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“You know what? I’m already full,” Ruslan murmurs, rising to his feet. “Please convey my compliments to Vika. Everything was delicious, as always.”
Neither Alexei nor I respond to his words. The air between us pulses with renewed tension—a tension that only intensifies when Ruslan departs, leaving us sitting at the table, eyes locked on each other.
“Why?” Alexei’s lips barely move as he speaks, his voice low and filled with poorly controlled fury. “Why the fuck won’t you give us a chance?”
“Because you’re not what I want.” It’s the truth but also a partial lie—and realizing that pushes me to go further, to hit harder, however reckless that may be. “You, my father, my brothers—you’re all the same. You take what you want without regard for anyone else, with no consideration for the costs or consequences.” His face darkens dangerously as I speak, but I’ve gone too far to stop now. “You manipulated my family into agreeing to this fucked-up betrothal when I was just a child, then stalked me for a decade. You killed every man who had the misfortune of finding me attractive, and you murdered God knows how many of my brother’s guards. You forced me into your bed and into this marriage. And you expect me to embrace you?”
“Yes.” The answer, blunt and uncompromising, slams into me like a wrecking ball. Gone is any hint of tenderness in his midnight gaze. The man looking at me now is the terrifying stalker of my nightmares, the demon who has reigned supreme over my life since our fateful meeting eleven years ago. His eyes glow like coals in a fireplace as he leans in and says evenly, “That’s exactly what I expect, my beauty. And that’s exactly what’s happening—starting today.”
Chapter 16
Alexei
She stares at me defiantly, the very picture of bravery with her chin raised high, but I see the fear underneath. Fear of me, of what I’m going to do to her.
I hate it. I hate that it has to be this way between us, nearly as much as I hate the words she’s thrown at me—all the more so because nothing she’s said is untrue. I am a ruthless bastard who takes whatever he wants, and from the moment I saw her, I’ve wanted her. And she, no matter how much she denies it, has wanted me.
“Finish your food,” I say as she stares at me, her jade eyes enormous in her pale face. “You’ll need the energy.”
Her throat ripples in a swallow. “I’m not hungry.”
“Eat, or I will tie you down and hand-feed you.”
Her delicate nostrils flare, but she picks up her spoon. Her bowl of grechka is nearly full—she’s barely had a few bites so far—and I watch her eat it slowly, reluctantly, her eyes downcast.
Maybe I should’ve hand-fed her. Fuck knows we both enjoyed it the last time.
I bet if she were chained to my bed, we’d enjoy it even more.
Blood rushes to my cock at the thought, arousal mixing with the anger humming inside me. Before Alina, I didn’t think I was into this sort of thing—a good, hard fuck had always been enough to satisfy me—but I can’t deny that I enjoyed using her mouth roughly and the needy way she clung to me afterward. Nor can I refute the fact that over the years, my fantasies about her have grown progressively darker. It’s as if the frustration of not having her for so long has tainted what was once straightforward, uncomplicated lust, turning it into a compulsion to dominate and own, to crush every ounce of her resistance until she’s utterly and completely mine.
It’s a compulsion I’ve done my best to fight, but no longer. Despite all my efforts to be patient and accommodating, she thinks of me as a monster, so I might as well act like one.
Nothing else has worked.
I wait until her bowl is empty and she’s had a few more sips of her orange juice before I stand up and step over to her seat. “Get up.” My voice is hard as I pull her chair out. “Let’s go.”
She rises to her feet slowly, her face pale as she gazes up at me pleadingly. “Alexei…”
I grip her elbow. “Walk, or I will carry you.”
I can hear her quick, indrawn breath, sense her searching for ways to delay the inevitable, and my resolve solidifies. I’ve been patient and understanding, and it has gotten me nowhere. Each time I’ve given in to her pleas, I’ve regretted it—and so has she.
In hindsight, I should’ve overcome my scruples about her youth and taken her when she was fifteen, made her mine in every way but the physical. Yes, it would’ve involved stealing her away from her family and would’ve likely started a war with the Molotovs, but that’s where we’ve ended up anyway, only after having wasted a decade.
