Zurianne never imagined that saving her mother's life would cost her own freedom. Forced into an arranged marriage with Christopher Whyte the infamous Jamaican Don feared by many,she braces herself for a life of cold stares and ruthless commands. Bu...
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Chris still nuh reach home .
I chewed on my bottom lip, running my fingers gently over the twins' backs as they finally started to drift off to sleep. Their tiny bodies were warm against mine, their soft breaths the only thing keeping me grounded.
Weh him could a deh inna dem late hours yah?
Him nuh call. No text. Nothing.
A knot tightened in my stomach. I knew Chris. Knew his darkness, the rage that simmered beneath the surface. And tonight... something had been different. The way he stormed out. The look in his eyes.
I sighed, placing the babies down carefully, making sure they were tucked in snugly beside me before I sat up.
My fingers itched to call him again, but just as I reached for my phone, the door creaked open.
Chris stepped in.
The tension in my shoulders loosened for a second, but as soon as I took in his appearance, my heart clenched all over again. His dark shirt was slightly damp from the rain, his hair tousled, his face unreadable.
But his eyes, his eyes were the real giveaway.
Something had happened.
Something bad.
"Chris," I breathed, standing from the bed as he shut the door behind him.
He said nothing.
I crossed my arms. "Weh the hell yuh did deh eeh? You not even call me , nor leff nuh text." My voice was sharper than I intended, but I didn't care. He needed to know.
Still, nothing.
Instead, he stepped forward in a slow, deliberate motion, his gaze locked onto mine with an intensity that sent a shiver down my spine.
"Chris?" I whispered.
And then, in one swift move, his hands gripped my waist, yanking me against him as his lips crashed onto mine.
A startled gasp left me, but I didn't push him away. No I couldn't.
The moment his mouth moved against mine, I melted into him, my fingers clutching at his damp shirt as he deepened the kiss, raw and urgent. His grip was possessive, his hands roaming my body like he needed to feel that I was real.
Heat curled low in my stomach as I responded, matching his hunger, letting him consume me entirely.
One kiss turned into another. And another.
I barely registered when he backed me up against the dresser, his hands sliding under my silk nightgown, gripping my thighs, hoisting me up as I instinctively wrapped my legs around his waist.
