Chapter 19
Valentina
Heavy, enveloping warmth presses against my back, wrapping around my waist, cocooning me like I'm something fragile. A heartbeat thumps against my spine, and a thumb circles my belly button.
I attempt to inhale, but my breath barely moves. My ribs ache like I've run a marathon with no training. My eyelids could be lead. My mouth's dry, my throat's rough, and my mind is as soggy as wet cotton.
Where am I?
My pulse spikes. I blink a few times, taking in the dark walls, floor-to-ceiling windows, expensive walnut furniture, and the faintest trace of cedar and firewood in the air.
Brax's penthouse.
And I'm in his bed.
Memories slam back in fragments. There's the jet cabin, Brax's body under mine, his arms locked around me, and the sense of floating, drifting, sinking.
Then the ritual comes flying back. Chants haunt me.
The lingering smoke in my hair turns thicker.
The vision of Brax's body pressing mine into the mirror while he convulses against me makes my thighs clench.
I try to turn my head, but can't move very far.
He keeps me anchored against him. His breath ghosts down the back of my neck. His muscular leg hooks over mine as though I'm a flight risk.
Am I?
We got married.
Panic flickers, sharp and wrong. I try to move.
His arm tightens, and his gravelly, deep voice questions, "Where are you going, Minx?"
I freeze.
He lifts on his elbow and brushes my hair off my face. He cautiously asks, "You okay?"
I swallow, and there could be shards of glass in my throat. I wince, "I'm…awake."
"No shit."
I smile. "How did I get here?"
His expression darkens. "You don't remember walking in here?"
"No."
"That's because I carried you." He winks.
"Oh." I sit up.
He drags his hand over his face, sits next to me, and curses under his breath. "You scared the hell out of me, Valentina."
It knocks me off-balance. I snap, "I'm fine."
"You're not fine. At least you weren't." He stares at me as if he's waiting for me to crack.
I insist, "I'm fine. I was tired."
He gives a humorless laugh, "Tired? You were unresponsive."
My jaw clenches.
What did I say to him?
I sharply assert, "I'm awake now. You don't have to worry about me."
"Don't worry about you? Minx, you're my wife."
It lands like a punch. My chest tightens. Our vows come flying back to me. I blink, trying to ease the guilt.
He leans in and cups my jaw. "Don't do that again."
My voice goes tight. "Do what?"
"Disappear on me."
Heat flares across my cheeks.
What did I say?
I snap, "It wasn't intentional. And you hovering while I sleep is unnecessary."
His thumb strokes over my hip. "I'm not hovering. I'm making sure you're still breathing."
My breath hitches.
His fingers strum toward my inner thigh.
My core turns to fire. I bite out, "You're being dramatic."
His eyes narrow. "How's that?"
My stomach dips. I blurt out, "You didn't need to put me in your bed."
"I wasn't leaving you on a couch. You're my wife. Remember?" Arrogance flies across his expression.
My pulse pounds between my ears. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.
"You're welcome," he fires back, turning angry.
We glare at each other. His breathing moves fast. Mine stays uneven.
We're too close. My stomach flutters and betrays me like an amateur. I toss the covers off and turn. "I was just tired."
He catches my wrist, demanding, "Look at me, Valentina."
I slowly meet his gaze.
Too many emotions flicker in his eyes. Relief mixes with confusion, and then his dangerous, hot, and all-consuming sarcastic ego takes over.
It rattles me all over. I yank my wrist back, sitting up straighter, declaring, "I'm fine."
He nods slowly, studying me like I'm a threat to myself.
"Don't look at me like that."
"Like what?"
"That!" I reply, pointing at him.
"Would you rather I look at you like this?" He crosses his eyes and sticks his tongue out.
I laugh. "Really?"
His face falls. "Glad you're back, Minx. You were out of it."
I arch my eyebrows.
He strokes my cheek. "I don't like to see you cry."
Silence detonates between us.
I cried?
My spine snaps straight. "I didn't cry."
"You did."
I look away.
He pulls my chin toward him so I can't escape his stare. "You kind of terrified me. And not in your usual badass way."
My stomach flips. I try to remember but can't.
He exhales hard, dragging a hand through his hair. "Just don't scare me like that again."
My chest tightens painfully. I look away and state, "I need water."
He offers, "I got it."
"I can do it myself," I declare, throwing the covers off and swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. I glare at him over my shoulder. "Stay put."
He grabs me and tugs me back into bed. "I have a glass here." He doesn't release me and hands me water.
"Are you going to keep me chained to the bed?" I mutter, then drink the water.
He retorts, "That's an idea. Should I buy some? You'd look hot in them."
I smirk. "Funny."
