46. Mila
MILA
I t’s after midnight when Christian comes home. He takes one look at me, sitting in the living room, dressed in a silk robe, and crosses through to the kitchen.
Old Mila would sit and stew in our argument, but new Mila stands from her place in front of the fireplace and follows him. In the kitchen, I find him pouring a glass of whiskey before he plops down at the kitchen table.
He doesn’t look up when I enter, but his spine stiffens like someone’s jammed a steel rod down his shirt.
“If it’s a fight you’re after, I’m not in the mood, Mila.”
“Me either.”
It’s not a lie. I’m not in the mood to fight with him.
Reaching back to the little stereo under the kitchen cupboard, I cut it on, and the soft sound of music floats through the air, the singer’s voice filling the room.
Christian stares up at me, his gaze dark when I place my hand on his chest, pushing him back until he plops down in the kitchen chair in front of me.
“You pissed me off earlier,” I murmur when his hand catches my thigh. Amusement lights in his gaze for a brief moment before he downs the entire glass of whiskey and pulls me forward.
“Is that so?” He pulls me to stand between his legs, his hands sliding up my bare thighs to the hem of my silk robe. I stop him, pushing his hands back, but he catches me, pulling me into his lap.
His hands feel so good on my skin that I almost forget all about my plan and beg him to take me to our bed. He’s been so worried about hurting me, he hasn’t fucked me since before I was stabbed.
I think I’m starting to lose my mind.
“Punishing me, little devil?”
“Something like that,” I breathe, my legs on either side of his, straddling him while his hands come up to my hips. I can feel the hard ridge of his cock in his jeans where it presses against me, and I resist the urge to grind against him.
It’s been three weeks without him and three weeks of feeling like I’m losing my mind. I never thought I would go from hating the touch of anyone to being starved for the touch of a single man that makes me feel like the only woman to exist in the world. Like I’m a coveted priceless artifact that he’s sworn his life to protect.
“I’ll take your punishment over your pain any day.”
I narrow my gaze, agitation winding through me.
“I’m not a child, Christian. I’ve survived far worse than a stab wound.”
“You have,” he agrees, his eyes full of something akin to pride. “You’re the strongest fucking woman I know, and that scares me.”
I scoff. “Bullshit.” Christian’s not scared of anything.
“I saw you in a coma, Mila.” His words hang heavily between us. “I saw the scars when they were fresh. I saw the stitches. Heard your screams of terror every night in your nightmares . . . you think that was easy?”
“And hiding me will only drag this out for eternity.” I suck in a breath, willing myself to calm down. If I can’t reason with him in words, I’ll use . . . other methods. “I understand your desire to keep me safe, but you also have to let me live, Christian. I can help.”
“It’s not a desire. It’s a fucking need,” he says, not moving from the chair.
God, he looks like a damn King on a throne.
“And you are helping.”
I roll my eyes. “What, by letting you fuck me?”
“By being the sole reason I live and breathe.”
My breath catches in my throat at his words.
I step away from him, but he catches me around the waist, tugging me into his lap. I fight in his hold, but he only tightens his grip, his fingers digging into my chin to force me to look at him.
“You don’t have to be anything other than what you are.”
My heart flutters in my chest when he presses his forehead to mine and sucks in a deep breath.
“Let me handle the chaos. You worry about what I’m going to do to you when I get you to my bed.”
My clit throbs at his words, heat filling me until I shudder. He chuckles low under his breath, his tongue rimming the shell of my ear.
In the silence, his phone starts vibrating on the table between us, Levi flashing across the screen.
I never knew his brother would be such a cock block.
“I have to take this,” he says, his eyes searching mine.
“Right now?” I ask, but he’s already answering the phone.
I move to stand, but his hand holds me in place when he answers, his gaze pinned on mine, daring me to move.
Alright, Mr. Cross . Have it your way.
Deciding my sole purpose in the moment is to be a menace, I slip my hands up his chest, reveling in the way his abs draw up under my fingers and the way his heart beats harder.
His gaze narrows on mine, but whatever Levi is saying must be important because he, otherwise, doesn’t acknowledge me.
So . . . I take it a step further.
Leaning into him, I press my lips to the pulse fluttering in the side of his throat. I trail higher, running my tongue over the shell of his ear before dragging my teeth over it.
I nip and suck at his flesh, and a rumble reverberates through him, vibrating against me on his lap.
His hand tightens on my hip when I continue to move my hands over him, marking him with my teeth and tongue until I’m sure there will be bruises on my hips from his fingertips tomorrow.
No matter. He started this war.
I’m going to finish it.
Sliding my hands down his sides, I tug his shirt free of his jeans, and he lets me, his gaze flashing in amusement.
“Interesting.”
What’s interesting? I want to ask, but instead, I continue to slip my hands over him while his brother unknowingly distracts him on the other end of the line.
