Now, I was locked up with him in this beautifully decorated room, with a romantic atmosphere—not to mention the seductive song playing in the background. I tried to channel all my emotions into anger and hate, hoping those feelings would kill the growing lust inside me.
Demyon had predicted that I would crave him again and that he would be there when I did. I’d been longing for him for days before now, but with all these factors he’d put in place, it was even worse tonight.
I was supposed to be super tired and furious after playing the role of the happy bride all day. However, my mind was filled with illicit thoughts on how tonight was going to unfold.
It was so embarrassing. I was anticipating the touch of the one I hated the most, even though I should have been hating his guts. I couldn’t understand why I wasn’t repulsed by him, why my body wanted him and only him.
While sitting there in silence, I was fighting against the memory of his hands on my body and the feeling of his tongue on my pussy. Fuck. I shook my head, as if doing so would automatically reset my mind.
I remembered every single detail from that night—every kiss, every thrust that made my body tremble. Deep down, I knew I shouldn’t be feeding my mind with such thoughts, but I couldn’t help it.
The craziest part of this all was that now…I was fuckin’ wet. Dang it!
My panties were already soaked. He hadn’t even stepped out of the bathroom yet, let alone made an advance on me. I lowered my head in shame and rubbed my eyes, hating myself for being so weak and vulnerable.
The second I realized that the shower had stopped running, my heart stopped. I raised my head at the sound of the bathroom door creaking open, and there he was.
He combed his fingers through his wet hair as he stepped back into the room, steam swirling around his damp skin. A white towel was wrapped around his waist, leaving his upper body exposed.
I watched him quietly and discreetly, drinking in his ripped body—broad shoulders, chiseled abs, hard nipples, and a chest carved from stone. His body was mapped with scars, each one telling a different story I’d love to hear about someday.
His physique was masculine and fuckin’ attractive, and I couldn’t take my eyes off him. In my head, I wondered if it was just me or if he’d somehow grown more muscular compared to the last time I saw him naked.
Everything about this man was pulling me in. And that’s how I knew I was done for. Considering how excited I was on the inside, he wouldn’t have to do a lot of work to get between my legs again.
I was so ashamed of myself for even admitting that, but it was the truth. Demyon had planted something in me that made it almost impossible to resist him. He’d carved his image into my mind, marking and branding me as his own.
At this point, I felt like I was a slave. Not just to him but to my own body, because I clearly had no control over it anymore.
The scent of shampoo and conditioner clung to his skin as he approached me, his bare chest catching my eye. When he halted a few paces in front of me, I dropped my gaze to the floor. I didn’t want him to see the desire in my eyes—didn’t want him teasing me with it.
As the silence between us stretched on, his gaze lingered, making me super uncomfortable. Finally, I decided to speak up, so I drew a deep breath and raised my head again.
“Happy now?” I asked, looking into his eyes, trying to muster all the courage I could find. “You did it. You got what you wanted. You won.” My voice was low, laced with a hint of despair.
“I always win,” he replied with a cocky grin.
A faint scowl flashed across my face, displeased by his arrogance. “I’m too tired to be angry,” I said. “Can you not be a dick for tonight, at least?”
He hesitated, retaining his smirk. “That depends.”
I raised my brows. “On what exactly?”
“Your cooperation.”
My heart skipped a beat, chest heaving slowly.
“It’s our first night as a married couple,” he said, his voice smooth and enticing. “As my wife, you’re obligated to—”
He was still talking when I rose to my feet, clinging to his arrogance and hoping it would quell my lust. “I’m not obligated to do anything,” I cut him off.
As I tried to move past him, he grabbed my hand, his hold firm enough to stop me in my tracks.
“Let go of me,” I said, wearing a plastic frown.
“You’re doing that thing again,” he said, his husky voice sending tremors down my core.
I swallowed. “What thing?”
