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It’s the laughter in his voice that hurts the most. This is all so amusing. My frustration and confusion are funny. “Then it would be okay if you came home one day, and I was showing some guy from school to the door?”
His nostrils flare, and I know the question hit him like I wanted it to. “What?”
“Some guy from class. A study partner. If you came home one day, and I was showing him to the door, and he kissed my cheek. That would be fine? Because it would all be innocent?” I’m goading him, wanting him to feel the same way I do right now.
“Not the same,” he mutters, his brow lowered. I’d swear his eyes are burning.
“How? Why wouldn’t it be the same? Totally innocent, working together on a class project or something. Even without the kiss,” I offer. “Just studying together, alone. You’d be okay with that the way I’m supposed to be okay with you having some strange woman here with me not knowing who she is?”
He’s like a bull ready to charge. Face flushed, breathing harder, faster. Like even the thought is enough to set him off. “Not. The same.”
“Says who?”
The fire in his eyes hardens into something vicious. Something feral. And I know before he even lunges at me that I pushed too far.
But I know something else, too. I know the idea of me being with anyone else—even studying, even something as simple as that—makes him crazy. That alone lights me up inside, even as he pins me to the wall, knocking the breath out of my lungs. He wants me. Pretend all he wants, there’s no changing the fact.
“We would have a serious problem on our hands if you ever spent time alone with another man.” He’s breathing heavily, unhinged, and my pulse races at the knowledge of how close he is to losing control.
“Would we?” I whisper, as defiant as I can be, when what’s happening to my body is another story. My pussy is already wet and getting wetter. This is the only way I can make him touch me and show he cares. Even though I could be in danger, the payoff is worth it. “How so?”
“Don’t play dumb.” His hand encircles my throat, and my nipples tighten in response. “If another man so much as touched you without permission, I would have no choice but to cut off his hands.”
He leans in, his grip tightening. “You are mine,” he whispers through gritted teeth.
Yes, I am. God help me.
I need him. I know that now. There’s a part of me that lights up in moments like this when I’m equal parts turned on and terrified. The anticipation is excruciating. He’s going to take me, he’s going to fuck me, and I’m going to love it the way I always do. Even when he hurts me, I love it because it’s his touch I need the most. I need the pleasure only he can bring me. It’s fucked up and twisted, and I know it, but I don’t care. Not right now. Not when he’s looking at me like he wants to tear me to pieces.
“Let’s get something straight,” he growls, and I shiver at the sound of it. “I am not the man you storm off on. I will not accept you behaving like a fucking child. And you do not spend time alone with any man, for any reason, unless I’ve given you permission. Do you understand me?”
I don’t understand anything right now. I certainly can’t get a grip on the way my entire body reacts to him. Head to toe, I’m on fire, tingling, throbbing, hungry. So hungry for him, for the oblivion he brings me.
“Answer!” he barks, making me jump.
“Yes!” I gasp. “And I will not accept you treating me like shit, like I don’t matter. I’m your wife. I deserve to be introduced to people. I deserve a little respect.”
“Respect?” His hand tightens until I can hardly take a sip of air. I gasp, eyes bulging, but he won’t let up.
His face is close enough to almost touch mine, and I have to fight off the impulse to touch my lips to his. It would be so easy, and I want to kiss him so much. No more talking, no more yelling. All I want is to feel him—on me, in me, all over me. I’m so tired of craving him, craving this even when I know it’s no good for me. The harder I try to fight it, the worse the addiction becomes.
“I have more respect for stray dogs than I do for you,” he mutters, eyes locked with mine. “A stray dog does what it needs to survive. You?”
“I did the same thing.”
“Like hell you did. You had every chance to make things right, but you deliberately refused. You weren’t surviving. You were a coward and a liar, and you have blood on your hands.”
His hand, meanwhile, tightens further. I see stars swimming in front of me, and I blink them away. Now isn’t the time to pass out. “And you stomp around here, throw fits, and have the balls to demand respect. What a fucking joke.”
I gasp when he thrusts a hand between my legs, taking hold of my pussy and rubbing hard. “This is all you deserve. Having your body used. It’s the one good thing about you, your body.” He rolls his hips, driving his dick against me. It’s hard, telling me he’s enjoying this the way I am. That he wants this. Wants me.
He works his fingers under my panties and lets out a nasty laugh when he feels my wetness. “You love this, don’t you?” he demands, breath quickening. “Tell me. You love it when I use you. You want this. You crave this. Tell me.”
“Yes!” I admit, hanging between shame and elation. I can’t help but rock my hips and bear down on his hand.
He’s glaring at me. I can’t look away. I won’t. “And what do you want now?” My tongue darts out, and I moisten my lips. His soft groan hints at his helplessness. He’s not as in control as he pretends.
He yanks my panties down around my knees, then uses his foot to push them down to the floor while frantically working his belt and zipper. He doesn’t say a word, staring at me the whole time. There’s darkness swirling behind his eyes, danger. I should be afraid. I should be crying, begging, and maybe that’s what he wants from me.
