MAFIA MELTDOWN

wedding night

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Audrey's POV

Even in the shower, I couldn’t wash away the memory of what just happened with Jackson. Every touch, every glance played on a loop in my head—and I found myself blushing all over again.

Wrapped in a towel, I stepped into the walk-in closet, only to realize I had absolutely nothing that felt right. So, I settled for one of his shirts—it smelled like him—and a pair of shorts. I tied my damp hair into a lazy bun, pretending I wasn’t flustered, and headed out to eat.

Jackson was already at the dining table, lounging in a tank top and joggers like some damn Greek god. The way the fabric hugged his muscles, his messy hair… everything about him screamed effortless heat. My eyes lingered longer than they should have—imagining what it’d feel like to peel that tank off him slowly…

“You know,” he said, voice low and cocky, “if you're a good girl, I can give you a proper view.”

I froze. My heart skipped. “I—I wasn’t looking,” I lied, horribly.

Jackson smirked like he could see right through me. “Baby, you suck at lying.”

“I swear I wasn’t—”

“Okay,” he said, drawing out the word like he didn’t believe a single syllable.

Too flustered to argue, I sat at the far end of the table, trying to focus on my food. But every time I glanced at him—every single time—our eyes met. And he didn’t look away. Instead, he wore that look. The I’m-gonna-f**k-you-til-you-scream look.

By the time I finished eating, I practically bolted to the bedroom like it was a safe zone. It still felt surreal—I was actually married to this man. My husband. The thought alone sent a tingle down my spine.

I was just starting to wind down when the door opened. Jackson walked in. Our eyes locked. And then, without a word, he peeled off his tank top. Then his joggers hit the floor.

“What are you doing?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.

“Getting naked,” he replied casually, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

“I can see that, but… why?”

“For a very special night-time activity,” he teased, climbing onto the bed, crawling toward me like a predator with all the time in the world. My pulse was deafening in my ears.

And then, like it was the most natural thing in the world, he stripped me bare—swift, practiced, intentional. I lay there breathless, every nerve alive.

But then… he stopped.

Jackson climbed off me, turned off the lights, and just… lay down.

What the hell just happened?

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Jackson's POV

She sat across the table, pretending to ignore me, but I caught her staring every time. The way her cheeks flushed, how she squirmed—God, she had no idea how irresistible she looked wearing my shirt.

When she chose to sit far away, I felt it. Like rejection, sharp and stupid. I kept my mouth shut, though. She finished eating and ran off like I was contagious.

I followed later, after wrapping up work, and found her lying in bed—looking bored, innocent, unprepared.

And I wanted her. Badly.

But I couldn’t cross that line without consent. It would make me no better than the monsters from my past. Still… teasing her? That was harmless. A little fun, right?

I undressed slowly, watching her eyes widen with every movement. The way she looked at me—it was like she’d never seen a man before. Priceless.

Then I stripped her, just to see the look on her face. And damn, it was worth it. She was art. Every inch of her—her curves, the freckles across her chest—I wanted to worship.

My gaze landed on her breasts, her soft skin, and I ached to touch, to taste, to claim. I imagined her moaning beneath me, our bodies tangled in heat and sweat.

But I couldn’t. Not tonight.

So I did the only thing I could—I climbed off, turned off the lights, and lay there. Tortured. Hard as hell.

She didn’t say a word.

And me? I stared at the ceiling, sexually frustrated beyond reason. I wanted to tease her… not destroy myself in the process.

When her breathing softened and I knew she was asleep, I slipped out of bed and into a cold shower, praying it would calm the fire she had unknowingly started.