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“I want my freedom.”
Matt stiffened, stopping in his tracks, his eyes darker in their menace. “Whatever you want, besides that.”
I took a second to reply, staring at him while I tried to understand why a divorce was such an insult for this man. “For now I’ll settle for the key to my room.”
“You got it right the first time. Our room, Honey.”
“You can’t be serious!” I protested.
“Are you honestly that repulsed to be married to me?”
“Yes.” I lied, turning my back to him and starting for the keys, but I only managed half a step before Matt grabbed my arm and pulled me to him again.
His grasp was firm and demanding as he pulled me to him, my back to his front. He gripped the lace that covered my shoulder and pulled it down as far as it went. “You’re hurt. How did I miss this before?”
“The blood is yours, not mine.”
“No, you’re hurt. Come.”
He didn’t give me a choice. He grabbed the key cards off the counter before wrapping his strong hand around my wrist, leading me to the elevator and all the way to the penthouse suite. His face was the image of hell, dark and savage, nose flaring and cheeks flushed in anger.
“I’m okay,” I reassured, after craning my neck back to check. I felt like he needed a gateway out of what seemed to be a guilt pit he had fallen into.
“I’ll be the judge of that. There’s a first aid kit in the bathroom.”
Matt opened the door, pushing me inside and straight to the bathroom, cornering me against the vanity.
My hip bone hit the marble with force as he rushed to unbutton my dress just enough to see the damage. His finger brushed over my skin, exhaling in relief once he could clearly see it was just a superficial cut on my back.
All his urgency and control were somehow sending my body into a frenzy of lust. He could pull my dress up and over my ass and fuck me into the damn basin, and I wouldn’t even have a voice to protest. It was all but lost at the demanding touch of his fingers.
Before the spell was over, Matt’s phone rang, the name Lilly flashing on the screen just before he rejected the call. The same sourness I felt on my tongue as I saw him at the bar with a woman rose again, pulling me out of the hex his actions had pulled me under.
“I told you I was fine.” I yanked my dress back up. “You can drop the caring husband act and go do whatever I interrupted earlier.”
Matt stared at me through the mirror, not saying a single word as if he was allowing me time to take my words back. Reproval was clear in his glower.
“Suit yourself.” He finally grunted, heading back into the room while I stood there stranded in front of the mirror.
I watched him pacing in the reflection, taking off his suit jacket and tie, rolling up his sleeves next. The gesture was pornographic in its allure, and I couldn’t keep my eyes away until Matt turned around and met my gaze.
I swallowed dryly before I tore away, reaching behind to try to undo the silk buttons of my wedding dress. As cute as they were, right now I’d retitled them to ‘little bitches who didn’t care to budge.’
I twisted and turned, reaching from one side and then the other without avail. Nothing. I hadn’t even managed one past the few Matt had already unbuttoned.
“I’m gonna live in this freaking dress,” I grunted to myself, pushing my elbow back with the palm of my hand, trying one more time.
“Do you need help with that?” His tone was flat, uninterested, maybe still pissed from my previous dismissal.
“No. I’ll manage, thank you.” Pride was a bitch, and somehow I was finding it hard to give it up.
“Fine,” Matt replied, annoyance clear in his voice. I counted his heavy footsteps on the wooden floor, getting fainter as he reached the door. The reality of my pettiness hit me like a bullet to the brain, but for some reason, whenever Matt was concerned, I had these strange reactions that didn’t quite feel like myself.
“Matt!” I called out just before he walked out the door.
“What?” I could hear an eye roll in his tone.
“Can I still take you up on your offer? I can’t do this, and I really don’t want to sleep in this dress.” Harmless words, they seemed, but fuck did they feel like razor blades. It was as if I was admitting defeat.
