Chapter Ten

Adam

The dorms I lived in before Genevieve weren’t all that impressive, but I didn’t care. I was a college bachelor. My entire “kitchen” consisted of a hot plate, a medium saucepan, one fork, plate, knife, cup, and bowl, and so many takeout menus they made a mini-Torah when they were all scrolled together.

Oh, and chopsticks.

I had a set of pretty nice chopsticks because Li, the guy who lived next door to me, actually finished his thesis program and went back to Shanghai. He gave me some of his extra stuff, chopsticks included.

That was all funny, I guess, when I was a single guy. But I’m a married man now.

I look down at the plain silver band on my finger and wonder what the hell I got myself into. Marriage? Genevieve needed a man who could give her a nice house to live in. A man who could work a real job and bring in money so she’d have everything she needed.

She shouldn’t have to deal with me and my sad chopstick collection.

I circle the parking lot of the dorms for married students. I didn’t even know they existed until a few weeks ago. They’re less uniform than the general dorms. I guess maintenance lets up on the yards so the couples can do their own things. Some are neat and lined with flowers and tall grasses. Some look nearly abandoned. Ours is the last unit on the end, unit 708.

“I like the door,” Genevieve says shyly.

“It’s very red,” I observe.

“I think red is a good luck color.” She hops out as soon as I pull in, running to the doorstep and using her key, fresh from the housing office, to push inside. I follow behind and grimace.

“It’s a shithole.” I look around the two-room apartment. The first room is a tiny square. One half is supposed to be the living space, complete with a tiny closet. The other half is the dining/kitchen area. There is a wall of plain white cabinets, a stove, a refrigerator, and a small sink.

Genevieve is flicking on every buzzing fluorescent light on her way to the tiny hall that has three more doors. One leads to a cramped, dark pantry. One leads to a bathroom with a mildew problem. The last one is the door to the bedroom.

Our bedroom.

She stands in the middle and puts her arms out, turning in a full circle.

“It’s big!” Her voice echoes off the wall.

“Until you get things in it,” I point out. I open the two closets and look at the sad wire hangers swaying from the crossbars.

She heads to the window, parting the tattered blinds with her fingers and peeking out.

“Adam. Look.”

I come over and see what might be this dingy place’s one saving grace. “The AG department owns the land behind us,” I explain. That’s why we have cultivated gardens, neat rows of greenhouses, and some bird and butterfly sanctuaries. “This garden is supposed to be one of the best templates for a space that will attract honey bees.”

Genevieve turns to me and smiles, loops her arms around my neck and pulls me close. “Bees? How about birds? This is all very interesting. Tell me more, husband.”

My mouth goes dry. She slides up against me, and I have a hard time swallowing. The night of the wedding, she fell asleep before anything could happen. The next night, we camped out at her parents’ house again after a day full of paperwork and running around. We haven’t been alone or energized enough to bother with sex.

Sex. With Genevieve.

My wife.

Or, at least, the woman I’m bonded with until she moves on to whoever her permanent husband will be. That thought makes intense jealousy flare through me, but I stomp it out. I care about her too much to let myself get too close.

I kiss her gently on the lips and pull away, not ready for what that means just yet.

“We have a ton of boxes to get in here. I guess we should get—”

“Hey, lovebirds! Are we interrupting anything?” Cohen calls out.

I try not to focus on how disappointed Genevieve looks and instead welcome her family.

Cohen, Maren, Deo, Whit, Cece, and Enzo crowd into our doorway and living room.

“Let me carry you over the threshold!” Deo yells. Whit is in his arms, screaming and laughing as she pounds on his chest.

“You only do that when it’s your house, idiot,” she says, but she kisses him anyway.

Damn it. I didn’t carry Gen over the threshold.

Maybe she’s not into old-fashioned crap like that? I look at her, and she has her eyes trained on Whit and Deo. The look on her face is a sucker punch. I wish she’d never told me Deo had been her crush since childhood. I wish he wasn’t so damn romantic without even seeming like he’s trying.

I wish I had thought to carry her—my wife—over the damn threshold.

“Holy shit, this place is small as hell,” Enzo says, smiling a cocky smile as he runs his finger along a dusty windowsill and shakes his head. “Will you both fit?”

“Shut up.” Cece smacks his arm. “It’s their first place. It’s going to be amazing, so stop being an asshole about it. Whit, Maren, Gen, come with me. We’re running to Target and Lowes. You have those gift cards, baby sister?”

