Chapter Fourteen LEO #2
Chiara went tense in my arms. Still too quiet. Slowly, I lowered her onto the edge of the massive bed, but before I could fully pull away, her fingers caught lightly against my sleeve.
Not stopping me. Just… holding on.
My gaze dropped to her face. Those blue eyes finally lifted fully to mine. And for the first time all night, I saw something besides exhaustion. Fear. Not the sharp angry fear she usually threw at me like a weapon.
No.
This fear looked almost fragile. Unsteady enough to make something possessive and vicious unfurl deep inside my chest. Because whatever had frightened my wife tonight… I already wanted to destroy it for her.
My wife sat at the edge of the massive bed in layers of white satin and pearls, looking heartbreakingly beautiful and painfully distant all at once.
The fitted corset crushed her tiny waist into something almost obscene beneath the candlelight, every delicate curve wrapped in expensive fabric I wanted to tear apart with my bare hands.
I’d spent months fantasizing about this night. About claiming her. About finally touching her without interruption, without restraint, without pretending I had an ounce of self-control left around her.
But the closer I got to her now, the more wrong everything felt.Usually she reacted the second I touched her. Usually her breathing changed. Her lips parted. Her eyes flashed with anger or fear or reluctant hunger.
Tonight she sat perfectly still while I reached for her. That unsettled me more than a room full of armed enemies ever could.
My fingers slid beneath her chin carefully, forcing her gaze upward. Her skin was unbelievably soft beneath my hand, warm from the reception, flushed from champagne and candlelight.
“Talk to me,” I murmured.
Her lashes lowered slightly. “I’m tired.”
Again. That same empty little answer. Bullshit.
My thumb brushed slowly across her lower lip, feeling the softness there. Pink from where she’d been biting it nervously all evening. My cock hardened painfully at the sight alone.
Jesus fucking Christ.
I leaned down and kissed her slowly. Soft at first. Her mouth tasted like expensive champagne and strawberries. Sweet. Innocent. Addictive enough that I deepened the kiss, one hand sliding into the heavy waves of blonde hair spilling over her shoulders. Her hair always felt like fucking silk.
I curled my fist into it gently and tugged her head back slightly, exposing the elegant line of her throat beneath diamond necklaces worth more than kingdoms. Usually that alone made her gasp.
Tonight? Nothing.
No shaky breath. No trembling. No anger. Just… emptiness. My stomach tightened hard enough to irritate me.
“Chiara,” I muttered against her lips.
She barely reacted. Something cold started crawling beneath my skin. I pulled back slowly and stared at her face. Candlelight flickered across her pale skin, catching against the diamonds at her throat and the faint shimmer of tears already gathering near her lashes.
But she looked far away. Like she’d disappeared somewhere inside herself. I hated it. Still, desire clawed at me viciously.
I sank slowly to my knees between her thighs, the expensive black carpet muffling the movement. Her wedding gown spread around us in white rivers of silk and lace while I pushed the fabric higher inch by inch.
My mouth watered. Christ. The soft cream-colored skin of her thighs glowed beneath the candlelight. Delicate. Untouched. My hands smoothed upward slowly, feeling the warmth of her beneath silk stockings while the scent of roses surrounded us thickly enough to taste.
Usually touching her felt like grabbing lightning. Tonight she barely shivered.
“Fight me,” I said quietly, looking up at her.
Her eyes drifted downward slowly. “Why?”
The question hit harder than it should have. My jaw flexed. “Because you always do.”
For a second, something flickered across her face. Then came a faint smile that looked so broken it made something ugly twist in my chest. “Would that make this more enjoyable for you?”
The air in the room changed. Cold slid down my spine. “What the fuck does that mean?”
She shrugged weakly beneath layers of pearls and white silk.
Like she didn’t care anymore. That terrified me in ways I didn’t understand.
I stared at her for several long seconds before my gaze dropped lower to the white lace garter circling her thigh.
