38. Mila
MILA
C hristian steps into the master bedroom and hauls me back over his shoulder. Seconds later, I fall to the bed, bouncing on my ass. His eyes follow the movement of my breasts pressed tightly against the confines of my dress with each ragged breath I draw between my teeth.
His gaze is darker than I’ve ever seen it, like the deepest reaches of the ocean, dragging me down into its depths. Like a man on the brink of losing control.
Is it bad that I want to see what it looks like when that steel control finally snaps?
Leaning over me, his fingers trail under my dress, finding me and slipping inside. My head falls back into the mattress, and I fist the comforter with both hands, a whimper leaving my throat.
“You pissed me off earlier, little wife. What should I do with you?”
“You said I wasn’t impressive.”
His lips tip up at the corner in a dangerous grin.
“I meant perfect.” He presses his lips to the side of my face over the tears streaming down my cheeks. “I live for your touch on me, Mila. I can’t live without it.”
He pulls back, looking down at me.
“I’m sorry I said it. I’m not sorry about the outcome.”
He looks down to where his fingers enter me. I suck in a ragged breath, my eyes fluttering with my vision consumed by his.
“Fuck me,” I breathe, wiggling to get closer to his palm. “Please?”
“I wanted to bend you over this very bed this morning and spank your ass. My cock was rock fucking hard thinking about it.”
“You told me to leave,” I whimper, tears stinging in the backs of my eyes despite the pleasure he’s drawing from between my legs. It’s maddening.
“You and I both know you’d never get far,” he murmurs, and I could slap him if I wasn’t so desperate for him. “You know I’d be right there with you, hiding in the shadows until you decided to come home.”
“Christian . . .” I clench my eyes shut as my body threatens to explode.
“Look at me.”
My pussy tightens at the command in his voice, and I force my eyes to his, the black of his iris bleeding into the blue.
He notices, his lips tipping up at the corner.
“Is that what you want? Me in control?” His fingers curl up to brush over the sensitive spot inside me. “You want to give me all your worries and let me spend the night buried inside my little wife? Making you come over and over again until all you have room for in that pretty little head is me?”
“God, yes.” There’s no use fighting it. Not with the way he’s got control over my body.
What drives me over the edge is when he angles his palm to circle my clit. My eyes clench shut, my voice ringing out in a hoarse shout, and my legs clench around his hand.
“There’s my good girl,” he rasps, and my stomach flutters at his praise.
“On your knees,” he commands when I float back down to earth, and I hurry off the bed, sinking to my knees on the floor in front of him.
His hand winds through my hair, and I take him in my palm, cutting off whatever else he was about to say when I run my tongue over the head of his cock.
“ Fuck ,” he rasps, his head falling back to the ceiling with a slow blink of his eyes. “That’s it, baby. Look at me.” My eyes open and shoot to his, and his nostrils flare. “ Fuck .”
I moan in acquiescence, stroking him with my hand while feeding him between my lips. I swallow his cock, tasting his precum as I swirl my tongue around his thickness. His fingers tighten when I choke on half his length, pulling back to catch my breath.
“I love that I’m the only man to ever fuck you, sweetheart.” His heavy gaze locks with mine, watching me slip him back into my mouth. “Only my cock has been in your pussy and your mouth. Soon, your ass.”
We both know it’s not exactly true, but the fact that he’s erasing the touch of the monster that raped me brings a surprising sting to my eyes.
After the attack, I never thought I’d be normal again. I should have known Christian Cross would make sure of it.
He swipes the back of his knuckle through a tear slipping down my cheek, his touch surprisingly gentle compared to the savage way he’s fucking my throat.
“There will be no part of you that I do not own, Mila. Just like you’ve owned me for the last six fucking years.”
Maybe because I’m fucking in love with you . . .
I whimper around his cock, and he drives his hips forward an inch, testing me to see if I’ll break. I breathe through my nose, swallowing as much of him as I can before pulling back.
“Open wide for me, sweetheart. I’m going to fuck your throat.” He tightens his hold on my hair, wrapping it around his fist. “Think you can do that for me?”
I nod, though not very well, because of what he’s doing to me. Opening my mouth wider, he takes control, his other hand coming to rest on top of my head while the one in the back pushes me forward to where he wants me.
