By His Vow: A Billionaire Arranged Marriage Romance
By His Vow: Chapter 76

I told myself that I’d give her two weeks.

The arrival of the divorce papers didn’t change that. Nor did my father’s words. Although they did confirm what I already knew.

I had the flights booked. I had a plan. The only thing I didn’t have was much confidence about how it was all going to play out.

Sure, I know how I want it to go.

I want her to take one look at me, realize her mistake, and run into my arms, to forget whatever scared her off and allow us to continue building a life together.

But that could be a pipedream. After all, this woman literally skipped the country to get away from me. I fear that she isn’t going to take my sudden appearance in the way I’d like. Sᴇaʀch Thᴇ FɪndNøvel.ɴᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

Something serious made her leave me. I have very little hope that she’s been sitting around here waiting for me to return and sweep her off her feet. A guy can still wish, though.

My plan was to walk straight up to the front door and announce my presence the second I got to the address of the cottage Aubrey sent me, but as I walked down the street, her voice hit my ears and I was powerless but to hide behind a bush like a pussy and listen to her.

The emotion in her voice as she spoke to Miles threatened to break me. All I wanted to do was pull her into my arms, hold her tight and tell her that everything was going to be okay. That whatever it was, I’d make sure that she was okay.

That’s my job after all, as her husband.

But I couldn’t. So instead, I gave her space to talk to her brother, all the while letting the softness of her voice wash over me like the warm breeze.

When she hung up, I almost moved and announced my presence, but before I could, she’d hopped up and disappeared.

With more nerves than I think I’ve felt in my entire life, I invited myself into the small yard she was sitting in and placed the huge bouquet of English roses on the small table in the middle of the space.

I ordered them before leaving Chicago and collected them the second I arrived in the village less than twenty minutes ago.

The second I saw them, I was hit with a wave of nostalgia so strong it almost knocked me to the floor. The image of her walking toward me on our wedding day carrying an almost identical bouquet was so vivid in my mind.

Taking a step back, I tucked myself under an ornate archway that I’m sure will be covered in colorful flowers in the months ahead, and then just waited.

And that’s exactly where I’m still standing when she finally re-emerges from the small cottage she’s been staying in for the past two weeks.

The sight of her takes my breath away.

Her dark hair is twisted up on the top of her head, loose strands hanging around her neck and blowing in the breeze. She’s wearing a knee-length denim dress with a thick knit cream cardigan over the top.

I might only be able to see her from the back, but I already know she looks beautiful. She’s Tatum; how could she look any other way?

She manages four steps before noticing the flowers, and when she does, her entire body tenses.

My heart lurches into my throat, making it hard to take in the breaths I need as I wait for reality to hit her. I know the second it does that she’s going to search for me.

Who else would have left those flowers there?

Time stops. The world ceases to exist as I wait for her to do something.

Anything.

She can turn around and hit me with the flowers if she wants, as long as I get some kind of reaction. I can deal with her anger, with her hatred—I’ve done it all before. But what I can’t deal with is apathy.

If she even tries to pretend that she doesn’t care…fuck. I can’t even comprehend it.

Just when I start to believe that she’s not going to look for me, slowly her eyes lift from the flowers and she begins to scan the yard.

My heart races and my hands tremble as I attempt to prepare myself for what could come. It could go one of a million ways.

When she doesn’t find me in front of her, she begins turning around.

My breath catches, and I don’t release it until she’s facing me, and then it comes out in a rush of relief.

She’s here, standing before me, looking like the most beautiful thing in the world.

Her face is clear of makeup, her eyes are wide and hold a sparkle of life that gives me hope that everything might just be salvageable, and her lips are parted in shock as the air crackles like a livewire between us.

“Kingston,” she whispers as if saying it too loud will make me disappear again.

I swallow, refusing to allow my nerves to get the better of me.

“Tatum,” I greet, holding myself from rushing toward her and pulling her into my arms where she belongs.

“W-what are you doing here?” she asks, anxiously picking at her nails.

