Page 38 of Scream (Duchess & Devils #1)

I keep my eyes on his as he draws back, and Angie gets my attention, telling me she had been able to snag a cupcake and that it was delicious.

To which brings a snort from Maksim beside me, and I flare up and giggle a thank you.

I lean over to Maksim to make it look like a kiss while I whisper to him to shut up.

It’s on the long way home, getting closer to Brooklyn Heights, that the tension seems to rise. It’s quiet in the backseat, but he’s so large, when he spreads his massive thighs, his knee touches mine. “If we stay at my home, we could be done with this evening a lot quicker.”

“No.”

I swing my gaze to his. “Why not?”

“You reside with me.”

“I have multiple guest rooms you can sleep in.”

“Any of them close to yours?”

I groan. “They’re all on the second floor.”

“Then no.”

“You’re being childish, Maksim. What’s the point of having my home if we won’t use it for instances like these? It’s rubbish. If we stay there, we’ll be home twenty minutes earlier, and I can get out of this fucking dress and into the bath and in my bed twenty minutes sooner rather than later.”

His nostrils flare, and his almost-obsidian stare goes down to my breasts and back up with a slow blink. “By all means, Duchess, if you want to get out of that dress so quickly, take it off.”

“Are you drunk?” The question is rhetorical.

He hasn’t taken a sip of his usual whiskey since that one night I let him know he would essentially never have my heart.

He also comes home earlier instead of being out until God knows when at the club.

We eat dinner together now, too. Sometimes. It’s kind of nice.

He leans over, so fucking close that I have to hold my breath. “Does it smell like I’ve been drinking, Duchess?”

“No,” I whimper. The tires make a sound that tells me we’re crossing the bridge to get to the city just as Maksim moves away from me. “Do you think we could alternate weekends? One weekend at your penthouse, the next at my house?”

“ Our penthouse, wife. You’re on the deed.”

My eyes go wide. “What? Why?”

“Because if something happens to me, you’re set. The clubs also go to you. Besides, who better than a lawyer?”

“But nothing is going to happen to you, is it?”

He shrugs. “Anything can happen and in this life, what I’m dealing with, I can’t promise anything.” he grins. “Why, you worried about me, Duchess?”

Yes .

The vehicle coming to a stop saves me from answering him.

I may not like the brute, but it doesn’t mean I want anything to happen to him.

But he doesn’t need to know that. My secrets can still be my own.

He helps me down and soon we’re stepping through the revolving glass door to get to the elevator and up to our - his penthouse as Parker takes the SUV to park it in the underground garage.

It’s silent in the elevator, but his presence is loud.

Our reflections stare back at us on the impeccably waxed steel doors, and I can feel him watching me.

I let my gaze fall, unwilling to meet his.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Which was?” The elevator comes to a whirring stop and the bell dings as we step out, I punch in the code on our door.

“Do you worry about me?” His voice is low and soft.

I open the door with a very unattractive snort. “No,” I scoff, stepping through the threshold to the vast, frozen apartment, now warmer with all the decorations I’ve been putting up.

"Am I that terrible, Duchess? Huh? All fucking day you play the perfect little wife-"

"I'm not doing this." I turn to go, but he grabs me by the elbow and my spine is soon flush to the wall.

I could merge with it. He cages me in by his arms and body, careful not to touch me but it doesn't matter, all of him is invading my senses, from his citrus and patchouli scent, to the way his arms are caging me in.

He's so large and imposing. I should be frightened.

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 one swift 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, please go 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 give that to 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 I feel ... I mean, there's this gnawing, aching feeling there .

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.

His kisses were untamed and torturous. So ready to devour me...

My back arches and my knees come up to my chest.

God the way he growled...

A moan escapes me as I touch, refamiliarizing myself with my needy sex to thoughts of my husband, but when I enter my body, it isn't his face that pops up. I wretch my hand away and I turn to punch my mattress. Instead of a moan, a sob escapes me, and

I.

Hate.

My.

Self.

I let a low wail out and thrash my legs. Why can't I be normal again? It's been years! It's been years . I ignore the knocking on my door and the arguing on the other side of it and cover my mouth to let out another soft wail.

It's been years.

Years of silent tears and disguised wails or screaming into water or my pillow and having to pretend to be fine. To be perfectly perfect.

Sabrina Winters: Socialite

Sabrina Winters: Doting Daughter

Sabrina Winters: Fierce Attorney

Sabrina Winters: Silly Friend

Sabrina Winters: Charity Baker

Sabrina Winters-Giordano: Loving Wife

So many titles, so many parts to play, and the rest of me is being forgotten, except I can't forget.

I want to so badly.

I want it to stop.

I want it to stop forever .. .

I reach over, fumbling for my phone, and punch in the number I called so many times over the years only to be sent to voicemail. Except this time, she answers.

It takes thirty minutes for a tiny knock on my bedroom door to make me put a t-shirt on and slump out of bed, wrapped in my fluffy blanket, to let Raven in along with Maverick.