I force myself to breathe through my nose, sticking my tongue out when he slides to the back of my throat, pushing past my limit and making me gag.
“Fucking hell, that’s it,” he groans, pulling back to push forward again.
I take everything he has to give me, my pussy throbbing at the steadily building brutality of his thrusts into my mouth. The size of him hitting the back of my throat and my lack of control. I like the fact that I don’t have to worry. I like that I can focus on what he’s doing to me rather than the voices swarming like a murder of crows in my head.
With a growl, he tugs me back by my hair, and saliva streams from my mouth before he shoves it back in.
“You going to swallow my come?”
All I can do is moan from where he’s holding me, fucking my throat savagely and taking what he needs from me.
It’s not long before he’s growling, shooting his release into my throat and robbing me of what little air I have left in my lungs. I swallow everything he gives me greedily, my arousal dripping down my thighs.
“Up,” he orders roughly, tugging me to stand before either of us has even gotten our bearings.
He grips me around the waist, hauling me onto the bed, and drops to his knees in front of me. Shoving my dress up to bunch around my hips, he tosses my heels to the rug behind him before his lips latch around my aching clit. He throws my legs over his shoulders, spreading me wide with a quiet growl.
His tongue swirls through my folds as he feasts on me. My head falls back to the comforter, my back arching and my hands gripping the sheets, his hair, my own hair—anything I can get my hands on to steady myself at the warmth slipping through my veins.
His fingers tighten to near-bruising strength when he slips his tongue inside me, fucking me with it.
He smirks, his eyes glinting in the darkness.
“You have thirty seconds to come, Mila. Count.”
When I open my mouth to ask, he cuts me off.
“Count.”
“One . . .” I stutter shakily, the sound cutting off on a moan when he drops back between my legs, sealing his lips over my clit and fluttering his tongue. His eyes lock on mine, pulling me into their depths and turning my brain to mush.
It’s maddening.
Abruptly, he stops.
“Two . . . three . . .”
He resumes, his tongue slipping around my clit in circles. He slips his hand between us, sliding two fingers inside me while he sucks on my clit. I can feel my arousal seeping down my inner thighs, but he laps at it like it’s honey. A deep groan reverberates through his chest, and my pussy clenches around his fingers from the vibrations.
The pleasure swirls through me, my legs shaking as the orgasm builds. Right before I reach the edge, a sharp sting on my clit has me gasping and surging against his mouth.
“Twelve!” I shout, my voice hoarse and my back bowing off the bed.
“That’s it. Let me have it, Mila.”
He fucks me with his fingers, curling the digits up to stroke some deeply buried part of me that only he seems to know, and I groan, throwing my head back against the comforter beneath me.
“Fuck, I need inside you,” he grits through his teeth, dropping his gaze down the length of my body to watch his fingers enter me. “You going to come for me like a good girl?”
My pussy clenches in response, and I nod frantically, fisting the comforter on either side of me. “Twenty,” I respond, and with a devilish glint in his eyes, he leans down, wrapping his arms around my thighs and spreading me with both thumbs and sucks my clit between his lips. His tongue flutters over the swollen bundle of nerves, and it’s too much.
“Twent—Christian!” I scream, my back arching off the bed and my thighs threatening to close around his head.
White, hot light flashes behind my eyes, and my pussy clenches down on his fingers. I’m gasping, desperate for air, as the orgasm rips through me, leaving me a shaking puddle of need beneath him.
“Fuck, you’re so goddamned pretty when you come,” he grits against me, kissing his way up my body. My vision is spotty, my hair curling from his hands, and the sweat coating my hairline, sticking to my face. “Goddamn.”
He climbs up on the bed, forcing himself between my legs and crowding over me.
“Taste yourself,” he rasps, and I open my mouth wide. He obliges, spitting on my tongue before his lips find mine, and for the life of me, I can’t figure out why I was so determined not to kiss him before.
Christian kisses with everything he has. Like he could rip my soul from my chest with a simple swipe of his tongue.
“You going to keep your lips from me again?” he rasps against my tongue and I shake my head. “Why?”
“Because I’m yours.”
“Damn fucking right you are. Stay here.”
Climbing off the bed, he crosses to the other side of the room, opening an antique writing desk in the corner and grabbing something out. What it could be, I have no idea, but my stomach lights with nervous tingles when he stalks back towards the bed, his gaze searing against my skin.
