Page 17 of Rosetti Family New York

I can feel the tension on my skin. It’s hot, electric. It makes me hungry, the idea that she’s as much of a mess inside as I am.

We reach the bedroom door, and I’m the one to open it. “Ladies first,” I say. She gives me a look, but it’s fast, just a flick of those glacial eyes. I want to catch it, hold it in place. Maybe even hold her in place.

“Get comfortable,” I tell her, gesturing inside. “This is home now.”

“Comfortable,” she repeats. “You really are delusional.”

I lean in the doorway, blocking it off. Blocking her off. The room behind her is big, just like the rest of the house, but there’s only one bed. Only one man she’s going to share it with.

“You’re not making much effort to play the part, Eleanor,” I say. “We are married, after all.”

“Are we?” She tilts her head, lips pulling into a smile that makes me want to rip the whole place apart. “Or is this just a new kind of prison?”

I crack my knuckles, watching her like the puzzle she is. “I thought you were smart,” I say. “Smart enough to know this is all on you.”

“On me,” she echoes. “My father seems to think it’s your family that owes him. Or do you enjoy being his dog?”

She wants a reaction. Wants me to bite. But instead, I give her a grin, something vicious and hungry. It’s enough to wipe the smirk off her lips. “We’ll see who owns who."

I push off the doorframe and pull her close, grabbing her waist with one hand. I can feel her sharp intake of breath. The way her body tenses. The heat through her silk wedding dress. My mouth is so close to her ear, I know she can hear the hitch in my breathing too.

I half-expect her to push me away, but she doesn’t. Maybe because I’m holding on so tight, or maybe because she’s scared to let go of that facade she’s wearing. Her arms are pinned between us, and a jolt of satisfaction strikes me when I realize her pulse is racing under her skin.

“Three rules,” I tell her, my voice low and raw. “You break them, and it’s not going to be pretty.”

Her spine is rigid, her chin high. But I see the flicker of something behind those blue eyes.

“Let me guess,” she says. “Rules from your father?”

“From me.” My grip on her waist tightens. I want her to know who she belongs to. I want her to feel it in every cell of her body. “Rule one: no lying." Her eyes narrow, but I don't let her interrupt. "Rule two: no running.”

She meets my gaze head-on, like a deer staring down headlights. “And rule three?” Her voice is pure ice, but I see the first crack, hear it in the way she swallows hard, unsure what’s coming next.

“Rule three: No touching any other man.” The words come out fierce, possessive. “You belong to me now.”

She lets out a breath that sounds like a laugh. But I hear fear in it too. She’s not as untouchable as she thinks.

“That’s cute,” she says. “You think I’m some trinket you can keep on a leash.”

“Call it whatever you want,” I say. “But if I catch you breaking the rules, the consequences will be severe.”

The flash of defiance in her eyes makes me want to throw her down on the bed, claim her, break her until she’s wearing my mark all over.

“And if I obey?” she says, twisting the words, making them sound dirty. Making me imagine what it’ll be like when she’s really mine, in body and soul.

I pull back a little, just enough to look her straight in the eye. “Then maybe we’ll both get what we want.”

She huffs a short laugh, like she thinks I’m bluffing. It pisses me off, the way she acts like this is all some big joke. Like I’m a big joke.

I pin her to the wall, hard and fast, and she gasps, real panic flashing in her eyes this time. The way she struggles makes my head spin, like blood rushing all at once to all the wrong places.

“Tell me you understand,” I say. My hand is rough on her chin, forcing her to look at me. My other hand slips down her shoulder, her arm, not gentle, but not so rough it’ll leave a bruise. She feels like silk and stone, like everything I’ve wanted since I laid eyes on her.

Her breath is shallow, but I see her trying to control it, trying to act like it’s all fine. “You really think you’re scary?” she says, a quiver in her voice betraying her.

I lean in closer, the scent of her, the heat of her almost more than I can take. “You have no idea,” I tell her. “Yet.”

She sets her jaw again, defiance carved into every line of her face. But her silence betrays her. She’s too scared to even answer.