Page 30 of Sinful Bride

No acknowledgment of last night. No mention of what happened—or didn't happen—between us.

Fine. Two can play that game.

I pour myself coffee from the carafe on the kitchen’s bar counter and take a seat across from her. There's a spread of pastries and fruit, but I'm not hungry. I haven't been hungry since yesterday.

"What's all this?" I gesture to the papers.

"Household management." She doesn't look up from her notes. "I'm hiring additional staff. A full-time cook, a housekeeper, and a house manager to coordinate everything. Possibly a driver as well."

I stare at her. "What?"

"We need proper staff for a household of our standing." She looks up and gives me a look like I’m an idiot. "The current arrangement is insufficient."

"The current arrangement is fine." I keep my voice level. "Bonnie comes in once a week to clean. I can cook for myself. I don't need⁠—"

"You may not need it." Her expression is stiff and cold. "But I do. And this household does. We'll be entertaining. Hosting dinners. That requires proper staff."

"Proper staff," I repeat the words slowly, feeling anger start to simmer in my gut. "You mean the kind of staff a real mafia boss would have."

"I mean the kind of staff appropriate for our position." She sets down her pen. "Unless you'd prefer to continue living like you're still running a motorcycle club."

There it is, the dismissal. The reminder that I don't belong in her world. That I'm not good enough.

My anger flares hotter. "I don't need a dozen people running around my house to prove I'm legitimate."

"Our house." She corrects me sharply. "And it's not about proving anything. It's about maintaining standards. There are certain appearances that are expected, and⁠—"

"Standards." I lean back in my chair, studying her. She's so fucking composed. So perfectly put together. Like she didn't fall apart in my hands last night and beg me to touch her. I’m so fucking tempted to remind her of that right now. "Is that what you call it?"

How is it possible to be so aroused by such a cold, disdainful woman? I never thought a woman who so clearly hates me could get me hard, but here we are.

"What would you call it?"

"Control." I set my coffee cup down. "You're trying to control something because you can't control anything else. You can't control who you married. Can't control what happens in our bed. So you're hiring staff and making lists so you feel like you have some power."

Her jaw tightens. "I'm ensuring our household runs properly. As I was raised to do. I'm trying to establish a functional household."

I push myself up from my seat, circling around the table toward her. I see her stiffen immediately. "You're trying to remind me I'm not good enough for you." I stop beside her chair, close enough that she has to tilt her head back to look at me. "That I'm just some brute who doesn't understand how things are supposed to work in your world."

"I never said⁠—"

"You didn't have to." I lean down, bracing one hand on the arm of her chair and caging her in. "But here's what you don't understand, Elena. Being married to a brute could be very enjoyable, if you'd just stop fighting it. If you'd just admit what you want."

Her breath catches. "I don't want⁠—"

"Liar." I catch a whiff of her perfume, and my cock throbs. She’s feeling the same way—I can see her pupils dilate. "You wanted it last night. You want it now. You're just too proud to admit it."

"If you're going to consummate this marriage—" Her voice is steady, but I can see her pulse racing in her throat. "—then do it the old-fashioned way. I'll do my duty. Nothing more."

My jaw tightens. Duty. That's all I am to her. An obligation. A chore to be endured.

I straighten, putting distance between us. "No."

She blinks. "What?"

"I said no." I step back, shoving my hands into my pockets. "In my world, a man doesn't fuck his woman unless he knows she wants it. I'm not going to take you like some animal just because it's my right as your husband."

"That's not⁠—"