Chapter 7
Laszlo
Through the cam that I had Leonid set up while I was out ring shopping, I stare at the woman in my bed with a growing rage that she dared to defy me.
She took off my ring and blatantly ignored my order.
But what burns hotter than the defiance is the image of her pulling my shirt over her head, the fabric sliding down over bare skin still damp from the shower, her dark hair wet against her neck.
She chose my clothes. Whether she meant it as a weapon or not, she’s wrapped in something that belongs to me, and the sight of it does things to my brain that have no business existing alongside anger.
I set my phone face down on the desk. The vodka in my hand hasn’t even made it to the glass. I press the bottle to my lips and tip it back, drinking it like water.
She’s on the left side. My side. Wearing my shirt. With the ring, I spent two hours selecting, placed on the pillow like a fucking calling card.
My jaw clenches so tight I can feel my molars grinding. But beneath that tension runs a current that heats my blood, tightens my breath. I adjust my stance, the fabric of my pants suddenly restrictive against my cock’s response to her defiance.
She’s testing me, and I want her to keep testing me until one of us breaks.
It will not be me.
I set the bottle down and press both palms flat against the desk, head bowed, breathing through the heat that coils at the base of my spine.
The screen of my phone glows faintly through its facedown position, and I resist the urge to flip it over and watch her again.
That way lies obsession, and I’m already closer to the edge than I’d like to admit.
Leonid appears in the doorway of my study. He takes one look at the open vodka bottle, my white-knuckled grip on the desk, and the muscle jumping in my jaw, and says, “Shall I prepare the guest room?”
“No.”
He pauses. “You’re going up there.”
“I’m going up there.”
“Brave. Or stupid.”
“Both. If you hear yelling, don’t come running.”
If Leonid were capable of rolling his eyes, he would in this moment. Instead, he backs out and disappears as I pick up my phone and shut down the app before heading towards the stairs.
I push the bedroom door open slowly and stand on the threshold, letting my eyes adjust.
She’s on the left side. My side. Curled on her side, facing the window, dark hair fanned across the pillow. Her breathing is slow and even.
The ring catches the faint light from the window, sitting on the right-side pillow like a dare.
I close the door behind me. The click of the latch doesn’t disturb her.
I unbutton my shirt in the dark, pulling it free and draping it over the chair.
Belt next. The buckle clinks softly as I set it on the dresser.
I kick off my shoes and step out of my pants, folding them once before adding them to the chair.
Socks off next. Then I stand in nothing as I look over at her.
Moving quietly to the right side, I pick up the ring and then move to the left side.
I crouch down and take her left hand, lightly sliding the ring back on.
She is awake, I know because she tenses.
“Take it off again, and I will have my name tattooed down your arm where you will have to look at it every day, knowing you can’t escape me. Now, move.”
Her breath hitches. She wants to argue. She knows she can, in theory, have a tattoo removed, and she wants to throw it in my face. But when she opens her eyes and her gaze locks onto mine, she must see something there that makes her choose the wiser path.
She slides over, and I let go of her hand so she can turn over. She shows me her back, and I get in, the sheets warm where she has been lying on them. Normally, it would irritate the shit out of me, but because it’s her, it feels… nice.
I reach over and turn off the lamp on the nightstand, plunging the room into darkness broken only by the pale wash of streetlight through the curtains. The mattress dips under my weight as I settle.
She’s not sleeping. Her breathing is too controlled, too deliberate. The kind of breathing a person does when they’re trying to convince someone else—or themselves—that they’re unconscious.
I fold my arms behind my head and stare at the ceiling. The plaster is smooth, flawless, not a crack in sight. Unlike everything else in my life right now.
“Go to sleep,” I murmur.
“I am sleeping.”
“Sounds like it.”
“I can’t sleep on this side.”
“Tough.” I’m not giving in. I don’t even care which side I’m sleeping on, but she has made this into a bigger deal than it is, and I’m not caving.
She goes quiet for a beat, then says, “You’ve got all the charm of a home invasion.”
I huff a laugh before I can stop it. “And you’ve got all the obedience of a feral cat.”
“I’m not feral.”
“No? You took off my ring, stole my side of the bed, and put on my shirt.”
“I didn’t steal it. I borrowed it.”
“It’s on your body. That makes it theft.”