Genevieve nods, looking at me like she’s asking permission.

For what?

“It’s your place, too, Gennie! You and Adam both need things. Like lamps. And sheets. And curtains. And laundry baskets.” Cece rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “No one had time for gifts, but that was actually cool, because now you get to pick up everything you need right from the store instead of having to find room for ten blenders and a few Foreman grills. C’mon. We need to get going!”

Cohen jerks a thumb toward the living/dining room window, and I see a Rodriguez moving truck parked outside. “I got the load of furniture Mom and Dad gave you guys. Though I’m not sure it will all fit in here.”

“Did they go with the king bed?” Maren asks, putting her arm around Cohen’s waist and kissing his neck like it’s no big thing.

Funny how Genevieve and I are the newlyweds who got to the place first, but the couples who’ve been here half the time have already seen twice as much action.

Gen goes to the car and grabs her purse, then runs back in to pull me aside for a minute. “Um, what do you like?” she asks.

“Like?” I have no clue what she’s asking.

“You know, decorating-wise. Colors? Patterns? Do you like modern? Or are you more traditional?” Her eyebrows furrow low over her eyes, and she looks so adorably worried, it throws me for a second.

“My dorm room had a navy blue comforter and one poster of Einstein. I’m not really good with decorating and stuff.” I drop my voice. “But I like you. I like how you think, and I like how your mind works. So you get what you like, and I’ll just be happy I didn’t have to go to the store with four strong, scary women.”

She stands on her toes and presses her lips to mine, slowly, letting the kiss linger. My blood runs hot, like an acid continuously burning under my skin. The room recedes fast, and I put a hand on the small of her back, tugging her closer, ready to forget—

“So, about the store?” Cece’s loud voice breaks the spell, and I pull back to see three guys and Cece glaring at me like I’m the big bad wolf and I’ve got Red in my arms.

I want to say, I’m her husband, dammit. I’ll kiss her when and how I please.

But there’s tempting fate, and then there’s just asking for a world class beat down. I make do with the knowledge that, when everyone else leaves, it will just be Genevieve and me, alone together.

All night.

As fast as the territorial pulse of testosterone raced through me, it fizzles away, replaced by a nervousness I shouldn’t feel. I’m not a virgin. Neither is she. We know each other. We like each other. I can’t look at her without imagining a million things I shouldn’t, even if I am married to her.

“You okay, man?” Enzo asks like he hopes the answer is no. “You look a little pale.”

We all watch the girls leave, then six cold, calculated male eyes turn back on me. “I’m cool,” I say just as a bead of sweat runs off my forehead and down my face. “I’m ready to get all moved in.”

Cohen and Enzo stalk over to me, with Deo flanking the rear.

“Look, man,” Enzo says between gritted teeth. “You seem nice enough, I guess. But something about this whole scheme doesn’t sit right. I don’t know why Gen had to marry you so quick. She swears she’s not pregnant. I’m gonna say this one time—you lay a finger on her, you make her cry, you look at her the wrong way, and you’ll be getting shipped back to Israel in a fucking body bag. Got me, bro?”

Cohen and Deo snarl for emphasis. I grit my teeth back.

I stand straighter and bristle. “I would never hurt a hair on Genevieve’s head. I’m her husband. It’s my place to protect her, provide for her. I don’t take that lightly.”

“Provide?” Cohen looks around with one eyebrow raised, and every flaw in the dismal room intensifies. “You’re off to a great start. Let’s get moving before the girls get back and scream at us for slacking.”

I feel like I just got roughed up by the neighborhood bullies and called out by my rabbi all at once. The guys were nice enough when I was just Genevieve’s tutor/friend/fiancé. Now that I’m officially one of the family, things have changed.

I’d be more pissed, except I can’t shake the feeling that maybe this is exactly what I deserve. Maybe I should have talked to myself like they just talked to me—before I trapped Genevieve in this piss poor excuse for an apartment while I scramble to make my degree into something that matters.

I walk out to the truck and accept the fact that I’m going to be lifting more than the other guys. Every time a piece of furniture gets dropped on a toe, it’s one of mine. Every time there’s a bulky piece to lift or a crappy position to be in, I’m the one who deals with it.

Which is fine by me.

It’s not much, but I’ll do what I can to prove I’m not just some asshole who stole their little sister away for his own dickish reasons.

Even if that’s exactly what I am.