Standing over me, his cock straining under its heavy weight and glistening with precum. Shoving his dress pants down his legs and then pulling his shirt off, he looks magnificent. He climbs back up on the bed, kneeling between my legs, his hands sliding under my dress to pull it off. Once we’re both completely naked and panting, I see what he’d gotten up to grab when rips the top off a permanent marker.
“What are you doing?” I ask, voice breathless, when he bends down towards my skin, slipping the marker along my flesh.
“Making sure you know who you belong to,” he mutters gruffly. I look down to where he’s marked me, and my eyes go wide, my heart stalling.
Over the words carved into my flesh, he’s written MINE in big, bold letters over the word whore . Tears well in my eyes at the simplicity of it. The primal need for him to claim me despite my scars and baggage.
He moves higher, repeating the motion over slut. And then again, over a deeper scar on my ribcage.
“I’ll tattoo them on you if I have to, but make no mistake, little wife. I don’t give a fuck about your scars. I don’t give a fuck what they say. You’re my woman, and I’m your man. Nothing else fucking matters.”
He shoves the cap back on the marker, tossing it behind him and taking his cock in his hand. Then, he enters me in one full thrust, his cock bottoming out halfway.
I gasp, shooting up the bed, and he leans back, taking my hips in his hands and dragging me back down.
“You cry so pretty for me, Mila.” He leans down, capturing the tear on my cheek with his tongue. “So fucking sweet and innocent.”
He groans, rolling his hips so his groin brushes against my clit. A moan claws its way from my throat, and my head falls back against the sheets.
I look down between us, watching as his cock slips between my folds until he’s buried in me to the hilt.
“You like to watch?” My clit pulses with the rasp in his voice, but I don’t have the good sense to be embarrassed. “I’ll build a room of mirrors so you can see how fucking sexy you are.”
Pulling back out, he slips forward, setting up a steady pace that has my body betraying me in every single way possible. When he pushes forward, his cock presses against my wall, and a lance of pain shoots through me.
His gaze runs down the length of my body, and he sits back, watching as he thrusts fucks me. I groan at the sting, and he brings his thumb between us, rolling my clit. My eyes flutter, heat slipping through me, forcing me to suck him in greedily.
“Oh my god,” I breathe, spreading my legs to take him deeper. Needing him deeper. He thrusts harder, his hand coming up to slap the side of my breast. He rolls each one in his hand, grazing the nipple, and when he pinches, my back bows off the bed, craving more.
“You going to come for me again?”
“I can’t,” I growl, but I gasp when he thrusts inside me hard enough that his skin slaps against mine, his heavy sack hitting my ass.
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
He grips my knees in each of his hands, shoving them to my chest and making it hard to breathe. Picking up his pace, he powers into me, sweat dotting his brow and slipping down the hard ridges of his abs.
I don’t even realize I’m moaning, rolling my hips to meet each of his carefully timed thrusts until his hand slides into my hair, fisting the strands and tugging my head back at a painful angle.
“That’s my good girl. Show me how pretty you can come for me.”
My back bows, my eyes screwing shut, and my pussy clenches around his cock as the orgasm rips through me. I cry out, the sound echoing in the room as my body shakes underneath him.
“Christian,” I whimper, tingles spreading through every nerve ending in my body as I fight the onslaught of pleasure. I’m overstimulated, spent, and covered in my own come, but he doesn’t stop.
“ Fuck, ” he shudders, his eyes falling closed and his head kicking back. “This pussy is so fucking tight. Just begging for my cock.”
He grips my hips in his hands, rough enough that I’m sure I’ll have bruises in the morning.
“You’re doing so fucking good, Mila,” he praises, and my stomach clenches from his words. “Look at you, taking all my cock like a good little wife.”
Before I can say anything, he flips me over onto my stomach, hiking my hips up so my ass is in the air. He presses his hand to the back of my head, forcing the side of my face into the comforter while his hands tangle in my hair.
This new angle has his slipping deeper, fucking me harder. I cry out at the intrusion, clawing at the comforter beneath me desperately. He pins me beneath him, his deep grunts in between each thrust going straight to my pussy as he fucks me faster.