Grabbing what I want from his pocket, I slip off his lap and step back from him, holding up the pair of handcuffs I’d stolen from his back pocket.
“Do you trust me?”
His jaw ticks, his gaze flicking from the handcuffs in my hands then over the length of my bare legs underneath the hem of my robe.
“I’ll call you back,” he murmurs, voice thick. The heaviness settles between my legs. “I have something to take care of right now.”
Hanging up the phone, he places it on the table beside him, leaning back in his chair and kicking his feet out in front of him.
God, he looks like a king on a throne.
There’s a moment where my throat closes, and the room buzzes around me.
“What’s your game, little devil?”
“Do you trust me?” I repeat. He’d said the same thing to me months ago, and I’d fallen blindly.
I take a step towards him, and he stiffens but doesn’t move, watching me with a hint of darkly satisfied amusement in his gaze.
“If you wanted me at your mercy, all you had to do was ask, baby.”
I shake my head, sliding my hands up his chest and over the inked skin sticking out from under his button-up.
“We both know that wouldn’t work. You would find a way to control the moment.” I press my lips along the side of his throat. “I want this,” I breathe in his ear.
Then Christian chuckles darkly, slow and menacing.
“Do you trust me?”
I lean over him, running my hands up his hard chest, teasing, and a tremor moves through him under my touch.
“Fine, little wife.” His arms circle the back of the chair, his hands held tightly behind him. “Do your worst.”
Bad idea, Mr. Cross.
Trailing my fingertips down his arms, I reach for him, leaning in once again to press a kiss to the side of his neck. A quiet groan slips through his lips.
This is dangerous, but . . . then, again, I seem to get off on danger.
“Don’t worry, baby. We all have our weaknesses,” I whisper in his ear, sliding the cuffs onto his wrists.
—And then I lock them.
Slowly, I step back from him, my heartbeat racing in my chest. He looks deranged. Like a man whose control has all but depleted, and now, he’s not even seeing me.
He’s seeing prey.
“You think these are going to hold me?”
I take another step back, my pussy throbbing from the threat in his voice.
Carefully, I reach back and turn the music up just a notch, and the deep vibrations settle in my core. Maybe it’s the fact that we argued earlier, or maybe it’s my newfound courage, but either way, I know if I think about what I’m about to do, I’ll chicken out.
“I’ll take my chances.” I am as surprised by the strength in my own voice as he is. Slipping my hand down over my stomach, I pull the silk rope holding my robe closed and let it fall from my arms to pool at my feet.
His nostrils flare when he sees that I’m wearing one of the silver lacy pieces of lingerie he bought me.
“Uncuff me. Right fucking now.”
His eyes glint almost black in the light. He’s fucking terrifying.
I tilt my head to the side.
“No.”
I can tell he wants to punish me by the dark, caustic look in his eyes. Part of me wants that, too, so I continue, seeing just how far I can push him until he breaks.
He’s been so careful with me lately as if I might break from the touch of his hand. I miss his roughness. His desire.
“I wanted to prove to myself that I’m not what everyone says I am tonight. Scared . . . helpless . . .” I step around him in slow circles, the sounds of my bare feet padding across the floor. I slip my finger across the tight line of his shoulders, loving the way the muscles ripple under my fingers. “But then I realized,” I lean down and press my lips to the side of his neck, and his entire body vibrates under my touch. “I can make one of the most dangerous men in the world fall to his knees with my touch. As helplessly addicted to me as I am to him. That’s real power if you ask me.”
He chuckles when I step back around to his front, circling him. For once, I’m the predator. Not the deadliest man in the room.
“Do you feel powerful right now, little devil?” There’s no sweetness in his tone. Just pure, uninhibited darkness. I hate that my clit throbs at the imminent danger in his voice because it’s just as he said.
I get off on his darkness.
Slipping my fingers over the lace on my stomach, I stop at my hips before moving back to my breasts. It has the desired effect because his eyes follow the movement, his stare dark as night. His jaw clenches, and his muscles pulse like he’s seconds away from breaking the cuffs and fucking me into a pile of rubble on the same dining room table I almost bled out on nearly three weeks ago.
“Knowing your cock’s hard right now. How badly you wish you could touch me? Yes,” I breathe. “It does make me feel powerful.”
“Is your pussy salivating for my cock, Mila?”
“Yes,” I murmur. There’s no use in hiding it. He can read me like an open book.
Leaning down over him, I place my hands on the chair and swivel my hips slowly, sensually to the low beat of the music. Each pulse of the bass is like a heartbeat in my clit until my core throbs.
Christian’s tongue runs over his teeth as his eyes drop down the length of my body, not even bothering to hide the desire in his eyes as he watches me dance for him.
“Am I doing a good job, baby?” I ask sweetly, knowing that nickname is like playing with fire. Christian isn’t the type to be called baby. His lips tug back in a snarl like he can’t wait to rip my throat out.