The furniture is high end, so nice it makes this dingy place look even worse. The girls make it home as we finish putting the bed together. Nothing’s ever looked as inviting as the cushy mattress Genevieve’s parents gave us, but every time I so much as look at the bed, every male in the room glowers like they all know the thoughts going through my head.

Which probably isn’t much of a stretch.

From the way Enzo snuck off with his date at the wedding to the way Cohen and Deo are around Maren and Whit, I have no doubt that whatever they imagine is going on in my head is probably ten times raunchier than anything I could possibly be thinking of.

“We’re here! We’re here! Grab a paint roller and a tarp!” Cece is marching in, telling her brothers to go get drop cloths and cover the furniture.

“Painting?” Enzo moans. “We carried all this shit in. How ’bout a break?”

Cece shoves a bag at him. “Tacos from Los Cincos Puntos. You can thank me by painting that damn wall while you eat.”

“Unbelievable,” Enzo mutters, but that’s the end of his tirade. After that he stuffs a taco in his mouth and snatches a paint roller from a pile on the floor.

Genevieve dashes through the door, completely hidden by a huge mound of bags, and flies into my arms. I take the bags from her, kiss her softly, then pull away.

“Wow. That’s a ton of stuff.”

“Um, that’s, like, a quarter of what we bought.” She shrugs when I give her a nervous look. “I got kind of carried away. And we do need a ton of stuff. Right?”

I nod. “Yeah. Look, I’m not sure if we’re allowed to paint in here.”

She rolls her eyes and shakes me back and forth by the shirt collar. “Your PhD program could take another year to finish, and then what if they offer you a full time position? We may be here for a while, and I’m not about to live in a dingy white place. Plus, I read the housing guide they gave us. It’s fine as long as you paint it back to white when you leave.” She pulls my face down and kisses me. “Don’t you like color?”

I look up and see that “color” means red. Bright, in-your-face, deep red.

“Red?” I say, my eyes squinting at the color blistering the walls. “Don’t you think that might make the room look small?”

She stiffens, coming down flat on her feet.

“I thought you said you would be fine with what I picked.”

“I just never thought you were getting paint. I thought, you know, throw pillows and stuff.” I take her by the shoulders. “It’s just really bold. That’s all.”

She looks around, and I notice Cohen and Enzo staring at us over their tacos, eyes narrowed. Her voice drops.

“You know what, Adam? It is bold. So is your wife.” She grabs a paintbrush from one of the million bags on the floor and presses it in my hand. “I guess next time you should come to the store if you’re going to hate what I buy. Or, you know, name a color when I ask.”

Cohen saunters over. I’m sure our conversation was quiet enough that he didn’t hear, but the smirk on his face lets me know he probably got the gist based on the plummeting temperature in my corner. He thrusts a paper bag at me.

“Sorry, man. Only vegetarian tacos left.” He snickers as he walks away, and I wonder if my night can get any shittier.

Then I remember my wife and I will be sharing a bed. In our new place. Alone.

I glare at the paintbrush and vegetarian tacos, wondering what the hell I got myself into.

I grit my teeth through the next few hours of painting, picture hanging, furniture setup, and general cleaning. I try not to show how pissed I am when Genevieve’s brothers push me to the side, over and over again, so they can oversee jobs I’m perfectly capable of doing on my own.

I can handle a damn drill.

I use more complicated tools in the lab every single day. They’re pretending they need to step in because they want me to feel like a useless asshole. And it seems like Genevieve looks right at me every time I get hit by another wave of condescension.

I should point out that the new blinds didn’t fit the window because Cohen didn’t bother to top mount the brackets? I should mention that the dining room table legs were screwed on backward by Enzo, who was too busy telling me how to use the stud finder—the one I was already using with no problem—to realize what he was doing wrong?

But I don’t, because I’m desperate to keep the peace with Genevieve. The hours tick by so slowly that I’m positive time is actually moving backward. But, finally, the last tile is scrubbed, the last floorboard is wiped down, the last dish is put away, and our guests have all filed out.

Genevieve and I are left standing in our own place, which has been totally transformed.

And I’m happy about it. She deserves an amazing place to live in.

I just wanted to be the one who hung the blinds for her, who put the table together. I wanted to be one who made this place a home for her.

“It looks great in here,” I say, shoving my hands in my pockets.

