Page 18 of Sold to the Russian
But admiration didn’t mean tolerance, and Fedya’s patience was starting to thin beyond normal.
He may have found her beautiful—far more than he’d anticipated—and deemed her as his in every strategic and legal sense, but he didn’t find her denial of their union cute. He wasn’t a fan of any kind of disrespect, and in that last hour since he’d married her, he couldn’t count the number of times she’d tested his patience.
“I told you not to touch me,” she hissed, her voice low, biting into his skin.
“Listen to me, Maeve,” he said, leaning in a fraction, his grip unrelenting. “I don’t think you understand what you’ve walked into—”
“I didn’t walk into it, you moron—”
His grip on her jaw tightened. “I don’t care if you were forced into it or not. The fact remains that you are my wife. You belong to me now. And what that means is that I can andwilldo whatever I want to you. That means I can touch you—” He brushed his thumb along the edge of her cheek, and her eyes flashed, but she didn’t flinch. “—or do whatever the fuck I see fit with you. Your life is mine now. Your mind, your body, your soul, your loyalty. They’re all mine now. Yet, I won’t do a damn thing to you that you won’t end up begging for.” He felt her stiffen beneath his touch then, and he was pleased that the impact of his words was registering in that pretty head of hers. “You’ll crawl to me eventually. Because what do you hate right now? I’ll make you learn to need. And the sooner you accept this,the sooner you accept the reality that there’s no way out of this, the better.”
That did it. She was shaking, her entire body shuddering with a fury he could feel himself.
He released her jaw with a sharp flick of his wrist as if her skin had burned him, when in reality, it was the opposite. She had ignited something in him—a dark, possessive thing curling around his heart like smoke, trapping his lungs in its hand, forcing its way into his brain. And all she had to do was stand there and consume him with her first glance.
Then he stepped back, placing his hands behind his back with a pleasant smile on his handsome face, like he hadn’t just carved scars into her with his words alone.
He noticed that Cormac had given her to him without any luggage or personal items. His eyes briefly scanned her figure, lingering on the width of her shoulders, the roundness of her breasts in her dress, her slim waist, her hips and curves, and the length of her legs.
“I’ll get your essentials tomorrow,” he said. “Clothes, toiletries—whatever you need.”
“I don’t need anything from you,” she said, her words barely audible from how hard she seemed to be reigning in her emotions. Fedya had struck a nerve; he knew that. But her reaction wasn’t short of what he wanted. And no matter how angry she seemed, she wasn’t spewing nonsense like denying their marriage again.
Considering the circumstances that led to their union, Fedya felt a touch of sympathy for her. She probably needed some time to get accustomed to her new life with him, and he was going to give it to her—ifshe behaved. Though he couldn’tdeny that the thought of her misbehaving thrilled him to an unhealthy degree.
“Unless you plan to wear that dress indefinitely, you’ll need something, and asyour husband—” He grinned, all straight, white teeth. He was finding that he enjoyed easily tossing that word around her, knowing fully well just how hard it rattled her. “—It is my duty to provide. To make you comfortable.”
“I’d rather wear rags for the rest of my life than accept anything from you.”
“That would bother me,” Fedya said, shaking his head like it was unacceptable. “But there’s also the option of staying naked. I don’t think I would mind much, as long as I’m theonly onearound you.”
Maeve scoffed. Then she chuckled like she was going to cry. Her eyes actually watered. “You are a sick man.”
“Tell me something I don’t know, Maeve. Come with me.” Without giving her a chance to respond, he turned on his heel and strode to the tiny hallway that led to a single door at the corner. He pushed the door open and turned to find her (unsurprisingly) standing right where he left her, burning a hole into him.
Fedya sighed and leaned against the doorway, folding his arms across his chest. “You must be tired,zhena. I wanted to show you around the house, but we can do that tomorrow. I’ll show you our room tonight.”
Maeve was still silent, fuming but silent, and he could see the gears churning in her head, the impulsive ideas starting to form. Her eyes twitched when the words ‘our room’ leaped out of his mouth. Her hands were fisted so hard her knuckleswhitened. Her cheeks were flushed, and sweat broke out on her forehead.
“How long are you going to stand there for?” Fedya said, his voice singsong. “I’m not that big on patience, Maeve.”
It was barely perceptible, but Fedya saw the split second her eyes flickered to his pistol on the coffee table, sitting alongside the disguises he had peeled off his body. His lips lifted in amusement, and his eyes revolved back to hers.
“Go on,” he said, nodding at the glinting black weapon. His voice was a dare. “Take it. Shoot me.”
Maeve swallowed, her feet still planted firmly on the floor. She looked back at him, her eyes tightening, her facial muscles constricting, and it was clear to Fedya then that the woman in front of him had never held a gun in her life. Her innocence was such an incredible turn-on that it sent a rush of blood to his cock.
“Maeve,” he called her name, his voice deeper, darker. His next words were a command. “Pick up the goddamned gun.”
She swiped it from the table in a second, her speed surprising him. Her deft fingers wrapped firmly around the pistol like she’d held it a thousand times, but from the stiffness in her shoulders and the quivering of her bottom lip that she tried to hide with a hard bite of her teeth, Fedya knew better.
“Feels good, doesn’t it?” he smiled, tilting his head to assess her. If he thought she looked sexy before, then she was one hell of a goddess with a gun in her hands. She looked divine, wrapped in lace and rage. He liked her strong grip around the cold steel, wondered if she’d hold his cock that well, too.
“The weight of it,” he mused aloud. “Heavy and cold, but light too. Like it was made for your hands. That burning itch atthe back of your skull, wondering what it would feel like to pull the trigger. That voice that sneaks up on you, whispering and asking what it’d feel like to take a life.”
Maeve’s grip tightened around the revolver, her fingers flexing repeatedly.
“Keep talking,” she hissed, “and I won’t hesitate to put a bullet in your skull.”
