Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
I go to the lounge, leave my unfinished wine on the coffee table, and pull the blinds open a crack to peer through the window. The car that stops in front of the house isn’t the Land Rover Heidi drives. It’s the Jaguar.
The peace that was within my grasp not a second ago vanishes. My stomach squeezes into a ball as my husband opens his door and folds his tall body double to get out of the car. Dressed in a black coat with the collar flicked up over a dark suit, he looks both dangerous and as if he just stepped out of a very normal, very civilized office meeting. He adjusts his lapels as he stares up at the house for a couple of beats before making his way along the path with long strides.
Dropping the blinds, I swallow. It’s too soon and too long. I made my decision, but I’m not ready.
When the scraping of a key in the lock sounds in the space, announcing the end of my week-long reprieve, I strip my clothes and go down on my knees. It’s time to fight again. This round, with compliance. Before he opens the door, I’m waiting like an obedient whore naked on the floor.
Chapter
Twelve
Angelo
* * *
The sight that greets me isn’t what I expected. Sabella on her knees. Naked. Thighs spread. Head bent. Her long dark hair falls like a curtain around her face.
For a moment, I’m frozen, mesmerized not only by the stunning depravity of the image but also by the obedience that’s so unlike her.
She makes a striking picture. Raw. Dirty. And somehow sacred.
Aware of the cold I’m letting in on her, I’m quick to shut the door. It gives me a moment to muster control and find my bearings. The house looks different. It smells different. But I only register those changes vaguely in the back of my mind. My attention is fixed on my wife, a woman kneeling for me, and there’s something so wrong with the portrait that I can’t prevent myself from crossing the floor and stopping in front of her. I have no idea what I’m going to do until I offer her a hand.
My wife shouldn’t be on her knees. She’s a Russo now. I thought the punishment would please me. Instead, it angers me for reasons I can’t explain. Seeing her so degraded makes me clench my fist at my side. It takes every morsel of self-control I possess not to drag her up by her arm.
“Sabella,” I say in a soft but firm tone when she doesn’t react.
She lifts her head. Her gaze cuts to the hand I hold in front of her face.
“Get up.”
I gave her the command several times since I married her, but this may be the only time I said it with kindness.
She frowns. She’s confused. Yeah. So am I. I ordered her to present herself like an object or a fuck toy when I walk through the door. I’m contradicting myself. I should let her stay there while I remove my coat and tie and make myself comfortable. But I don’t. I grip her fingers and pull her to her feet.
I don’t give her an explanation because I don’t have one. I don’t let go of her hand because I don’t want to. She shivers a little, her fingers trembling in mine. She must be cold. The discarded clothes on the ottoman and the glass of wine on the table catch my gaze.
Opening my arms, I pull her in for a hug. She’s stiff in my embrace, probably even more confused by the gesture. Her body is warm against mine. The skin of her back is soft under my palms. Another quiver runs through her.
“Cold?” I ask, planting a kiss on the top of her head.
She clears her throat. “Your hands are freezing.”
I rub her back to warm both her and my hands. “I should’ve worn gloves.”
She pulls back a little. “What do you want me to do?”
The question catches me off guard. “Whatever I tell you to.”
She shrugs. “All right.”
“All right?” Just like that? No resistance? No fight?
“I’m not sure what you want from me.”
I consider that. What do I want from her? I want to bend her over the table and fuck her breathless. I want to spread her out on the floor and slam into her until I break my cock in two. I want to kiss her until the sun comes up and fall asleep with her in my arms. I must be turning into the weakling my uncles fear I’m becoming.
Instead, I let her go. “You can pour me a glass of wine.”
“Red or white?”
Taking off my coat, I study the stunning shape of her body, the pertness of her tits, and the nipples that sit hard on top of them. My mark between her legs. “I’ll have whatever you’re having.”