He thrusts slowly, his lips curling, and adds, "Still want to marry me?"
His warm skin stirs every lodged-up sensation I tried to kill over the plane flight home.
My eyes flutter open and shut.
"Answer me," he orders, keeping the same excruciating pace.
"Yes," I choke out, gripping his ass cheek tighter.
"Who's in charge in this marriage?" he demands.
I stay silent, trying to get him to thrust faster.
"Who!" he barks, not giving in to my wishes.
"Please," I get out.
"Tell me!" He thrusts fast several times.
My vision turns white.
He slows it down.
I dig my nails into his ass, warning, "Don't!"
"If you want any more of me, you're going to tell me who's in charge, Valentina!" He pulls back with the tip of his cock brushing my entrance.
I push on his ass, but he doesn't move any closer.
"Tell me. If you want me to vow my life to you, then you tell me, Minx," he orders.
My chest thumps harder. The tension crackles against my skin. I cave. "You're in charge!"
"Fucking right I am," he says, then slides back inside me. He grits his teeth and thrusts hard, pinning his dark gaze on me.
Everything explodes into chaotic relief. I convulse against him, arching my back, gripping him tighter.
He lowers his mouth to my ear, warning, "You want me, well, you're going to get me. All of me, Minx."
"Yes," I breathe, with adrenaline intensifying.
He thrusts harder. His sweat trickles against my cheek. A low groan rumbles in his chest, and his cock swells, then a fresh wave of warmth fills me.
He doesn't let up. He pushes through it, his body vibrating against mine, until there's nothing left. Then he collapses over me, his breath on the curve of my neck and the weight of his body pressing over me.
It takes forever until my tremors slow. I finally unclutch my arms from around him.
He lifts his face inches from mine. Darkness swirls in his expression. He reiterates, "I mean it, Minx. From here on out, I'm in charge."
I swallow hard, trying to squash the fear rising in me. No one's ever been in charge of me. I take care of myself.
As if he can read my mind, he brushes a lock of hair off my cheek. He asserts, "Don't worry. You'll get used to it." He rolls over, tugs me into him, and kisses the top of my head.
Part of me wants to shove him away and reclaim the space he swallowed so easily. But the deeper part, the one I've never acknowledged, stirs under the quiet dominance in his voice.
His arm tightens around me, anchoring me in a way I don't know how to process. The steady beat of his heart thrums against my ear, a silent command I didn't realize I was already obeying.
Then it hits me why I'm not fighting him. It doesn't have anything to do with his agreement to marry me so I can get my seat.
