Chapter 16
sixteen
ROSE
My lips are still tingling when Dare leads me back to the limo. The ring on my finger is heavy and foreign as I lift my hand to stare at it. The oval diamond is beautiful. Huge and expensive. This is a ring meant for someone you love. The person you want to spend the rest of your life with. It’s too much for our sham of a marriage.
Dare’s steps slow.
Glancing over, I find him watching me, his dark brown eyes a storm of desire and possession. A tingle of awareness shoots down my spine because, with a single look, Dare reminds me of what it was like to be at his mercy, something I liked far too much.
Tucking my hand behind my back, I keep my expression neutral and lift my chin. “What?”
He chuckles and shakes his head. Like I amuse him. Let’s see how funny he thinks I am when I rip his world apart .
“Dare,” Frank calls before we can get into the back of the vehicle.
Dare holds my gaze, as if knowing what I’m plotting, and his smile simply deepens. “Frank,” he greets the man when he reaches us, finally looking away. Remy also joins us, eyeing me like I’m some type of monster.
Since when did I become the bad guy?
Irritation is hot in my chest, but I keep my breathing steady and focus on Frank instead. “What, no cake?”
Frank scowls. “I only bake for my friends.”
I tip my head and grin. “You have friends?”
“Fuck you,” Frank snaps.
“Don’t talk to my wife that way,” Dare murmurs, the softness of his voice doing nothing to hide the sharp edges of his words.
My heart skips. I’ve dreamed of having that sort of protectiveness. To have someone put me first.
Rearing back, Frank looks from me to my new husband, clearly surprised that Dare gives a damn how people treat me. “Dare?—”
Dare stares the man down. “She’s mine , Frank. You’ll talk to her with the same amount of respect that you talk to me. Understood?”
Something akin to pleasure shoots through my veins, but I studiously remind myself that, no matter what he says, I’m definitely not his. This is all pretend, and eventually, it has to end. I simply like the stupefied look on Frank’s face.
Frank sighs and nods in understanding. “All right. I’m sorry,” he says to me.
I arch an eyebrow. “It’s fine. I didn’t want your cake, anyway. You’d probably try to poison me.”
Dare’s chuckle rolls over my skin like a soft caress. “How was the catering gig?”
“Fine. There was a minor hiccup, but Remy took care of it.” Frank gestures to the big guy standing next to him.
Dare’s bodyguard is a baker too? Squinting, I give him a once-over, trying to picture him wearing an apron. His knuckles are bruised and covered in scabs. There are scars littering the backs of his hands. I draw my eyes up his broad and thick body. If this man is a baker, I’m a nun.
“Good.” Dare notices me studying Remy and sighs. “My wife is tired. I’m taking her home.” He grabs my hand and pulls me toward the limo. The driver doesn’t get out to help us, again. That’s twice in one night.
“You should fire your driver,” I tell Dare, facing him and sitting, keeping my legs together the best I can. Should have worn the underwear.
Dare’s bulky form crowds the door, saving me the humiliation of flashing the world. His fingers coast down my calves and lock around my ankles to help lift my legs into the car. Fire trails his touch. I ignore it and scoot down the bench seat, giving him room.
Dare slips inside and shuts the door, closing us in the space together. Soft yellow lights line the perimeter of the limo’s cabin and stay on as we pull away from the curb. A bottle of champagne sitting in a bucket of ice waits for us. Dare snatches a flute and fills it.
I take the glass when he offers it. “Why are we celebrating?”
He leans back in his seat, spreading his legs wide. His hand falls on my thigh. Claiming me. My heart skips again. I never pictured Dare to be the touchy-feely type. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t hate it, but he’s meant to be deadly, cold, and calculating. The pads of his fingers dig into my skin, not exactly hard, but enough to make my core clench. Electricity zaps through my system. I can’t explain it, but something about this man—the one who terrifies the board and my own father—wanting me is intoxicating.
I force myself to glance away and take a sip of champagne, but it does nothing for my suddenly parched throat. Heat crawls up my neck. I take a shallow breath, trying to ignore how viscerally my body responds to Dare.
“Come here.”
Heart pounding, I slowly turn back to him. “Excuse me?”
His lips twitch. “Come sit on my lap.” That fucking palm glides up and down my skin. Heat blooms inside of me, and the wanton urge to open my legs is so strong, I have to press them together. Dare’s dark brown eyes glitter with knowing.
He sees too much.
“Why?” My voice is raspy.
“I said, come here, wife .”
A shiver races down my spine. God, the way he says that one word makes me want to do bad things. Things that go against everything I’ve known.
But we’re married, aren’t we? Sex comes with the package. Fucking him won’t change anything. And don’t I deserve a little pleasure if I’m going to be married to Darian fucking Richardson?
