Page 65 of My Ruthless Husband

I tremble in his lap uncontrollably. “S-stop!”

“I should be the one saying that.” He glares at me. “Stop this nonsense and let me have you.”

“I hate you,” I whimper.

“You can hate me while I fuck you all night long.”

I screw my eyes shut so I can block the raw hunger etched over his face. But there’s no way to stop his words.

“I want to climb between your legs and stay there for the entire week until you remember who you belong to. I want to devour every inch of you until you lose your voice from screaming and your body is decorated from the marks given by my mouth and fingers.”

“You can always force yourself on me,” I shoot back, my voice laced with defiance. He’s already made it clear he’s not a patient man, and I know exactly what that implies—that he’d have me with or without my consent.

“I’m your fucking husband.” He releases me with a shove and I fall on my seat. “I own your pussy. I ownyou. I don’t need to force you into doing anything.” His eyes turn mocking. “Because we both know you’ll happily spread your legs for me whenever I want.”

I glare at him. “I don’t see myself spreading my legs right now.”

He arches an eyebrow. “Is that a challenge?”

That makes me shut up. Turning away, I wait for the car ride to be over so I can get away from his suffocating presence.

Chapter Eighteen

The sleek black limousine glides to a graceful stop at the entrance of the venue. Our chauffeur, dressed in a crisp black suit, steps out first and extends his hand to assist me. But Hal pats him on the shoulder and shakes his head slightly.

Damian exits and offers his hand. I feel the gaze of the gathered crowd and cameras turning toward us. I don’t want to take it but I can’t humiliate him in public. He would never let it slide. So I let him help me and emerge from the limousine.

Taking his arm, we step onto the red carpet. Flashbulbs burst like miniature fireworks, capturing the lie we feed them. A façade of being a happy couple.

Damian tugs me closer as we continue to pose. The blinding flash and shouts of the photographers evokes a memory from the past that makes my shoulders stiff with tension.

He leans down and brushes his lips against my ear. “Don’t.”

My body grows stiffer when I realize he knows exactly what I was thinking about. I try to relax.

His eyes survey the cameras and onlookers with a sense of detachment as the reporters call out his name. He’s the picture of control, effortlessly holding it all together, while I—on theother hand—feel myself unraveling. Especially when they start calling out mine.

Damian senses my uneasiness and ushers me forward. As we finally make our way past the flashing lights and the buzzing excitement.

Hal, who had been patiently waiting to the side, joins us. A second later a small group of people is suddenly by our side and is guiding us inside.

The grand doors open to reveal a magnificent ballroom adorned with crystal chandeliers and opulent floral arrangements.

I do my best to maintain composure, but my heart races, and I feel a tightness in my chest. The memories of countless social events, where I smiled and played the role of the perfect hostess, flood back. The pressure to be flawless, to say the right things, and to always be in control had taken a toll on me in the past.

And here I am, right back where I started. Only this time, I asked for it. Because being surrounded by strangers in this crowded room somehow feels safer than being with Damian, who, despite how well I know him, still feels like a complete stranger in every sense.

I clutch the edge of my purse a little tighter, my knuckles turning white. My breaths come in quick, shallow gasps, and I subtly press my free hand to my chest, feeling the rapid thumping of my heart.

This can’t be happening right now. The anxiety that’s become my constant companion threatens to consume me again. My shoulders start to tremble, and I can feel a fine sheen of perspiration forming on my forehead.

I suddenly feel a firm hand gently squeezing my waist. The contact distracts me and I find myself glancing up. Damian pulls me closer to his chest.

His dark night eyes bore into mine. Cold and distant as ever. Yet, in that moment, as our bodies press together, the distance between us seems to narrow, and a strange sense of calm begins to wash over me.

Damian doesn’t provide me warmth. His presence is far from warm but despite that, it acts as a shield against the overwhelming world around us.

His hand slides up my back, underneath my curls. His fingers find the nape of my neck, and he starts to massage it with a touch that’s both expert and intimate. While his other hand cradles my hip.

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