Page 24 of Graciously His

I nod. I can’t tell if my body is shutting down after the extremes of the day, or if it’s simply numb after too much input, or if—God, don’t even think it—desire is somehow canceling it out. Nate nods in return, accepting my fear just as he’s accepted every other emotion I’ve given him today.

“I’m going to kiss you, Grace, and you’re going to let me. Okay?”

Nothing will ever be okay again.

“No,” I whisper, even as I lift my face. “I can’t do this.”

“Wrong. This,” his gaze sweeps from my eyes to my mouth, “is the only thing you can do.”

He pauses, his body poised over mine. I can feel his ready power and, beneath that, a predatory passion. I should push him away. Run screaming from the house. Call the police. Claw myself away from Nate and never come back. Instead, I look into those eyes, so dark and fixed.

“Please,” I whisper, knowing I shouldn’t. “Nate, please.”

“Say yes.”

I squeeze my thighs tight and my stomach twists as I realise I’ve been wet since he carried me into this room.

God, what is wrong with me?

“It’s too much,” I whisper, “I can’t—”

“Say the fucking word, Grace,” his breath is hot on my neck, “say you’re my wife and say yes.”

I shake my head, even as my entire being screams an affirmative. Guilt sweeps through me, potent and heavy. Instead of dispersing, my need sharpens. The teeth are deep within, chewing on me, and I know I’ll be consumed if Nate doesn’t give me what I need right here and now.

I’m tearing at his shirt, pulling him close, closing my eyes, willing him to do what I can’t. He growls and fastens his lips to my throat. I moan when his teeth rake a sharp path along my carotid artery. I dig my nails into his chest in answer, feeling the give of his skin through the fabric of his shirt, hurting him on purpose.

He hisses and pulls back enough to stare into my face. I suppress the absurd urge to apologise. His eyes are heavy-lidded, but as sharp as ever.

“So it’s like that, Grace? You make me decide for you so you can pretend not to want it?”

I draw a terrified breath to tell him no, I don’t want that. I’m not that sick.

But it would be a lie.

What he’s offering is exactly what I want—what I need.

His expression turns lupine.

“If that’s what you want me to do,” his hand curls gently around my neck, “then that’s what I’ll do.”

My knees buckle and Nate catches me without missing a beat, lifting me effortlessly into the shadow of the four-poster bed.

“I’m going to take that kiss, Grace.” He stares into my eyes. “Then I’m going to hold you down and give you the wedding night you never got. And you can scratch me raw and pretend you don’t want it—and I’ll do it anyway.”

My breath seizes in my chest, tears renewing their well-worn path down my cheeks. I’m so turned on I might start begging.

“Do you want that, love?”

His hands are everywhere—dipping beneath my sweater, then into my pants.

“I don’t know,” I whisper.

“Such a gracious girl, letting me decide for you.”

That word, so close to what Mother and Nick insisted on calling me, is punctuated by the sound of tearing fabric. I whimper, trying to cover myself, but Nate brushes my hands aside as he strips off my shirt and bra. My jeans come next. My underwear.

I’m trembling and exposed. I could stop him, even now. And I should. I really should. But I don’t. Nate stares into my eyes, then tilts his head as he looks me over, a small smile still playing around his lips.