Page 14 of Silent Ties (Ruling Love #1)

“What?” My chest tightens. I tidied the living room, spraying down the coffee table where Elijah propped his feet up. I straightened the throw blanket on the back of the couch and fluffed the pillows. The TV is back to looking like it’s not one.

Max frowns and a second later I realize it’s because I’m bent down, looking at the bottom shelf. This is hardly the spot we ever hang around and talk.

“Oh.” I straighten, forcing myself to breath. “I was making a list of supplies.”

“For what?” He crosses his arms and I try not to think about why I’m so damn attracted to a guy who doesn’t like me.

“I got a new recipe book. Did you see the cupcakes? ”

It took me a while to track down some Tupperware. I still have no idea where things are stored.

“I didn’t know you liked to bake.”

You’ve never taken the time to get to know me.

“Do you want one?” I ask.

He’s already turned, walking through the kitchen. He’ll shower and either study some more or fuck me. “I don’t like sweets.”

I’m glad he’s not looking at me, otherwise he’ll see me wilt.

“Max.”

The use of his first name makes him stop.

“What do you want from me?”

His face is the same. Handsome but impassive. “What are you talking about?”

“What do you want from me?” I ask again. “Do you want me to. . . What am I supposed to do?”

He walks back a few steps. “Do?”

I stare up at him, unblinking. His question is serious. He doesn’t understand what I’m asking. But even if he did, would it matter? He won’t divorce me. I’m stuck and due to Elijah’s visit, I’m struck by how much the walls are closing in on me.

“I’m confused,” I say. “What do you want out of this marriage?”

He cocks his head to the side, analyzing me.

“Do you want me to cook and clean for you?” Because he’s made it clear we have a maid. “Or just wait for you naked in bed every night?”

Why can’t I figure out what’s going on behind those dark eyes?

“I could be your friend.” The offer comes out tentative, but hopeful.

“Why would you do that?”

“Because I’m stuck with you.” The words come with a small breath of laughter, but his jaw spasms and I internally curse myself.

My sarcasm does me no favors. It’s like he gets his feelings hurt. He doesn’t like teasing or joking that he perceives to be at his expense.

But I’m not joking this time.

“You won’t divorce me,” I remind. “Even though we could.” And should.

“So you can go to Marissa?”

“I wouldn’t tell her anything.”

“She’ll kill you.”

“What?” I blink. Maxim speaks with authority, but this time there’s something else in his eyes. Something like. . . worry?

“She made you into her pawn,” he says. “Divorcing me means you offer her nothing. You think she lets you walk away from this? You think you’ll sit at that bar of hers and tell the story of how you married into the Zimins for a couple of months? The whole thing is a joke.”

I step back at his last word.

The way he summarizes Marissa’s moves reminds me of his uncle. I’m a chess piece to these people. Max is keeping me, a dirty strip of flag played during a game, safe because otherwise, Marissa will claim me again.

“If you’re a useless little spy, she’ll kill you off just to prove a point to her other minions. Good thing for you, you don’t belong to Marissa anymore. You belong to me. And if anybody is going to kill you, it’s going to be me.”

“Are. . . are you going to kill me?”

Maybe it’s best to get it over with. To stop walking on eggshells and worrying about how sad my life turned out. Let it end now and it’ll be over. I’ll feel nothing when I’m buried six feet under the ground.

He brushes a hand across my cheek, his fingers dragging down my skin until they curl around my throat. “I like you too much for that.” He presses against my pulse point. “You’re a pliant little thing and my cock loves that.”

My face heats. “I’m not complaining about the rough sex.” His dark eyes flare, his annoyance spiking too. “I’m asking about what you want outside of the bedroom.”

How can I occupy this cold, empty penthouse?

My hands tug at his when he begins to squeeze tighter. “I need more, Max. I need. . .”

He whispers into my ear, the sensation skittering over my skin. “Me. You need me.”

Fingertips press down firmly and I swear spots buzz in the corner of my eyes.

His hand dips under the waistband of my pajamas. I hiss when he tugs my underwear, the fabric biting into my sensitive skin.

“Always so soaking.” He pulls the underwear back and forth, the material rubbing my clit. “If you wanted some help you didn’t have to be a brat. Just ask next time.”

My face is so hot that it takes me a moment to realize tears run down my face.

He relaxes the pressure on my neck and I rock back on my heels, searching for stability. I don’t find any when I meet his coal-dark eyes that I swear are rimmed with fire.

He almost looks disappointed when he says, “You need my protection, so stop asking me for a divorce.”

I don’t nod or shake my head. I simply stand there with one of his hands around my throat, and the other down my pants.

“I want my own room,” I demand. If he won’t divorce me then he should give me some space.

“Not happening.”

“I want to go out more.”

“By all means sweetheart, leave the house.” He leans in closer, two fingers plunging into my core. “But be prepared for my cock when you get back.”

My inhale is shaky as he thrusts in and out.

“It always is though, isn’t it?” His breath is hot and he bites my earlobe. “You’re asking for stupid stuff when you know the truth. You like it hard and rough and your favorite thing is to be a brat because you know I’ll have to punish you. And you like your punishments.”

