MINE EVER

CHAPTER-14

Anna's pov :
I gaze in horror at the red marks all over my breasts. Hickeys! I have hickeys! Iam married to one of the most respected businessmen in the United States, and he’s given me goddamn hickeys. How did I not feel him doing this to me? I flush.

The fact is I know exactly why—Mr. Orgasmic was using his fine-motor skills to me  My subconscious peers over her half-moon specs and tuts disapprovingly,while my inner goddess slumbers on her chaise longue, out for the count. I gape at my reflection. My wrists have a red strech mark around them from the handcuffs by his hands . No doubt they’ll bruise. I examine my ankles—more welts. Holy hell, I look like I’vebeen in some sort of accident. I gaze at myself, trying to absorb how I look. My body is so different these days. It’s changed subtly since I’ve known him . .

I’ve become leaner and fitter, and my hair is glossy and well cut. My nails are manicured, my feet pedicured, my eyebrows threaded and beautifully shaped. For the first time in my life, I’m well groomed—except for these hideous love bites. I don’t want to think about grooming at the moment. I’m too mad. How dare he mark me like this, like some teenager. In the short time we’ve been together, he’s never given me hickeys. I look like hell. I know why he’s done this.

Damn control freak. Right! My subconscious folds her arms beneath her small bosom—he’s gone too far this time. I stalk out of the en suite bathroom and into the walk-in closet, carefully avoiding even a glance in his direction. Slipping out of my robe, I pull on my sweatpants and a camisole. I undo the braid, pick up a hair-brush from the small vanity unit, and brush out my tangles.

I ignore him. Am I okay? No, I am not okay. After what he’s done to me, I doubt I’ll be able to wear a swimsuit, let alone one of my ridiculously expensive bikinis with cover a extra long over coat , for the rest of our honeymoon. The thought is suddenly so infuriating. How dare he? I’ll give him are you okay. I seethe as fury spikes through me. I can behave like an adolescent, too! Stepping back into the bedroom, I hurl the hair-brush at him, turn, and leave—though not before I see his shocked expression and his lightning reaction as he raises his arm to protect his head so that the brush bounces ineffectively off his forearm and onto the bed.

I storm out of our cabin, bolt upstairs and out on deck, fleeing toward the bow. I need some space to calm down. It’s dark and the air is balmy. The warmbreeze carries the smell of the Ireland and the scent of rose and bougainvillea from the shore. The brown  Lady glides effortlessly through the calm co-balt sea as I rest my elbows on the wooden railing, gazing at the distant shore where tiny lights wink and twinkle. I take a deep, healing breath and slowly begin to calm. I’m aware of him behind me before I hear him.

We set the other destinations of Paris

Saint Paul de Vence is a medieval, fortified, hilltop village, one of the most pic-turesque places I have ever seen. I stroll arm in arm with him  through the narrow cobblestone streets with my hand in the back pocket of his shorts. Harry  and either Gaston or Philippe—I can’t tell the difference between them—trail behind us. We pass a tree-covered square where three old men, one wearing a traditional beret in spite of the heat, are playing boules. It’s quite crowded with tourists, but I feel comfortable tucked under louis ’s arm.

There is so much tosee—little alleys and passageways leading to courtyards with intricate stone fountains, ancient and modern sculptures, and fascinating little boutiques and shops.In the first gallery, louis gazes distractedly at the erotic photographs infront of us, sucking gently on the arm of his aviator specs. They are the work of Florence D’elle—naked women in various poses.

“Not quite what I had in mind,” I mumble disapprovingly. They make me think of the box of photographs I found in his closet, our closet.

The next display is by a female painter who specializes in figurative art—fruit and vegetables super close up and in rich, glorious color. “I like those.” I point to three paintings of peppers. “They remind me of you chopping vegetables in my apartment.” I giggle. Louis ’s mouth twists as he tries and fails to hide his amusement.