Page 39 of Keeping Ruby

A jarring blade of breath cuts into the silence as her sobs increase. My heart throbs heavy in response.

She makes me remember the boy I’d been. Tender, gentle, kind, and slow to act. She makes me want to shed the man I’ve become, if only in the darkness, only for her. I ache to shove the methodical, dangerous man aside, to be all that she needs.

But even as I touch her, my hands against the sides of her lovely face, I can’t help but know they are drenched in the blood of men who are as wicked as me.

Still, as monstrous as I am, I want to be good for her.

The way she’s looking at me now; it wouldn’t surprise me if she can see the boy through the monstrous shield I wear. It’s the first time in my life that I don’t work to hide the weakness within me.

It’s the first time in my life that I’ve ached to expose all the parts of me to another.

To be soft, if only for her.

“You are so lovely.” My voice sounds rough, like thrown gravel. Maybe I can’t be soft—not even for her. I’ve been formed under pressure and malice into this hard, sharp, polished stone that I am, carved into a deadly blade that maims with ease.

She shudders beneath me. “This is wrong.”

“No.” I reject her words. “You are mine. There has never been anything more right.”

Full, puffy pink lips, tremble. “It feels wrong.”

Something dark coils inside me. Shadows intent to smother her denial.

“Don’t lie to me, Ruby.”

“I’m not lying.” Raw emotion leaks from her eyes, sliding over my thumbs at her temples. “I feel—I feel dirty.” She sniffles. “I feel used.”

The monster, the thing inside me intent on claiming, bristles.

My pitch darkens, and I forget the boy with the soft center as I lower my head to hers, claiming her mouth with raw possession that strips her of breath. As I slide my tongue into her mouth, I know she can taste herself in my kiss.

I demand, “Do you taste that, wife?”

She tries to push me away. I don’t let her.

“That’s your pleasure,” I say darkly, and she whimpers. I kiss her harder, my tongue pushing against hers as she fights against me. Her hands are on my shoulders again, nails digging into flesh. The bite of her touch only fuels my need to possess her. To claim all the parts of her she fights to keep from me.

The parts of her she’s been fighting to keep from me.

It’s been weeks. I kiss her every night, holding her as she sleeps snuggled in tight to my chest, but come the light of morning, she refuses to meet my gaze. Refuses to give me conversation—or an opening of any kind into the heart I yearn to seize, as I’ve seized her body. I am fed scraps while Maxim tells me she is funny, and sweet, and intelligent. My agitation is growing on the strings of an untempered jealousy.

I’m restless to know my wife.

She cries out when I nip her lip. I command, “Stop fighting me.”

“I’ll never stop fighting you,” she vows, glaring up at me through wet eyes. “I’ll never stop hating you. I’ll never sit here and be content with my life as your prisoner.”

Fuck, but I believe every word she says. The way she speaks the words, dripping acid, burns a hole straight through my soul.

Still, stubborn as I am, I refuse to back down.

I’ve molded myself into a man who finds a way to take what he wants, regardless the obstacles. And I want her.

I want all of her.

Every part of her.

For myself.

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