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“Alexei, please.” Her voice shakes as I shepherd her down the stairs. “It’s only morning. Can’t it wait? I… I still have a headache.”
“Then a few orgasms might help.”
She’s lying about the headache, of course; she told me less than an hour ago that she’s completely fine. I’m not surprised, but I am strangely disappointed that she’d use her very real condition as a clichéd excuse. Regardless, it’s not going to work. I tighten my grip on her elbow as she stumbles on the last stair, and then I tug her down the hallway toward the cabin, ignoring her attempts to dig her heels in.
Opening the door, I drag her in and shut it behind us. Only then do I let her go. She immediately backs away, her chest heaving.
“Alexei…” Her voice holds a desperate entreaty. “Don’t do this, please.”
“Don’t do what? Make love to my wife?”
“Love?” She gives a sharp, bitter laugh. “Is that what this is for you?”
Her words cut like a cleaver. Is it love? I’ve never thought of it that way. Obsession, want, need, compulsion—it’s easier to pin those words on the witch’s brew inside me. But maybe that’s what love is, this constant, all-consuming craving that makes it impossible to picture my life without her.
Not that it matters to her either way. She doesn’t feel the same. But she will. Once my child is in her belly, she’ll have no choice but to accept that she is mine. First, though, I have to ensure that it happens, and that means no more delays.
Without further ado, I begin to strip. My actions are methodical, deliberate. She needs to know that I’m not an animal driven by lust but a man set on a goal—that I won’t be swayed, no matter how prettily she begs me. Not that lust isn’t part of it. I hunger for her with an intensity that scares even me. Still, I’m in control, even if that control is hanging by a thread.
She freezes in place, staring at me as I make short work of my clothes, throwing them onto a nearby chair. Her lips part, as if she wants to say something, but no words emerge from her throat. Instead, she swallows visibly, and the tip of her tongue darts over her lower lip, wetting it in a quick, covert gesture as her gaze homes in on my jutting erection.
My balls tighten with a surge of lust so intense it steals my breath. When I can speak, my voice is thick, guttural. “Take off your dress.”
She lifts her eyes to mine. “No.” Her voice shakes. “I-I won’t.”
A rough laugh escapes my throat. “Is that the game you want to play, my beauty?”
She takes another step back. “It’s not a game. I want you to leave me alone.”
“You know that’s not happening.” My tone is soft, almost gentle despite the hunger raging inside me. Because it is a game, one in which she wants me to play the villain. And today I’m happy to oblige.
Twisting my lips into a dark smile, I start toward her with a slow, determined stride. She gulps and her gaze darts around the room, as if looking for a place to run. There isn’t one, of course. The cabin isn’t small, but it’s not huge, and the only exit is behind me. And even if, by some miracle, she made it past me, we’re on a boat in the middle of the ocean.
She must come to the same conclusion because her eyes return to my face, resigned yet somehow still defiant. “I’ll hate you for this,” she warns, and I laugh grimly, stopping in front of her.
“Don’t you already?”
“Not like this. I’ll—”
“You can give me all the details later.”
And hooking my fingers into the bodice of her pretty dress, I rip it apart.
Chapter 17
Alina
I gasp, my hands flying up at the sudden violence of his movements, but the dress is already a goner, dropping to the floor in a puddle of sky-blue silk and leaving me dressed in nothing but my thong-and-bra set and high-heeled sandals. My instinct is to jump back, but he has anticipated that. Catching my wrists, he pulls me to him with an iron grip, a taunting smile still decorating his lips.
“Should’ve taken it off when asked, Alinyonok,” he says, like a parent lecturing a child. “We don’t have an infinite supply of dresses here, you know.”
“Then stop ripping them!” Too late, I realize I’ve taken the bait. I drag in a shaky breath, trying to ignore the furious pounding of my heart and the way his fingers are like iron shackles around my wrists, keeping my elbows bent and my lower body all but touching his fully erect cock. “I told you, I don’t want—”
He cuts me off with a kiss. His lips are rough, his tongue almost violent as it forces its way inside my mouth, yet arousal floods my body, pinching my nipples into hard pebbles and softening my core. It takes everything I have not to melt against him. Instead, I begin to struggle with all my strength, battling the tidal wave of desire threatening to swamp me, fighting against myself more than against him.
