But something in my stomach tightens all the same.
Heat pools low in my gut, and my thoughts won’t stay put. They keep drifting where they shouldn’t. My mind fills with images of Petyr’s rough hands trailing over my body, ghosting over parts far more sensitive than my throat.
What would it feel like? To have his mouth pressed against mine, his hands pressed elsewhere?
I inhale sharply. No.Notthe time to let the thirst take over, Sima. The man literally has you in a chokehold—what does that say about you?!
That we’ve been putting off therapy for far too long?
Alright, fair. But still.
My silence must be irking Petyr. His grip tightens again, and this time, I can feel a slight pressure on my carotid artery. You know, the one where most of the oxygen goes through? My breaths turn quick and shallow, but my flush only deepens.
This is what happens when you keep turning down Jemma’s offers for a double blind date,my conscience dryly reminds me.Or when you don’t go out, like, at all. Or when you keep avoiding men because you’re terrified that, six months into a nice situationship, they’re going to spike your champagne with a diamond ring.
I clench my fists tighter and drop my gaze. I refuse to meet his eyes like this, weak and vulnerable and a hundred other things I’m usually not. Things I hate being. Instead, I bite my lip and try really hard to shove those thoughts back into the gutter they’ve crawled out of.
But I can still feel his fingers dancing at my pulse point, and I know they’re going to haunt me long after he steps back.
Petyr must take my sudden meekness as a sign of surrender, because he finally releases me. He doesn’t move far, though. Clearly, he doesn’t feel he’s hammered the point quite home yet. “I don’t have time for your fucking tantrums,” he grinds out. “You need to get on board with what’s happening. You can’t stop it, Sima. We’re married. Might as well accept it instead of running scared.”
A rush of anger sparks through my fear. “Accept what, exactly? That I’m your prisoner now? That you’re just gonna rape me until I get pregnant and give you your precious heir?”
Petyr’s eyes harden. But his voice stays calm, infuriatingly so. “I won’t have to rape you,” he says. “You’ll want everything we do.”
I bark out a laugh. “I think you’re vastly overestimating your sex appeal.”
The corner of his mouth twitches, but I can’t tell if it’s amusement or annoyance. Either way, he’s looking at me like I’ve just challenged him to prove me wrong. Which was not my intention. Like, at all. Right?
And yet, a tiny part of me—one I wish I could tie up and gag, and not in a kinky way—isn’t so sure that he’s wrong.
As if on cue, he tips up my chin. “We’ll see about that,lisichka.But first, we have to set some ground rules.”
My mouth starts goldfishing. “What, like Mr. Grey? Am I to call you ‘Master’ and present my behind for spanking every time I don’t eat my veggies?”
“What you have to do is cut the bullshit. I can’t have you running away every time I turn my back. I’d rather not sic my hounds on you.”
Great, so hedoeshave hounds. Splendid. A-fucking-mazing.“Is that so?”
“That is so.” He finally lets go of my chin. “I have too many enemies for that. If you fall into the wrong hands…”
My father comes to mind.
“So?” I bluff, hiding my shaking hands behind my back. “So what happens now?”
“We make a deal.”
“Sounds like what the devil would say.”
He shoots me an amused glance. Five more minutes alone with this guy, and my riveting sense of humor might even get him to laugh. “Lucky for you, I’m not interested in your soul.”
“Just my womb, then?”
His eyes go dark. Somehow, it doesn’t look like anger. “Partly. I do need an heir, after all.”
“And why should I act as a baby-popping machine for you?” I ask, defensive. “What could you possibly offer me that would be worth that?”
“Your freedom.”
