✓ WICKED VOWS| JAKE (Book II )

40-Childhood Rapist & Desires To Ravage

Jake's pov

As the sun dipped below the horizon, I wrapped up my work and made a few calls to the hospital to finalize my surgery schedule. The office was eerily quiet, the only sounds were the muffled tones of my voice through the phone and the faint hum of the computer. Anastasia was still with my mother, and I could hear their faint laughter from the garden as I completed my tasks.

As I finally left the office, Mom bade me a warm goodbye. She had infused a feeling of normalcy into the day, unbeknownst to her, and I wanted more of those moments. I walked into our bedroom; the soft twilight had thrown shadows in the hallway.

I opened the door to find Anastasia sitting on the edge of the bed, staring down at the floor. She sat relaxed, but the air seemed charged. I closed the door behind me and leaned on it, surveying her. "It seems like my mother wore you out already?" I said with a hint of a smirk.

Her eyes—nearly exasperated, but also highly amused—met mine. "She has a way of doing that," she said, her voice laced with the barest hint of sarcasm.

I got up and walked to her, sat beside her on the bed. The soft, amber light from the bedside lamp in the room added warmth to the atmosphere, which otherwise seemed quite tense. "How was it with her?" I asked, observing her face for any evidence of tension or discomfort.

Anastasia sighed, rubbing her eyes. "She's a force of nature, Jake. But I suppose it is good to have someone who cares so much." I nodded again, then spoke. "It is. I'm glad she was here, but I wish it didn't have to be under these circumstances."

Her eyes locked with mine, her face turning serious. "Speaking of circumstances, Renard wants to remove me from the equation because I am a major block in his influential way. The fire was a message. A warning. And it is not something we can brush off.

"I'm not going to be afraid of him. I've handled it worse. But we need to be smart about this. We can't let our emotions cloud our judgment."

"I'm already taking care of it."

She flashed her eyes in anger, drawing her hand back. "No, you already helped enough." Her voice went high in frustration and defiance. I could see the raw emotion in her eyes—an anger that was fierce but vulnerable at the same time. Her not wanting to let me help wrung feelings inside of me, and I could hardly stand her in so much distress.

I cupped her face in my hands and, without hesitation, silenced her with a hard, passionate kiss. It was a kiss to close the chasm, to relay that now I was all in—for her and for us. My lips pressed onto hers, were hard and insistent, willing her to let me in.

She struggled at first, her body tensing before my kiss soon broke her resistance. I pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, my own filled with determination. "It seems like you got the wrong idea, I'm already in this, I don't need your permission Ace" I murmured lowly, filled with tension.

Her anger seemed to slump, giving way to a more quivering type of submission as her eyes met mine. "You don't understand—" I silenced her again, this time with a tender kiss, still rife with the passion our feelings had stirred. It was a kiss that spoke of shared burdens and the strength of a bond. She finally broke apart, breathing heavily, her eyes filling with both frustration and relief. "My perceptions of you are very high Ace, I won't let you ruin it."

There was an electric sort of crackle in the air between us—naked energy that was at once raw emotion and residual heat. I stood from the bed, feeling a sudden urge to be alone. I slipped into just my shorts; tension from the day still pressed upon me in the room.

As I walked toward the wardrobe, I felt Anastasia's gaze slip to the package on the dresser. Her fingers drew along the edges of the wrapping, surprise crossing her face. The package was something I had set aside two days ago now—a special gift I had procured for Alex. Inside were high-end painting brushes and a portrait.