Page 33 of Beautiful Scar

Vito looks relieved. “Very good. He’s waiting downstairs.”

I’m shaky as I follow Vito into the hall. My knees are weak and watery. My stomach’s a total wreck. I feel like I’m going to pass out at any moment. We pass a couple of male members of the staff—guards, most likely, based on their black outfits and hard expressions—and I swear they’re staring at my dress.

I know what they’re thinking.

Filthy, dirty, ruined,broken.

Tigran’s standing in the front hall. I pause when he comes into view. My husband turns, and a strange expression passes over his face when he sees me on the stairs.

For the briefest moment, he looks enamored.

His eyes move down my body, from my ankles to my lips, lingering briefly on my scar and on my chest, before locking onto my eyes. I lick my lips, unable to help myself.

He looks good. His dark, slim suit fits his muscular frame. His hair’s messy and slightly curly with dark streaks and light honey-brown highlights. I love the sharp line of his jaw and the soft curve of his lips. I even like the hint of tattoos I can see at the collar of his dress shirt.

And there are the hands. My favorite of all. Hardened and callused. Hands that know what they’re doing. Hands that’ve been places.

“You look perfect,” Tigran murmurs. We’re alone now. Vito hurried away, leaving me with my husband.

Pride swells in my chest, and it gives me just enough strength to reach the bottom of the steps.

Before it fizzles away and I’m panicking again.

“I can’t do this,” I say, meeting his gaze. I’m pleading, and it’s pathetic, but I can’t help myself. “I’m sorry, Tigran, I know it’s important. I get it; you need to show me off to the rest of the Brotherhood. They haven’t met me yet and weren’t at the wedding. But please, I’m so uncomfortable in this dress, and I’m on the edge of losing my mind. Can’t you invite them here? And let me pick out my own clothes? Compromise with me, and I swear, I’ll be exactly what you need.”

His lips press into a hard line. He comes closer. My big, terrifying husband. “And what do you think I need, little doll?”

I grimace at that nickname. I hate it, but it also sends a tingle between my legs. Is that seriously arousal? Do I actually like that he wants to treat me like his toy?

“You need an obedient, proper Russian wife. One who will make your family realize how serious this alliance is.”

His jaw works. Did that piss him off for some reason? “You’re wrong,” he says sharply. “That’s not what I need at all.”

“Then what?” I ask desperately, so far gone that I’m begging. “What do you want?”

He comes at me fast. I gasp in shock as he pins me against the wall. His hands grip my wrists and shove them above my head, holding me tight. I squirm, breathing hard, a heady mix of excitement and terror ringing through my veins.

“I want you to stop acting like you’re scared all the time and start fighting back,” he whispers, lip curled. But that makes no sense. That’s not what men want, is it? They want a pretty, meek little thing that obeys all their orders. Don’t they?

He releases my wrists with one hand while the other keeps them pinned. I struggle weakly, breathing hard and staring into his dark eyes. His thumb moves closer and strokes down along the length of my scar.

My face breaks out in tingles.

“Let go of me,” I say, weaker than I wanted. But I’m having a lot of trouble keeping it together.

“No.” His thumb moves to my lips. He presses lightly, and I realize he’s breathing fast too.

I open my mouth. I’m not even sure why I do it. He presses his thumb between my lips, and I think about him punishing me.

I think about those incredible hands of his spanking me roughly.

“Suck,” he commands, voice low and firm. “Go ahead, baby. You want to do what I say? Then suck.”

I stare at him?—

Before biting downhard.

His eyes go wide with surprise, and he grunts in pain. I release my teeth, but he doesn’t pull his thumb out. I expected him to grab my hair or roughly throw me away, but instead, he grins like he actually enjoyed the pain.

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