“Are you being sarcastic?” She drops onto the brown leather loveseat we could have never afforded on our own. She leans her head back and closes her eyes. “Because I’m too tired to figure out what you’re pouting about now.”

“I’m not being sarcastic at all.” I’m trying hard as hell to choose my words slowly, not say anything that will ignite this whole crazy situation. “And I have no clue why you’d think I’m pouting.”

“You’ve been in a shitty mood since everyone showed up to help. Look, I’m sorry about the red paint—”

“Stop,” I say, sitting on the edge of the walnut coffee table that probably cost half my tuition for the year. “The red looks fine. I don’t want to fight about paint. Or some look you think I have on my face. Because I’m nothing but grateful for your family’s help tonight.” I reach out and put one hand on her knee.

It’s a little weird to see Genevieve in cut-off shorts and a tank top. She’s usually very dressed up, but I love this low-key look on her. It’s beyond sexy, and I’ve had to resist the urge to drag her into our room and show her just how much I like it…maybe a couple dozen times tonight.

“You didn’t seem like it,” she says, still looking up at the ceiling.

I stand up and head to the bathroom, getting the Eros lotion Marigold gave me out of the cabinet. She’s still staring at the ceiling when I come back to the living room.

I pull her foot onto my lap, and she jerks her head up, but I ignore the look of shock on her face and act like I’m doing the most natural thing in the world.

“I’m sorry. Maybe I’m just tired. It’s been a long few days.” Her foot is ridiculously small. I pour some lotion on my palms, and the heady, spicy aroma fills the apartment. I run my thumbs along her arches, and she bites her bottom lip and lets out a strangled moan. “Good?”

“So…damn…Adam,” she gasps as I rub harder, watching her face contort as she pushes her foot harder into my hands.

I rub until she’s gone slack on the couch. Then I grab the other foot, and she squirms back on the cushions and slowly slides back down until she’s hanging half off the edge. I rub until she sits up, looking at me like she wants to say something.

“Are you—”

I start to ask a question. But I don’t remember what, because she’s suddenly straddling my lap, her arms around my neck, her body pressed soft against me, her mouth fierce on mine.

“I don’t know what the rules are,” she gasps. “But if we’re going to be…bonded, why not make the best of it, right? We can handle being friends with benefits.”

“Genevieve,” I groan, ripping my mouth away from hers. “I want you. I want you now. Come to bed.”

She nods, and I stand, lifting under her ass. She circles her legs around my waist, and I walk, blinded by her kisses and deaf from her moans, my free hand in front of me to take the impact of every wall I bang into on the way to our room. I’ve never been happier to have no idea what the hell is going on beyond the moment I’m drowning in.

I stumble through the doorway and drop her on our huge bed, which takes up most of the tiny room. Our bedroom. Her hair spills deep midnight against the pure white bedspread. I kiss her neck, pressing her hair back so I don’t miss a single inch of skin. She kneads her fingers into my shoulders, then pulls back with a start.

“I’ve never— I’ve never seen you naked,” she says, her brow furrowed.

I can’t help laughing. “It’s not usually part of the tutoring experience, but for you I’ll make an exception.” I strip off my T-shirt, undo my pants and let them drop, and stand in front of her in just my boxers.

“Oh.” Her gray eyes are wide, darting up and down my body so quickly they’re like silver fish in a bowl. “You’re…wow.”

I hold my arms out and chuckle. “I know. Pretty damn amazing, right?”

“Yeah. Yes. I think so.” She sits up on her elbows and cocks an eyebrow my way. “So, how does a scientist get such an awesome body?”

“Microscopes,” I say, walking close to the bed. I like the way her mouth closes tight and her eyes pop wide. “They’re heavy. Good for lifting.”

“Really?” she whispers, her eyes on my abs.

“No.” I kneel on either side of her hips and drop my hands next her shoulders, bridging my body over hers. I lean down to nuzzle her neck, kissing and sucking softly. “I lift weights. Boring, I know. Guys aren’t the big mystery girls always assume we are.”

“Weights? That’s hard for me to picture. I guess I always think of you with…well, with microscopes, or your binders. Or petri dishes…” Her voice trails off as she touches my face gently, then lets her fingers explore down my body.

I make sure I hold every muscle tight, glad I started lifting more regularly again when the stress of my impending deportation got real. It’s an old trick leftover from my time in the military: lifting is the most mind-numbing thing I can do. It’s what I did to help myself adjust to life in the barracks—and to give myself a shot at catching up with the guys who’d been building muscles all the years I was buried in books.

