Chapter 6 #2
The air between us is charged, electric. For a second, it seems she’s confused when a look of genuine curiosity crosses her face. “Do what?”
She really doesn’t know?
“Open your own car door. That’s my job.” I lower my voice. “Do we have an understanding? If you do that again, you and I will need to have a talk.”
She blinks, disarmed. I wish I knew what I was doing that causes her to look at me like that. For one moment, she’s put her armor down.
I like that. I want to tell her to do it again, but I don’t know why she did it.
“Okay,” she finally whispers, swallowing hard. “Right.”
I nod. “Patience. Be patient if I’m occupied.” I wonder if she needs more explanation. “You’re mine now.”
Doesn’t she know the rules? The expectations?
She can hate me, fight me, defy me all she wants—but she’ll never be unsafe.
As mine, she will be protected in ways she doesn’t even realize.
I’ll walk on the outside of the street. I’ll open her car door.
When we’re in public, I’ll know every exit, every potential danger, I’ll note every man whose gaze lingers on her too long.
She doesn’t have to like me, but she’ll be safe, whether she wants my protection or not.
I have to remind myself she didn’t grow up like I did. Her father’s an asshole drunk, and her brother’s a selfish prick. Now, anyway. He wasn’t always.
I remember watching her mother work her fingers to the bone to keep that bakery afloat while her husband pissed away their profits.
No. Anya doesn’t understand my expectations, but she will.
I close her car door and take the driver’s seat. We drive in silence for the first five minutes. I’m acutely aware of her beside me—the subtle rustle of her dress when she shifts, the faint scent of citrus and peonies and something distinctly her.
For the first time, I allow myself to fully own the fact that she’s my wife. It stirs something deep and primal in me. I grip the wheel to ground myself.
“Wait, so you don’t live at The Cottage anymore? I thought we’d live there.”
“No. I moved into a place of my own a few years ago, so I don’t live there anymore. I spend a lot of time there though. It’s still my family home.”
“Oh.”
She shivers in the passenger seat beside me, pulling her thin coat tighter. Without thinking, I reach for the temperature controls, adjusting the heat for her.
She notices. Her lips part slightly, as if she wants to say something, but she doesn’t.
A beat passes. She reaches to turn the car radio on, but I swat her hand away. “Leave it.”
“I like music.”
“Not while I’m driving.”
“Not while I’m driving,” she huffs out, mimicking me under her breath in a petty voice with a sour expression on her face. My hand shoots out and grabs her wrist. The sudden contact freezes her, her pulse fluttering under my fingers.
Is she scared? Did her father hurt her? I’ll murder him.
But I don’t let her go. “Do you enjoy testing me, Anya?” My one-hand grip on the steering wheel tightens. “Do you enjoy trying the limits of my patience, or is sarcasm just a talent of yours?”
She scoffs. “If sarcasm burned calories, I’d be skinny as a rail.”
“Thank fuck it doesn’t.”
She casts a sidelong glance at me as I take a left and head home. We’re not far.
“What does that mean?”
“It means I like my wife with curves.”
Anya makes a sound of disgust, crosses her arms, and sinks into her seat. “Do you even know how to lie?”
“I could learn anything if it was useful. Lying is a waste of time and energy.” She doesn’t respond as I park the car. “Welcome home.”
“This will never be my home, Semyon.”
I turn to face her. “Patience isn’t something I’ve cared to cultivate, Anya. But keep pushing, and you might see exactly how little I have left.”
Her breath stutters, her defiance flickering as she leans toward me before she catches herself and pulls away.
I’m not finished.
“I won’t demand much, but your respect is nonnegotiable.”
“Respect!” she fumes. “Respect? You don’t scare me, Semyon. And respect isn’t demanded but earned.”
“Cute thought. Also, inaccurate.”
I open my car door and pause, looking over to make sure she doesn’t disobey me and open her own damn door. I watch as her fingers grasp the handle, and she turns to look at me.
“Are you that immature and petty?” I shake my head but won’t warn her again. “If you behave like a child, I’ll treat you like one, Anya.”
