I take off my jacket. I fold it carefully over the back of a chair. I loosen my tie.
"The guest room is down the hall," I say. "Second door on the left. I suggest you use it."
He turns around slowly.
"Guest room."
"Yes."
"You marry me in front of the families. You bind my name to yours. And then you try to stick me in the guest room like a piece of furniture you don't know where to put."
"I am trying to give you space to sober up."
"I don't want space!"
He roars the word. He crosses the room in three long strides. The air changes instantly—charged, violent.
"I am your husband," he snarls, invading my personal space. "That’s what the paper says. That’s what the judge said. So why are you treating me like a whore you’re ashamed of?"
"I am treating you like a drunk."
"A drunk?" He laughs. "No. You’re treating me like a threat. Because you’re scared."
"I am not scared of you, Killian."
"Liar."
He reaches out and grabs my chin. His fingers dig into my jaw, rough and bruising.
"I can see it in your eyes," he whispers. "You’re terrified. You’re wondering what the monster is going to do now that he’s inside the house."
I knock his hand away. "Don't touch me."
"Or what?" He steps closer, forcing me to back up until my calves hit the edge of the sofa. "You’ll call your father? You’ll call Rocco? They aren't here, Prince. It’s just us."
"Killian, back off."
"Make me."
I try to step around him. He catches me. He grabs my upper arms, his grip crushing, and shoves me backward. I trip over the rug and land hard on the floor, the impact jarring my spine.
Before I can scramble up, he is on me. He straddles my hips, pinning me to the rug with his weight. He is heavy—solid, immovable mass.
"Get off me!"
"No." He leans down, his face inches from mine. "You wanted this. You signed the contract. You bought the ride, now you take the trip."
He grabs my wrists and pins them over my head with one hand. His grip is iron. With his other hand, he fumbles with his belt. The buckle jingles—a frantic, metallic sound. He undoes his fly.
"Open your mouth."
I stare up at him. "Go to hell."
"Open it!"
He grabs my jaw, squeezing the hinges until my mouth pops open involuntarily. He doesn't wait. He shoves himself in.
It is violent. He forces past my teeth, hitting the back of my throat with a dry, brutal thrust that makes me gag. Tears spring to my eyes instantly. I try to twist my head away, but he holds me there, using my face to get off.