“So fucking good,” he says as he watches me. I run my hands over my stomach, twisting to slowly sink down to my knees. His breathing is tight and heavy as I follow the movements of the music.
Dancing for Christian may as well be sex. Raw, uninhibited sex.
I arch my back, bending over for him, and he hisses out a breath through his teeth that goes straight to my pussy.
Between his legs, my hands slip up his stomach, over the hard plains of his abs to his shoulders. I climb into his lap, my legs on either side of his and his erection against my pussy.
“Maybe I’ll keep you like this. Climb on top of the table and touch myself. Keep you here wanting and watching.” I tease, slipping my fingers back down, delighted in the feel of his muscles rippling under my touch. “You’ve been avoiding me. Hiding from me,” I whisper, a devilish smile pulling on my lips. “I was going to ask you if you’d give me something, but now I don’t know if you deserve it.”
“Mmm . . .” he hums, his tongue running over his teeth. “You can try. I promise you won’t like the outcome.”
My lips hover over his, our shallow breaths mingling in the space between us.
“Maybe I want you to fuck my ass,” I breathe, voice drawn tight over the lump in my throat. His eyes go blacker than night. “Maybe I want you to replace his touch with your own. Show me how good you can make it feel and chase away my nightmares.”
“You’ve got one minute before I’m breaking this chair. Then I’m breaking you.”
My pussy clenches at his words, but the heavy weight of his stare is intoxicating. I place my hands on his shoulders, lighting trailing my nails up his neck while I roll my hips. I arch my back, and when my panties brush up against his cock, he lets out a growl between his teeth.
“That what you want? Want me to show you that every piece of you belongs to me? That you were made to take my cock and mine alone and that anyone else who touched you was nothing more than a thief trying to steal from me?”
The hard notch in his jeans presses against the silk covering the apex of my thighs, and I bite back a whimper at the friction of his erection digging into me.
“Do you think I’d make a good dancer?”
“No.” His voice is raspy, his eyes moving from my nipples pressing against my top to my pussy before he finally meets my eyes. “Hard to be a dancer if all your customers keep coming up missing.”
He rolls his hips up, the brush of his cock against my clit, causing my head to fall back with a quiet whimper.
“That want you want, baby? Want to see me gut any man who dares to see you like this? Fuck your ass in front of them, so they know it’s my cock you beg for?”
“Would you?” I taunt, shifting and drawing a sharp sound of lust from between his clenched teeth. “Would you defend my honor, baby?”
“Honor? Fuck, no. I’ll take it. Tie you to the bed and fuck your sweet cunt until there’s no fucking doubt in your mind who you belong to.” The thick bands of his arms flex, the chair creaking under the strain. “Your moans, your breathless little whimpers, the way you cry my name like you’re calling out for God—it all belongs to me.”
A shiver rolls through me at his words. A fever blooms from where we’re grinding against each other ruthlessly. I’m not even sure this really counts as a lap dance anymore. His hips jerk underneath me, and I realize there’s not a thing I could do to keep this man still.
“No one will ever make you feel the way I do,” he says tightly. I hardly even recognize his voice. “You can run—I’ll find you. You can hide—It won’t matter.” His tongue darts out, rimming the shell of my ear, and I moan at the tingles slipping up my spine, my eyes screwing shut, and my nails digging into the back of his neck. “At the end of the day, you’ll still end up right here, riding my cock like a good little wife.”
“Christian . . .” I whimper. Perspiration clings to my skin, my body shivering with the need to feel him inside me.
“You have five seconds to undo these cuffs, Mila.” His voice is calm in my ear. Deadly.
I pull back, brushing the hair out of my face. To the outside world, he would appear unbothered. Maybe a little pissed off. To me, though, I can see the vein bulging in his forehead. The way his abs are drawn tight. The way his eyes are darker than the Marianna Trench.
God, he looks terrifying. Hauntingly handsome but terrifying.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
I knew handcuffing him to the chair would piss him off. I knew he would strike like a venomous snake. I just didn’t know how.
Now that the time has come to pay the piper, I’m finding I’m not sure if I can handle Christian Cross truly unhinged.
“There’s nothing to be afraid of, right?” The soft, gentle way he says it makes me think there is definitely something to be afraid of. “You’ve got one of the most dangerous men in the world willing to fall to his knees for you.”
Three seconds pass where everything seems to hang in the balance of chaos and calm. I count them with my racing heartbeat as the world seems to move in slow motion.
“Last chance, Mila.”
He’s offering me up a Hail Mary before he takes what he wants anyway.
It’s . . . unnerving.
So is the dark chuckle that rumbles through his chest when I don’t move, and he holds the cuffs up for me to see them broken right at the center.
Oh, shit.
“Remember, you’re my wife, and I love you.”
“Why?” I ask breathlessly, and his lips tip up with a menacing smile.
God, that’s terrifying.
“Because when I catch you, I’m going to fuck you like you’re my whore.”