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“Right now you’re treating me like chattel,” she interrupted. “What’s going on?”
“You’re my wife,” he repeated, louder, more insistently. “And I am the only man you are to talk to.”
“Oh my God. You can’t be serious?”
“You have discarded your servants; I know you have ordered them not to attend events with you, not to attend to you while you explore the palace. Do you have any idea what kind of gossip that opens you up to?”
He hadn’t held any objection to her managing her staff as she saw fit, until that moment. Now, he wanted her to be chaperoned at all times.
“I’m your wife,” she reminded him. “Not your prisoner, no matter what you might think. And I’m also perfectly capable of having a conversation with a man, might I even say ten different men, without doing a single thing to break our wedding vows.”
His eyes were wide and his nostrils flared. The worst thing she could do was provide a perfectly rational argument when he felt so damned irrational.
“Turn around.” A muscle jerked in his jaw as he ground his teeth together.
“No.” Her eyes sparked with his. “You’re being ridiculous.” She turned away and stormed off at the same time, huffing as she crossed the room towards the windows. “You have history with this Goran guy, obviously. An
d I’m sorry for that. But you asked me to come to the ball. You got talking to ministers and left me on my own. You sent me this dress and you invited all the guests. All I did was turn up, wear this, and be polite to a man who, frankly, gave me the creeps. So? What’s your problem?”
“My problem,” he said with a quietness that was far more dangerous than if he roared the palace down, “Is that I cannot look at you without imagining him touching you and all I can think of is making love to you until you promise me you will never let that happen.”
She gasped, the fierce, desperate plea in his words spearing straight into her heart, making her quiver.
“I didn’t say more than ten words to him,” she whispered.
But Raffa strode across the room, and as he approached, she sucked in a harsh breath yet it still didn’t reach her lungs.
“You are mine,” he said simply, and his lips crushed to hers, his tongue pushing into her mouth, his body hard against hers.
“Say you are mine,” he grunted, his fingers reaching around and finding the zip to her dress.
He needed to hear the words; he needed to hear her say that his possession of her was absolute.
“He is no one to me,” she murmured into his mouth, but that wasn’t enough.
With a growl, he spun her around, impatient, his fingers pulling the zip of her dress all the way down so she wore only a lace thong.
“Tell me you want this,” he said desperately, the words graveled, as his hands ran over her body, finding her naked breasts and palming them, feeling their weight, staring at her beauty as though he’d never before seen a woman’s naked form. “Tell me you want me.”
“You know I do,” she muttered, but there was anger in her eyes, anger at the admission, anger at his dominance over her. She tilted her head back, and he saw the way she was quivering, he knew what he was doing to her, but it still wasn’t enough. He needed her to beg him again and again, he needed to know beyond any doubt that her world began and ended with him.
Why? Why did he care? He had never been so driven by an animalistic urge to make a woman his in every fundamental way, but now, on this night, ancient forces were pushing him to claim her.
He pulled her to him and lifted her in one motion, wrapping her legs around his waist as he carried her to the bed where he dropped her backwards so she sprawled beneath him. She glared at him, her breath ragged, her breasts heaving with each push of her lungs. But he didn’t give her time to recover. He pulled at her underpants, removing them before dispensing swiftly with his own clothing, bringing his naked body over hers.
When he kissed her, it was a mark of possession that was answered by his body’s hard push into her womanhood. There was no preamble, no foreplay, just this. He thrust into her with all that he was, crying out as her sweet warmth enveloped him, as muscles claimed him, reassured him, and then his mouth dragged down her body, finding a nipple and flicking it with his tongue.
She writhed beneath him and when she whimpered he lifted his eyes to her face, watching as pleasure pulled her apart at the seams. Watching as she fell apart in his arms, feeling her muscles squeeze him, her body take him, feeling her react to him in a way that should have been reassurance enough.
But it wasn’t.
He needed more. He needed her to give him something but he didn’t know what.
While waves of pleasure still rocked her to the core, while she trembled beneath him, and her body was ravaged by the waves of her desire, he pulled out of her and dragged his mouth to her sensitive heat, lashing her with his tongue until she was crying out, loud, shrill, desperate. He was driving her to the brink too soon after she’d already orgasmed, while the after effects were still ravaging her system, but he didn’t care.
She was his, and he would make sure she understood that. He slid a single finger inside her tight warmth and she bucked against his mouth. Her fingers came to his hair, tangling in it, pulling it loose, dragging it from his head and then she came again, so that he felt her pulse, tasted her pleasure, and knew her to be carried away by what they had shared.
But still he wanted more.
