Something inside me snaps.
I cut through the crowd, my gaze fixed on her, ignoring the polite smiles and nods that follow me. I reach them in time to hear him compliment her dress, voice low and intimate. His eyes flick up and down her body, hunger barely disguised.
I step between them, my hand clamping possessively around her waist.
“Is there a problem here?” My voice is cold, flat, but there’s no mistaking the threat underneath.
The young man startles, tries to cover his nerves with a crooked grin. “Just admiring your wife, Emil. She’s… she’s beautiful. You’re a lucky man.”
I squeeze Isabella’s waist, hard enough that she stiffens against me. “Luck has nothing to do with it. Remember your place.”
My eyes never leave his, and I see the moment fear enters them. He drops his gaze, mumbling apologies, backing away as fast as dignity allows.
Isabella’s body is rigid under my arm. I can feel her pulse, quick and frantic, beneath my palm.
I lower my head, murmuring into her ear, “Don’t give them any reason to think you’re available.” My tone is sharper than I intend, colored by jealousy, hunger, something dangerously close to desperation.
She turns to face me then, eyes flashing. “Maybe if you treated me like more than a trophy, they wouldn’t think I need rescuing.”
The words hit me like a slap, but before I can answer, I see another pair of eyes tracking her from across the room. I don’t care. I tow her away, not bothering with excuses or goodbyes. The crowd parts for us, sensing the storm in my wake.
I don’t stop until we’re in a quiet hallway, her back pressed to the cool wall, my hands caging her in. The red dress is vivid between us, a line neither of us is willing to cross, yet. Her breath is shallow, her glare sharp enough to draw blood.
“You’re mine,” I say, voice rough with everything I can’t name. “Don’t forget it.”
Her reply is a wordless snarl, defiant, but she doesn’t look away. I want to kiss her, to bite her, to mark her all over again… but there are too many eyes, too many ears.
I don’t let her go. Not when she snaps at me in the hallway, not when her glare threatens to set me on fire, not when she tries to wriggle free of my grip. I keep my hand tight around her wrist and steer her down a narrow corridor, past shuttered doors and heavy drapes, the drone of the party fading behind us.
“Emil, stop,” she hisses, twisting her arm in my hold. “Not here—”
I’m past listening. The sound of that boy’s laughter, the sight of his hand brushing hers, burns in my mind. Jealousy thrums through me: raw, ugly, hot as blood. I shoulder open a door and pull her into a darkened sitting room, cool and empty but for a velvet couch and tall windows veiled in shadow. The door closes with a decisive click.
She tries to yank free. “What are you doing?” Her voice is low, pitched with warning, with challenge.
I pin her against the wall, red silk crushed beneath my palms, my body boxing her in. The heat between us crackles, more dangerous than any threat outside.
“You want them looking at you?” I snarl, pressing my mouth to her ear. “You want to see how far you can push me?”
Her breath hitches, her hands caught between us. “I didn’t do anything!”
“You laughed for him,” I growl. “You let him touch you.”
She lifts her chin, eyes blazing. “Maybe I wanted to see if you’d notice.”
That does it. The last of my restraint shreds, burned away by the look in her eyes, the wild, trembling defiance of her body. I crush my mouth to hers, claiming, punishing, desperate. She fights me at first—her fists against my chest, her nails dragging at my collar—but I don’t back down.
I press harder, swallowing her gasp, dragging my hands down her sides. She twists, angry, alive, but her mouth opens for me, and I taste the answer in the way she kisses me back.
My hands find the slit in her dress, sliding up her thigh, bare skin burning beneath my touch. I shove the silk higher, fingers hooking in the lace at her hip, tugging until she gasps again.
“Right here,” I rasp, voice shuddering with hunger. “I’m not waiting until we’re home.”
She glares at me, cheeks flushed, breath ragged. Her eyes flicker with fear, want, something she won’t name. She doesn’tsay a word. Instead, she bites my lip, pulling me closer, her own hips grinding against mine.
That’s all the permission I need.
I yank her panties down, tearing the delicate fabric, baring her to me. She claws at my belt, frustrated, needy, cursing under her breath. I don’t help—I want to see her work for it, want her desperate, want her wild. When my cock finally springs free, I grab her thigh, hoist her up, her back pressed hard to the wall, the red dress spilling around her hips like blood.
