I smile wide, trying to make light of the situation but she doesn’t take the bait. Instead she narrows her eyes, her body still as a loaded gun.
“Don’t flatter yourself. I’m not interested in a repeat performance.” Her voice is cool, flat, devoid of the usual quiver I used to get out of her.
She sounds like a woman now. A woman who’s lost the ability to give a single fuck. My dick is hard as fucking steel in my pants. I step closer, giving her a long, slow look up and down.
“You sure about that?” I ask, and I mean it as a threat and a dare all at once. “Because from where I’m standing, you’re shaking. Probably remembering the mind-blowing orgasms you had the last time I touched that sweet pussy.”
She squares up, stepping toward me until there’s barely a breath of air between us but she doesn’t fool me. I can see the way she’s squirming under her skin. I can smell the sweet bite of champagne on her lips.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she grits out. “I would rather swim with the sharks.”
I laugh. I can’t help it. It’s a real laugh too, not the fake kind I usually have when I’m in the public eye. I step forward, grinning big as I say my next words.
“That’s not what you said last time, Datura. Or have you forgotten how you begged for it?”
She slaps me. Hard. The sound is sharp and for a moment I just stare at her wide eyes, stunned. My cheek stings, but it barely registers compared to the rush of blood in my ears. I grab her wrist before she can pull away, and in one fluid move, I spin her and slam her back against the wall.
“Is this what you want?” I hiss, caging her with my arms. “You want to fight, or you want to fuck?”
I think she’s just as stunned as me when I press myself against her, letting her feel how hard I am.
She glares at me, pure venom.
“I want to never see your face again. I want to go back to Italy.”
I grin, sliding my palm up her bare thigh, slow and deliberate. Her muscles tense under my touch, but she doesn’t kick or squirm. That makes me harder than I want to admit because I know deep down, she wants me.
“Liar,” I whisper, hiking her dress higher. “You can hate me all you want, but your body doesn’t lie.”
I press my hand between her legs. She’s wet. Not just a little wet either. She’s fucking soaked. My thumb finds the spot that makes her gasp, and I push until she’s biting her lip so hard I think she might draw blood.
“See?” I say, my voice dropping to a whisper. “I could fuck you up against this wall right now and you’d let me.”
She glares at me before struggling to push me away but I hook her thigh over my hip, pinning her with my weight, and start working her with two fingers while my mouth bites at her neck. She continues to try to twist away, but I hold her inplace, forcing her to take every thrust. I watch as her chest heaves, eyes locked on the ceiling instead of me and I hate that, but I don’t stop. Not until she starts to shake, her whole body rippling under my hands. She comes hard, a muffled cry escaping before she clamps her teeth on her lip to kill the sound.
The second it’s over, I’m already pulling her dress down and unzipping it. My cock is hard and throbbing in my pants and I can’t wait to sink into her sweet pussy. It takes me a minute to realize she’s still not willingly participating. Her body is still rigid while I kiss her neck as her dress drops to the floor. I pull back, staring at her in confusion. Her eyes are glazed, but the hatred is still there.
“Satisfied?” she sneers.
‘Not even close.’
My hand is still wet from her and my dick painfully hard as I back up and turn away.
“Fuck,” I mutter, pacing to the minibar. I need a drink…or maybe five. “This is what I get for marrying a spoiled little brat.”
She doesn’t answer me as I pour a shot of tequila and down it. I’m not usually one to drink a lot but right now, I need something to take the edge off. I’m not used to having to work this hard for a woman. Normally they come to me willingly and without a fuss. Not only was I forced into an arranged marriage, but it happend to be with someone stubborn as fuck.
When I finally look back, she’s on her knees. Just there, kneeling in the center of the suite, head bowed and hair falling over her face. She looks gorgeous in her lacy lingerie set. Gorgeous and possibly deadly. I don’t know if she’s praying or plotting murder.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I ask, grabbing a slice of lime and biting into it aggressively.
She looks up, eyes dead and flat.
“My wifely duties,” she says, her voice completely devoid of emotion. “That’s what you want, isn’t it? For me to act like a proper wife?”
The small shot glass cracks in my grip, and I have to set it down before it shatters. I stalk toward her, unbuckling my belt as I go.
“Your duties, huh?” I say, voice low and shaking with anger. Is she fucking serious? I wouldn’t have put this much effort into any other woman. I wouldn’t have had to. “Is this what you want our marriage to be? You want me to just use you when it’s convenient?”
