Page 16 of Brutal Vows

For seconds, our gazes lock. The fight still sits in her eyes, but she’s tired. I get it. We both want this over with. Her hand is cold, and she tugs away as soon as the warm gold bands are slipped on our fingers.

And then it hits me: this might be the one and only time I get to kiss my wife. To taste her. To feel those soft, plump lips give under mine. To breathe in her scent as I brush my nose along her smooth cheek, grazing her soft skin with the inevitable return of stubble. To take her, gently, by the chin and guide her to me. To feel her react to me, the warm heat of her body engulfing mine for one sweet goddamn kiss.

One kiss. That’s all I’m ever getting to satisfy months of fantasies.

Fuck.

Now I have to kiss her, just once.

I lean in. She turns away, but I already anticipated this move, so I trap her chin and lower my mouth to hers in a warm, gentle kiss.

Her body goes rigid, but her lips stay soft under mine in surprise.

Yes, my dark little devil, my gorgeous little witch, mia bellissima streghetta, you know nothing about me. All I know is that you’ve put a spell on me, bewitched me from afar, and if this is the eye of the never-ending shit storm, I welcome it with open arms.

9

MILANA

I lick my bottom lip, the pressure of his mouth still imprinted on mine, the swell of his lips that swept in with a hint of whiskey.

Asshole! Kissing me like this and sending sparks of desire all over my body.

First, it was in his voice. Then in his gaze as he watched me walk down the aisle. In his touch as he slipped the wedding band on. And now in his kiss. Here’s a man who knows a woman’s body and has made it his life’s work to understand the intricacies of the female anatomy. Not only for her pleasure, but for his too.

I don’t know what the fuck it is with some men, but they have this sexual aura that no woman can look away from. No, we become weak, drenched with desire, beggars for his attention.

And this is my husband. Without a doubt a fucking playboy.

It’s in his proud stance. In his broad shoulders filling his tailored suit jacket, that square and smoothly shaven jaw that’s already working on a testosterone-fueled and very sexy five o’clock shadow. It’s in the stupid little dimple on his chin.

He isn’t handsome. The man is beautiful, so I look away. This is my life now. Fuck my dormant hormones which have been through the wringer, but they just got jumpstarted as if he attached two cables to my dead battery by merely leaning his body towards mine.

We step to the side with nothing to say to each other, me dealing with my overwhelm as Ivan and Gabriella say their vows. I zone out, but even without paying attention, everything that’s missing in our connection is so blatant in theirs, and my stomach bottoms out with churning nausea. Never mind, I’ve been so tense for months, it’s almost normal now.

As soon as Ivan and Gabriella have tied the knot and all the paperwork is signed, Luca’s hand rests on my lower back, from where the heat of his touch spreads.

I hate it.

It’s delicious.

I want more. I want him to circle my ass with the palm of his hand—possessively.

Fuck me sideways. Is this who I am becoming now? Of all the things to put me in a casket, it would be a physical attraction to my husband.

“Wanna get out of here?” he asks softly, leaning in to keep this exchange private.

Don’t react, don’t react, don’t react. “Yes.”

Get me out of here already so I can focus on freedom—finally. On Russia.

“Say your goodbyes, and we’ll get going.”

“Where to?” The sooner I know, the sooner I can start planning my escape.

“We’ll start with a blind date. Seems appropriate, don’t you think?” He straightens and winks at me.

I falter. The sexy fucker winked at me.