“Yes,” I whimper when his fingers find my clit again, his cock stroking some deeply rooted part of me I never even knew existed.
My legs are shaking with the effort to hold me up. I’m covered in both our sweat and come, yet my body still begs for more.
God, who even am I?
Surging forward, he thrusts inside me hard and unforgiving. I cry into the comforter, desperate moans slipping free when the pressure builds low in my stomach.
“You hear that?” he rasps, the wet sounds of his body slapping against mine filling the room. “Hear how fucking wet you are for me? You were fucking made to take my cock.”
“Please,” I whimper, tears streaming from the corners of my eyes. I’m sure if I come again, it’ll be the death of me. I just know it.
“You can take it,” he grunts, powering into me with each word. “You’re my good little whore, aren’t you?”
I nod, shivers rolling down my spine as he fucks me so fast, I couldn’t speak even if I wanted to. He reaches under me, gripping me around the throat, and tugs me back to meet his gaze. He’s so much bigger than me that I can see him over the top of my head as he fucks me, my vision consumed by his.
I’m going to come again. It’s inevitable. Especially with the way he’s stroking over that secret spot like he put it there. His fingers on my clit, mixed with his cock bottoming out in my pussy have me barreling towards another orgasm. How many times is he going to make me come before he releases me?
“You’re so goddamned pretty when you’re crying my name. You love my fucking darkness, don’t you, Mila?”
I shiver, right on the precipice of collapsing into what he’s doing to me.
His fingers tighten around my throat, restricting my air.
“Answer the question, little devil.”
“Yes,” I admit on a groan.
“Good fucking girl. Come.”
He releases me, and I fall to the bed. Taking both my hips in his hands and powering me right over the edge. My body seizes in the most intense orgasm I’ve ever had, and my vision grows spotty. I’m not sure if I pass out, see God, or die, but I scream his name into the pillows, distantly registering his animalistic groan as he comes, pushing into me so deep, I feel it in my stomach.
“Fuck,” he grits, a tremor moving through his hands on my hips. “Fucking hell, Mila.”
When he rolls me over, he collapses over me, holding his weight on his arms so he doesn’t crush me, and captures my lips with a soft groan. When he pulls back, he leans his forehead against mine, our hearts racing against one another in the darkness of our new room.
“You have no idea the things that I would do for you, do you?”
My heart beats unsteadily, the last bits of my soul surrendering to him and the sincerity in his gaze.
Leaning up, I press my lips to his gently, a shiver rolling through me from the aftershocks of my orgasm.
“Til death do us part,” I whisper against his lips, and he chuckles darkly.
“Not even death could rip you away from me, baby. I’m a Cross. We don’t give up what’s ours.”
I’ve always loved tracing the lines of the tattoos on Christian’s skin. Staring at him while he sleeps, my fingers running over the smooth lines etched into his flesh, it’s easy to picture the rest of our lives intertwined.
I know I’m breaking my own rules. Dreaming of him. Clinging to the idea that he can be something he’s not. I mean, he forced me to marry him, but, like the idiot I am, I know I’ve fallen for him all over again.
And who wouldn’t, after all? Fall for him?
He’s the pinnacle knight in shining black armor, full of chinks and scuffs. Handsome as sin. Protective. He’s everything every little girl with a broken past dreams of. Someone to wrap their arms around you until the demons can’t reach you.
My chest aches, thinking of his words earlier when he gave me back my body by writing over the demented carvings of a madman because I think a part of me wishes I’d never met Christian Cross at all.
I was doing so well . . .surviving. Who were my nightmares hurting but myself? My silent misery living under my stepfather’s rule? Why did he have to come in and show me that there was more to life? That I could allow myself things I didn’t even know I was denying myself of?
Why did he have to make me fall in love with him?
Because now that I know what it feels like to have him, I don’t want to give him up.
“Mila . . .” he murmurs quietly, stirring from sleep. It’s two in the morning and he lays on his stomach, his head on the pillow, facing me, and I roll over to mirror his position. The moon shines through the bedroom window behind him, casting his tattooed back in shades of orange and gold and highlighting his stone muscles.
God, how is he real?
Without opening his eyes, he reaches for me, taking my hand and pulling it under his chest, bringing my knuckles to his lips.
