Page 46 of Lethal Saint

She bit her lip. “Not my family. I know it’s—I know all the things they’ve done, but they’re my family.”

I wanted to ask if that was a hard line for her, if I’d lose her if I crossed it, but I didn’t. It was a calculated move; if I knew a hundred percent it was a hard line, it would hurt her to cross it, and thus hurt me. If I didn’t know… plausible deniability.

I was a bastard, but this bastard would keep his wife safe at all costs. So I kissed her cheekbone and neither agreed or disagreed.

“Do the bruises hurt, my queen? I’ve got some calamine lotion around here somewhere.” Bruises were an occupational hazard with my work. I usually left them alone to heal but the black ones were brutal. How many blackened bruises had my wife endured in her life? How many broken bones?

That wrath flowed higher, spread further, until I was at risk of drowning in it.

She shook her head, her fingers flexing on my back. I’d never wanted to be rid of a shirt so badly. “No, they’re fine.”

I skimmed my lips over hers in a kiss as light as butterfly wings. “Do you want to get changed into some of your new clothes? What about those soft pyjamas? We can watch films all night; what’s your favourite?”

Her mouth fell open, indignation filling her expression in a millisecond. “No.”

I blinked, charmed as fuck by that look on her face. Awed by how much strength it must have taken to say that single word, even if outrage was giving her power. Andfuckwas my wife outraged. Furious, even.

“No? I’ve never heard of that film, is it new?”

Her response was a deep, throaty sound that made me smile. “They’re only bruises.”

“Bruises that cover your whole body.”

Her face darkened, fire in her eyes. “So you’re punishing me fortheiractions?”

My smile became a grin. “Is there something my wife wants?”

She narrowed her eyes, dropping her arms from my back. Scowling, she stalked out of the bathroom, not sparing a single glance for the door as she marched over it and into the bedroom.

I followed, because I’d follow her to the ends of the Earth, but I ground to a halt just inside the bedroom when she climbed onto the bed, propped herself on the cushions and pillows, and spread her legs, giving me a clear view of her pink, dripping pussy.

I groaned, running a hand through my hair and pulling hard. “I’m trying to avoid hurting you.”

“We'll, don’t,” she huffed, her tongue flicking over her bottom lip as she looked at me. Not seduction but because—she wanted me. Fuck, my wife wanted me. Badly. “I’ll tell you if it hurts.”

I took a jerky step closer, trying to quell that storm of violence and fury in my blood, trying to leash myself so I could be gentle for her. Even if she didn’t seem towantme leashed or gentle.

“God, you make such a pretty fucking picture right now,” I groaned, staring at her, naked except for her white stockings and a lacy bra so small it only covered her nipples. Her wet pussy on full display for me. I wanted another taste, wanted to be inside her, wanted everything.

Her breathing turned choppy again, her eyes never leaving me as I prowled closer, unzipping my trousers, my shirt hanging open over my chest. I forced myself to slow, to not just rip off every article of clothing. She was watching me, her stare hungry and dark.

“Choose a place on your body,” I told her, sliding the shirt off my shoulders and down my arms, my upper body open forher devouring stare. And fuck did that look devour me; her eyes hooded, raking over my chest, my abs, and lower, fixing on the place my trousers hung open. She swallowed, licking her lip again. My perfect wife was drooling over me, and I’d never felt so sexy or wanted in my life.

“What?” she asked, her attention rapt on my hands. I wished I’d worn a belt today; I would have enjoyed the slow slide of it, would have loved anything that prolonged this show for my wife.

“Every mark on your body came from pain,” I explained, my voice rough as I toed off my shoes, so consumed with this heat between Vasilisa and I that I didn’t even care that I left them messily on the floor. My trousers joined them, earning a soft sound from my wife. “I’m going to give you one that comes from pleasure, so every time you look at yourself, you’ll focus only on that. Never fear or pain, only pleasure.”

Standing at the bottom of the bed, I squeezed my cock through my boxers, watching her nostrils flare, her eyes flash. She was nervous but determined, certain, and she wouldn’t be deterred. Vasilisa wanted her husband’s cock.

“Anywhere?” she breathed, a little gasp making her chest jump when I reached for the waistband.

“Anywhere.”

The anticipation wound her body tight. I was close enough to see arousal drip from her when I finally pushed my boxers down and bared my cock, my wife’s stare like a kiss of heat along my shaft. Goddamn, it felt good to have her eyes on me. When she licked her lip again, I nearly fucking lost it; nearly came right there.

My cock jumped, her breath hitching in a matching skip.

“Here,” she breathed, a rougher note to her voice than her usual whisper. She lifted her hand and stroked the curve of her breast. My cock jumped again, a deep throb of need.

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