Page 42 of My Ruthless Husband

Shame hits me hard, remembering how he humiliated me. Desperate to hurt back, retaliate, I bite his lower lip. Hard. He jerks his head back, wrenching his mouth from mine.

My breath catches at the sight of his bloodied lower lip. He reaches up and wipes the blood from his thumb. He glances at his smeared thumb then slowly looks up.

Instead of anger, his lips curl like he enjoyed what I did to him.

“Damian—” his bloodied lips slam against mine. This time the kiss turns animalistic as if I’ve opened a gate to something darker, something twisted. He makes me drink his blood, the metallic taste exploding in my mouth.

Maybe he thinks forcing his blood on me is a punishment, but it only deepens my craving. I drink from him like I’m starved, desperate for every drop.

I hate myself for needing this, for craving him in ways that only make me weaker.

His free hand strokes down my side until he’s lifting one of my thighs higher and pushes his erection against my center. My eyes roll back in my head as he thrusts again and again. Groaning, I undulate my hips, meeting every thrust, the pressure so right, so delicious that it aches.

Damian’s hot mouth trails down my jaw to suck on my throbbing pulse.

“Oh god,” my head lolls back and he takes full advantage, covering my skin with his demanding mouth. I rub shamelessly against his bulge panting and mumbling his name.

He’s still kissing my neck when his hand slips between us and dives under my skirt. I am too far gone to stop this, stop him. And even he knows it. Right now, not even self-loathing could stop me from taking what Damian can give me. There’s no place for any grievances. Just white-hot passion running through my veins.

Our mouths fuses hungrily again as his fingers slide my panties to the side and find my clit. I jerk violently at the contact, causing the kiss to break. It has been months since we had sex. Months since he touched me so intimately. I would be lying if I said I didn’t miss it. Damian is a fantastic lover. A generous one too who always makes sure I am left satisfied. Not because he cares for me but because he draws pleasure in getting me off. It satisfies him a great deal to see me unravelling in his arms.

I bury my face in the crook of his neck as he begins to rub my clit in tight circles. “Please,” I let out a pained moan.

He kisses the shell of my ear. “Please what?”

I dig my nails in his biceps. “Don’t make me say it, Damian.”

“All right.” His easy compliance makes me lean back and peer at him.

“Don’t look so surprised, angel.” He kisses my tear-stained cheek as his fingers continue to pleasure me, making me tremble. “As promised, Iwillhave you begging me to fuck you.” He increases the pace of his fingers, making me cling to his shoulders. I muffle my wordless gasps against his shirt as the pleasure starts building. He speaks again, “Be it my tongue, fingers or cock, you won’t have any of them inside you until you beg me.”

I come hard, moaning into his shirt, my body jerking with wave after wave of pure ecstasy. He really kept his word. Not once did his fingers enter me the entire time he was touching me. He won’t fuck me until I beg him. And I am not going to do that. And even he knows that. I was vulnerable today and he let me have this brief moment of reprieve. I shouldn’t feel grateful—he owed me this much. He’s the one who upset me to begin with.

When I come down, I try to push his hand away from my sensitive pussy but he doesn’t budge. I know what he’s doing. He wants to make me come again. And I am not ready. Still high from the pulsing aftershocks, I dig my nails in his skin.

“Damian, no,” I gasp when the familiar tension starts brewing again.

I know he won’t listen until I beg, but I refuse to give him that. I won’t beg, and he won’t make me.

Stuck in the loop, we both stubbornly cling to our egos until I’m coming two more times.

I was dimly aware of Damian watching me, his gaze drinking me in as I came again and again, his eyes darkening with every cry of his name. By the time my fifth orgasm hit, I was sprawled across the dining table as I stared at my husband defiantly, still not ready to let him win.

I don’t know what happened after that but my eyes drifted close as blackness took over and the last thing I heard was Damian cursing loudly before calling out my name.

Chapter Twelve

Past

Itry to control the involuntary tremors in my legs as I walk inside the quaint little café not far from my campus. My heart flutters inside my chest like a fragile little butterfly trapped in a cage.

The scent of freshly ground coffee beans envelopes me. Warm light from pendant lamps softly illuminates the wooden tables. Intricate artwork and vintage photos line the walls. It’s the perfect spot for my first date.

A few heads turn my way, and my smile wavers for a moment. I glance down at my outfit, nervously smoothing a hand over my pink floral cami dress. The soft fabric ends a few inches above my knees, and though the delicate spaghetti straps sit just fine, I can’t help but adjust them slightly.

Is my makeup the reason they’re staring? I pull my phone and check my reflection in the glossy black screen.

My makeup is light, highlighting my pale green eyes and soft lips. A faint blush colors my pale complexion. My curls are tied in a half ponytail, with loose tendrils framing my face. A daintygold necklace rests above my neckline, drawing attention to my collarbone, while stud earrings catch the sunlight, adding a subtle sparkle.

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