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“So, tell me, what are you after, wife? Life insurance policy? A kid to become the next heir?”
I recoil, even though I’m not surprised at his words, they hurt, and I let his fury fuel my own.
“You self-righteous son of a bitch. I’ve done nothing to earn your anger. It wasyouwho draggedmeinto hell. Or did you forget that?”
His eyes move over my face and down to my chest, where my shirt is plastered to my skin.
“I never saw his mark, but that doesn’t mean anything. People who were loyal to Santos remained loyal. Not even death could change that.”
“Loyal? You think I was loyal to a man who kidnapped me and orchestrated the torture and murder of my family?” I spit in his face before swinging my head up and bashing his nose.
He loosens his grip as blood trickles down his face, but he wipes it away and grins at me savagely. Suddenly, his hand is around my throat, pinning me in place as he yanks at the buttons of my shorts, popping them open as he tugs them down with my underwear.
I don’t fight him, not because I’m afraid, but because I’m turned way the fuck on. If hate sex is the only sex I’ll get with my husband before I kill him, I’ll take it.
He keeps his hand on my throat, but his eyes move down to my now exposed sex, and then they land on the tattoo. I’ve had many years and lots of chances to get the Santos brand covered up, but in the back of my mind, a voice stopped me. I never understood why. I hate the thing with a fiery passion. I just somehow knew that one day I’d need it.
He growls, part anger, part something else, and then he releases my throat. He bends down, kissing the brand that was marked into my skin so many years ago, before standing up and popping open the button of his jeans.
I reach up and cup the back of his neck and pull him to me, my mouth crashing into his as he fumbles to free his cock. Once he does, he guides it to my wet entrance and thrusts himself all the way inside me. We groan in unison. There’s a little pain and a whole lot of pleasure as I slide my fingers underneath his T-shirt and score my nails into the skin of his back. He fucks me hard and fast as the rain pours down around us. Man and wife, strangers in every way, yet my body reacts to his like I’ve always known him.
My shorts hinder my movements, stopping me from wrapping my legs around his waist and pulling him deeper. Our mouths stay fused together as we explore each other. I memorize his taste, his smell, how he feels moving inside me. I know the other shoe will drop eventually, and when he’s gone, all I’ll have left are memories of this moment. It’s bittersweet because I’m not sure I’ve ever felt as alive as I do right now, being fucked by a monster while surrounded by ghosts.
He rips his mouth free from mine. I can taste blood on my lips and something that is uniquely Calix. He trails his tongue down my throat as he moves his hand to my clit, circling it with his thumb as he fucks me against the hood of my car.
“You want to come, angel?” he snarls, and I can only just make it out over the storm.
“Yes,” I hiss, trying to lift my hips to gain more friction. With my legs bound by the denim and Calix’s weight pinning me in place, it’s impossible.
“Tell me, who’s inside you?”
“You are,” I groan, thrashing my head from side to side as the pleasure begins to burn through my body, making my skin hum despite the cold.
“Whose fucking you, baby? Say my name.”
“Calix,” I scream as he flicks my clit, leaving me teetering on a precipice.
“And who am I?” he leans down and growls in my ear.
“My husband,” I cry out as he pinches my clit.
The intensity of my orgasm has me seeing stars for a moment as I repeat his name over and over. I hear him curse as he thrusts once, twice, three times before pulling free and coming all over Santos’s brand.
Both of us are breathing heavily and soaked through to the bone, and yet I can’t find it in me to care. He stares at my tattoo before looking into my eyes with a look of sheer possession.
“You might have started as his, but you’re mine now.”
“I was never his.”
He pulls back and tucks himself away before ducking into the car and returning with a handful of napkins. The rain soaks them, but I’m able to clean myself up enough to get dressed again. Once I’m done, we stand and stare at each other, neither of us caring anymore about the rain.
“You married him.”
“You make it sound like I had a choice when we both know I didn’t.”
“Everyone has a choice, Sugar. Or should I call you Sophia?” he asks, his voice thick with sarcasm.
I laugh, and even I can hear the contempt in it. “Like you had a choice when you collected me on your brothers orders and dropped me at his feet?” I step closer to him. “Like you said no when you locked me up in that room like some kind of princess in a tower? Only there was no white knight to fucking save me. I had to save myself.”
