Black silk sheets. Champagne chilling in silver buckets. White roses scattered across dark bedding. The air smelled like amber smoke, expensive perfume, and anticipation.
Perfect.
My pulse slowed into something dangerous. Finally alone. I kicked the door shut behind us.
Chiara went tense in my arms. Still too quiet. Slowly, I lowered her onto the edge of the massive bed, but before I could fully pull away, her fingers caught lightly against my sleeve.
Not stopping me. Just… holding on.
My gaze dropped to her face. Those blue eyes finally lifted fully to mine. And for the first time all night, I saw something besides exhaustion. Fear. Not the sharp angry fear she usually threw at me like a weapon.
No.
This fear looked almost fragile. Unsteady enough to make something possessive and vicious unfurl deep inside my chest. Because whatever had frightened my wife tonight… I already wanted to destroy it for her.
My wife sat at the edge of the massive bed in layers of white satin and pearls, looking heartbreakingly beautiful and painfully distant all at once. The fitted corset crushed her tiny waist into something almost obscene beneath the candlelight, everydelicate curve wrapped in expensive fabric I wanted to tear apart with my bare hands.
I’d spent months fantasizing about this night. About claiming her. About finally touching her without interruption, without restraint, without pretending I had an ounce of self-control left around her.
But the closer I got to her now, the more wrong everything felt.Usually she reacted the second I touched her. Usually her breathing changed. Her lips parted. Her eyes flashed with anger or fear or reluctant hunger.
Tonight she sat perfectly still while I reached for her. That unsettled me more than a room full of armed enemies ever could.
My fingers slid beneath her chin carefully, forcing her gaze upward. Her skin was unbelievably soft beneath my hand, warm from the reception, flushed from champagne and candlelight.
“Talk to me,” I murmured.
Her lashes lowered slightly. “I’m tired.”
Again. That same empty little answer. Bullshit.
My thumb brushed slowly across her lower lip, feeling the softness there. Pink from where she’d been biting it nervously all evening. My cock hardened painfully at the sight alone.
Jesus fucking Christ.
I leaned down and kissed her slowly. Soft at first. Her mouth tasted like expensive champagne and strawberries. Sweet. Innocent. Addictive enough that I deepened the kiss, one hand sliding into the heavy waves of blonde hair spilling over her shoulders. Her hair always felt like fucking silk.
I curled my fist into it gently and tugged her head back slightly, exposing the elegant line of her throat beneath diamond necklaces worth more than kingdoms. Usually that alone made her gasp.
Tonight? Nothing.
No shaky breath. No trembling. No anger. Just… emptiness. My stomach tightened hard enough to irritate me.
“Chiara,” I muttered against her lips.
She barely reacted. Something cold started crawling beneath my skin. I pulled back slowly and stared at her face. Candlelight flickered across her pale skin, catching against the diamonds at her throat and the faint shimmer of tears already gathering near her lashes.
But she looked far away. Like she’d disappeared somewhere inside herself. I hated it. Still, desire clawed at me viciously.
I sank slowly to my knees between her thighs, the expensive black carpet muffling the movement. Her wedding gown spread around us in white rivers of silk and lace while I pushed the fabric higher inch by inch.
My mouth watered. Christ. The soft cream-colored skin of her thighs glowed beneath the candlelight. Delicate. Untouched. My hands smoothed upward slowly, feeling the warmth of her beneath silk stockings while the scent of roses surrounded us thickly enough to taste.
Usually touching her felt like grabbing lightning. Tonight she barely shivered.
“Fight me,” I said quietly, looking up at her.
Her eyes drifted downward slowly. “Why?”
