I’m so angry that I rip my trench coat when I yank it from a coat hanger and stuff my arms into the openings. The sash remains untied around my waist. I’m too hot to consider the icy conditions outside and desperate to leave.
Because I dress in such a hurry, I fail to notice that I’ve reverted to the childish crazy person Mikhail always made me when he gave an ounce of attention to anyone who wasn’t me.
I’m behaving foolishly, but I shouldn’t be so hard on myself. No one had ever evoked such a fierce “mine” mentality from me before Mikhail landed in my life, and no one has since.
I race for the door, seconds from escaping, when Mikhail gives me no choice but to recant my threat. “If you read theentirecontract, you’d know that leaving within the first month of marriage will see all gifts, payments, and agreements voided without prejudice.”
Scarcely breathing, I peer back at him. He looks hurt, but I can’t get the notion that he turned me down while I was vulnerable and exposed out of my head. “Like you care what will happen to me or my family.”
His back straightens in an instant. “Then why am I here, Emmy? If I don’t care, why am I here, torturing myself?”
Torturing himself?
Spending time with me is torturous to him?
Ouch.
That hurts more than any rejection could and has me acting like a brat.
My words hiss from my mouth like a snake about to strike. “Our contract says I have to consummate my vows. It doesn’t say it must occur with my husband.”
After a final snarl, I race for the door.
Mikhail beats me to it.
He slaps it shut and then crowds me against it.
He’s so fuming mad that his breaths bead my neck with condensation.
I refuse to tell you the reaction of the rest of my body, or you’ll think I’m insane.
It should be impossible to be furious and horny at the same time, but Mikhail makes it easy.
It’s a fight not to melt when he presses his lips to my ear and growls, “You aremywife.” He touches my chin, lifting and twisting my face until our eyes meet. “My. Fucking.Wife.I will not share you withanyone.”
The sheer possessiveness in his eyes ignites a blaze deep inside me. Everything ramps up at once—my heart rate, my pulse, the needy throb of my clit. Even my anger. I can’t breathe for the fear that the expansion of my lungs will place unnecessary space between us. I can’t concentrate on anything but the brilliance of his icy-blue eyes and the thickness rapidly growing against my backside.
He’s hard enough to conclusively refute his claim that he doesn’t want me. His fat cock digging into my ass cheek surges my confidence back to the record high it held when he called me his and has me wanting to act recklessly.
I won’t, though. Too many years have passed, and too much hurt.
“You don’t own me, Mikhail. No one does.”
He smiles, and despite the mess it causes my panties, I want to smack it off his face.
I would if I could move. He’s standing too close and leaning in deep. There isn’t an ounce of air between us, and my body is ecstatic about his closeness.
The friction is driving me insane. I’m fighting with everything I have not to grind against him, and I almost lose the battle when he whispers, “I may not own you, Emmy. But legally…”—he waits until my internal temperature turns excruciating before finalizing his reply—“you’re mine.”
A moan escapes me when the gravelly delivery of his statement causes me to grind down. I feel every fantastic ridge of his cock, and I shudder at the thought of getting lost in them again.
I’m not the only one feeding off the tension. Mikhail’s teeth graze my earlobe before his tongue soothes the sting of his bite. It is the most basic of touches, but it sends a wildfire blazing through my veins.
He teased me all the time, but I’m too worked up to remember this is meant to be a game.
I want him.Desperately.
And I’m too intoxicated by lust to act cautious.