Now I’m glad I needed to zone out recently, since my hot-as-hell wife is obviously appreciating the efforts.

“That’s very stereotypical,” I say, letting my mouth roam as low as the scooped neckline of her shirt. I kiss where the little bit of lace meets her skin. “I was in the army, you know. I’m not just a science nerd.”

“You were?” Her eyes widen, and I think about the day in the barracks when my best friend, Uziel, told me that agreeing to conscription was my only chance of ever getting laid.

He wound up being right.

I drag my thumbs over the straps of her tank and pull them down her shoulders, letting my mouth follow the trail my fingers take. “Three years. Very hard, very lonely labor.”

“Was it awful?” she asks, her breath hitching as I kiss down past the curve of her shoulder, my stubble scratching at the delicate skin.

“Not so bad.”

It wasn’t.

I liked the discipline. I liked getting away from my father for a few years. I liked the respect in his eyes when I came home after my service was done.

I didn’t like the surprise that came with it. He’d figured I was going to dodge my conscription because I’d been so immersed in studies. Or give military life a try, but then prove to myself and everyone else I wasn’t tough enough and ask for an exemption.

I actually contemplated doing exactly that, but proving my father wrong meant more to me than even my science studies or my reluctance to give three years of my life to the military. Shallow, but true.

“Girls serve, too, right?” Genevieve asks, her fingers running up the back of my arms and drawing down over my back.

“Not as long as men, but, yes. A lot of them do.” My first girlfriend was a girl I met in the army. She was as heartless as she was gorgeous, and her constant emotional torture and wild temper cooled me on the idea of dating for a long time after we broke up. “I don’t really want to think about them, though.”

“Why not?” She arches under me, her body bucked up off the mattress and pressed hard against mine. I suck air hard through my teeth and blow it back out.

“Because the most gorgeous girl I’ve ever seen is in my bed, and she just happens to be my wife. Being with you is the only thing I want to think about, Genevieve. Holy hell, you’re beautiful.” I press up on my arms and look down her body. Her shorts are pushed low on her slim hips, and her tank is riding up under the swell of her tits. “If you’re making me this crazy with your clothes on, I’m not sure I’m going to be able to control myself when I strip you naked.”

She blushes at my words. “Adam…” She bites her bottom lip and looks away.

“What is it?” I struggle to keep my voice even.

“If we do this…it changes things, right?” Her eyes have gone a dark gray, plagued with a thousand worries. About me, about us.

The words come out of my mouth, and they’re not just a vehicle to get her out of her clothes. I mean what I say.

“It does. But things already changed, Gen. We’re not just friends. We’re bonded to each other. We take care of each other. And I know… I know it’s not permanent. But while we’re together—”

I stop and take her hand and rub a thumb over her rings, the ones I put on her finger when I asked her to agree to this marriage of convenience, and when I vowed to take care of her. Forever.

I know that can’t be. I don’t get forever with her. That privilege belongs to some other guy. Maybe that guy will be who she thinks about when she’s buying her wedding dress and maybe that guy will think to carry her over the threshold—her first love married someone else, but she’ll be looking to feel what she feels with Deo again someday.

Someday she’ll meet the guy who makes her feel that—and that’s the day I’ll have to let her go.

“What if you hadn’t needed to get married so quickly? Do you think there’s any chance this all would have happened anyway? Later on?” Her hands glide up to my neck and hold tight at the base, pulling my mouth close.

We’re inches apart, and I close my eyes and press my body down over hers, collecting her in my arms and crushing her against me. “I hate even thinking about that.”

“Why?” Her voice is ribboned with panic. “Why do you hate it?”

“Because I’m…”

Afraid I would have never gotten the courage up.

Terrified to think about a life without you.

I kiss her mouth, release my hold on her, and run my hands over her arms, tug up, and pin her wrists over her head.

“Because I’m a scientist,” I say, like the coward I am. “I like to work with facts, not anecdotal what ifs.”

I’m petrified that my one shot with you was wasted on a lie. I should have wooed you the day we met. I should have made you forget the guy you thought you were in love with. I should have taken a risk, because now I’m in a marriage with an expiration date that I’m afraid will come too soon.

The truth squeezes the air out of my lungs, and I kiss her, hard and fast, to keep the possibilities of that alternate reality from taunting me.

