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But God, I love it.
I’ve gone mental.
He lowers his face to mine. "I was talking, you will respect me in my home. Do I make myself clear?" He growls.
I whimper a barely coherent “yes.”
"You touch me, you press kisses to my cheek, you blush at the perfect times, you lean in and all I can smell is your fucking perfume, your hair," he presses his nose to the crook of my neck and then my temple, inhaling deeply, a predator to prey, and then his chest rumbles, and fuck I think I'm on fire. This must be what it's like to be boiled alive. “Like fucking spun sugar and berries.”
"Maksim-" my lips tremble as I whisper his name.
"That's right, Duchess, say my fucking name." His hand lands on my hip, squeezing roughly and every atom in by being shivers.
"Please..."
"Please, what, wife? Hmm?"
I don't know what I'm asking for but when he pulls away, I feel the loss of his heat. Dark eyes flick from my lips to my eyes and in oneswift motion my thigh is hiked up on his hip and his lips are pressed to mine. I whimper, about to shove him off, all sirens in my brain firing off when his strong tongue plunges deep into my mouth, and I take it, letting myself taste the most dangerous man in New York, feeling as if my lungs are about to collapse. I allow myself to have this small moment, to be kissed as if I'm the very air he needs to breathe to survive another day.
It's when I feel him grow hard against my sex that I short-circuit and push him off. It doesn't work. So I slap him, and this makes him finally break away from me. I'm breathless, panting when my stilettos hit the hardwood. Trembling, my eyes trying to find something to land on to keep me grounded, so I don't humiliate myself by having a panic attack and vomiting in front of my husband.
Dark brows shoot up in concern. "Hey, I'm here. What's going on? Talk to me, Sabrina."
"No!" I choke out, getting out of his reach. Putting my gloved hands to my throat. "I'm fine." I rasp, willing the images of Kane floating in the back of my mind to go away.To please,pleasego away.
"You're not fine, you're about to collapse."
"You can't do that.” I rasp. “I can't... I can't give that to you, Mr. Giordano. You signed the agreement."
"You can't givethatto me? I felt how hot your cunt was through my slacks and you're saying you can't give it to me? Are you a virgin?"
I straighten as best I can, letting my eyes travel from his knees and up, up, up to his face. "No, I'm not."
"Then why-"
"Please," I interrupt.
He inhales sharply through his nostrils and jaw clenching. "Who did this to you? Give me a name."
I wrap my arms around my middle, unwilling to let this man or anyone see my tears. I can’t allow myself to be weak in front of him again. Instead, I place that practiced smile on my face, "It doesn't matter," I reply, turning to go to my room. I hear him call after me, but I ignore him. Then I ignore Parker who's standing just outside of his bedroom door, leaning with his back against the frame, arms crossed over his chest, undoubtedly having heard that entire ordeal.
I can't deal with either of them tonight.
I can’t deal with the guilt or the shame bubbling inside of me.
I lock my bedroom door, undress, and slip into bed, letting sleep take me away.
Except that doesn't happen.
Images of how close Maksim was to me, his breath still on my tongue, the heat of his kiss on my lips, his large hands on my hips,grasping for dear life, roll in my head, fluttering in the back of my mind like crazed butterflies and Ifeel... I mean, there's this gnawing, aching feelingthere.
For the first time, in a very long time, I find my hand traveling south, into my panties and I wince at just how wet I am, angry my husband is the cause of this. My other hand goes to my breast, and my nipple is firm between my two fingers, and I squeeze, just enough to cause me to gasp.
Damn him.
His eyes were so wild, so full of hunger...
My finger circles my clit, and I bite my lower lip to stifle my moan.