She shifts under the duvet with a sharp little movement full of temper before she sits up and strips off the tee. She throws it at my head, and it lands on my face, but not before I saw a glimpse of her perfect tits. I rip it off with a growl and throw it on the floor.
“You want it back so bad, there you go.” She is angry. Her tits are bouncing slightly with the movement of her breath. It’s more enticing than it should be.
“You want this side of the bed? Come and get it,” I snarl.
Her eyes flash dangerously, but to my surprise, she takes the high road and pulls the covers up over her body before flopping back to the bed, her back to me again. “Fuck you. Keep it.”
“Fine,” I say loftily and turn over, punching my pillow to make it more comfortable.
We lie in a simmering silence for a few minutes before she speaks again. “I’m cold.”
“You could’ve unpacked your bags to find something to wear.”
“It’s late, Laszlo. I’m tired.”
The weariness in her voice gets to me. I reach down and pick up the tee, then turn over and drop it over her body. “Wear it. It looks good on you.”
“Stop saying things like that.”
“Why?”
“Because we aren’t… you aren’t… never mind.”
“Finish the sentence,” I say.
“No.”
“You started it.”
“I changed my mind.”
“That’s inconvenient for me.”
“Tough,” she mutters, throwing my own word back at me.
I smile in the dark. “Cute.”
She exhales, irritated. “Why are you like this?”
“Like what?”
“Unbearable.”
“Because you make it easy.”
She makes a noise under her breath that sounds suspiciously close to a laugh and immediately kills it.
I prop myself up on my elbow and look at her back.
My eyes have adjusted enough to make out the line of her body beneath the covers, the dark spill of hair over my pillow.
I reach out and wrap my fist around it, gently pulling her back, enough to make her gasp with surprise.
Leaning down, I whisper in her ear, “You can stop acting like I dragged you over the threshold by your hair.”
“I distinctly remember being collected from my bedroom like luggage.”
“That isn’t the same thing.”
“It felt close enough.”
“It felt close enough because you wanted it to,” I say.
She goes still beneath my hand, then turns her head just enough that her voice reaches me clearly. “You are unbelievably arrogant.”
“I’m accurate.”
“You kissed me without permission.”
“You let me.”
She twists then, fast enough that my fist loosens from her hair. She straddles my hips and stares down at me, eyes bright in the dark, furious and awake and so fucking beautiful it makes my cock ache.
“That is not the same thing.”
“No,” I agree. “It isn’t.”
For a second, neither of us says anything. Her mouth parts, then closes again. She can feel the stiffness of my cock against her pussy. I grip her hips and roll us over, onto the right side of the bed, and brace my hands on either side of her head, caging her in. “This is your side,” I murmur.
“You told me if I wanted the left to come and get it,” she murmurs, her gaze on my mouth.
I smirk down at her. “You’re not getting it that easily.”
She hisses and slaps her hands against my chest. My muscles tense, and she feels it. “Why are you being so obtuse about this?”
“This is my bed, you are my wife-to-be. You will do as I say, when I say it. Compliance, Galina, makes me happy. Remember?”
“I hate you,” she spits.
“And yet you are lying underneath me, practically panting, your pussy pressing against my dick in a way that makes me think you want me.” Without waiting for permission, I drop my head and suck her taut nipple into my mouth.
She gasps and arches her back, her hands leaving my chest and wrapping around my biceps. “What are you doing?” she pants.
“Sampling the merchandise,” I growl, pushing her tits together so that I can move my mouth to her other nipple.
“You are a pig!”
“And you taste like fucking heaven.”
“You aren’t fucking me before the wedding.”
“Looks like I’m doing a damn good job of getting there,” I reply and lick her salaciously between the breasts.
She still doesn’t push me away, so I don’t go anywhere. If I hear the words or see the signs, I’ll get up and walk out.
“I mean it,” she says weakly.
“Why so pious? You aren’t a virgin, are you?”
“Fuck you, Laszlo. I can want to wait without being a virgin.”
“Your body wants me,” I murmur, dropping kisses down her between her breasts, ignoring her fake moral outrage. The sheet slides off, when I reach her stomach and I test my luck. I push her legs apart.
No resistance.
“See,” I murmur, dropping my mouth to her clit. “Fuck,” I groan, a second after. “You are fucking gorgeous.” I wrap my arms under her thighs, spreading her wider for me.