His lips curve, slow and wicked, and something molten slices down my spine. "I wasn't joking." He drags his fingertips over my breast.
"Brax…" I warn.
"Yeah?" he murmurs in my ear.
"You're crowding."
"I'm husbanding. There's a big difference."
I scoff. "What does that even mean?"
He nibbles on my ear, then lowers his mouth to my collarbone. Through kisses, he answers, "It means I'm going to revive you."
My breath stutters. "Revive me?"
His fingers trail down my thigh, deliberate and slow, like he's testing how fast he can melt my bones. "Minx, you scared ten years off my life last night. You weren't okay. So I'm starting husband duties now." He flicks his tongue, then sucks on my nipple.
I inhale sharply.
His voice drops lower. "You vowed to obey me. So you don't get to leave this bed until I say."
Heat sizzles between my legs. I declare, "I'm leaving now." I push his chest.
He presses my palm to his skin, locks his eyes on my mouth, and dares, "Try again to push me away."
My voice cracks. "You're taking obey the wrong way."
"Am I?" he asks, sliding his hand between my thighs. He continues, "I'm pretty sure you want to obey me right now."
My objection comes out weak. "No." I should get up, but I don't move.
His grin turns wicked. He grazes his thumb across my slit.
A tiny, traitorous gasp escapes me. My breath turns shallow.
His eyes darken in approval. "There she is."
"There who is?" I meekly fume.
"The version of you who stops pretending she doesn't want my hands exactly where they are."
I open my mouth, and he pins my wrists above my head. It steals the air from my lungs. My heart beats wildly.
His voice softens. He taunts, "I'll let you go and stop the second you stop lying to me."
"I don't lie."
"You lied five seconds ago." His grip tightens just enough to send heat pooling low in my belly. "Your breathing gave you away."
"I hate you." I glare at him.
His smirk turns to pure sin. "You sound breathless for someone who hates me."
"Because you're—" My voice cracks as his thigh slides between mine, nudging me open.
"I'm what, Minx?" He lowers his head and flicks his tongue on my nipple again.
"Annoying," catches in my throat.
He cages me with his body, pressing my wrists harder into the pillow. "Annoying? That's the adjective you're going with while you're dripping onto my leg?"
I scoff.
His grin turns obscene.
"Let me go," I repeat, weaker this time.
His lips brush the corner of mine, just barely. "Say it like you mean it."
"I—" His thigh presses up. My breath shatters. "Mean it."
"No, you don't." His voice is a dark caress. "Your hips are grinding."
"I'm adjusting."
"Mm-hmm." He kisses the edge of my jaw, slow and hot. "Adjust more."
"Brax," I hiss, fighting the tremble and slowly shifting an inch over his cock.
He drags his mouth down my throat and puts the tip of his erection next to my entrance. He puts his face over mine. His expression turns serious. "If I need to fuck your attitude back in you, I will, Valentina."
I hold my breath.
What the hell did I say last night?
"My wife isn't theirs. She's mine," he claims. He lowers his face to my neck.
I whimper when his teeth graze my pulse.
"Tell me you want me, Minx."
My heart punches hard. "I don't want you."
He suddenly stops.
His eyes search mine, sharp and unreadable. "Liar" sits between us like a third body. He grins and lowers his mouth to my ear. "Then why are your legs gripping me like you'll drown without me?"
I glance down and freeze. Then I curse under my breath, "Damn muscle memory, that's all."
He laughs a slow, low, deep, chuckle that only adds more heat. "Minx, I think your pussy wants to work its muscle memory, too."
I dig my nails into his shoulders, my lower body pulsing, trying to push him away, but I can't. My body won't allow it.
He keeps my wrists pinned and moves his mouth lower, over my torso and between my thighs. He flicks his tongue against my clit.
My back arches off the mattress.
His voice breaks, rough and hungry. "Fuck, you taste like you're mine." He flicks again.
"I'm not... Oh Dio."
He releases my hands, slides his fingers to a V, then slides a finger inside me and buries his mouth against my pussy.
My breath catches. My brain short-circuits. I reach for his hair and tug on it.
He chuckles against my body.
"We're not having sex," I pant, weak, furious at myself.
"No," he agrees easily, pushing my thigh into the air. "We're not."
He drags his knuckles up my inner leg and adds, "At least not at the moment. But you'll be begging me, Minx. Just wait."
"Try," I challenge, tugging at his locks harder.
A rumble vibrates against my pussy. He eats and fingers me like a predator, without mercy and unrelentingly.
It doesn't take long before I'm crying out in Italian, seeing stars, my veins flooding with adrenaline.
He keeps me high, then slides up my body, pinning his mouth to mine. His tongue devours me, full of my orgasm. He flicks my nipple and I break out into a helpless sound I've never made in front of anyone.
