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Maks quickly glances at the front door, as if to make sure Dimitri isn’t standing there listening to our conversation. When he sees the coast is clear, he says, “Yeah, we grew up together.”
I wait, but he doesn’t elaborate. Tight-lipped, this one. Not that it matters, I won’t be around here for too much longer.
That night I pretend to be asleep in the guest room when Dimitri comes in. Maks warned me that Dimitri would hate finding me in any bed but his, and that only fueled my desire to get under my captor’s skin. If he hates it, good. I’m not sleeping in the same room as the man who wants to call himself my husband.
“Kisa?” he whispers in the dark. “Are you awake? You can’t sleep in here.”
He doesn’t sound especially irritated. Luckily, sleeping in a different room isn’t the extent of my plan tonight. When he reaches for me, I twist around in the bed and stab at him with the kitchen knife I stole earlier.
He hisses in pain, momentarily retreating. In the dark, I can’t tell where I stabbed him. I was hoping to aim for his heart.
Then his hands are on mine, squeezing my wrist until I’m forced to let go of the knife. He snatches it away and flicks on the bedside lamp. I immediately spot the blood soaking through the side of his dark T-shirt. Damn, it’s only a graze.
Though I didn’t mortally wound his body, his gaze sparks with icy anger. I sit up straighter and glower at him.
“Is this how you greet your husband when he comes home at night?” He gestures toward his bleeding side.
I scoff. “You’re not my husband. You’re nothing to me.”
His olive green eyes flicker with hurt. Probably because I wounded his fragile ego. What does he expect me to do, welcome him home with open arms and ask him about his day? That’s ridiculous.
“I am your husband,” he says, crawling onto the bed and forcing me to retreat to the other side. “And I have rules.”
“Of course you do,” I snap at him as I scoot away.
He advances on me. “One, we will share a bed every night. Two, you will join me for dinner. Three, you will be loyal and faithful to me until death do us part. I don’t care how many men you’ve slept with before, but you’re mine now.”
I scurry away from him, but he follows until I’m about to fall off the bed. Even as my heart hammers against my ribcage at his close proximity, I see another opportunity to strike and take it.
“You don’t care how many men I’ve given myself to before you?” I goad him. Arrogant bastards like him hate being reminded of other men, and of a woman’s past with those men. Their frail egos can’t handle the mere idea of competition.
His jaw ticks, irritation radiating from him. “On second thought, you’ll give me their names so that I can destroy them.”
I tap my chin thoughtfully. “Hmm, it’s going to take me a while to get those to you. There are so many.”
He clenches his teeth, his anger prickling my skin. He’s a dangerous man, I know that, and I shouldn’t be punching his buttons like this, but I can’t help myself. I’m so… furious. And when I’m angry, I say and do stupid things. Apparently.
He raises his hand, the movement sudden, and I flinch, recoiling against the headboard.
“Kisa,” he says, his tone soft, as his fingers caress my cheek. “I would never raise my hand in violence to you.”
I swallow hard, having fully expected him to hit me for angering him. How far can I push him before he does strike me? That’s what men with overinflated egos do, they hurt those who damage their pride. I’ve seen it before, in dark corners of crowded rooms, in an empty hallway when a couple thinks they’re alone. Those men always lash out in private, too cowardly to show the world how pathetic they really are.
His thumb brushes over my lips, and vindictively I open my mouth and bite down—hard. The tangy, metallic taste of blood coats my tongue.
I realize my mistake when lust flashes in his eyes. My gaze widens with surprise. He doesn’t see this as a punishment, but as a turn on. That was not my intention at all.
He presses his thumb further into my mouth, then part way out, then back in. His gaze flicks between my mouth and my eyes. I remain frozen in place, unsure of how to handle this situation, and his reaction to being bitten. Or the way his thumb moving in and out of my mouth is so erotic.
“I’ll never hurt you,” he murmurs, slipping his thumb from my mouth and swiping it across my lower lip. “I’ll taste you. I’ll make you mine in every way possible. I’ll torment you until you’re wet and begging for my cock. And I’ll punish you if you’re a bad girl, but I’ll never hurt you.”
I blink at his filthy words, my fingers curling around the necklace at my throat.
Dimitri smirks. “You’re clutching your pearls. Did something I say shock you, kisa?”
When I don’t respond, he leans in, his breath warm against my ear. “I bet if I slip my hand between your thighs right now, I’ll find you wet for me, won’t I? Is it my words that are turning you on, making you blush so prettily, or is it the taste of my blood in your sweet mouth?”
My pulse spikes and I’m at a loss for words. Never in my life has a man spoken to me like this before. It’s utter filth. Scandalous. I clench my thighs together.
