Page 161 of Brutal Revenge

As I free a strand of hair from her sticky forehead, I drink in all her perfect features. Her hair is a dark halo across the pillow, and her face is soft in a way she only lets me see. I trace the line of her jaw with my index finger, memorizing her all over again.

I could do this every day for the rest of my life and never grow tired.

When I brush my lips against her collarbone, she murmurs something. Her voice is too soft and sleepy to decipher exactly what she says, but it’s something along the lines of wondering if she’s dreaming.

Suddenly, her eyes pop open, and they glare at me with murderous intent.

“What?” I murmur, my innocent act impossible to pull off. “You were wondering if you were dreaming, so I thought a pinch was the quickest way to prove you weren’t.”

“You couldn’t just tell me I’m not dreaming?”

“I could have.” I smirk. “But where’s the fun in that? If you’re not threatening to kill me,la mia tigrotta, I’m not doing this whole husband thing right.” I capture her lip between my teeth and give it a playful tug. “Also… sparring with you is my favorite kind of foreplay.”

She smiles, slow and warm, and I swear my chest aches with how much I love her. I could stay like this forever. But Azra glances toward the window, and her eyes widen.

“What time is it?”

I shrug. “Fucked if I know.” I waggle my brows. “Time for a second helping of breakfast?”

She sits up abruptly, then grabs her phone to check the time. “We’re late!”

I hook her ankle and tug her back down the bed. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

“Matteo—”

“Revenge waits,” I say, kissing the inside of her ankle. “Love waits.” This time, I kiss behind her knee. “Support waits.” Now her thigh. “Everything waits for you, Azra. It always has.” My voice drops, rough with memory. “Just like it did three years ago, when you needed time to find yourself again.”

Her expression softens instantly, and I think I have her. Then she kicks me in the shoulder firm enough to push me off the bed.

While peering down at me with twisted, fuckable lips, she murmurs, “As sweet as that is, I’m unwilling to pay double this year for being late. I have better things to spend our money on.” You have no fucking clue how hard I get when she uses references like “our.” She’s as wealthy as I am, but she knows what is mine is hers, and what is hers is also hers. “Like my own motorcycle, so we can ride together.”

“Absolutely not.” She stops throwing on the slip I peeled off her last night as we stumbled into our room. “If you think I’m givingup the opportunity to have your body rubbing against me, you don’t know a damn thing about me, sweetheart.”

She rolls her eyes, faking that she hates my arrogance.

She’s a shit liar.

“Fine,” she eventually submits. “Then how about I remind you that the sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can return to the honeymoon phase we’ve barely tiptoed out of in the past three years.”

That does it.

I’m on my feet in an instant, dressed even faster than that, then dragging her out the door.

Shoes forgotten, and our ceremony clothes half buttoned, I drag her out into the morning light. Our room opens directly onto the sand of a private cove we return to every year on the anniversary of the day we first saw each other. It is quiet, untouched, and completely ours when we don’t invite others to be a part of the celebration.

The ocean breeze blasts us with cool, salty air, and Azra’s laughter rings out across the beach. It has seriously become my favorite sound in the world.

We run, hand in hand, across the sand, and every giggle when we almost stumble makes me fall in love with her all over again.

Under an arch of white flowers, the celebrant waits. She’s accustomed to our chaos by now. The space is set up for a small, intimate ceremony for two. We invited our families the first year we renewed our vows, but now, with our nieces and nephews multiplying like wildfire, it’s harder to gather everyone in one space.

Although this is fucked to admit, I prefer it this way.

I love my family. I would die for them. But this, us, is solely mine to treasure, so the more intimate the better.

This is why we’ve discussed kids but haven’t set anything in stone. We like our life how it is, so why add more chaos to the mess until we’re ready to share?

Azra squeezes my hand as we step under the arch. The ocean breeze carries the celebrant’s soft voice, but I don’t pay her an ounce of attention until she requests that I repeat my vows after her. I can’t takemy eyes off my wife. Her eyes are wide and lusty, and the breeze is cool enough to pucker her nipples against her satin slip. She is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, and she is solely mine.

“Azra,” I say, my voice low and confident. “I vow to protect you, to stand with you, and to choose you every day and for every moment. I vow to be your strength when you need it, your peace when the world is loud, and your partner in every battle we face. I am yours, Azra. In every way a man can belong.”

Azra says her vows next. She promises loyalty, partnership, and a love that will never waver. She promises to walk beside me, even when my world is darker than hers.

Then the celebrant reaches the last line. “Until death do you part.”

“Even after death,” I correct her, my voice a vow in itself. “Because what we have doesn’t end. Not in this life, and not in the next. It is eternal.”

As Azra’s smile breaks me open, the celebrant pronounces us husband and wife, unaware that Azra was mine before any ceremony, and I’ll be hers long after the world forgets our names.