The System Admitted Its Mistake, So I Offered Him a Divorce novel · Chapter 2 of 24

Chapter 2: What I Schemed For

Justine takes the wedding night she planned and Rafe gives it to her, careful of every light and vase in the room, until she wakes at 3 a.m. to find him on the floor watching the ceiling and a text from Jarrett calling them to brunch.

"You let me?" I said.

My voice came out higher than I wanted.

"Yes."

"Then why did you say I wasn't your type, for fifteen years, to anyone who asked?"

Rafe took off his jacket and hung it on the back of the desk chair.

"That's tomorrow's answer."

"Tonight's answer is the one I want."

"I know you do." He loosened his tie and didn't take it off. "I can give you the one that's true tonight, and it's short."

"Go on."

"I'm not letting you leave."

I had waited fifteen years to hear something like that from him.

It should have felt like winning.

Instead I stood barefoot in a wedding dress I'd picked out alone.

All I could think was that a System had just told me he was never mine to win.

"Fine," I said.

"Fine?"

"You don't want a divorce. I don't want to spend our wedding night with your grandmother's rule and your riddles."

I crossed the carpet and stopped in front of him.

"I did everything this month on purpose. I stood on a chair for you, Rafe. So I'm going to take what I schemed for."

"Justine."

"Say no."

He didn't.

He looked at my mouth, and his jaw moved once.

I got hold of his tie and pulled his head down to mine.

He kissed me hungrily, with fifteen years behind it.

His hand went into my hair and scattered every pin I had.

His other arm wrapped my back and lifted me until my toes left the carpet.

I made a noise I'd never made in front of anyone.

"Bed," I said into his mouth.

He carried me there.

On the way he stopped and switched off the glass light that hung above the headboard.

Then he lifted the tall vase of roses off the nightstand and set it on the floor across the room.

"What was that?" I asked.

"Roses are sharp."

He put me down on the white duvet and I went up on my knees and took his tie all the way off.

"Take that shirt off."

"You're giving orders?"

"I planned a month for this. Take it off."

He undid the buttons himself, fast, and the shirt went on the floor.

Years of watching him across rooms hadn't prepared me for the real chest.

There was dark hair running down his stomach to his belt, and a scar along his ribs I'd never known about.

I put my mouth on it.

He swore, low and rough, and his fingers closed in my hair.

"Zip," I said. "Behind me."

He turned me around and drew the zipper down so slowly I wanted to scream at him.

The dress fell off my shoulders.

He pressed his mouth to the back of my neck and then to my spine.

Then he put both hands on my hips and ground me back against the front of his trousers.

He was hard already, thick and heavy against my ass.

I gasped.

"Take them off," I said. "Rafe. Now."

He undid his belt and got rid of everything, and I turned around to look.

His cock stood up flushed against his stomach, bigger than I had let myself picture.

I wrapped my hand around it, and his head dropped to my shoulder.

"Justine," he said, and it sounded like pain.

"Lie back."

He lay back on the duvet.

I took my underwear off, climbed over him and pushed him down with one palm flat on his chest.

His eyes never left my face.

I sank down onto him an inch at a time.

He was so big I had to stop twice, my nails in his shoulders.

Each time his hands came to my waist and held still and let me set the pace.

When I took all of him I shook.

"Look at me," he said.

I looked.

"You're all right?"

"I'm perfect. Don't stop me."

I rode him.

I went slowly at first, with my hands on his chest and his cock dragging deep inside me on every stroke.

Then faster, because his hands started pulling me down onto him.

He lifted his hips to meet me.

"Fuck," he said. "You feel like..."

He didn't finish.

His thumb found my clit and rubbed, hard and exact.

The noise I made was loud.

"That's it," he said. "Say my name."

"Rafe."

"Again."

"Rafe, please, right there, don't stop."

The room narrowed to his hand and his cock and his voice telling me I was beautiful, that I'd been beautiful for fifteen years.

I came with my head thrown back and his name in my mouth.

He rolled me under him and drove into me with his forehead pressed to mine.

Every thrust was hard and deep, and his hips ground against my clit.

"Come for me again," he said.

I did.

It tore through me while he watched.

He swore and went still, and then he came inside me with a shudder that shook the bed.

We lay in the dark for a long time.

He didn't say anything and neither did I.

At some point I slept.

At three in the morning I woke up alone.

I found him sitting on the floor with his back against the suite door.

He was in his trousers, and his eyes were fixed on the ceiling.

"Rafe?"

He didn't answer until I said it twice.

"Go back to bed," he said. "I'm fine."

"You're sitting on the floor."

"I'm checking something."

My phone buzzed on the nightstand.

It was a text from Jarrett: "Lorna wants brunch at the house at eleven. Bring the wife."

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