I’ve heard hate sex is amazing.
Dare’s tattooed hand smooths over my skin again, teasing underneath the edge of the fabric, but then it slips away. His retreat is a relief and torture, all at the same time. “You’re thinking too loud. ”
I narrow my eyes, and before I can reason with myself, I’m setting the flute aside and sliding into his lap, leaning my back against his chest and settling my ass against his crotch. This way is safe. This way, he can’t capture my lips and steal my sanity.
A rumble of approval reverberates from his body and into mine. Dare’s hands trace down my sides, and he nudges my head to the side so he can whisper into my ear. “That’s my good wife.”
My body sings at his praise.
“Don’t call me that.”
His answering laugh is dark. “Only you would try to tell me what to do.” And then his palms smooth over my thighs, dragging the edge of the dress up, inch by inch. My legs fall open, and he hums in approval, brushing his lips over my throat.
I’m trembling, but if he notices, he doesn’t say a word.
I should stop him. This is a bad idea, but my body is on fire, and Dare is the only one who can stop this burning. One time. That’s all.
Cool air kisses my bare skin as the material rides higher, and Dare’s thumb brushes the insides of my thighs, close to and somehow too far from where I want him. He floats the other hand up my body and clamps it around my throat, his forearm nestling between my breasts. A collar. A shackle. My damnation.
“We were inside that church, and all I could think about was this bare cunt.” Finally, he strokes a finger through my soaking slit. His mouth finds the shell of my ear. “You’ve made a mess of yourself, princess.” He practically growls those words, sending a shiver down my spine. When he pushes two thick fingers inside of me, I groan as my walls clamp around his sudden intrusion .
Dare’s thumb coasts over my clit, a slow and languid rotation, a reminder of everything to come. I fight the urge to arch into the touch. I’ve already given him too much power. He tightens his hold on my neck enough to make me drag in a deep, shaky breath.
“That’s how you want to play?” he murmurs, gently nipping my ear before moving to rest his chin on my shoulder to watch himself play with me. He draws his fingers nearly all the way out before thrusting them deep, right as he pushes his thumb more firmly on my clit, slipping over the sensitive nerves with quick and deliberate movements. “You can try to fight me, you can try to pretend like this pretty pussy isn’t aching for me, but we both know you’re lying. You want me to fuck you, don’t you?” Though his voice is a mere whisper, the question could have been screamed with how hard it hits me.
Yes. The answer is yes. It’s stupid and reckless, but when he curls those cursed fingers and strokes the spot deep inside me, simultaneously teasing my clit and flexing the fingers around my throat, reason doesn’t matter.
“Say it out loud, Rose. Let me hear how desperate you are to come.”
“Dare,” I rasp, choking off when he begins thrusting his fingers.
Dare kisses my exposed shoulder, teasing his teeth over my skin, then bites down at the base of my throat, right next to his fingers. I gasp and buck into his hand. His hold on me is firm. I’m practically trapped against him. The thought thrills me more than it should. Pain shoots through my body, but then he strokes my G-spot again, harder this time, his thumb still working, and tingles chase after the ache his bite sent through me.
My nails dig into his slacks. I’m clinging to Dare. His hand around my neck anchors me to the moment, giving me no escape from this sweet torture. My toes tingle and pleasure swirls in my center.
I’m so close.
So fucking close.
Dare releases my skin and moves his mouth to my ear. “Say it.”
“Yes,” I moan, rocking into his touch.
“Not good enough,” he says, his voice gravelly as he removes his thumb from my clit, denying me release.
“Fine,” I practically snarl. “Fuck me, Dare.”
“Please.” He kisses the sensitive skin right beneath my ear.
“You want me to use my manners when I beg you?—”
He flexes his fingers around my neck, cutting off my words. “Stop fighting me.”
Huffing, body screaming for him, for his thumb to finish what it started, I relent. “Please, Dare,” I rasp. “Please fuck me.”
Dare’s hand slips away from my throat and he withdraws his fingers.
Is he fucking serious right now? There’s no way he’s going to work me up this much, then leave me hanging.
I turn in his lap, ignore the hardness pressing into my ass, and glare at him.
Dare studies my face for a moment, then those lips tilt into that irritating smile of his. “We’re home.”
Oh. The car’s not moving. I don’t know how long we’ve been idling at the curb. I was too caught up in what Dare was doing to me, too lost in the chaotic storm of emotions between us.
Shaking myself, I slide into the seat next to the door and fix my dress, refusing to meet his gaze.
“We’re not done,” he tells me.
Like hell. I can’t let him fuck me. It’s too dangerous. Forcing back the lust and everything I’m feeling, I don the familiar ice princess mask and meet his gaze. “Like you said, I’m tired.” And then I open the door and flee.