When I pull back, she's breathing hard. Her lips are swollen. Her eyes are dark with want.
"I hate you," she whispers.
"I know."
"I don't want to want you."
"I know that too." I trace my thumb across her bottom lip. "But you do want me. Don't you, wife?"
She doesn't answer. Just looks at me with those wide, conflicted eyes.
"Turn around," I order.
She narrows her eyes but does what I say without protest. I lean down, undoing the hundreds of tiny buttons down her back. My fingertips brush against her skin as I work my way down her spine, and I hear her breath catch.
The dress slips down her body, pooling at her feet.
I move around her, hold out my hand, and she steps out of the creation. The moonlight highlights her pale skin, the white lace lingerie, the gentle curve where my child is growing.
She's breathtaking.
But I can't ignore the bruises still dark on her ribs. A reminder that she was hurt less than forty-eight hours ago, and I'm standing here thinking about fucking her.
I want to push her down on the bed. Peel off that white lace. Make her mine in every way that matters.
But those bruises.
Dimitri put those there. And here I am, thinking about causing her more pain for my own pleasure.
The thought makes me sick.
I'm not Dimitri. I'm not a Morozov. I don't take what I want without thought for the cost.
"Here," I say, shrugging off my jacket. I wrap it around her body, covering her.
"What—"
"I should have had a robe brought up. This part of the house gets cold at night. It slipped my mind."
I take a step back and breathe. I want her desperately, but I can't. Not now.
For once in my life, my needs must come last.
"Let me show you the bedroom," I say, walking her out of the foyer.
When we enter, the space is dark but well-prepared by the staff. Candles flicker on the nightstand. The bed has been turned down.
"You should take a bath and rest," I say, taking another step back as Sera walks farther inside.
"You're not staying?" Her question carries layers. I can tell she's not just asking why I'm leaving—she wants to know why I'm not fucking her. It's a valid question considering I've made no secret of wanting her.
And I do. Desperately.
But not like this.
"You need rest. For the baby," I say. "And I need to talk to Leo."
"Leo?"
