Page 74 of Coerced Wife

“Saverio?”

He stands like a god in front of me, unapologetic and invincible. “If the police question us, you’ll say I was here all night.”

The breath leaves my lungs as if he’s punched a fist into my gut. “You’re asking me to be your alibi.” My mouth twists with the effort of holding back my tears. “Again.”

“Yes, again.” He adds without blinking, making it sound like a warning, “And I’m not asking.”

My smile is bitter. Quoting him, I say, “So that’s how our marriage is going to be.”

He leans forward, twisting my hair around one hand and placing the other on the desk. “That’s what it means to be with a made man,tesoro.”

He’s about to say more, but then he frowns. Turning his face sideways, he looks at where his palm covers half of the envelope.

The line between his eyebrows deepens as he lets me go and straightens slowly before snatching up the envelope.Apprehension washes into his eyes as he flips back the flap and pulls out the folded sheets of paper, and then his brow smooths out as understanding mixed with surprise replaces his frown.

“Rachele told me,” I say before he can ask. “She even remembered where you kept it.”

He schools his features before sliding the papers back into the envelope. When he meets my gaze again, his expression is blank.

“Is that why you want to adopt my baby?” I ask with that small smile on my lips.

His answer carries no emotion. “Yes.”

Yet it slices like a knife through me. “I see.” I nod again. “That’s why you’re arm-wrestling me into this marriage. It’s not just about proving to Luigi that I’m loyal to you, is it, Saverio? It’s about taking something you want more than anything, something you’ll never have.”

Anger contorts his beautiful features. It’s a scary sight, but I don’t cower.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” I challenge.

He throws the envelope aside with a careless flick of his wrist as if its contents carry no weight whatsoever. He doesn’t even look at where it lands on the desk. Every ounce of his attention is focused on me as he flattens his palms on the armrests of the chair, caging me in between his arms, and says in a low voice, “It doesn’t change a single thing. You’re still mine, and I’m still marrying you.” Splaying the fingers of one hand over my jaw, he continues in no uncertain terms, “I will never let you go, Anya, not even if the whole damn world comes to an end.”

And then he crashes his mouth on mine, cutting my lips with his teeth and sucking the oxygen from my lungs. The kiss is desperate and depraved as well as dominant and unyielding. He’s showing me who holds the power andwho makes the decisions. But even while he kisses me so brutally that I have to submit to his violent caress or risk breaking under my resistance, I make an oath to myself.

Whatever happens, I won’t give him my baby.

It’s the one choice I won’t allow him to take from my hands. I don’t care what price I have to pay.

He doubles his onslaught, holding me in place with his fingers digging into my cheeks while softening the kiss until his tongue strokes mine and awakens nerve endings under my skin. At the possessive lick along the seam of my lips, my nipples harden under my clothes. All I can focus on is how relieved I am that he’s alive and on the hand he slips under my clothes to cup my breast. He groans into the kiss as he rolls my extended nipple between his fingers, deftly working it into an even harder point.

I push everything else aside, choosing to feel only the physical in this moment so that I can forget what happened and find the illusion of peace in his embrace. I wrap my arms around his neck and hold him to me while ravishing his lips in return, giving myself wholeheartedly over to the kiss.

He pulls his hand from under my top and lets go of my face to hook his fingers underneath my thighs. With a firm tug, he pulls me to the edge of the seat and steps between my legs. When I stroke my palms up his sides and lean in to kiss the bulge tenting his sweatpants, he snaps.

His movements become jerky as he lifts my arms and pulls the hoodie over my head. My pajama top follows next. He pauses to look at my breasts before ripping his own hoodie over his head, exposing his powerful, naked torso.

In one swift movement, he lifts me from the chair onto the desk. I spread my legs, making space for him, and he doesn’t hesitate. He steps between them and divesfor my mouth even as he fastens both hands on my ass and grinds his hard-on against the center of my thighs. I wrap my legs around him and deepen the kiss while smoothing my palms over the broad expanse of his rock-hard back.

He yanks impatiently at the elastic of my pajama bottoms when I brush my fingers over something wet on his skin.

I still.

Feeling my hesitation, he chases after me with more determination, kissing me with fiercer urgency and working harder to free my pants.

I push him away and lean back to bring my hand to my face.

My fingers are covered in red.

Blood.

---