“This tattoo?” I start, placing my hand over the raised edges of MRC on his chest. “It’s our wedding date, isn’t it?”
“It is.”
“Am I allowed to ask a question?” I ask softly, lying perfectly still.
Finally, his eyes open and find mine, their deep blue depths stealing my breath away and stalling my heart.
“If you answer mine.”
Fuck.
My stomach bottoms out, but even I know it’s time. I’ve been hiding behind lies for so long I’m starting to forget the truth.
“Okay.”
“What’s your question?” he asks, neither of us moving.
“What happened while you were gone? Why are you covered in bruises?”
His jaw clenches, his eyes hardening. I expect him to tell me not to worry about it.
“We went to LA, first, to find answers regarding that night,” he answers simply. “Found the house where you were held.”
My stomach bottoms out, a sickness roiling through me. “You . . . found the house?”
“I did . . . I also torched it.”
I suck in a deep, shaky breath, my heart ricocheting around my chest.
“And did you find anything?”
His gaze darkens, and he rolls onto his back, his shoulders stiff. I don’t miss the way his tattoos ripple over the thick muscles despite spending the last hour drowning in him.
“Nothing that would answer any questions.”
The blood rushes to my head, and the room spins around me. This is all too confusing.
“So, after the house was gone, we used the remaining time we had to hunt down anyone who would have any leads on who was behind that night.”
“I have a feeling torturing then is more like it. Judging by your bruises and new scars.”
“So you do notice?” he chuckles dryly.
“I . . . I’ve always noticed,” I whisper, and his gaze finds mine.
He’s silent for a moment, staring at me. His gaze slides over me, and even in the near darkness, my cheeks heat under his gaze.
It’s ridiculous. The man just had his tongue buried inside me only an hour ago. I’ve got the word MINE written all over my torso, yet when he looks at me like that—like he’s reading into my mind and reading my thoughts like the open pages of a book—it’s impossible not to feel a rush of awareness.
“The first opportunity I had, I came back to you, Mila.”
The air hums with electricity between us, the silence deafening. Somehow, I already knew that.
“And I had every intention of coming back for you a year ago.”
“I know,” I whisper so quietly I can barely hear myself. “I’m sorry you had to see . . . that.”
My skin crawls just thinking of that hell hole.
“Stop.”
Tears sting in the backs of my eyes, but I let him continue, even if I don’t want to hear it.
“You are my wife,” he murmurs. He leans up, hovering over me, his thumb slipping through the tears on my cheek. “I will do what I have to do to protect you.”
I draw my bottom lip between my teeth, chewing on it, and he tugs it free.
“I . . . have something to tell you.’
He goes silent, leaning back in the bed to watch me, patiently waiting. Unable to lay down with the nerves swarming through me like a flock of birds, I sit up, pressing my back against the headboard. He follows suit, sitting up on the edge of the bed. His hand falls in my lap, and I trace the lines in his fingers so I don’t have to meet his gaze.
“The night . . . I was attacked,” I breathe, and a traitorous tear slips down my cheek. “They sent me a picture of you. You were bound to a chair and bloody, and they told me if I didn’t come, they would kill you,” I rush, knowing I have to get this out. All the while, I feel his gaze trained on my hands twisting together in my lap. “Of course, now I realize it wasn’t you and just your twin . . .” Fuck, why is this so hard?
His gaze hardens, his back straight as a steel rod.
I force a breath through my teeth, a shiver moving through me.
“He told me he would come back, and they would go after my mother next. I wasn’t thinking and thought if I was gone, maybe everyone would be okay. He had been stalking me for months. I should have known it wouldn’t be that easy.”
He’s silent, processing the information while my chest feels like it’s slowly turning to stone, suffocating me from the inside out.
Abruptly, he stands from the bed, pacing over to the dresser. He leans forward, gripping the edge and staring at himself in the mirror, the tension radiating through him palpable.
“You were being stalked?”
I nod, unable to answer through the lump in my throat.
“Why the fuck wouldn’t you tell me?” His voice is rough and deep. I’ve pissed him off.
“Because I was scared,” I whisper. “I still am. He could go after my family. What if he comes for you or your family—”
“ You are my family, too,” he grits, scrubbing a hand down his face, his hands visibly shaking.
