“And do you, Zara, take Nikolai to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
The words stick in my throat. This is my last moment of freedom, my last chance to be just Zara Thompson instead of Mrs. Cold-blooded-monster.
“Zara?” the judge prompts gently.
Nikolai’s fingers tighten around mine, and I feel the threat in his touch.
“I do,” I breathe out, sealing my fate.
“By the power vested in me by the state of California, I now pronounce you husband and wife.” She turns a serious look my way. “You’ll be okay.” Oh My God, she knows! But before I can process that. Process how fucked I am, how there’s nowhere to hide, no one to trust. Nikolai turns to me, and the look in his eyes makes my insides melt. It’s filled with possessiveness and hunger. His dark eyes feel like a burn as they travel over my face, like he’s committing every second of this moment to memory.
His big hands cup my face, his thumbs brushing across my cheekbones. And I can see every detail of his face. The thick, dark lashes, the impossibly perfect bone structure, his full, tempting lips. He’s fucking beautiful.
“Hello, wife,” he rumbles.
Then his mouth is on mine. And my brain short-circuits. Because this kiss isn’t what I expected. It’s not rough or punishing, not the brutal claiming of a man who threatened to end me. It’s slow. Deliberate. His lips moving against mine like he’s fucking savoring me. Tasting me. Learning the shape of my mouth like we’ve got all the time in the world.
His taste makes my head spin. His cologne fills my lungs. And his stubble scrapes against my skin, rough and delicious. One of his big hands cups the back of my head, tilting me exactly where he wants me.
And God help me, I kiss him back. My lips part under his, and a sound leaves me that I will deny to my grave. His tongue sweeps against mine, slow and filthy, and my hands fist his suit jacket, pulling him closer instead of pushing him away. My nipples are aching, my thighs pressing together, slick pooling between my legs for a man who wrapped his hand around my throat and told me to marry him or die.
What is wrong with you, Zara?
4
Nikolai
My wife. The word sends an electric buzz through me as I watch Zara press herself against her door, putting as much distance between us as possible in the confined space at the back of the car.
But I felt the way she responded to our kiss at the courthouse. How her lips parted under mine, soft, hungry, and pliant. My little wife wants me too.
“Take the long way home,” I tell the driver through the partition.
Zara’s breathing quickens. “Wh… why?”
Instead of answering, I slide across the leather seat until I’m right next to her. She tries to shrink further into the door, but there’s nowhere to go. The sight of her trapped like this, all soft and curvy, makes my fat cock throb with need.
“Relax, baby,” I murmur, reaching out to stroke her face. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”
“You already have,” she replies fiercely.
My thumb traces the line of her throat, feeling her pulse racing under the soft skin. I shake my head. “I’m giving you my name, my protection.”
“You took my freedom.”
“Freedom is overrated.” I lean closer, breathing in her delicious scent.
My hand slides down to rest on her lush thigh. I can feel the warmth of her skin through the thin fabric of her pants, the way her muscles tense under my touch.
“Don’t,” she snaps between clenched teeth, eyes burning with fury.
“Don’t what?” I let my fingers trace patterns on her leg, watching emotions flash across her gorgeous face. Fear, anger, desire… “Don’t touch my wife? Don’t claim what’s mine?”
“I’m not yours.”
My fingers slide higher, and she grabs my wrist with both hands, trying to stop me. Her fingers are so small compared to mine, so delicate. “You said, I do.”
“But it’s not real. We can’t…” She’s breathing hard, her full tits rising and falling. I can see the way her nipples have hardened against the fabric of her shirt…