“I’ve come to find my wife,” I state simply.

She shakes her head, but I ignore it and take a step forward, the magnetic pull I feel toward her stronger than ever.

The second I’m standing before her, the warmth of her body seeps into mine, and I sigh in relief.

Reaching out, I cup her jaw, tilting her head back so she has little choice but to hold our eye contact.

“B-but you signed⁠—”

I don’t let her finish that sentence or even the thought. Instead, I press the length of my body against her and slam my lips down on hers, taking what I’ve been craving for the past two weeks.

She doesn’t move to start with, she’s frozen against me, and for several painful seconds, I fear that she’s going to push me away.

Her hands lift and press against my chest, and I prepare myself to be forced back, but then…

But then her lips move against mine and her body sags.

I catch her, banding my free arm around her back, pinning her against me as her lips part, allowing me entry.

A deep groan rumbles in my throat as I swipe my tongue into her mouth, desperate to taste her.

Her hands side over my shoulders before her fingers sink into my hair, twisting tight as if she never wants to let go again.

We make out like teenagers, all tongues and teeth and very little finesse as we remind ourselves just how good we are together.

With my cock growing hard between us, I’m powerless but to reach down, grab her ass and lift her from the ground.

Her legs wrap around my waist a beat before I press her against the side of the cottage, ensuring she can feel what she’s doing to me.

“Kingston,” she gasps as I grind against her pussy, my lips dropping to her throat.

“It’s been too long. I missed you, baby.”

“Oh my god,” she gasps as I grind myself against her, letting her feel just how true my words are.

I lave at her neck, sucking, biting, kissing; all the things I’ve been dreaming about.

Palming her breast, I lose myself in her taste, in the feel of her curves against my body, her scent, her kiss.

“We need to go inside before I fuck you right here,” I mutter against her lips as my body spirals out of control.

“King,” she moans, her hips rolling in time with mine, letting me know that she’s fully on board.

Thank fuck for that.

I’ve no idea what I’d have done if she’d refused to have me here and sent me away.

“I need you, Tate. Fuck. I need you so bad.”

Pulling her from the wall, I easily take her weight as I carry her inside through the door she emerged from not so long ago.

I don’t take in any of my surroundings. My focus is solely on her.

“Straight through that door,” she instructs, and when I follow orders, I find a small living room, or more importantly, a couch.

Lowering her to her feet, I make quick work of dragging her cardigan from her shoulders before reaching for the buttons running down the front of her dress.

My hands continue to tremble, but it’s no longer with nerves, just pent-up need.

“Need you naked right fucking now,” I confess as I make my way down the buttons.

The moment I’m confident that the fabric will fall from her hips, I push it from her shoulders, leaving her standing there in a navy-blue set of lingerie.

A set of lingerie I bought for her.

Fuck. Knowing that she’s been wearing it despite putting this space between us brings me to my motherfucking knees.

Literally.

“Take your bra off,” I demand as I reach for the lace of her panties and drag them down her thighs.

The second she’s bare, I lift her foot from the floor and place it on the coffee table beside us.

“Fucking perfect,” I murmur before diving for her.

“Kingston,” she cries, her fingers sinking into my hair, holding me in place. “Yes. Fuck.”

Her hips buck as I suck on her clit, plunging two fingers deep inside her and curling them the way she likes.

“Oh god. Yes. Yes.”

“Fuck. You missed me too, didn’t you, baby?”

“King, please. Please,” she begs as I bring her to a fast and intense release. “Oh my god,” she screams as she practically pulls clumps of my hair from my scalp.

I fucking love it.

No sooner has she finished sucking my fingers deeper into her body do I push to my feet, taking her with me and throwing her onto the couch.

She gazes up at me with lust-filled, wide eyes. Her lips are parted, her chest is heaving, her nipples are hard, and her pussy is slick and desperate for more.

I strip faster than I ever have before in my life and then crawl between her legs, ready to lose myself in my wife for the foreseeable future.

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