“Would you ever have asked me out?” Her legs twine with mine; her teeth nip at my bottom lip. “Were you attracted to me?” Her question is nothing but a ragged pant.

I run my hands over her body, coasting over the flat, warm plane of her stomach, spreading my fingers along her underwire bra and up over the cups, desperate to rip her clothes off.

“I was just glad someone as amazing as you even wanted to be friends with a geek like me. And you know you’re beautiful. So damn beautiful,” I tell her.

I press her shirt up, and she nods to let me know—yes— she wants it off. She moans as I tug it up and over her head, letting her hair fall in a wide circle on the mattress as I drop the scrap of cloth onto the floor. I rub my hands over the lacy fabric of her bra, then reach a hand around her back and undo the snap. I pull it away, and her tits fall out, soft and tempting.

Too tempting.

I drop my head and suck in a nipple, loving the way her entire body jerks. She curls up toward me, her fingers raking through my hair and pulling my head closer. I suck and kiss, burying my face in the impossibly sweet smell of her, holding her tight to me with one hand at her back. I use the other hand to undo the button and tug down the fly of her tiny shorts. I push them off her hips and reach back up for the waistband of her panties.

There’s nothing there.

I pull my mouth back from her nipple and look up at her, the need for her so extreme it’s a physical ache. “You didn’t—?”

She bites her bottom lip and shakes her head, her cheekbones a deep pink. “I’d packed them all. I kept out a set I got from Maren and Whit, but I didn’t want to work in them. It’s, um, really…it’s sexy. Do you want to see?”

I sit up on my knees and drag my hands down her body, just hard enough my fingers leave imprints on her skin for a few seconds.

“I want to. You have no idea how badly I want to. But I need you now. Right now. I can’t even think about being any more turned on than I already am.”

She leans up and tugs at the waistband of my boxers. The fabric is stretched out like a ridiculous tent, and I shake my head when she giggles.

“What’s so funny, wife?” I ask.

She stops giggling at the possessive way the last words comes out, and her eyes meet mine, the pupils pitch black. She tugs hard, and my boxers are on the floor.

“Nothing’s funny.” She shakes her head. “I’m just happy.”

I press her shoulders back so she falls onto the mattress.

“You’re happy?”

I smile down at her, my fingers trailing down her stomach, stopping just inside of her thigh.

She nods. “Mmm. So happy. My husband is an incredibly kind, handsome genius. Like that’s not enough, he has the biggest cock I’ve ever seen.”

The sexy words slip out of her mouth so sweetly, it’s jarring.

My hand presses her legs apart, and I’m ready to find her clit and rub her until she’s slick and ready for me. But there’s no need.

“Your pussy is soaked,” I say, my mouth close to her ear. I slide my fingers deep into her, screwing my eyes shut and swallowing hard when a long, hungry groan breaks out of her mouth.

“I want you, Adam. So bad. So damn bad.” Her whimpers shake her body, and I press my fingers deeper, my eyes on her face. I’ve wanted her for so long, and now I can have her.

She’s spread in front of me, wet and ready, begging for me.

She’s my wife. There’s nothing wrong with what I’m about to do.

So why do I feel like I shouldn’t be doing it?

Maybe because I know I’m just a stand-in.

Maybe because I’ve never wanted anything the way I want to be the one she chose.

But that’s not possible, so I decide to be satisfied with the fact that I get to be with her at all. I’m luckier than I deserve. And I can’t say no to her. It’s just not in me.

“What’s wrong?” Her hands grasp tightly on my jaw. She pulls me up so I’m looking right at her, right at the lush mouth that I want on every part of my body. Everywhere. “Is something wrong?”

“No, nothing’s wrong. I want you.” Even as I’m debating in my head, my fingers are moving faster in her, sucked into the tight, wet core of her. She winds a hand down between our bodies and closes her fingers around my dick, rubbing and pressing until my breath goes ragged.

“If you want me, take me,” she murmurs, her tongue darting out to lick my ear. She blows softly and that one tiny action spirals everything out of control.

“Damnit, Genevieve. Are you sure?”

“Yes.” She opens her legs wide and pulls me to her, fitting the head of my dick just where she’s slickest. “Now, Adam. I don’t want to wait anymore.”

I kiss her and press long and slow. She’s so tight I’m afraid to go any faster, but so wet I know she’s ready for more. “Genevieve? Is this—?”

“No.” She shakes her head and grabs at my hips.

