tatum grits her teeth, her jaw popping with irritation.

She doesn’t immediately snap back, and I’m not sure what to make of that.

“Whatever,” she mutters, placing the cat back down in the middle of the bed and climbing to her feet.

She stumbles, letting me know she’s drunker than I first thought before she stalks toward the bathroom.

My eyes follow her every move while the cat continues to snarl at me.

I might have signed up to marry Tatum, but I never signed up to house a feral feline. As if Tatum’s catty side isn’t enough…

“What?” she snaps, shooting a look over her shoulder and finding me watching her.

“You look hot,” I state, letting my eyes drop down her body.

She’s wearing a white tank and a gray pair of panties. Simple but so fucking hot.

“And you look like an overbearing asshole, but do you see me staring?” Defying her words, her eyes drop to my dick. Or maybe it’s to the wound on my stomach, I’m not entirely sure. But my dick jerks happily regardless.

Before I find any words to come back at her with, she disappears into the bathroom.

Spinning around, I stare at the creature in my bed.

“Don’t you have anywhere else to sleep?” I snarl, glaring at it as hard as it is me.

Who knew cats were capable of dirty looks?

Or maybe it’s not cats and just this devil incarnate disguised as a cat.

Its hackles rise and I get another shot of its vicious teeth.

Brilliant. Just fucking brilliant.

The toilet flushing drags me from my staring competition with the fluffy pussy, and I march toward the bathroom.

“You owe me,” I state.

“How do you figure that?” she asks, watching me in the mirror as she washes her hands.

Her eyes are wild and unfocused. Her hair is a mess and her cheeks are flushed.

She looks incredible.

“I’m bleeding because of you.”

“Debatable,” she mutters under her breath.

“My first-aid kit is down there,” I say, pointing to the drawer beneath the sink. “I need cleaning up.”

“I’m sure you’re more than capable,” she counters.

“As I said, you owe me.”