Color floods her cheeks. She opens her mouth to protest, then slams it shut as if second-guessing her response. And when I exit the car, taking my time walking to her side, she sits obediently, waiting for me.
Good girl.
I open her door, watching the way her narrowed eyes are fixed on me. She doesn’t like submitting to me. Makes me fucking hard knowing that, knowing I’ll be forced to punish her.
Fire courses through my veins like molten lava. I’m not a man who could ever love, so a thought like that isn’t even on the table. It isn’t in my chemistry. I know that.
But lust? I’ve been lusting after Anya since before it was right, when we were still too young for anything even close to a relationship.
I blinked one day, and my best friend’s baby sister wasn’t a child anymore but a woman with full, curvy hips, a soft belly, and tits that begged to be weighed in my palm, her nipples lonely for my mouth and teeth.
I watch her delicate hand grasp the outside of the door as she moves to exit the car, but I clear my throat with a tsk and sharp shake of my head. Her beautiful eyes are narrowed on me.
“I didn’t open my door,” she says in a tight voice as she ignores my warning and gets out of the car.
I close the small space between us. Her back hits the side of the car. In one swift move, I lace my fingers around the edge of her throat, my palm so much bigger than the slender column of her neck, engulfing her easily. I hold her there, braced against my palm, her back pressed against the door.
“We’ve only been married for a short time, Anya,” I whisper in her ear. “But we’ve known each other much longer, haven’t we?”
Her gaze sweeps over my hand, my arm, and up to my eyes. She’s doing her best to hold onto her anger, but she can’t hide the fear that flashes in her eyes.
“No,” she whispers. Her answer takes me by surprise.
No?
“I knew who I thought you were, Semyon. But the boy I knew is long gone. I don’t know you at all.”
Clever. She’s wrong though. Men like me don’t change.
I shake my head slowly. “The only thing that’s changed between us is how you see me. I’ve always been exactly who I am. The difference now is the balance of power between us.”
“Always the master manipulator of words, aren’t you?” she snaps, her tone cutting.
“Not at all. I don’t manipulate anything. There’s no need. I speak the truth and don’t bother to sugarcoat.” I lean in, my voice in her ear. “So listen well, little Anya.”
She shifts uncomfortably. Good. I want her uncomfortable. Questioning. Off-kilter.
I need control.
“You took your vows to me in the presence of my family to save yours. That took courage, but you didn’t have much of a choice. I’ve allowed you to push back. I haven’t punished your disrespect. Yet.”
Her pulse flutters beneath my hand, and my dick springs to life.
“But we’re at my home now. I have people who work for me.
Staff. Men under my control who’ve sworn their lives to me.
Here, little Anya, you do not disrespect me.
I promise you, if you do, I will punish you.
I know you haven’t been well-schooled in the expectations of my world, so consider this your first lesson. ”
I flex my palm and lean on my forearm, caging her in as I hold her gaze.
Her fiery gaze locks onto mine, challenging me in a way no one has ever dared. She’s smaller, fragile, yet she stands as though she’s made of iron and steel. A goddamn queen in her own right.
“And what exactly does that mean, Semyon?” Her voice is low and cutting. “Punish me how? What else can you take from me?” She can’t hide the way her lower lip trembles.
I catalog every breath, every micromovement. I imagine her tied up in my bed, handcuffed and vulnerable. I imagine her kicking her legs over my lap while I teach her manners. I imagine her screaming my name and begging to come while I hold back pleasure and make her earn her climax.
I sigh and brush my finger along the curve of her lower lip. It’s dry, a little chapped. She’s worked long hours at the bakery and tabled her self-care.
Noted.
“You don’t seem to fear me, little Anya.”
Her voice is small but her stance immovable when she responds. “What is there to fear when you’ve already lost everything?”
Oh, she hasn’t lost everything.
“So dramatic. I thought better of you.” I take my hand from her neck and place it on the other side of her head so she’s caged beneath me. “But you forget something.”
She doesn’t take the bait. Doesn’t respond. Only stares at me, trying desperately to hide her fear.
“I don’t play by the rules.”