I shake my head.

“Good girls don’t lie, Russ.” Another finger presses inside me. “What was that?”

“No. . .”

“You’re riding my handing.” There’s a proud smirk on his face. His entire face lights up and that’s what I want. I don’t want the blank mask. “We’re going to get a whole fist in there one day, aren’t we.”

“No!” I begin to squirm.

“Russ,” he warns, tightening his hand on my throat. Even without his stern touch, my feet root to the ground at the dark voice.

“Stop it,” I cry.

“Stop soaking my hand,” he replies, mistakenly thinking that’s what I meant.

He never says my name during sex and my stomach tightens because it sounds like he’s scolding me. Sex is the only time he uses affectionate pet names, calling me wife or sweetheart while he pounds into me.

His thumb circles my clit, the tension building but there’s no release. My waistband snaps, his hand retracting from my pants. He unties the string, loosening them so they fall around my ankles.

“Get on the floor.”

A balled-up sleeve wipes at my nose. “I don’t want to get on the floor.”

“Get on the floor.” His voice is harder than I’ve ever heard but I rock back on my feet, not wanting to give in.

He shoves down on my shoulder, my knees landing on the kitchen floor. He nudges me down, my hands smacking the tile.

He presses into my back, his hands gently tucking my hair behind an ear, the movement not matching the words that leave his mouth. “If you act like a bitch, I fuck you like a bitch.”

The sound of his slap reverberates across the kitchen.

“Count,” he demands.

I’m too choked up, snot and tears running down my face. He slaps my ass again and my pussy clenches.

“Now.”

“O-one.”

A land blows on my other cheek, the force pushing my body across the floor.

“T-two.” Slap . “Three.” I’m on fire. “Four.”

My forehead touches the ground. I don’t care if he’ll punish me for collapsing, I can’t keep myself up by the time the spanking ends. He tugs my waist and I gasp, my mouth hanging open when he thrusts to the hilt.

“Wait!” I try to crane my neck. He’s drawn back so only his crown is inserted before ramming inside me again. “No.”

I rock forward, willing myself away from him. He grabs my waist, bringing me back to him, but doesn’t move again.

“I am not just your fuck toy. I’m your wife.”

Tears pool on the floor and maybe that’s the reason he rubs circles along my hip. My shoulders sag as I slump on the kitchen floor, the Tupperware full of cupcakes sitting on the counter.

He remains inside me, drawing circles on my back. A few seconds later, he gently moves hair off my sticky neck, his chest pressing against me, the weight a surprising comfort. My lungs clear enough that my pants become deep breaths, regulating my body.

Then, and only then, does he move. Tears leak from my eyes, but this time while my skin is warm, it’s not on fire.

I want relief.

He starts with shallow thrusts. A whimper catches in my throat causing him to thrust faster, harder, deeper. He hits a spot, over and over again. Reaching under my shirt, he moves my bra, toying with a nipple.

I cry out, throwing my head back, and his pace increases.

The heat of his hands all over me turns to pain and then I’m seizing around him.

“That’s right,” he breathes, burying himself. “Milk my cock, sweetheart.”

“Oh, God.” I try to sag to the floor again, but he won’t let me. Fingers dig into my waist, moving my body at a pace I can’t match. I am his toy I realize as he moves me however he wants. “Please,” I beg, needing it to end.

His hand slides to my clit and stars dance behind my closed eyes. He continues to jerk my hips, releasing inside me for what feels like forever.

I sag forward, his breath just as ragged in my ear. I keep my eyes closed, my teeth biting down on my lip when he moves. Cum drips down my thighs and bent over with my ass on display, he sees everything.

Except he walks away, leaving me on the kitchen floor. I think I might doze that’s how drained I am when I’m scooped up. My remaining clothes are removed and warm water settles around me, my spine relaxing against the bathtub.

He sits on the edge, tucking a brown strand of hair behind an ear. A tissue is placed on my nose. “Blow.” Demand punctuates the word, but his inflection is softer. Tears fill my eyes again because why does he have to help me blow my nose?

Taking a washcloth, he gently rubs my face, my cheeks overly sensitive. When his hand plunges under the water, I whimper and grab his wrist.

“Let go,” he orders in a quiet voice. I close my eyes, avoiding his dark ones and he rubs my pussy, before cleaning my thighs.

When he drains the tub, I stand up. He wraps a fluffy towel around me but I can’t move. He scoops me up again and takes me to the bed. I sleep on the left side of the mattress next to the wall of windows, and he takes the side closest to the bedroom and bathroom doors.

The duvet is pushed back, the purple satin sheets smooth against my skin once he unwraps the towel. I roll on my side, facing the windows and he tucks me in. He smooths my wet hair back, but that’s it.

He doesn’t get into bed. He turns the lights off, putting me to bed like a little kid, and closing the door behind him.

I try to listen, to make sense of what he’s doing. If he’s going to come back. A keyboard sounds in the distance and I instinctively know he’s studying.

A new round of tears weighs down my lashes. Max never touches or cuddles me after sex and I hate being sad about it.