Chapter 33
“Kill me, Liliya.”
I’m frozen in place—unable to move, to speak, to think.
Emilio lifts the knife, turns it in his hand, and holds it out to me like an offering.
When I don’t reach for it, he clamps his strong arm around my elbow to drag me off the couch. His hand slides down my arm until it finds mine.
“Stop it,” I say, fighting against him as he forces my fingers around the knife handle.
Both of our hands are on the knife, and he raises it to his throat. It brushes along his Adam’s apple, and in my mind, I’m imagining one wrong move, and we’ll slit his carotid artery.
“Do it,” he snarls, pushing the blade into his neck. “Do what your brother is too spineless to do himself.”
Pain shoots through my arm as I try to break free.
He outpowers me in every single way.
I lock my elbow, trying to get some control.
“Come on,” he taunts. “Make your family proud, guaio. Kill me so they can pass you off to the next bidder.”
I halt, the truth in his words a slap in the face.
I stumble forward when he releases the blade from his throat. I suck in a breath of relief, but that’s only temporary.
He captures me from behind, shoving me against his chest, and I cry out when he lowers the knife to my throat. I shudder at the cold, sharp metal against my sensitive skin. I jerk back when he nicks me with the blade.
“Let me go,” I say, struggling to break free.
“Maybe I should kill you instead.”
He slowly drags the blade along my throat. The pressure is light as a feather, and all I can think about is how close I am to being dead.
As if to further antagonize me, he rests his chin on my shoulder and bites into my neck, so close to where the blade is.
“You said vows you never planned to keep,” he says into my ear, his tone so sinister that chills spread through my body. “Now is the time for that death to part us.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, waiting for the blood to flood from my throat.
He digs the blade in deeper, and I hiss in pain.
Tears hit my eyes, and I squeeze them shut.
Do not die crying, Liliya.
I betrayed him, and just like in any story of betrayal, someone must die.
It was clear that the chance of survival wasn’t in my favor to begin with.
He keeps the knife to my throat for one second, two, three … all the way to ten before lowering it. He shoves me forward, but I don’t get the chance to flee before he catches my wrist and spins me to face him.
Our eyes meet like a fatal attraction.
I stare at him, terrified.
He stares back, menacing.
Only inches separate me from my murderous husband holding a knife.
Regret washes over me. He gave me plenty of chances to kill him, and I didn’t take them. This is on me.
His strong chest rises and falls with harsh breaths while he clutches the knife. His knuckles hold it so tight that they’re turning white as he stares me down.
I’m there, unable to move, and my body shakes.
He slowly reaches out to drag the pad of his thumb along my throat, tracing the path the knife went only seconds ago.
A desire that shouldn’t burn cracks through me.
I run my tongue across my bottom lip. He bites down on his, so tight that the muscles in his jaw twitch.
Without warning, he slides his thumb between my lips. I sink my teeth into it.
He doesn’t flinch, only smirks.
My shoulders shake as I gasp for breaths. His thumb slips free from my mouth. He sweeps it over my lips before clamping his hand around my jaw. His fingers bite into my skin.
Not once does our eye contact break.
His gaze finally drops to my mouth, and my eyes travel with it.
When his eyes rise again, so do mine.
As he inches closer, I do the same.
The knife clatters to the tiled floor, echoing off the four walls like a warning, telling me to run. I jump but don’t look away from him.
He’s a room full of red flags, and I’m about to wave my white one.
I gulp as he comes closer, the toe of his shoe meeting mine.
It happens so fast that I’m not sure who moves first. For a short second, our lips brush against each other’s.
That’s all we need.
That simple spark, the match, to light our fire.
As if suddenly brought back alive, Emilio grips the back of my neck and drags me in for a kiss.
A real kiss from a man like him.
It’s rough, no tenderness or patience.
All desperation and teeth and anger.
I kiss him back, just as carnal and punishing.
Everything our marriage is.
My head spins as he fists my hair to tug my head back, exposing my throat, just like he did when he was holding the knife.
I cry out in both pain and desire.
He drives me backward, and I stumble over the knife before he slams me against the wall with a heavy thud. If there were any pictures on these bare walls, they’d be on the floor from the impact.
“You fucking drive me insane,” he growls against my mouth, grinding his hips into mine.
He curls a hand around my throat, giving enough pressure to trap a few breaths.
“I should hate you,” he whispers, his tone rough and low.
“You’ve been plotting my death, yet here I am, so fucking hard for you that it hurts.
