Page 42 of The Sicilian Billionaire's Neglected Wife
Damn her.
The thought of her trying to leave him hit like a rival’s car in his blind spot, unexpected and potentially fatal. His perfect wife, who never complained, never demanded, never asked for anything beyond what he chose to give—she was already planning her escape route.
Over something as meaningless as a reporter’s pathetic attempts at seduction.
And she’d been looking for his replacement. Talking to other men. Five of them. Asking about fidelity like she was conducting interviews for his position.
“Aivan, I need you to understand—”
He crushed his mouth to hers, swallowing whatever rationalization she was about to make. He didn’t want to hear it. Didn’t want to examine why the thought of her leaving made him want to tear apart hotel rooms with his bare hands. Didn’t want to think about what it meant that he’d been ready to kill that man in the bar just for breathing near her.
She resisted for a moment, hands pushing at his chest, her mouth tasting of tears and toothpaste and desperation. Then she melted, like she always did, going boneless against him with a sound that might have been surrender or salvation.
“You’re not leaving,” he growled against her lips, the words scraping his throat raw. “Not today. Not ever. You’re mine, Sienah. Do you understand? Mine to protect. Mine to keep. No other man gets to hear you ask about fidelity. No other man gets to know our business.”
“But you don’t—”
He kissed her again, harder, bruising. His hands tangled in her hair, still matted from last night’s ordeal, holding her still for his assault. This he understood. This he could control. Not the chaos in his chest, not the foreign emotions her tears provoked, but this—the way she gasped when he bit her lower lip, the way her pulse hammered when he traced her throat.
Her nightgown tore under his hands with a sound like surrender. He’d buy her a dozen more. A hundred. Anything to keep her here, in his bed, where no other man could even think about having her.
“Aivan—”
“No more talking,” he cut her off with a growl. “No more looking for other men. No more telling strangers our business.”
He stripped her bare with hands that shook from fury at the thought of those five men, at her drugged vulnerability, at his own weakness in caring so much. Her skin was flushed rose-gold in the morning light, chest heaving with broken breaths.
“Look at me.”
Her eyes fluttered open, still swimming with tears but dark with want.
“You think I’d let another woman touch me the way I touch you?” He traced one finger through her slick heat, watching her face as she gasped. “You think I’d give this to anyone else?”
He lowered his head between her thighs, breathing her in before tasting her, and the first touch of his mouth made her cry out, hands fisting in his hair.
“This is mine,” he murmured against her, the words vibrating through her core. “Only mine. Say it.”
“I—oh—”
He pleasured her ruthlessly, using every trick he’d learned in two years of studying her responses. She tried to close her thighs but he held them open, determined to make her understand that no other man would ever know her like this.
“Say it,” he commanded.
“Yours!” The word broke on a sob as she felt him delve deeper. “Only yours, always yours—”
He rewarded her with two fingers, curling them to find that spot that made her see stars while his mouth continued its relentless assault. She was close—he could tell by the way her thighs trembled, the pitch of her cries, the desperate grip of her hands in his hair.
“Come for me, Sienah.”
She shattered with a scream, back bowing off the bed, but still his mouth remained on her even through the aftershocks, his lips nibbling the sensitive skin of her inner thighs.
When he finally rose over her, she looked destroyed in the best way, lips swollen, hair wild, eyes unfocused with pleasure. He positioned himself at her entrance, watching her face, needing to see her acknowledge what was between them.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he said, holding himself just outside where she needed him. “Tell me you understand.”
“I understand,” she whispered, then gasped as he thrust home in one smooth stroke.
He set a deep, devastating rhythm, each thrust designed to brand himself on her body and soul. She wrapped around him, legs at his waist, arms around his neck, internal muscles gripping him like she’d never let go.
