He shrugs off his suit jacket and tosses it over a leather chair, then he loosens his tie with deliberate slowness.
His green eyes never leave mine. “You’re not going anywhere, Sophia. You’re mine now. My wife. My property. My revenge.”
“I’m not your anything.” I back away until my legs hit the edge of the bed. Nowhere left to go. “You can’t just force someone to marry you and expect them to-to?—”
“To what?” He stalks toward me.
God help me, he’s beautiful in the firelight.
The flames cast his sharp features in gold and shadow, highlighting the strong line of his jaw, the curve of his lips.
He’s a predator, and I’m trapped in his den. “Expect them to submit? To obey? To spread their legs for their husband?”
Heat floods my face. “You’re disgusting.”
“I’m honest.” He stops inches from me, so close I can smell his cologne again—that expensive, woodsy scent that makes my head spin. “Your father destroyed my sister. Took her innocence, her future, her life. And now I’m going to take everything from you, starting with this.”
His hand shoots out and grabs my chin, forcing me to look up at him.
His touch is firm but not painful, and that somehow makes it worse.
I want to hate every part of this, but my traitorous body responds to his proximity, to the heat radiating from him.
“Don’t touch me,” I whisper, but my voice lacks conviction.
“You’re my wife.” His thumb brushes across my lower lip, and I hate the way my breath catches. “I’ll touch you whenever I want. Wherever I want.”
He leans in, and I know he’s going to kiss me. I should bite him.
Should knee him in the groin and run.
Should do anything except stand here frozen like a deer in headlights.
When his lips crash against mine, all thoughts of resistance evaporate.
The kiss is brutal, claiming, nothing like the cold peck in the chapel.
His mouth moves against mine with ruthless possession, his tongue demanding entry.
I keep my lips pressed together for all of three seconds before he bites my lower lip, not hard enough to break skin, but enough to make me gasp.
He takes advantage immediately, his tongue sweeping into my mouth, tasting me, conquering me. God help me, I kiss him back.
My hands come up to push him away, but instead they fist in his shirt, pulling him closer.
He tastes like whiskey and danger, and I hate that I want more. Hate that my body is betraying every principle I have.
Mikhail’s hands slide down my sides, mapping my curves through my clothes.
When he reaches my hips, he grips them hard enough to bruise and lifts me onto the bed.
I land on my back, and he follows me down, his weight pressing me into the mattress.
“No,” I gasp against his mouth, but it sounds more like a plea than a protest.
“Yes.” He pulls back just enough to look at me, his green eyes blazing with something dark and hungry. “Your body knows what it wants, even if your mind won’t admit it.”
His hand slides under my shirt, and I arch into his touch before I can stop myself.
