Page 28 of Desire and Revenge

“Oh,” I blink at him.

“I paid for the suite with adjoining rooms, and I’ll be sleeping in the other room. I told them you like to nap in the afternoon, and I wouldn’t want to bother you.”

It isn’t like I’m looking forward to going to bed with my husband by my side, but it bothers me that he has carefully plotted to keep us separated.

“Did I do something?” I finally ask. “You haven’t?—”

“Not here, Sofia, for Christ’s sake,” he hisses at me. “Do you not know the meaning of discretion? Hell, you can go ahead and print it on the menu for the entire table.”

I duck my head in humiliation and concentrate on browsing through my menu. Everything sounds too exotic and complicated, and I know I won’t be able to keep anything down anyway. My appetite has been nonexistent for a while now, and I’m losing weight drastically.

Sighing, I raise my head from my menu and meet Nero’s eyes. If there was any hope of me taking a few bites of my meal, his presence right across from me has made that hope dwindle and die.

I’m not surprised when I end up pushing my food around the plate, each course returning to the kitchen untouched. Each time I mistakenly glance up, I meet Nero’s frown, which only darkens as the night goes on.

The only positive part of the entire night is the absence of my husband’s blonde associate.

“We’ll call it a night now,” Sebastian finally announces sometime past ten, and I’m only too glad to rise to my feet and allow him to lead me out of the dining room.

To both my relief and anguish, he walks into my bedroom after me and shuts the door. I begin to climb into the bed in preparation for an unfeeling round of lovemaking, but instead, he completely ignores me, making his way to the door separating our rooms.

My eyes widen with horror, and I jump to my feet and dash across the room, jumping in front of him to stop him from leaving. Everything inside of me is screaming at me to let him walk away, but I know that the sooner I can get pregnant, the sooner I can be left alone. Both by him and his meddling relatives.

“Going to bed so soon?” I hope my voice sounds inviting and not as panicked as I feel.

“What are you doing?” He stares at me blankly.

I take a step forward, erasing the gap between us. “Don’t go.”

“Why?”

I almost break character, but I’m encouraged by the fact that he hasn’t just pushed me aside and continued on his way. So, I press myself to him and smile.

“I’ve missed going to bed with you,” I say. “You always make me feel so good.”

And then I remember that men like their egos stroked. “You’re so big, and strong, and powerful. Don’t you want me?” Revulsion skitters through my body at my act of seduction, but I push it down and offer him a small smile instead.

His mouth curves into a smug grin, his eyes lighting up with the satisfaction of my surrender. “Really?” he murmurs, his voice dripping with self-assurance.

“Yeah,” I reply, my voice barely above a whisper as I reach for the buttons of his shirt, undoing them one by one. “I can’t wait to feel you everywhere.”

He watches me closely, his gaze sharp and assessing. “Yet you refused to even look at me when I made love to you,” he says, the word “love” twisted and cold, as if it’s a mockery of what it should be.

The very phrase sends a wave of disgust rolling through me. If that’s what he calls making love, I’d rather never touch him again. But I know what I must do—secure the family line, get pregnant, and fulfill my duty.

I swallow hard, forcing the words past the knot in my throat. “I’m sorry about that night, Sebastian. I want you now. I want to please you. Make love to me.”

His eyes narrow slightly, as if gauging the sincerity of my words, but he says nothing as I push the sleeves of his shirt down his shoulders and arms, revealing the smooth, hairless chest beneath.

My fingers brush against the tattoos etched down his arms, each one a symbol of power and control, stark against his skin.

The air between us thickens, but I keep my expression neutral, trying to mask the turmoil raging inside me. This is the game I’ve been forced to play, and I will play it well, no matter how much it tears at the very core of who I am.

I wrap my arms around his neck and press my mouth to his. His hands immediately go down to squeeze my bottom, and he drags me tighter into him till I can feel his erection trapped between us.

I deepen the kiss, moving backward to the bed, and he follows after me, never breaking the kiss.

It’s my duty.My duty, I chant to myself, as I fall back into the bed, my husband’s body following me down and pressing me into the mattress. He moans low in his throat, and then his hand squeezes my breast. I let out a moan that I don’t feel at all, deliberately grinding my hips into his erection.

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