The tiny satin bow at the center looked delicate against her skin.
Slowly, I pushed her gown higher. More skin. More soft warmth beneath my hands. I leaned forward and dragged my mouth slowly along the inside of her thigh.
Nothing. No sharp inhale. No trembling gasp. No furious shove against my shoulder.
Only silence. I fucking hated it.
My irritation sharpened into something rougher as I hooked my fingers beneath the garter before stopping myself deliberately.
I wanted to taste her first. I lowered my mouth again and caught the lace between my teeth instead. Her breath finally hitched softly as I dragged the garter down her leg with my mouth inch by inch. Silk scraped across warm skin while I watched her carefully the entire time.
Please react. Please.
I was obsessed enough with this woman that her silence physically bothered me. The garter finally slipped free between my teeth. And that was when I saw the tear.
A single shimmering tear sliding silently down her cheek. Everything inside me went still. The lace dropped forgotten onto the floor. “What the fuck?”
Chiara turned her face away, wiping angrily at her cheek. I stood so fast the mattress shifted beneath her. “Why are you crying?”
“I’m not,” she whispered.
“Don’t fucking lie to me.” My voice cracked through the room harder than intended. She flinched slightly but still refused to look at me. Something vicious tightened in my chest.
I grabbed her jaw more firmly this time, forcing her eyes back toward mine. “What happened downstairs?”
“Nothing,” she lied.
“Bullshit,” I hissed.
More silence. The candles crackled softly around us.
“You’ve been acting like a ghost all fucking night,” I hissed. “Tell me what’s wrong. You’ve been so desperate for this. Now you don’t want it?”
Her throat moved when she swallowed. Then quietly, almost hollowly, she said, “Does it matter if I enjoy this?”
The question hit like a knife straight between my ribs. “What?”
“Would it matter?” she repeated softly. “You’d still do whatever you want.”
I stared at her. This wasn’t my fiery little wife. Even terrified, Chiara usually bit back. Clawed. Fought like a cornered wildcat every second she breathed near me. Now she looked… defeated.
And I had no idea who’d done it to her. My fingers tightened instinctively in her hair. “Ask me to stop.”
Her lashes fluttered slightly. “What?”
“Fight me,” I demanded roughly. “Tell me to stop touching you.”
Nothing. That scared me more than I wanted to admit.
“Jesus Christ,” I muttered, pacing back a step before turning toward her again. “Did someone touch you tonight?”
“No,” she muttered.
“Did someone threaten you?” I demanded.
“No.”
“Did your father say something to you?” I asked next.
“No.”
Every answer sounded like a lie. Frustration and possessiveness twisted violently together inside me until I grabbed the knife resting beside the untouched champagne tray.
The silver blade flashed beneath candlelight. Chiara’s eyes widened slightly at the sight of it. Good. At least that got a reaction.
Slowly, I stepped back between her thighs, the knife hanging loose in one hand while my other palm slid up the inside of her leg beneath layers of silk.
“Stop me,” I ordered quietly.
She swallowed hard. But she didn’t move. Rage curled hot and vicious through my bloodstream.
“Fight back,” I demanded.
Nothing. Her body stayed perfectly still beneath my hands, like she’d already decided enduring me would hurt less than fighting. I fucking hated it.
My palm spread higher against her thigh, pushing her legs farther apart. The wedding gown shifted open around her in slow waves of white silk, exposing delicate lace panties beneath pearls and garters and satin. So fucking pretty.
The knife glinted once beneath the candles. Then I sliced clean through the lace. The sound ripped sharply through the suite. Chiara gasped softly as ruined fabric fell apart beneath the blade and fluttered uselessly against the sheets.
My chest heaved once as hunger slammed through me hard enough to blur the edges of my vision. But even then… Even staring at her spread open beneath candlelight in white silk and diamonds…
I knew something was terribly wrong with my wife.