Page 18 of Till Death Saves Me

As I move closer, I notice what she's wearing. A tiny tank top that clings to her curves, shorts that show off miles of smooth, dark skin. My body reacts instantly, desire slamming into me like a freight train.

I clench my fists, fighting for control. She has no right to look this fucking good while standing in my ruined study. No right to make me want her this badly.

"I'm sorry," she says, lifting her chin defiantly. "I didn't realize it would be such a big deal."

I inhale sharply, nostrils flaring. The scent of her perfume hits me, and it takes every ounce of willpower not to grab her and show her exactly what kind of 'big deal' this is.

"This is my space," I growl, stepping even closer. "You don't touch anything in here without my permission. Understood?"

There's a flash of something in her eyes as she stares at me. Defiance? Interest? I can't tell, and it infuriates me further.

I turn away, unable to look at her anymore. If I do, I might lose the tenuous grip I have on my control. And I can't let that happen. Not yet.

I know I have to fuck her. She's my goddamn wife. But I can't do that if I can't maintain my control while doing it. And right now, I know that those shorts alone have me close to snapping.

Getting her naked would be my fucking reckoning. And I need to figure out how to stop it before I go there with her.

And then her voice breaks through my thoughts, anger lacing it. "I thought I could go wherever I like in this house."

I clench my jaw, struggling to maintain control as Virginia's words hit me like a slap in the face. I turn to look at her, hinger eyes flash with anger, and I feel my own temper rising to match hers.

"Not here," I snarl, gesturing wildly at the room. "This isn't your fucking playground." My voice is low, dark. I don't ever yell, but it's such a deep rumble that I see the hair on her arms start to stand up.

Virginia steps closer, her chest heaving with barely contained rage. "And what am I supposed to do? Sit around like a pretty little doll while you run off doing God knows what?" Her eyes track down my body with disgust, and I hear the underlying message behind that.

Doing God knows who.

It's clear I'm not the only one who has thought about our marital duties. And fuck if that doesn't stir up more lust — and consequently more anger — in me.

How the fuck has this girl got so deep under my skin.

Her defiance ignites something primal in me. I want to shake her, to make her understand her place. But another part of me, a part I desperately try to ignore, admires her fire.

"You're my wife," I growl, looming over her. "You do as I say."

She laughs, a harsh, bitter sound that grates on my nerves. "Your wife? Is that what I am? Because from where I'm standing, I'm nothing more than a prisoner that you took to appease your boss!"

Her words hit closer to home than I'd like to admit. I clench my fists, fighting the urge to grab her and... what? I'm not even sure anymore.

"You have everything you could want," I hiss through gritted teeth. "What more do you need?"

Virginia's eyes narrow, and she jabs a finger into my chest. "Freedom! The ability to make my own choices! To actually feel like I'm living my life instead of just existing around yours!"

I grab her wrist, my grip firm but not painful. "You don't understand the world you're in now. These rules are for your own protection."

She yanks her hand away, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, of course. Because I'm just a helpless little girl who can't possibly take care of herself, right?" She shakes her head. "You thought you could just sign a contract for your Bratva and then stuff me away like an object."

I run a hand through my hair, frustration building. "That's not what I-"

"Then what?" she interrupts, her voice rising. "What am I supposed to be in this marriage, Ivan? Because right now, I feel like nothing more than a glorified houseguest who can't even make simple decisions about decorating!"

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. I open my mouth to retort, but find myself at a loss. The fire in her eyes, the passion in her voice - it's intoxicating. And infuriating.

"You want to be a wife?" I spit out, stepping even closer. "Then act like one. Learn your place in this world."

Virginia doesn't back down. She meets my gaze, unflinching. "And what place is that? Silent? Submissive? Sorry, but that's not who I am."

And I see that. I always thought she was an airhead. I expected someone who would lay around watching shows or going shopping, trying to spend the ungodly amount of money I've amassed as a bachelor over the last 34 years.

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