” His grip on my throat tightens before easing some, and his thumb strokes the side of my neck.
“I should be squeezing the life out of you, but instead, I’m going to fuck you so good that you’ll want to die alongside me because no man will ever be able to pleasure you like I do. ”
A moan tears from my throat. “Please,” is all I can say in desperation.
I claw at his shoulders and fist his shirt—my way of making a move.
Lord knows I don’t exactly know how to.
“Please what, guaio?” He loosens his hold just enough for my lungs to inhale a full breath. “Would you like me to die tonight or spend the rest of my life fucking you, giving you pleasure every single day?”
Lifting my leg, I hook it around his waist. “Option two, please. I want my husband to pleasure me.”
He groans, a gravelly sound climbing straight from the bottom of his throat.
From his goddamn soul.
“First, wife, I want you to answer a question,” he says, his voice rough and ragged.
Of course he does.
This man can’t do anything simple.
“What?” I stutter out.
He releases my throat, and I take deep breaths as if I’d been underwater for hours.
“Why haven’t you killed me like you were told to do?”
I rear my head back, hitting the wall, not wanting to look him in the eye as I whisper, “I couldn’t.”
“Why?” He drives his hips forward, slamming me against the wall. “Why couldn’t you put a fucking bullet in my head?” I stay silent, refusing to look at him, so he grabs a fistful of my hair to force me to meet his eyes. “Answer me.”
I hiss in pain, my scalp on fire. “Because I’d rather die at your hands than cause you pain!” I scream at the top of my lungs.
He freezes, losing a breath and dropping my hair at my admission.
I’m just as shocked as him.
A growl leaves his throat as he pulls me away from the wall and drags me across the room. I nearly lose my footing as he turns us. We collapse on the couch. Him below me, and I am straddling him.
“Kill me or fuck me, Liliya.” His intense stare is locked on mine. “Put me out of my misery either way.”
I lower my gaze, dropping my hands to his shirt.
He flexes forward as I start working the buttons. As soon as I finish, I run the top of my hand over his waist, feeling his hard erection. He eases back, stretching out his arms, and his shirt falls open.
In awe, I trail my hand across his muscular chest before stopping at his heart. I leave it there, waiting to see if this man is human or just as much of a devil as they say.
There’s a beat.
The rhythm is uneven, but it’s there.
He relaxes his head back, drawing in heavy breaths before tilting his head forward when I grind against him.
He grips my hips, stopping me. “Take your panties off. If you’re going to slide your pussy against my lap, I want to feel it.”
I slowly rise, and his eyes are on me like a hungry madman as I hook my thumb into the waistband of my shorts. I peel them off, along with my panties, and they fall to the floor.
He stares at me in what resembles worship, as if I’m the one thing he’ll forever cherish.
I pause, taking my husband in.
A scarred man, a killer, but also the one to whom I swore loyalty to at the altar.
He stares back, as if I were holding the breath he needs to live.
His shirt hangs open, and his hair is messy. As my eyes travel down, I make out the outline of his cock.
“Your pussy is glistening for me,” he says. “Beautiful. I’m sure it tastes like fucking heaven.” He licks his bottom lip.
I reach for his belt, but before I can undo the buckle, he scoots to the edge of the couch. His arm circles around my waist, and I gasp as he pulls me forward until my thighs hover in front of his face.
He brushes his nose along my lower belly, breathing in my scent before placing a single kiss there.
My body is on fire as he lifts one of my legs, places my foot on the couch beside him, and opens me wider for him. He drags a single finger through my wetness. The way he does it is so slow yet possessive, like he owns me and has all the time in the world to play.
I’m growing wetter and wetter.
The need for him is becoming too much.
“Please,” I whimper.
“Please what, guaio?” he asks, his voice rough yet also teasing. “You want me to finger your sweet pussy like this?” He plunges his thick finger inside me.
I grip his shoulders. “Yes.”
“I can’t wait to hear you begging me to fuck you while I have my tongue buried so deep inside your pussy that you forget your own name.
” He shoves another finger inside me. “No, scratch that. You’ll forget your first name.
But you’ll never forget you’re a fucking Lastro.
That you’re mine, branded with my last name. ”
A shiver ripples down my spine. My thighs twitch as he pushes another finger into my pussy.
He curls his fingers inside me, making my hips buck forward.
His fingers drive in me, fast and deep, as he lowers his mouth to my core.
My entire body tightens as pleasure takes over.