Page 79 of Devil's Tulip

Michael’s face becomes hard as granite, his eyes darkening dangerously.

Then—Jesus Christ—in a blink, he’s in my space, pressing me against the door, his hot palm curling around my throat.

My body betrays me instantly.

I can practically feel my blood sizzle in my veins as he surrounds my senses, and I shiver, going lightheaded and dizzy from how close he is.

“I might be crazy, but I’myourcrazy husband. What does that say about you?”

“That I’d do anything to get out of my uncle’s clutches and escape marrying Carlo,” I gasp breathlessly. “I’d go round and round any circus to escape their clutches and get to the top.” At this point, I’m not even sure what I’m saying.

I’m babbling, desperate to cling onto my diminishing anger—anything to distract myself from my growing desire, the slickness between my thighs, my relentless pounding heart.Focus!

His jaw ticks—the only warning before his grip tightens, cutting off my air supply. But I’m not scared of him. I don’t think I ever was. I lean into his grip, challenging him even as my lungs burn with the need for air.

“Fucking hell,” he growls.

Then his lips crash onto mine.

It’s not a kiss. It’s something more feral than that. A claim, a punishment, maybe both. Then he lets up on my throat just enough for air to slip in, and I suck in a desperate breath, nearly swallowing his tongue in the process. His groan vibrates through my body as he uses his hold to tilt my head back, deepening the kiss.

I melt into him, matching his intensity, my hands wrapping around his inked skull, fingertips slipping into the hair at the top of his head.

“Fuckk.” The curse ghosts across my lips as he breaks the kiss.

Dazed, I blink up at him, but he’s already grabbing my wrists, spinning me around until my cheek slams against the door. “You need to be taught a lesson on how to keep your tart tongue in your mouth,” he says huskily as he shifts his stance behind me and captures both my wrists in one hand. “And I’m just the teacher you need.”

When he moves again, I feel it.

His hardness grazing against my ass.

Oh God. A soft, broken moan slips from my lips before I can stop it. He chuckles behind me and taps my ass lightly, then—smack—his palm comes down hard on my cheeks.

This time, the noise that tears out of me is something between a squeal, a scream, and a whimper as I jolt forward, shuddering when my nipples and clit press harder against the unyielding wood.

“What does it say about you, love, that you’re getting aroused by this crazy bastard spanking you?” Another slap punctuates the question, and all I can do is moan like some sex-crazed freak as sensations rail through me.

He gathers the skirt of my dress, grunting as he tries to bunch it up in one hand, but the fabric is too full, slipping through his fingers. Growling in frustration, he abandons the effort andsimply lifts me instead, carrying me in powerful strides to his massive bed like I weigh less than nothing.

I barely register the feeling of the plush mattress before he’s rolling to the side and I hear the telltale sound of a drawer sliding open. When I glance over, I catch a glimpse of what’s inside—almost the exact same contents as the nightstand in his Seattle house.

Handcuffs, a pair of keys, a silky blindfold, and a fancy keycard.

What is he, a sexual deviant?

But then he takes the handcuffs, tosses them onto the bed, and turns to face me. I inhale sharply at the intense look on his face.

“Now, where were we?” he asks darkly as he crawls towards me.

I scramble backwards, crawling up the bed until my head thunks against the headboard. He smirks at me. The kind that screams satisfaction. Wetness drips out of my core, and my mouth waters as I watch him. God, this is so hot.

He’s so smoking hot, it’s almost unreal that he’s my husband.Mine.

I’m still caught in that dazed thought when he takes my left hand and lifts it up. I don’t realize what he’s doing until?—

Click.

I glance up in shock. He cuffed my hand to his bed. “Michael—” I start, but he’s already lifting my right hand.

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