The question hit harder than it should have. My jaw flexed. “Because you always do.”
For a second, something flickered across her face. Then came a faint smile that looked so broken it made something ugly twist in my chest. “Would that make this more enjoyable for you?”
The air in the room changed. Cold slid down my spine. “What the fuck does that mean?”
She shrugged weakly beneath layers of pearls and white silk. Like she didn’t care anymore. That terrified me in ways I didn’t understand. I stared at her for several long seconds before mygaze dropped lower to the white lace garter circling her thigh. The tiny satin bow at the center looked delicate against her skin.
Slowly, I pushed her gown higher. More skin. More soft warmth beneath my hands. I leaned forward and dragged my mouth slowly along the inside of her thigh.
Nothing. No sharp inhale. No trembling gasp. No furious shove against my shoulder.
Only silence. I fucking hated it.
My irritation sharpened into something rougher as I hooked my fingers beneath the garter before stopping myself deliberately.
I wanted to taste her first. I lowered my mouth again and caught the lace between my teeth instead. Her breath finally hitched softly as I dragged the garter down her leg with my mouth inch by inch. Silk scraped across warm skin while I watched her carefully the entire time.
Please react. Please.
I was obsessed enough with this woman that her silence physically bothered me. The garter finally slipped free between my teeth. And that was when I saw the tear.
A single shimmering tear sliding silently down her cheek. Everything inside me went still. The lace dropped forgotten onto the floor. “What the fuck?”
Chiara turned her face away, wiping angrily at her cheek. I stood so fast the mattress shifted beneath her. “Why are you crying?”
“I’m not,” she whispered.
“Don’t fucking lie to me.” My voice cracked through the room harder than intended. She flinched slightly but still refused to look at me. Something vicious tightened in my chest.
I grabbed her jaw more firmly this time, forcing her eyes back toward mine. “What happened downstairs?”
“Nothing,” she lied.
“Bullshit,” I hissed.
More silence. The candles crackled softly around us.
“You’ve been acting like a ghost all fucking night,” I hissed. “Tell me what’s wrong. You’ve been so desperate for this. Now you don’t want it?”
Her throat moved when she swallowed. Then quietly, almost hollowly, she said, “Does it matter if I enjoy this?”
The question hit like a knife straight between my ribs. “What?”
“Would it matter?” she repeated softly. “You’d still do whatever you want.”
I stared at her. This wasn’t my fiery little wife. Even terrified, Chiara usually bit back. Clawed. Fought like a cornered wildcat every second she breathed near me. Now she looked… defeated.
And I had no idea who’d done it to her. My fingers tightened instinctively in her hair. “Ask me to stop.”
Her lashes fluttered slightly. “What?”
“Fight me,” I demanded roughly. “Tell me to stop touching you.”
Nothing. That scared me more than I wanted to admit.
“Jesus Christ,” I muttered, pacing back a step before turning toward her again. “Did someone touch you tonight?”
“No,” she muttered.
