Page 54 of Beautiful Agony

Freddy's face has gone from red to ghostly white.

"I-I didn't mean..." Freddy stammers, pressing himself flat against the wall as if he could somehow pass through it.

Vadim moves past me.

"What did you call my wife?" His voice is deceptively soft, almost gentle.

But I can hear the murder in his tone.

Freddy's throat bobs as he swallows hard. His eyes dart between Vadim and me, desperately begging me to call Vadim off.

"I... I didn't..." Freddy's voice cracks.

Vadim takes another step closer. "I asked you a question." His hand comes up to straighten his cuff, the motion deliberate and threatening. "And I expect an answer."

The casual way Vadim adjusts his sleeve makes my skin prickle. I've seen him do this before—this careful, measured preparation that precedes violence.

A whimper escapes Freddy's throat. The sound is pathetic, nothing like the cruel, mocking tone he used with me just moments ago. His legs give out and he slides down the wall, landing in an ungraceful heap on the floor as Vadim looms over him.

I place my hand on his arm. He turns to me, and steps back when I give my head a small shake.

"Consider this your final warning," Vadim looks back at Freddy and he takes a step back with me.

In that moment, I can see the monster that lives beneath my husband's carefully controlled exterior—the one that makes others tremble but sets my heart racing in excitement.

The one that makes me grateful he's on my side.

Because he's not just any monster.

He'smymonster.

17

VADIM

Lacey closesthe door behind us as soon as we're alone.

Before I can even voice my frustration about Freddy, she launches herself into my arms. Her lips crash against mine with a desperation that matches the protective fury still coursing through my veins.

"That bastard had no right to speak to you like that," I growl against her mouth. My hands grip her hips possessively, drawing her closer. The heat of her body against mine only intensifies my need to shield her from every threat.

"I know," she whispers, nipping at my lower lip. "But watching you defend me like that..." Her breath hitches as my fingers dig into her flesh. "God, Vadim..."

I press her against the wall, one hand sliding up to cradle her head while the other remains firm on her hip. The way she melts into my touch sets my blood on fire. Every soft gasp, every trembling sigh fuels both my desire and my fierce need to keep her safe.

"No one disrespects my wife," I tell her between heated kisses. "No onethreatens what's mine." My hand drifts to her still-flat belly, protective instinct surging. "And no one calls you a whore exceptme."

She arches into my touch, her fingers tangling in my hair.

"Yes," she breathes. "Make me your whore. Treat me like your whore."

The raw need in her voice breaks something loose inside me. I lift her, her legs wrapping around my waist as I carry her toward our bed. My protective rage transforms into something else—a primal urge to claim and possess her.

I strip away Lacey's clothes slowly, savoring each inch of skin revealed. She writhes beneath my touch, her breath coming in short gasps that tell me exactly how much she wants this. How much she wantsme.

The changes in her body entrance me.

Her breasts are fuller, more sensitive when I brush my fingers across them. That legendary pregnancy glow isn't just a myth—her skin seems to radiate with an inner light that makes her even more beautiful. Even her hair seems different, catching the light like spun gold as it fans across the pillow.

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