Page 50 of Shackled

“It’s not a question of if you can. Jesus, let me carry my wife’s bag.”

“Alright, alright.”

I give him a sidelong look as we head down toward the hall to where our room is marked on the map.

We have to have sex, that I know for sure. He mentioned something about a rivalry between him and his brothers having babies and whatnot as if they need to repopulate all of New York with virile Romanov genes. And logic tells me that sex is the way to get there.

While I'm not too thrilled with the idea of giving birth to children anytime soon, I wouldn't mind a few practice sessions.

Also, this is the God’s honest truth… He is hot. Like next level, light up my uterus, can I sit on your face, sir, hot.

I may have thought about being chained up in his basement more than a few times. And the way we harmonized on that helicopter—it was seamless. Beautiful. Thrilling.

We walk down the hallway. I would think it would feel odd to be in a vacant resort, like there are ghosts around here or something, but it doesn't feel odd at all. It feels kind of nice.

I like being alone with him.

"Are you hungry?" he asks. Our footsteps are noiseless on the thick carpet. They’ve obviously prepared for our arrival, as I can still see faint lines from the vacuum in front of us.

"Not really. You?"

"No. Shit. I just remembered we left the cake on the helicopter."

I shrug my shoulders. "Meh, I don't eat cake. It's fine. It was a nice gesture and all, but I’m sweet enough without the extra carbs.”

“Sure you are,” he snorts.

“And anyway,” I say, watching his reaction. “I just married my enemy, so it's really no cause for celebration.”

“Mmm. Good point. Honestly, this villa is pretty much like a prison. Looks just like one. You may as well be shackled in my basement still."

Why does that only make me want him more? I’m thirsty. Yes. I’m so fucking thirsty, and here I am, striding down a hallway toward the bedroom with New York’s ultimate thirst trap.

I swallow hard and try to look away, but I can't help admiring him. Dressed all in black, the defined muscles in his shoulders and arms bulge with the effort of carrying our bags, but he doesn't hunch over. His body is a masterpiece of masculine perfection, and I am so fucking here for it.

I don't have to fight him anymore. I don't have to hide from him. I need to convince him to partner with me. I need to convince him to jam together the well-oiled machine of his family and mine… and then make it all work.

I can do this. I must do this. I have no other choice.

“According to the map… this is ours.”

I turn the handle, and the door opens. I stifle a gasp. "Dios mío. This is beautiful." The honeymoon suite at the island villa is a dream. Floor-to-ceiling windows offer a breathtaking view of the ocean, so brilliantly blue it reminds me of an aquamarine necklace my mother used to wear. Waves kiss the shore. Sheer white curtains billow with the ocean breeze. A plush, king-sized bed made in crisp white linens stands in the center, a tray on the bedside table welcoming us with rose petals in the shape of a heart surrounding a bottle of champagne nestled in a silver bucket, two crystal flutes beside it.

I swivel my gaze around, trying to take it all in—a spa-like expansive bathroom boasts a clawfoot tub with a view overlooking the ocean and a walk-in shower encased in glass. Thick white towels on a shelf beside glass bottles of lotions and soaps. A basket of washcloths and more rose petals. Every damn detail hints at luxury and peace.

"My God," I say, staring out at the expanse of the blue ocean from the balcony. "I can't imagine anything more beautiful."

A beat passes when his dark eyes meet mine. “Really?” His voice is a low purr. “I can."

I swallow hard. Is this where the Big Bad Wolf takes off his mask and devours me whole?

I remind myself—I am strong. I am fast. I can get in and out of tight spaces with ease. But logic reminds me,there's no escaping him now.

He was right. The best way to keep me shackled to him was to bind me with vows, and I’m sure Mikhail sending us to this island had more to do with keeping me hostage than it did giving us a honeymoon. I can't run. Even if I could escape him in the middle of the night, what would I do? Swim? To where? Both of our families know that I'm married to him now.

But I don't want to leave him, I remind myself. My instincts have always been to run. And now… the greatest challenge lies in staying.

I meet his eyes. Lick my lips.

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