Page 62 of His Darkest Obsession
She looks directly at me through her lashes, defiance smoldering in her hazel eyes as she misinterprets my urgency for weakness.
"You don’t get to tell me what I can and can’t wear.”
“Actually, as your husband, I can.” My gaze hardens, but she refuses to intimidate. “Go change into something appropriate.”
"Or what?" She leans in. "Are you going to make me?"
Goddamn it! This woman.
A dark thrill thrums through my body.
She’s testing me. She’s actually fucking testing just how far she can push me. I mean, do I want to rip that dress off her? Yes. Fuck yes, I do. I want to drag her upstairs, tear apart this sorry excuse for a dress with my bare hands, and remind her exactly what happens when she tries to push my fucking buttons.
If I do that, thenshewins.
But if I don’t do that, then there’s going to be hell to pay.
I step up the stairs and my hand tightens around her arm. But before I can haul her over my shoulder and carry her back to her room myself, I hear the distinct sound of the front doors opening behind me.
The heavy oak creaks on its hinges, followed by the clacking of heels on marble and a familiar voice that makes my spine stiffen.
"Tolya!"
Fuck!
The timing couldn't possibly be worse, and I’m swearing internally at how long it took Indigo to come down the fucking stairs.
If she’d been here an hour earlier, we could’ve avoided this mess.
But now?
Now she has to face my family like this.
Indigo shifts behind me, and she looks up at me with sudden shock as she sees the frustration on my face.
“Who’s that?” she asks, the bravado from earlier now all but gone.
I look back in annoyance and snarl. “My mother.”
"Your mother?" she whispers, voice suddenly small. Her eyes dart past me toward the entrance.
"Yes,” I reply. “Which waswhyI told you that you needed to go change."
Indigo looks down at herself, finally comprehending the full magnitude of my words. The dress that was meant to provoke me now seems to horrify her as she realizes just how badly she miscalculated.
"I didn't know," she breathes, all bravado gone. "You didn't tell me?—"
"I didn’t think you’d go this far.”
Indigo's fingers clutch at my sleeve. "What do I do?"
"There’s nothing you can do now,britvochka. Here."
I shrug off my suit jacket in one fluid motion, and drape it over Indigo’s shoulders. She slides her arms into the sleeves without hesitation, and I adjust the lapel as best I can to try and retain a hint of modesty.
It doesn’t do a goddamn thing about her legs, but at least her top isn’t going to be giving everyone a good fucking look anymore.
My hands linger on the jacket perhaps a moment too long. The gesture is intimate, far more intimate than when she sat in mylap at dinner, and more intimate than when I feasted between her legs after our wedding.
