“Go on then, Dré. Do your worst, because I’m not the type of woman who appreciates being ordered around. I’m used to doing things my own way, on my terms.”
Shadows darken his glare, the liquid ink pools becoming a shade of evil to sketch out the daredevil whims of my new husband.
“You’re not the one for me,” I point out.
“Really?” He pinches my jaw, the touch startling like a static shock. “Is that why your pupils are dilated and your skin is flushed?”
I pointlessly struggle to free myself from the truth. “I’m an independent woman and you're a controlling asshole. Do you get off on scaring people?”
“You’re not scared of me, Sin; you’re just afraid of how much you want me.”
“Fuck you!”
He presses himself into me, his massive form flush against my body. His intoxicating woody cologne regretfully ambushes me. I’m on fire next to him and I can’t help it.
“Why would you tease me if you didn’t want a reaction? Are you curious to feel my dick inside one of your hot holes?”
My cheeks blaze. “I—I wasn’t teasing. I was showing you that you’re not the boss of me. There’s a difference.”
“I disagree.”
“Of course, you do.”
His forehead butts into mine, the magnitude of his authority closing in on me so we’re closer than ever. “Pick a word.”
“Why?”
“It will stop me from going too far,” he growls into my face.
“Are you talking about a safe word?” I retort.
“Precisely.” The way he answers me with that sonorous voice of his chills me to the bone.
My mind scrambles. I can’t form a coherent sentence now, let alone think of a suitable word. For some reason, I’m thrown back in time, to the dying stag we’d found far from its herd. I recall the harrowing groans of wretchedness and how André had ended its life with a shiny blade.
Some might think it was a monstrous thing to do. However, I saw the tremors in his boyish hands, the liquid fear glossing his wide eyes, and felt the sorrow crushing his warm heart.
Afterward, I witnessed his transformation, too—his rebirth. The adrenaline junkie who found a new vice that was more powerful than reckless speed. All because Mad Mick, his mafia grandfather, made him a victorious princely hunter.
I look him square in the eye. “Stag.”
The corners of his mouth twitch as the charged word electrifies us both. I can feel the heat of his body turn hotter, his pulse radiating through me like galloping hooves. “Very good, Sin.”
I blink up at him. “You showed that lost stag mercy. So you can do the same for me. Right?”
“Your heart is pounding, Wifey.” His rumbled whisper elevates my heart rate. “I think you're ready.”
“Wait…”
He raises his eyebrows. “I’ve waited long enough.”
The words are barely out of his mouth when he whirls me around to face wooden panels. A whimper escapes me when he yanks my hair so my head falls back against his chest.
“Unbutton your pants.”
“If you think raping me will earn my respect, then you’re beyond help.”
His teeth graze the shell of my ear, dissolving my fight with a crescendo of shivers. “Just so we’re clear, I’m not fucking you today. I’m punishing you. Now lower your pants.”
