Page 73 of Bride of Vengeance

I carry her to the bedroom, her legs wrapped around my waist, her mouth hot against my neck. When I set her on the bed, she immediately starts unbuttoning the white blouse—her wedding blouse.

"Wait." I catch her hands. "Let me."

I take my time with each button, revealing skin inch by inch. She's wearing a simple white bra underneath, nothing fancy, but on her it looks like lingerie designed to destroy me.

"You're going slow on purpose," she accuses.

"I'm memorizing my wife on our wedding day."

"We already had sex this morning."

"That was before you were Mrs. Kozlov." I push the blouse off her shoulders, letting it pool around her waist. "This is different."

"How?"

"Now you're legally mine."

She reaches for my belt. "And you're legally mine."

"Always was."

"Arrogant, aren’t we?."

I trace the bite mark on her neck, still purple from two nights ago. "This needs refreshing."

"Mikhail—"

I bite down on the same spot, harder this time, and she cries out—not in pain but in something darker, needier. Her nails rake down my back through my shirt.

"Take it off," she demands.

I pull my shirt over my head, and her hands immediately go to my scars, tracing them with reverence that makes my chest tight.

"Mine," she says quietly. "All of this. All of you."

"Yours," I agree.

What follows is not gentle. It's possession and claiming and the desperate need to merge into one being. She matches me touch for touch, mark for mark. When I pin her wrists above her head, she wraps her legs around me and takes control from below. When she rides me, I grip her hips hard enough to bruise, guiding her movements until we're both lost in the rhythm.

"Tell me you're mine," I demand, so close to the edge I can barely think.

"Make me."

I flip us over, driving deep, and she gasps my name like a prayer.

"Say it."

"Yours," she pants. "Always yours. Only yours."

"My wife. My woman."

"Yes. Yes. Mikhail—"

She shatters around me, and I follow her over, my vision whiting out as I claim her in the most primal way possible.

After, we lie tangled and breathless, sweat cooling on our skin. Her head is on my chest, and I can feel her heartbeat gradually slowing to match mine.

"Feel better?" she asks.