The thought hit me like a slow, sickening wave.
He had told me he was violated in the past — repeatedly.
Was that when it happened?
Was that the injury that left him unable to have sex?
Was that why he stayed so cold and distant, even when his body had clearly wanted me?
The questions spun faster in my mind, each one sharper than the last.
If he was truly impotent... then everything he had threatened suddenly felt far too real.
Before I could think better of it—I moved.
My leg swung over his body.
And I settled astride him. Knees bracketing his waist.
Hands landing on his bare chest to steady myself.
The contact sent a shock straight through me.
His eyes snapped open.
The shift in him was instant.
Controlled—but not as controlled as he wanted it to be.
For a single, fractured second—something slipped.
His pupils widened. His breath hitched.
His hands betrayed him.
They twitched, sliding instinctively toward my thighs, palms hovering just above my skin as if fighting the urge to touch.
Then he stopped himself, jaw locked tight.
“What are you doing?” he growled, voice rough and uneven.
“I need to know if my husband’s dick is—”
His fingers closed around my wrists in a bruising grip.
“Get off me, Elena.” The command sliced through the air.
I didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull back.
“No.”
His grip tightened slightly.
Just enough to remind me—he could end this.
His eyes darkened.
“Do not ignite a fire you won’t be able to control. If I start... I will not stop.”