He swallows it, acknowledging, "You're shaking. Ready for my cock?"
"I'm cold," I lie.
He laughs into my neck. "You're burning for me."
His hand dips lower, slow, teasing, cruel in the best possible way. His two fingers brush through heat that has no business existing after the orgasm he just gave me.
"What do you want, Mrs. O'Malley?" he mumbles against my lips.
I kiss him harder, sliding my tongue deeper into his mouth.
He groans.
My spine bows off the bed.
He orders, "Say it, Minx."
"I—" His fingers tease again, and my breath strangles. "Hate you."
He slides his cock over my clit. "Try again."
I bite his shoulder to keep from moaning.
He shudders violently. "Looks like my Minx is showing up to play." His erection toys with my clit faster.
"No penetration," I manage.
"Yeah," he rasps, tugging on my tits, making my vision blur. "If that's what you want."
He moves his cock off my clit, and it lands on my thigh.
I press my hand on his hip to move him back.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk. You don't get it unless you ask for it," he taunts, then moves his fingers inside me.
I drag my nails down his back, then anchor them into his skin. "Brax—"
"I'm waiting," he says, then shoves his fingers in my mouth. He orders, "Suck. And I'm ready for you to drown me in your juice, Minx."
I suck my arousal off his fingers.
He pulls them out, teases my clit to the point I'm going to orgasm, then holds them next to my mouth. He rubs it on my lips and puts his cock over me. He orders, "Just say it." He dips the tip an inch inside me.
My world tilts. My hips jerk and breath breaks. My fingers dig into his shoulders, and I push.
He grins, not moving his cock. "You need to say you want me, Minx."
I cave, "I want you."
His cock glides so fast inside me, I lose my breath.
"Oh Dio. Oh Dio. Oh Dio!" I moan.
He watches every second of my expression with his eyes dark, jaw clenched, and breath heavy over mine. His hand reaches for my wrist, and he pins it above my head, slowly thrusting deep inside me.
My nails push harder into his shoulders. He groans, and I press his head closer until his lips are back on mine. Our tongues swirl together in a battle that no one wants to stop. Arousal fills the air, thick, hot, mixing with our sweat.
He murmurs between kisses, "Mine."
Every time he says it, my heart dances. I move a hand to his ass, so over-sensitized I'm already dizzy. I press him toward me, ordering, "Faster."
He doesn't argue, speeds up his thrusts, and my back arches. My cells explode with adrenaline, creating a euphoria so intense my sounds turn incoherent.
"Fuck, Minx," he grits out, his chest rumbling against mine. Then his erection swells, pushing me so high my eyes roll.
When I collapse back onto the sheets, shaking, he kisses my cheek, then my jaw, then my mouth. In a victorious tone, he taunts, "Still want to leave the bed?"
"Yes," I lie.
He smirks, resting his forehead against mine. "Good. I like when you lie."
I freeze. "Why?"
His expression darkens. "It means you're back."
I stay quiet.
He rolls off me and tugs me with him.
I don't fight. I lie on his chest, listening to his heart slow.
He rubs his hand over my hip and asks, "What's your plan?"
"My plan?"
"Now that you have your seat."
It catches me off guard. I don't answer for a moment, but finally say, "I'm not sure what you're asking me."
He turns me into him, pins his gaze on me, and asserts, "Let me know when you figure it out. I'm going to take a shower. Just remember, you and I are in this together now." He kisses me on the lips and gets off the bed.
I'm stunned, not sure what he means.
Brax stares back for a second too long before he steps away, like nothing between us just detonated. He gets to the door and spins. His voice is low. "Figure out what you want, Minx. If you don't, they'll figure it out for you."
"Is that a threat?" I ask.
He shakes his head. "No. Whatever path you choose next, I'm on it with you. But don't let them determine your fate." He disappears into the bathroom.
I stay frozen, pulse thundering, the sheets still warm with everything we just did.
All I ever wanted was to claim my seat. It was my only purpose, and Brax somehow just shifted the ground beneath me with one question.
I don't know how to answer it. I don't even know if I really understand what he's asking. And there's something else rattling me.
Together.
It's a word that's a warning and a temptation. I breathe it out slowly, steadying myself. I may not know what comes next, but one truth is undeniable.
Whatever this marriage was supposed to be, it's already becoming something far more dangerous. I'm only supposed to count on myself. I'm unsure how to even entertain the layers of complication that one word implies.
He threw two wildcards into the mix. When he's done showering, he comes out, tosses on a pair of gray sweatpants. He acts like he didn't just flip my entire world upside down and declares, "I'm hungry. Want some pancakes?"