Page 156 of My Ruthless Husband

“No!” I grit out. “I just don’t want to right now. Go ahead, kick me out of the bedroom too!”

Instead of leaving me alone like he did before, he crushes my breasts with his hair roughened chest. “Why would I kick you out when I plan on keeping you hostage right here?”

My eyes widen. I start thrashing again, yanking my wrists, trying to twist free, but he doesn’t budge. His strength onlyseems to grow with my struggle. Suddenly his gaze drift downward and stays there while I continue to wrestle.

After a few seconds, when he still continues to stare down, I’m forced to look down too. And I’m horrified to see the top of my shirt gaping open, my breasts looking like they might burst free at any moment.

He lifts his heavy-lidded, aroused gaze to lock with mine. Then slowly lowers his head to kiss me. I instinctively lift my knee, aiming for his groin, but he effortlessly avoids it, capturing the back of my knee instead and holding me open to grind his erection against me. The force sends shockwaves of desire coursing through my body.

“Is that how you want to play?” his voice low and dark. As if to punish me for my defiance, he reaches between us, his hand finding my breast. He squeezes it through the fabric of my shirt. Then with his thumb and forefinger he captures my already hardened nipple, twisting it cruelly, making me whimper.

I stare up at my husband. No, not my husband. This man is my lover. He’s never been a husband, just a man who knows how to bring me pleasure and take it just as easily. A man who shuts down the instant he’s satisfied, not caring about me or my feelings. Husbands don’t act like this.

He lowers his head, burying it in my throat, inhaling the scent of my skin like it’s the most intoxicating thing in the world.

“Let me go,” I mumble, closing my eyes. We both know I don’t just mean for this moment. I mean forever. Damian tenses, the muscles in his body tightening as he pulls back and releases my leg. I feel his eyes on me, studying me, as if trying to read the depths of my soul.

I wait for him to say something. Anything. But nothing comes.

The silence seems to go on and on until I can’t stand it anymore. I hesitantly peek at him through my lashes and find his jaw clenched tight.

“I can’t.”

“Why?” I ask quietly.

“I have my reasons,” he replies, then he hooks his fingers in the waistband of my pants and pulls me until I’m flush against him. “Now tell me, do you want it against the door or on the bed?”

“Neither!” I shoot back and push him away. But instead of retreating, he seizes me by the collar and rips my shirt open in one swift motion. The buttons scatter across the floor, and I gasp in shock, staring down at myself as the shirt hangs open, exposing my white lace bra. “How dare you?” I manage to sputter.

“Because I want you,” he declares, his eyes dark and hungry as he drinks in the sight of me. He devours me with his gaze, as if he’s seeing me for the first time. As if we hadn’t spent the entire night and this morning lost in each other’s arms.

I watch, dry-mouthed, as his eyes trace over my skin, lingering on the bite marks and the stubble rash sprinkled across my chest and abdomen, disappearing into the waistband of my pants.

Watching him watch me with his lips slightly parted, pupils dilated is intoxicating. Heat floods my veins as his dark gaze roams over every inch of my exposed skin.

When he lifts those dark eyes, goosebumps rise on my arms.

I swallow thickly as he eats up the small distance between us. One hand grips my waist while the other captures my breast, his fingers kneading my flesh with a possessiveness that sends tremors through my body. He keeps his gaze trained on me, noting everything—the quickening of my breath, my flushed skin, the way my lips part as a soft mewl escapes.

Pure satisfaction glimmers in his eyes, making me aware that I am losing again. I grit my teeth. And when he bends to kiss me, I retaliate by tilting my head back, a provocative challengewritten all over my face. His eyes narrow as he leans closer. But I dodge him, tilting my head away just out of reach, savoring the power of the moment. When he tries to go for it again, I smugly turn my head to the side only to be shocked when he attaches his mouth to my neck, hot and hard, sucking and nibbling with a ferocity that makes me wince.

He’s punishing me for denying him, and it only fuels my defiance. Wrapping my arms around him, I dig my nails into his smooth back, scratching down, pressing harder in an attempt to draw blood. If I can leave marks, that would be even better.

He retaliates by grabbing a handful of my ass and squeezing hard until I know I’ll have bruises, a mark for a mark. “Jerk,” I hiss, digging my nails deeper, desperate to one-up him.

This time, instead of rising to the bait, he slides his hand down my bare abdomen and deftly unbuttons my pants.

“What are you doing?” I squirm, needing to escape, but it’s too late. He’s yanked my zipper down, and his hand slips beneath the waistband of my panties, burrowing deep until his fingertips brush against my clit through my slick folds. The sensation is so shocking, I cry out.

“Reminding you who you belong to,” he murmurs, his fingers moving slowly, back and forth, teasing, tormenting. “So, fighting makes my wife horny?”

“Shut up.” I snap, but my body is betraying me. I can feel the heat pooling low in my belly as I lean into him, gasping when he thrusts a thick finger deep inside.

“You’re desperate for this,” he says, the corner of his mouth curling a little.

I tense, pulling back. “You wish.”

Unfazed, he continues, “You hate that your body craves me. You fight me, resist me, all to soothe your conscience. Deep down, you know I’ll take what I want. That way, you get to enjoy me and still get to blame me.”

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