His thumb traces my lower lip. "The certificate says you're my wife. The law says you're mine. Your father signed you over to me like property."
I try to jerk my face away, but he holds firm. "Then you're no better than him."
Something flickers in his eyes that I think might be regret. His grip loosens slightly, but he doesn't let go. "No. I'm much worse. I won’t be denied, Isabella."
My breath catches. Fear prickles along my skin. Would he force himself on me if I refused? The thought sends conflicting waves of terror and arousal through me. I realize I've backed myself into a corner with this dangerous man, a man who is my husband.
"Fine." I lie back against the pillows. "Do whatever you want. That's what this marriage is about, isn't it? Taking what you want?"
I stare at the ceiling, trying to detach myself from what's about to happen. My body goes rigid, arms flat at my sides.
Alessandro's expression darkens. He pulls back, something like disgust crossing his features.
"Is that what you think of me?" His voice drops low. "That I would force myself on an unwilling woman?"
“You said yourself that you won’t be denied.”
He shakes his head. "I don't need to force you, Isabella." His fingers trace the curve of my collarbone, leaving fire in their wake. "Remember how it was on the rooftop? How you trembled under my hands? How you begged me to take you?"
The memory floods back and my body betrays me, nipples hardening, breath catching.
"I could make you feel that way again.” His hand hovers over my stomach, not touching but close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his palm. "Better, even."
I swallow hard, desire pooling between my thighs even as I will my mind to resist him.
"I intend to touch you tonight, Wife," Alessandro says. "And by the time I'm done, you'll be begging me to fuck you, just like you did on that rooftop."
My traitorous body responds with a shiver of anticipation, and I hate myself for wanting him.
"I barely touched you before you were wet for me." His words are deliberately crude, and they work. I’m wet and hot, my body humming with need.
“You were already hard… that doesn’t prove?—”
“It proves that we’re good together in bed.” His hand drifts lower. "Tell me to stop and I will."
The heat pulsing between my legs makes it impossible to think clearly.
"Nothing to say? Then perhaps you want me to continue." Alessandro's hand disappears beneath the sheets. I should stop him. I should scream or fight. Instead, I lie paralyzed between a growing need I can’t control and hating myself for my weakness.
"Do you trust me?" he asks, his eyes never leaving mine, his fingers teasing the soft, sensitive flesh of my inner thigh.
The question catches me off guard. "No.”
A slow smile curves his lips. "Good. You shouldn't."
Before I can process his words, he's reaching for his discarded belt. In one fluid motion, he captures both my wrists, pulling them above my head.
"What are you?—"
"Showing you who's in control." He loops the leather around my wrists and secures them to the ornate headboard.
Panic flares through me. I tug against the restraint. "Alessandro?—"
"Shh," he soothes, his palm sliding down my arm, over my shoulder, across my collarbone. "I won't hurt you, Isabella."
His fingers trace the neckline of my negligee. Then he hooks one finger beneath the strap, sliding it down my shoulder.
"You have two choices. Tell me to stop, and I'll untie you. We'll sleep on opposite sides of this bed like strangers. If that’s your choice, remember, you’re the one icing me out."