The damn breaks, and tears slip freely down my cheeks. A quiet sob wracks through me, and I angrily wipe the tears away.
“If something happened to you, I’d never forgive myself.”
Letting out a deep breath, he crosses the room, kneeling down beside the bed.
“I should have been there to protect you.”
“You said you were. Why weren’t you there?”
He grits his teeth.
“I was an idiot. After the falling out with your mother, I came back here to tie up whatever loose ends I could so I could come to you with the truth about our marriage. Be better. We’d just found out Dad was dying, and Paulina was in the hospital for surgery. I needed to be here for Bella. I thought everything was clear, and I planned to tie up all my loose ends and come to you with the truth, regardless of what your mother said. Of course, it was never going to be that easy.”
Reaching up, he runs his thumb across my lip, tugging it from my teeth, his eye softening in the moonlight. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I hate myself for it every day.”
“It’s not your job to save me,” I whisper, shaking my head and blinking against the tears in my eyes.
He reaches for the nightstand, sliding the drawer open. He pulls out what I think is his ring; only when it catches in the light it’s different.
“This says otherwise.”
My gaze shoots back to his when he holds it up in front of me.
“You bought me a ring?”
A ring makes this marriage real. It solidifies ownership. A brand to let the world know I’m his.
My stomach twists uncomfortably, but it’s the warmth in his gaze that settles it.
This man loves me. I love him. I may not understand it, but everything he’s done has been to protect me.
“I bought it a year ago.” I swallow heavily. “Another reason I came back here.” His gaze meets mine, and for the first time in my life, I find what it looks like when Christian Cross is nervous. There’s something oddly touching about the tremor that slips through his hand. “It’s yours if you want it.”
My tongue darts out to lick my lips, and I reach out, taking the ring from him and holding it in my palm. It’s beautiful, from what I can see in the darkness of the room, but it doesn’t matter. He could tie a dandelion around my finger, and I’d probably still say yes.
“Just know, if you put that on, it’s never coming off.”
“What if you decide you’re done with me and want a divorce?”
He fixes me with a dark look.
“I’ve waited six years for you, Mila. This will never be over for me.”
He’s right. I’ve been the one running since I met him.
“On one condition.” His jaw ticks at my words.
“Name it.”
“You have to put yours on, too.”
I reach for the chain on the nightstand, holding his ring, and he takes it from me. Without a second thought, he removes the chain, sliding it back into the nightstand, and slips the ring onto his finger.
“There’s something else,” I tell him, still holding my ring in the palm of my hand. “When things are bad, you have to tell me the truth. No more hiding things because you think it will protect me. It hasn’t protected me so far. It’s only created a wedge between us.”
“Are you agreeing to be my wife, Mrs. Cross?”
“If . . . you meet my demands.”
He chuckles dryly, taking the ring.
“I promise,” he murmurs, his gaze locking with mine. A tremor moves through his hand on mine, so slight I barely notice it. “So long as you promise to always tell me when you feel yourself falling. I promise when you do, I’ll be there to catch you.”
God, for being a self-proclaimed atheist to romance, he’s the most romantic man I’ve ever met.
“I promise.”
Taking my hand, he slips the ring onto my finger, and I’m not surprised it’s a perfect fit.
He reaches up, brushing a strand of hair back from my face, his eyes soft when they meet my own.
“You gave me freedom.”
“I’m only sorry I didn’t do it sooner . . . Come here,” he murmurs, rising in front of me and pushing me back in the bed. He settles over me, pressing his lips to mine with a groan, a shudder moving through him when my fingers slip up his back.
When he breaks the kiss, his lips moving down to my throat, I’m nearly panting despite the million and one orgasms he’d given me earlier.
“By the way, Talia totally saw us in the hallway.”
He smirks, and it does something funny to my chest.
“Do you think she enjoyed the show?”
I gawk at him when he raises back up. “You knew?”
“Of course, I knew. No one sees me fuck my wife without me knowing about it.”
“Why didn’t you stop?”
He runs a hand through my hair, fisting the strands and bringing my eyes to his.
“Maybe I want the world to know I’m yours as much as you’re mine.”
God, there’s no way this man is real.
“You’re bad,” I tell him, though I can’t fight my smile.
He lowers his lips back to mine, his response coming out as a whisper against my lips.
“You’re perfect.”