She doesn’t stop me. She bucks when I nip her and drag a strangled sound out of her. My mouth devours her, my hands locked under her thighs, her scent in my lungs, and my cock so hard it borders on pain. My pulse is slamming. Every ugly, possessive instinct in me is telling me to keep going.
So I do.
I eat her cunt like it’s the only thing that will keep me alive.
Her hands go into my hair as she floods my mouth with her juices, and I groan again at the sweet taste of her.
“Laszlo,” she moans, her thighs trembling. “Don’t stop.”
I grin wickedly. “Thought so,” I murmur against her, and she comes apart in record time under my mouth with a broken cry that punches straight through me.
Her whole body locks, then shakes. Her fingers tighten in my hair hard enough to hurt, and I let her.
I want the pain. I want every piece of this.
Of her. I drag my mouth back up her body and pin her wrists above her head before she can decide whether she hates me or wants me to keep going.
Her chest heaves. Her pupils are blown wide. Her lips are wet where she’s bitten them. I could take one more inch and lose what remains of my discipline.
So I stop.
It nearly kills me.
I lift my head and look down at her, letting her feel exactly what she’s done to me. My cock is hard against her. My pulse is savage. My control is hanging by a thread, and she sees all of it.
“Bastard,” she whispers.
“Accurate.”
She tries to yank her hands free. I tighten my grip just enough to remind her I can. “You said not before the wedding.”
Her expression flickers. Confusion first. Then the dawning realisation. Then fury, because she understands what I’m doing.
“You arrogant prick.”
“You set the line. I’m respecting it.”
“Fuck you,” she rasps.
“Say it, Galina. Say you want me to fuck you so hard you will forget every other man who has been inside your sweet cunt.”
Her breath catches at my words.
I feel that catch all the way through me.
Her eyes flash, furious and wrecked, but underneath it, I see the truth. Want. Curiosity. The same filthy pull is tearing through me. She hates that I named it. I love that I did.
“You wish,” she purrs, changing tactic. “You have no idea the competition you are up against.”
The flash of jealousy that shoots through me is deadly. I growl, pressing my body into her. “Give me a name, and I will make sure he never comes anywhere near you again.”
Her eyes light up. She knows she’s got to me. She hit on a trigger, and I gave it to her without conscious thought. “I’m not telling you fuck all,” she whispers. “I might want another go with him before I tie my life to yours.”
I know she’s baiting me, but it doesn’t stop the possessive flash of danger. I release her wrist with one hand and smash my fist into the headboard above her head. The intricate carved mahogany rips my knuckles, but I barely feel it.
“Don’t,” I say, so low, I’m not even sure she heard it.
But then she swallows hard, and I know she did.
“Don’t test me, Galina,” I say, dropping my ruined hand to her throat and squeezing gently, my voice louder, but still keeping my tone dark enough so she knows I’m not fucking about.
She goes very still beneath me.
I stare down at her, breathing hard, blood hot, hand stinging from where I hit the headboard. A thin line of blood marks my knuckles.
For the first time since I walked into her bedroom tonight, she looks at me like she understands exactly how fucking dangerous it would be to keep pushing in this direction.
I lower my voice even more. “I don’t share.”
Her throat works.
I release her wrists.
The second I do, I push back from her and sit on the edge of the bed with my back to her, forcing air into my lungs, forcing my temper under control before it turns into something ugly. My hand throbs. I flex it once and watch blood smear across my skin.
Behind me, the mattress shifts. The duvet drags up her body.
Silence sits between us. Not empty. Charged.
I scrub my bleeding knuckles over my mouth and taste iron.
“You smashed the fucking headboard.”
“To make a point.”
“You need psychiatric help.”
I laugh. “You think this is bad? Wait until I find out who fucked you so good, you can’t seem to forget him. Then you will see what I’m really capable of, moya zhena.”
“I’m not your wife. Not yet,” her voice trembles through her defiance.
I stand up, my cock fully erect and pissed off that it didn’t get wet.
Her gaze drops to it and lingers for long enough for it to jerk involuntarily.
“You are in everything but name, and that is going to change very soon, Galina.” I stride to the bathroom and close the door behind me, not a slam, but not gently either.
I lean on the counter, staring at the reflection of a man who has lost his mind over a woman who was forced onto him for “the family”.