Page 84 of My Ruthless Husband

By the time he wrenches his mouth away, I’m breathless.

Damian straightens, glances at Hal, who immediately jumps into action and starts ushering me away, probably toward the restroom. I comply but not before glaring at him and uttering “Jerk,” making sure I’m audible.

Once inside, I move to the sink but halt mid-step when my gaze clashes with my reflection in the mirror. My fingers tighten into fists, nails digging into my palms as I assess my state.

Damian was going to make me walk through the sea of socialites and celebrities looking likethat?The woman with glazed light green eyes staring back at me hardly looks likeme.

My curls are a mess, strands of them clinging to my flushed cheeks. I study my mouth which was now wiped clear of lipstick, but still so red and soft and swollen from his kisses.

I trace my fingers over a mark on the porcelain skin of my neck. I close my eyes as memory of his teeth grazing there washes over me. Shivers wrack my body.

I open my eyes and stare at the woman in the mirror again, her pale greens now wantonly darkened, her flushed body begging for her husband.

Jesus. Was I always that transparent? No wonder Damian looked so smug when I kept on denying I want him.

Of course, I want him. After all, he turned me into a woman. The girl I used to be no longer exists. I willingly let her go by submitting to him and in return spent endless nights being worshipped like a goddess.

The pull I feel toward him is magnetic, a force I can’t escape. And neither can he. Now, all I have to do now is turn that against him.

Still, I remind myself: sex and emotions are separate. I shouldn’t mix them.

From the start, Damian was able to sleep with me without ever letting his emotions get involved. Maybe it’s time I do the same. I don’t know how long I’ll be trapped in this, but instead of wallowing in self-loathing and despair, I can start playing the game his way. Maybe, just maybe, I’ll learn to manipulate him like he manipulates me, using sex as my weapon.

Fixing my appearance the best I could, I exit the bathroom and find Hal and Damian conversing. Upon seeing me, they stop. I turn beet red under their scrutiny but then frown internally.

I have nothing to be ashamed of. I am not going to berate myself for wanting him anymore. Things were never normal between Damian and me and if he can be nonchalant about it, so can I. “Take me home.”

Damian’s eyes darken as he extends his hand and I take it without hesitation. He pulls me to his side and we go to say our goodbyes.

Each farewell to his business associates seems to morph into a new discussion, making him tenser by the minute. Damian is an oversexed man and months of abstinence is equivalent to a lifetime. No wonder he’s so stiff. His impatience is obvious, and I can feel the tension radiating off him. It’s clear—he wants me home, and he wants it fast.

I am still shocked that he’s been celibate all this time, never once straying. The thought alone fills me with a fierce, possessive satisfaction, knowing I’ve had his loyalty all along.

I perk up as the gala hostess, standing among the group surrounding us, begins discussing her volunteer work.

“I’d like to volunteer,” I say and feel Damian’s eyes drilling into me.

“Wonderful! We’ll get in touch with you,” Catherine with her silver hair and impeccable grace, says enthusiastically.

“That sounds perfect,” I say with a smile. “My husband’s always saying I don’t socialize enough. This would be good for me, wouldn’t it, darling?” I tilt my neck to smile at my husband whose face is conveniently blank but his bruising grip at my hip is betraying him.

“I hate to share you with others.”

“You’ll survive.” I kiss his jaw and take immense pleasure when the muscle jumps under my lips.

After that, Damian briskly cuts the conversation short and starts hauling me toward the exit.

“You’re going to pay for that.”

“Give me what I want and I’ll give you what you want. That’s our deal.” I tell him while my heart is beating out of my chest.

“And what is it you want?” he asks without stopping.

“Freedom.” That brings him to a halt. “Not from you. Because that’s impossible as you explained. I meant freedom from my cage. I want to start living again.”

He stares down at me like he is deciphering the unspoken words I didn’t voice. I’m done living like his prisoner. And he will have to yield because he knows I’m fragile after his revelation about our marriage and my dad.

He looms over me. “You want something, you come to me.” He grinds out. “Twist my arm in public again, and you’ll regret it.” The void in his dark gaze amplifies the menace in his words, turning his every utterance into a potent threat.

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