C3, PT. 1

His emotions, usually hidden behind an apathetic mask, were on full display, startling her into dialing back her own anger.

“You said we wouldn’t fight,” she said quietly, hoping her even tone would mollify him.

“We won’t if you tell me who the fuck you belong to.”

Her recent vow to avoid confrontation at all costs fell to the wayside at his crass demand. Her chin lifted, and her hands balled into fists at her sides. He catalogued every move without taking his eyes from hers.

“I told you last night, I’m through with you denying me my place. If I want to touch you, if I want to kiss you and fuck you, I will.”

To prove his point, he backed her up to the counter and effortlessly boosted her on top of it. Before she could get away, he spread her thighs, yanked her to the edge, and brushed her hair aside.

“No!” She shoved at him, only to have her hands pinned behind her back a second before his mouth clamped on her neck.

He latched onto the spot that short-circuited her brain and made her pliant, weak, and stupid. She wriggled and strained in his hold, even though she knew it was a wasted effort.

“You’re a bastard,” she panted as her thighs clamped around his hips, unintentionally dragging him closer, so his crotch aligned perfectly with her tingling flesh.

When she was boneless, he lifted his head. He palmed the back of her head as it listed back like a flower on a broken stem. Her neck throbbed pleasantly as he released her lax hands. She stared at the ceiling through half cast eyes as his mouth moved along her throat and lapped at the base of her neck.

“Why am I allowed to mark you? Dress you? Keep you locked in this penthouse with me where no one can get to you?”

She was so focused on her pulsing skin that it took a few seconds to register his gruff words. The hand cupping her skull moved to collar her throat, raising her to face his livid gaze.

“Whose cock do you cum on?” He squeezed her throat ever so slightly as he brushed a kiss over her parted lips. “Whose ring are you wearing? Who’s protecting your sisters from ruin?”

Her natural inclination to spit in his face was tempered by the strange glint in his eye and his utter stillness that raised the hair on her nape. When he got her out of bed, he seemed cool and collected. When she splashed him with her bath water, he took it in stride, but something had shifted. She could taste the threat of violence in the air. He was barely holding himself in check.

“You want to fight me on something, this isn’t it,” he warned. “Who did you choose to give it all up to? Who owns you?”

She swallowed hard and whispered, “You do.”

He didn’t drop the hand around her throat. “I, what?”

He wanted her to say it, the bastard. Again, the need to fight fire with fire rose, but she shoved her emotions aside and focused on the unnatural glint in his eye that promised retribution if she didn’t heed him in this. If she defied him, he would punish her and the cycle she was trying to break would start over again. She felt a slight tremor in his hand as his control wavered.

Pride be damned. “You own me.”

“And who am I?”

For a moment, she didn’t understand what he was asking, and then it hit her. Her eyes unfocused as his lips slid over her cold cheek.

“Who am I, princess?”

“My husband.” Her voice was hoarse with strain. She wasn’t sure why that label was so significant, but it was, and they both knew it. She wore his ring and bore his name once more, but she hadn’t claimed him. And he noticed. She called him anything but the label he once had. It helped keep their marriage of convenience in perspective, but he was trampling through her boundary lines, muddying and confusing everything as usual.

“Look at me.”

Her jaw set. He didn’t allow her any space. Physical, emotional, mental. He was constantly pressuring and crowding her, so she couldn’t think straight. Aggravated brown eyes met those of a pitiless warrior.

“Again.”

Her body tensed, ready to rebel against the surrender he was demanding, but her mind knew she wouldn’t win and made the decision for her. “You’re my husband.”

He massaged her nape, rewarding her. “You’re the only woman I’ve ever envisioned in the role of my wife.”

Before she could process that, he kissed her. He started slow, teasing. His ability to switch from domineering, possessive psycho to indulgent lover left her mentally reeling. When she tried to turn away, the hand on the back of her neck tightened, holding her still as the kiss deepened. He leaned into her, pressing his hard body against her soft curves. His fingers tunneled into her hair and tugged hard enough to make her protest, allowing his tongue to invade and duel with hers. His hunger swamped her, heating her blood, emptying her mind. He gripped her thigh. Automatically, they began to lift in offering, which snapped her out of the sexual fog. She wrenched her mouth from his and ducked, burying her face against his chest.

She could hear his heart thudding and felt the coiled tension in him that she knew he wanted to expel in the only way they knew how to resolve things. When he tried to ease back, she wrapped her arms around him and whispered, “Please.”

She sensed him battling his flesh. She ran her hands over his muscled back, hoping to pacify and distract. He stiffened in rejection, but a minute later, he relaxed into her. She rested her cheek against his still damp shirt as his hands moved up her sides.

“You found your new clothes.”

The mundane topic eased her raw nerves. “You hired a personal shopper?”

 “I already had one through Grayson. I threatened to fire him when he kept filling my closet with crap I’d never wear. He’s toned it down since then. I told him to contact Daiyu for your measurements. I’m sure he was happier shopping for you than he is for me.”

So it wasn’t a live-in lover that tried to spruce up his wardrobe. She didn’t like the spurt of relief that loosened the knots in her chest. “He went overboard.”

“In what way?”

“I’m never going to wear those couture gowns.”

“You will. I’m cutting back on travel, but we’ll return for events I can’t miss.”

She tensed. “What events?”

“Nothing you can’t handle. You pointed out how many mutual acquaintances we have. I’m sure you’ll know most of the attendees.”

The reference to last night’s argument made her straighten. “You never answered my question.” When he raised a brow, she prodded his rock-hard pecs. “Why are you doing business with so many of my father’s friends?”

**This is a raw draft of Bitter Confessions. Please do not share or distribute.

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