For a second I think the “no” means she doesn’t want this after all, but then her hands tighten on my ass, and she slams me deep into her. My vision goes dark and only comes back in silver pinpricks of bursting light.

“Like this?” I draw out of her and press back in, then do it again and again, faster.

“Like this.” She locks her legs around my hips and rolls on top of me, then pulls me up by the shoulders so our bodies are locked close. She grabs my hands and puts them on her tits. I squeeze them, rolling her nipples under the pads of my thumbs. She says something rapid and sexy in Spanish, and I don’t know what it is, but I want to do whatever keeps that language spilling out of her mouth like music.

“You like it like that?” I jerk my hips up hard and fill her completely. She spreads her legs wider and drives deeper onto me.

“More,” she begs, her silky black hair over her shoulders and my arms, her mouth twisted like she’s almost where she needs to be.

I pull out and tip her back on the bed, grab one of the throw pillows she just bought, and prop it under her. Her hips are tilted up, and I kneel in front of her. “More?”

She covers her face with her hands and arches her back. “Mmm. Yes!”

I slide deep into her, my thumb rubbing around her clit. “Look at me.”

She separates her fingers and smiles from behind the bars they make. “I am.”

I pull back, almost out, and say, “Let me see your face.”

One eyebrow arches high. “Why?”

I lean forward, grabbing her wrists and pulling her arms to the side as she laughs. “Because I want to see your face when I make you come.”

The laugh stops in her throat. I thrust deep, bracing my arms and holding her wrists. Her eyes lock on mine, never breaking contact. Not when she draws her knees up and lifts her hips higher. Not when the first wave of slick tightness surrounds my dick, making my vision blur. Not when her lush little mouth opens wide and the first panting moans break into something louder, something wilder.

I drive deeper into her, adjusting until the moans turn to pleas and, finally, a long, fantastically sexy string of Spanish that ends with my name.

She’s so wet, I can’t hold back for another second. She shakes and bucks under me, and I finally empty into her, rocked to my core, and completely spent. I lie on top of her for a second, then move to roll off.

“Stop.” She twines her legs around my waist, pressing her heels into my ass. She wraps her arms around my shoulders and kisses me softly. “Stay in me. I want to feel you in me.”

“Am I heavy?” I ask.

She doesn’t answer. Her breathing is shallow and slow, and I roll to the side, still buried inside her, but not lying on top of her. She hitches her hips closer and nuzzles her head against my shoulder before going slack. I’ve never seen anyone fall asleep this quickly.

The room is dark, and I wait until her body shudders with a chill before I pull away from her.

For a second, I feel the weight of being an imposter. I’m not the man she wanted, and that stings. But, for a little while, I get to have her to myself, and I’ll take it as long as it lasts.

I’m not sure about much, but I know I’ll kick myself every day ’til I die if I waste a single second of the time I have with Genevieve Rodriguez.

No. Genevieve Abramowitz.

I wonder how long this amazing woman will share my name, then I decide to stop thinking about the unknown future and enjoy the bliss of my present situation.

Or I nearly do. I mentally compile a new list of questions to ask so I can know her better, even if it seems ridiculous. Knowing the way she moans in bed, how her face goes pink when she’s eager to have sex and when she’s furious, and realizing that she doesn’t back down from anything when she’s passionate makes me feel like I know everything about her.

But that’s foolish. I know the pieces of her she chooses to show me. And I’ll only know those pieces for a moment in time. This marriage has an expiration date, and I have a responsibility to keep her out of trouble. She’s sleeping innocently in my arms, content, and that’s a lie within this lie. If she had any clue how much trouble we could be in for pulling this stunt, she’d be tossing and turning as much as I am.

She has no clue I almost had to puke when we filed our marriage license. She has no idea how much I dread seeing a letter from Immigration Services in the mail. I’ve played out my worst fear over and over—Gen and me being found out, my deportation, her incarceration for her role in this.

No. I’ll keep her at arm’s length. I’ll memorize the facts that will save her instead of being seduced into believing that because I know some of her secrets this could be real.

I grab the edge of the covers and pull them down, then slide her between the sheets, cool and crisp in their newness. I pull her, Genevieve, my wife, into my arms, bury my face in the silk of her hair, and slide into the deep sleep where she already waits, our bodies twined and satiated.

Despite my resolve to go back to facts and flashcards, my last thought is that I have to tell Marigold I’ll need more of that Eros balm.