Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 105775 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105775 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
The scrape of the key in the lock sends another shiver through me. It’s like being locked in the past with Dante, one of my worst nightmares come true.
Coming up behind me, he drags his knuckles over the curve of my shoulder, inviting goosebumps in the wake of his touch.
His voice is seductive, and his lips are warm on the shell of my ear. “Hungry?”
Not trusting my voice to speak, I shake my head.
“Mm.” He nips my earlobe, making me clench my thighs. “You were too nervous to eat on that night too. Do you remember it, darling?” He presses a kiss on my neck. “I do. I remember it like yesterday.”
Twisting away from his touch, I face him squarely. “Why did you bring me here?”
“It’s a special night.”
My tone is biting. “It’s not as if we’re sleeping together for the first time.”
“We’re doing it for the first time as husband and wife.”
Those two little words, husband and wife, only wound my insides up tighter.
He twirls a finger in the air. “Turn around.”
I wet my dry lips with the tip of my tongue. “Why?”
“So I can undress you.” He motions at the gown. “You can’t undo those buttons yourself.”
Shit. There must be fifty small buttons running along my spine. I shake my head, my pulse suddenly pounding in my temples.
“Turn around, Tatiana.”
When I only lift my chin in obstinance, he steps right up to me, putting us toe to toe, and bunches the skirt in his fingers. He works through layers of petticoats, scrunching roses and silk in his fists until he bares my legs.
Roughly, he cups a hand between my thighs. “Is this how you want it?” He walks me backward until my ass hits the island counter. “You want me to fuck you in your wedding dress?”
I’m unable to form words. I can only stare at him, this beautiful monster who sets my body on fire, scared of what he’ll find if he insists that I undress, and scared that he’s already found the truth in the arousal that soaks my underwear.
“Strip for me, Tatiana.” He just holds his hand there without moving it, the heat of his palm seeping into my skin and burning me up inside.
When I don’t reply, he pulls his hand from between my legs. Just as I’m about to utter a sigh of relief, he flips me around and bends me over the counter. He works that long skirt over my hips, drowning me in a mountain of white fabric.
“Is this how you want it?” He parts my thighs with his knee. “Right here, for anyone to see?”
I glance at the big windows. Memories of that first time rush into my mind, of me being spread out against that glass and him going down on me. It seemed so hot then. Now it seems vulnerable and too exposed. I can’t give him that much of myself again.
“Answer me, Tatiana. Do you want to take off your dress and let your husband make love to you between rose petals on the bed like a wife deserves to be treated, or do you want to be fucked on the counter, bent over like a slut?”
I can’t speak. There’s no right answer. I don’t want to be fucked like his wife or his slut. But my silence leaves the decision to him. So he makes it. He does what he always does by taking the lead instead of following the action.
“Very well,” is the only warning I get before he snaps the elastic of the white lace underwear and tears it off me. “This is your last chance, wife. Do you need a glass of champagne to help you relax?”
I don’t speak because I don’t want a repeat of that time he made so sweet for me. If this is supposed to be another night that will mark our lives forever, I don’t want to hold any good memories from it.
“Fine. Have it your way.” He caresses my naked globes with his palms, spreading me open. “My dirty slut it will be.” His touch vanishes, leaving me cold. “You better hold on.” The clank of his belt sounds and then a swoosh as I imagine him pulling it through the loops of his waistband. “And don’t you dare let go until I’ve had my fill of your cunt.”
He’s making a point by treating me like a slut, reminding me that I do have a choice, that all I have to do is give in.
But I don’t.
I can’t.
Not just because of the scars on my back but also because I have to protect my heart. I can’t allow him to break it and walk all over me again, which is exactly what will happen if I give in to his sweetness. The bottom line remains that he doesn’t give a damn. He just wants to win, but this is a war I won’t lose again.