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“Pulling my stepbrother’s severed head out of a box gave me the feeling that being with you is extremely dangerous.” Her eyes move rapidly back and forth, searching my own. “Can you try to understand the way I feel?”
I caress her cheek, understanding her feelings more than she knows. “If you were left without my protection, the things your father would do to you would be far worse. He must have someone he wants to give you to, or he wouldn’t have begun searching for you. If you weren’t with me, then it would be someone else. God only knows who that would be and how they would treat you.”
Her jaw tightens. “It’s not like you’re treating me great, Carlo.”
Just as I think she’s softening up and beginning to understand things, she says something ugly. Getting up, I pace, run my hand through my hair, and try to think of the right words to say to her to get her to stop being so combative.
“Just leave me alone. Like you have all day.” She turns over, putting her back to me.
Not acceptable. I yank her up so she’s facing me, tearing the shoulder of the blue dress I bought just for her because it matches her eyes perfectly. “Don’t you ever tell me what to do. Not ever.” Finishing the job, I rip the top of the dress down to her waist. Her lacy bra is exposed, and I pull it off her, baring her plump breasts.
Her chest heaves as she breathes faster, fear in her eyes. “Carlo, please . . .”
“Shut up. You’ve said all I’m going to allow you to say. This is your fate, dear Isabella. You will have my children. As many children as God will give us. I will fill you with my seed anytime I want. I will fuck you anywhere and any way I want—and you will shut your fucking mouth and take it. You will bend to my will. You will obey me without question. You can be happy or sad about it. I don’t give a shit how you feel. All I care about is getting you pregnant and keeping you that way.”
Her lower lip trembles and a tear falls down her cheek. “I hate you,” she says with a stern tone.
“Hate me. Love me. I don’t care. You’re mine and always will be. When we’re around other people, you will act as if you care for me. If you don’t, then your ass will stay in this very bedroom, and you will see no one but me.”
Why does she have to make this so fucking hard?
Chapter 12
Isabella
God help me—why is my body reacting to him this way?
I’m quivering, my heart pounds, and my pussy is soaked. I can barely breathe as he stands over me, looking more powerful than any man I’ve ever seen. I bite my lower lip to stop from saying anything that will set him off again.
He reaches out, taking what’s left of the dress in his hand and ripping it all the way off me. In a swift movement, he tears my panties off too, leaving me naked on the bed.
His eyes hold mine as he removes his clothes. Then he moves over me. His posture, stern and strict, warns me not to do a damn thing he doesn’t want me to do—or suffer the punishment.
I don’t want to be excited, but I can’t help it. My body is on fire, and all I want is to feel him inside me.
He forces my legs apart, then thrusts his erection into me. Even though we were together like this only one night before, my pussy burns as it stretches to fit the length and girth of his shaft. I want to take hold of him, feel his muscles rippling as he fucks me with steady, even, disciplined strokes, but I lay perfectly still.
It seems we’re both too stubborn to admit when we’ve been wrong. Even though his cock feels amazing as it makes deep strokes into me, I still can’t make myself apologize. I can’t bring myself to say anything.
My body, on the other hand, has a mind of its own, and my back arches up to meet his thrusts. He grinds into me, his face still stern. I’m unable to hold back, and my hands move over the muscles of his back. I take a deep breath, letting the tension flow out as I release it.
Our bodies want each other—there’s no doubt about that. The way he moves makes me weak. His handsome face so close to mine makes me want his lips on mine.
I look at his mouth and see his lips coming closer to me. They touch mine, and I fall into the abyss that’s us.
My nails rake over his flesh. My anger is expressed as passion. I never asked for any of this, and I hate it. Yet here I am—actively fucking the man who’s stolen me.
Digging my heels into his ass cheeks, I try to push him in even deeper. His low groan tells me he’s enjoying my moves.
His kiss, hard and demanding, suddenly ends, leaving my lips pulsing and wanting more. He moves, his lips grazing across my neck before biting down hard, making me whimper in pain. The pain turns into pleasure, and the whimper turns into a moan of desire.
My anger crumbles a bit as my body directs me to relax and enjoy my husband’s attention. Words flow from the tip of my tongue and out of my mouth in a soft whisper. “I’m sorry.”
Holding me tight, he rolls us over, putting me on top. With a smile in his eyes, he whispers, “Me too.”
Moving his hands through my hair, he looks at me with something akin to love in his dark eyes. I lean over to kiss him softly, and tears flow as I feel myself losing all the anger I had at him.
It’s not his fault, and I know it. He was born into this, and so was I. But he’s had a lifetime to get used to this, while I’ve had only a few hours to come to terms with who I really am.
